Creeping across the pasture land. Got dirt on
the boots and a working hand. From the milk house
home to the auction call. These are the folks
standing strong and tall. Yeah, this is... Welcome
back to the Bullvine Podcast. Today we are sharing
a story that, quite honestly, stopped us in our
tracks. We read a lot of profiles, we see a lot
of marketing campaigns, but every now and then
something just... It cuts through the noise.
Yeah. This is the kind of conversation that reminds
you exactly why you got into dairy in the first
place. It's not about, you know, the milk price
today. It's not about the new regulations. It's
about the people, the grit behind the operation.
Exactly. And usually when we talk about success
stories on this show, we're talking about someone
who, you know, took over the family farm and
expanded it to 3 ,000 head. Or someone who developed
a grand champion cow. The usual metrics of success.
Right. But today. We're looking at a different
kind of success. We're talking about Hayley Witters.
Which might sound like a bit of a left turn for
some of our listeners. I mean, she's a country
singer, a rising star, Grammy nominated. But
the reason we're talking about her isn't because
of the charts. It's because of where she was
standing in the fall of 2025. And I think more
importantly, what that moment represents for
the industry at large. Let's paint the picture
first. You've got a country music star. Usually
you picture them on a glossy stage or maybe in
a music video set that's been perfectly lit,
sprayed down, you know, sanitized. Totally sterile.
But you open up the footage from the Land O 'Lakes
bovine serenade campaign. And what do you see?
You see Haley Witters standing in a working dairy
parlor in Minnesota. And I don't mean a show
barn. I don't mean some ag tourism setup. I mean
a working parlor. Yes. There's mud. The floors
are worn down from hooves. The fans are humming
that low drone we all know. It's visceral. You
can almost smell the silage and the iodine just
looking at the clip. And she's there. Camera's
rolling. Cal's listening. Yeah. But here is the
hook. And this is the part that made me laugh
out loud before it made me think really, really
hard about how we grew up. Okay. She dropped
this quote that just... perfectly captures the
rural hierarchy we all lived in, but we rarely
talk about. She said, I was so jealous of the
dairy princesses. Oh, wow. Yeah, I think every
rural kid knows exactly what that means. It triggers
a very specific memory. Right. She said, the
princesses told me you had to be a dairy princess
to get your own bust made out of butter, and
I was so jealous. But here's the kicker. She
grew up in Shweville, Iowa. Her family farmed,
but... They were corn and soybean farmers. So
no cows. So no cows. And in the unspoken caste
system of the county fair, that matters. It matters
huge. In her words, that wasn't in the cards
for me. Because she didn't milk. She couldn't
wear the sash. She couldn't get the butter sculpture.
That was the ultimate status symbol. And she
was on the outside looking in. It's funny, but
it's also a really deep observation about rural
identity. We tend to lump all of agriculture
together under one big umbrella, right? Especially
when we're talking to the public. But you have
the corn kids, the dairy kids, the livestock
kids. And there's that feeling of looking at
the dairy princesses on the parade float. They
represent the royalty of the county fair. They're
the ambassadors. Exactly. They are the ones with
a tangible product that people eat directly.
So fast forward 20 years. She didn't get the
sash. She didn't get the crown. But there she
is, standing in a real barn, partnering with
Land O 'Lakes, getting her moment. It's a full
circle story that I think is going to resonate
with anyone listening to this. Well, and why
should our listeners care? Because this isn't
a celebrity fluff piece. We aren't here to tell
you to go buy an album. We're here because this
is a story about a farm kid who left. She left
the farm. She struggled for 12 years. And we'll
get into that. That number is crucial. And she
found success not by running away from where
she came from, but by embracing it. Completely.
This is about exporting culture. Exporting culture.
I like that. And it tackles the hard questions
we face. We talk about succession planning all
the time on the bullvine. We talk about the technical
side, you know, the trusts, the LLCs. The paperwork.
The paperwork. But we rarely talk about the emotional
side of the kids who leave. What does legacy
look like when the next generation chooses a
different path? That's the million -dollar question.
If the kids don't take over the parlor, is the
legacy dead? Or does it just change shape? Does
it become something portable? Haley's story suggests
it changes shape and can actually become bigger
than the farm itself. So let's go back to the
beginning to understand the raw materials she
was working with. Let's go to Shoeiville, Iowa.
Between Cedar Rapids and Iowa City, that's serious
farming ground, good soil. Haley calls herself
a corn kid. Her origin story isn't the typical
born in a big Victorian farmhouse narrative we
sometimes hear. No. She was brought home from
the hospital to a single wide baby blue trailer
parked smack in the middle of a cornfield. That's
a vivid image. It immediately tells you this
wasn't a gentleman farmer situation. This was
a startup. This was a grind from day one. It
sits the tone, doesn't it? She told Country Town
back in 2025, they brought me home from the hospital.
to a single wide baby blue trailer. This wasn't
a wealthy sprawling estate. This was a young
family figuring it out. And you look at the work
ethic that was required just to get out of that
trailer. Her dad wasn't just farming. He was
working night shifts at the corn plant ADM. She
said he was taking the shifts nobody else wanted.
The stuff nobody wanted to do. That's what she
called it. And I want to pause on that because
that resonates with so many dairy families. How
many people listening right now have worked an
off -farm job to keep the farm going? Or how
many have finished a shift at a plant and then
come home to run the combine or milk the cows?
It's the double shift. The grind. It's what pays
for the health insurance so you can afford to
farm. It is. It's showing up when nobody is watching.
That's the backbone of the dairy industry, but
it's the backbone of all ag. Her mom was raising
the kids, stretching every dollar. Haley said,
and pardon the French, but she said, we didn't
have a pot to piss in. But she always follows
it up with how hard they work to put food on
the table. And she was surrounded by it. Her
grandpa had a sod farm. She talks about the boys
working in the field growing grass. Her Aunt
Cindy had pigs, chickens, turkeys. It's that
immersion. You don't just learn how to do chores.
You absorb a mindset. You learn that the work
doesn't stop just because you're tired. And that's
the connection to the dairy reality. Whether
you're processing corn at 8 a .m. or milking
at 4 a .m., the discipline is identical. It's
about operational consistency. She had this specific
spot, though. She talks about going out to the
cornfield behind the house to sit and think.
She calls it her quiet place. Every farm kid
has that spot. It is essential for mental health.
Right. For her, it was the cornrows. What is
it for the dairy kid? Usually it's behind the
free stall barn. Or maybe leaning on a gate looking
out at a heifer pasture at dusk. It's that one
spot where the noise of the machinery fades out,
where you can't hear the vacuum pump or the skid
steer, and you just try to figure out who you
are. And for Haley, sitting in that cornfield,
she was dreaming about that recognition. She
wanted the validation. She saw the dairy princesses
waving, and she wanted that feeling of... I matter
to this place. It's the desire for rural recognition.
We underestimate that. We think kids just want
to be famous, like Hollywood famous. But sometimes
they just want to be seen by their own community.
They want the bust at the county fair. They want
to be relevant to the people they grew up with.
But then the catalyst happens. The moment that
changes the trajectory. She's 15 years old. And
she takes a trip. Her mom takes her to Nashville.
Now, you got to keep in mind, she said she'd
never even been to Chicago, and that's only three
hours away. She was a rural kid through and through.
Suddenly, she's in Nashville. Culture shock,
I imagine, but also opportunity shock. Huge.
She sees songwriters everywhere, live music pouring
out of doorways, and something just clicks. She
realizes, oh, people do this for a living. This
is a trade. It's the realization that there's
a world beyond the county line, and that's...
That's dangerous in a way. Dangerous. How so?
For the parents. Because once the kid sees the
world, the farm has to compete with it. The isolation
is broken. That's such a good point. So she goes
back to Shueyville. She sits down at that kitchen
table. And describe that table for me, because
we all know what a farm kitchen table looks like.
Oh, it's covered. It's the command center. You've
got seed guides. You've got the milk check envelopes,
probably a few vet bills, maybe a parts catalog
for the tractor. And the school papers are mixed
in there somewhere. It's the physical manifestation
of the business stress. Exactly. And she sits
at that table amidst all that evidence of the
family business. And she tells her parents she's
moving to Nashville after high school. Wow. Just
drocks it. And this is where we need to empathize
with the parents. She describes them as very
blue collar. Her dad now owns an excavation business
and farms. Her mom runs a trucking company. They
are practical people. They deal in dirt and heavy
loads. They were proud. They were terrified.
Of course they were. Because the internal monologue
for a farm parent in that moment is, if they
go, what happens here? But also, is this real?
You know, you want to go sing songs. How does
that pay the mortgage? It's the fear that the
plan isn't realistic. It's a universal fear.
And honestly, it's the silence that follows that
announcement. The realization that the succession
plan just walked out the door, or at least the
realization that you can't protect them from
the world anymore. But they let her go. And that's
the credit to them. They raised her with that
work ethic and they had to trust it would translate.
They had to trust that the values they instilled
in the cornfield would work in the city. So at
17. She packs up. Yeah. And the community watches
her go. And I love this detail from the article.
The realization that the neighbors and the church
folks, they don't stop caring just because the
postal code changes. No. In a small town, you're
theirs forever. Whether you're in Nashville or
New York or just the next county over, they're
watching. And that pressure, it can be a weight,
but it's also a net. So she gets to Nashville.
And there's this myth about Nashville, right?
The 10 -year town. Right. You see, if you stick
it out for 10 years, you'll make it. It's a grind.
But for Haley, it wasn't 10 years. It was 12.
12 years. Just sit with that for a second. That
is a long time to hear no. That is a lifetime
when you're in your 20s. That's your entire young
adulthood spent pushing a rock uphill. She was
working every job she could find. Nannying, front
desk work, late shifts, just... Trying to keep
the lights on so she could write songs that nobody
was buying. And watching other people succeed,
that's the hardest part. She talked about watching
others get record deals, get the tour buses,
while her phone was just silent. She was honest
about the emotional toll. She said she was bitter.
She was frustrated. She was tired. She said money
was going out, nothing was coming in. Which brings
us right back to dairy farming. How so? Think
about the years where the milk price crashes
or feed costs skyrocket because of a drought
in Argentina. You are working harder than ever.
You are putting in 16 hour days and the balance
sheet is going backward. Money is going out.
Nothing is coming in. And the bank starts asking
questions. The bank asks hard questions. Is this
viable? Why are we doing this? Haley was facing
those same questions. 12 years is a long time
to hold on to a dream without a paycheck to validate
it. So how did she survive? I mean, she didn't
have a motivational poster on the wall. No. She
survived because she treated songwriting like
her dad treated the night shift at ADM. She just
kept showing up. Exactly. There was no hero moment.
It wasn't about being inspired. It was about
doing the next shift. In the dairy world, we
say, you just have to milk the cows. You don't
have to love it today. You just have to milk
them. For her, she just had to write the next
song. That is the definition of grit. And that
leads us to the breakthrough. Because eventually,
the dam broke. But it broke in a really interesting
way. She didn't change herself to fit in. She
actually stopped trying to hide the country.
She leaned into it. She embraced this nickname,
Corn Queen. Which is fantastic. It is. And she
talks about the duality of it. Corn is this humble,
simple crop. It's ubiquitous. But queen implies
royalty. It's elevating the common thing to something
regal. It's saying this background isn't a liability.
It's my kingdom. And the album has reflected
that. The Dream, Raised, and then Corn Queen.
She started writing songs that were hyper -specific
to her life. There's a song called High on the
Hog and Wagon, but there's one song that really
got me. Casseroles. Oh, that title alone. It
says so much. Casseroles. And the lyric is specifically
about when the casseroles stop coming after a
funeral. That is a deep rural truth. It is. We
all know that first week, the kitchen counters
are covered in Pyrex dishes. Lasagna, hot dish,
tuna casserole. The community floods you with
food. But then, two weeks later, everyone goes
back to work. And the casseroles stop. And that's
when the grief really hits. To write a song about
that? That's not pop country. That isn't about
trucks and taillights. That's documenting rural
sociology. That is storytelling. And that authenticity
is what caught the eye of Land O 'Lakes. Which
brings us back to the barn, fall 2025. The bovine
serenade. She partners with them. And again,
this setting. A member -owned dairy in Minnesota.
And I want to emphasize this again. It wasn't
a set. Haley described it. She said, no polished
set. No barn where no cow has ever actually lived.
And you can tell the difference. Farmers can
tell the difference instantly. If the concrete
looks too clean, if the cows are too clean, we
know it's fake. This was real mud, real fans,
real flies. And her reaction to the animals was
the tell. There's a clip where she crouches down
to greet the calves. Hi, look at you with your
cute little pink nose. It wasn't acting. No,
that's muscle memory. You don't crouch like that
unless you've done it a thousand times. That
was the corn kid finally getting her dairy moment.
She was treating the barn like the main stage.
And I think that's why this matters. It's not
just about her success. It's about the ripple
effect. It's about what her success says to the
people back home. Well, she's using that platform
to tell hard truths. We have to talk about the
song Middle of America. This one features American
Aquarium. And was inspired by a drive she took
through western Iowa. She saw signs on the side
of the road. Stop the airport. Save the farms.
And she realized what eminent domain actually
meant. It's the government taking farms for development.
And she said, that kind of blew my mind a little
bit. It's a heavy topic for a country song. It
is. But think about the dairy farmers listening
right now. How many are fighting a pipeline?
Or a new highway expansion? Or just urban sprawl
where the subdivisions are creeping right up
to the manure pit. It's a stress that usually
gets ignored by the general public. It is. We
talk about milk prices, but we don't talk about
the existential threat of losing the land itself.
The song gives language to that stress. It says,
we see you. And that connects to this idea of
redefining legacy. Yeah. Because if the land
gets taken or the kids leave, what is left? Haley
is proving that legacy doesn't always mean taking
over the operation. She is carrying the values.
hard work, community, resilience, into rooms
that farmers will never enter. She's in boardrooms.
She's in recording studios in Los Angeles and
Nashville. And she's bringing Shoeiville, Iowa
with her. She is exporting the culture. And it's
impacting the youth. The article mentioned that
4 -H and FFA leaders are using her videos to
start conversations. Yeah, asking kids, if you
made a video about your farm, what would you
show? It's validating their life. And look at
Missouri's 4 -H dairy cow camps. They had their
largest camp. ever in 2025 70 kids 70 kids spending
days in real barns hearing from dairy families
seeing that these families are approachable that's
the ripple effect when you make rural life look
not glamorous but worthy worthy of a song worthy
of a video it makes the kids want to stay or
at least stay connected i want to pivot to a
specific metaphor that came up in the source
material it's something we call the headlights
moment this is a powerful image the concept is
The night the road filled with headlights. Now,
sometimes an egg, that's a tragedy. That's a
barn fire. We've all seen the photos where the
sky is orange and the road is lined with stock
trailers and neighbors coming to get the cows
out. But the article makes a point that it's
not always the dramatic fire. No. Usually it's
the small rescues. It's the neighbors showing
up with a tank spreader because they heard your
pit is full and rain is coming. It's the church
folks leaving groceries on the porch because
they know money is tight, but they leave before
you can answer the door so you don't have to
be embarrassed. It's the vet leaning on the tailgate.
That image really stuck with me. The vet just
asking, how are you? Not how's the cow, but how
are you? That is the safety net. And here's the
profound connection the article makes. That support
system is exactly what allows the kids to leave.
Wait. unpack that. How does the support system
allow them to leave? Because you can't leave.
You can't go to Nashville. You can't go to college.
If you're terrified, your parents are going to
collapse without you. Right. You leave because
you know the community has their back. You know
that if the cows get out, the neighbor will call.
You know that if your dad gets sick, someone
will harvest the corn. So the community is the
anchor that lets the ship sail. Exactly. And
that's what Haley realized. The community watching
her on TV. They are the same people who sat in
the bleachers at the high school gym. They're
the same safety net. That's beautiful. It really
changes how you view the leavers. They aren't
abandoning the ship. They are trusting the crew.
They are trusting the crew. And they are taking
the flag with them. So we've talked about the
emotion. We've talked about the journey. But
this is the bullvine. We need to bring it back
to the guy in the tractor right now. The rubber
hits the road. All right, Jake, for the farmer
listening to this while they're chopping silage
or scraping the barn, what is the one thing they
need to sit with? The insight is this. We don't
need to produce a celebrity. You don't need your
kid to be the next Haley Wooders. We need to
notice the gifts at our own tables. What does
that mean? It means looking at your kid or your
employee or your neighbor and seeing their talent
before they have to leave to find it, but also
realizing that we need to make room for those
gifts on the farm. But more practically, the
source gave us three specific actions. And I
love these because they are small. You can do
them this week. Okay, hit me. Action number one.
One youth night. What does that look like? Invite
the local 4 -H 'er FFA chapter to the barn during
chores. Not for a polished tour. For chores,
let them see the reality. Let them see the sweat.
Let them see the technology. Just open the door.
It breaks down that barrier. Okay, action number
two. One neighbor check -in. And this ties back
to the headlights. The subtle rescue. If you
see the lights on in the neighbor's barn and
it's 9 -0 -0 -0 p .m. and they should be done,
send a text. Just say, saw your lights, everything
okay? You don't have to drive over and be a hero.
Just send the text. Just let them know they aren't
invisible. That text might be the only lifeline
they get that day. That's powerful. And action
number three. One honest conversation. This one
is the hardest. It is. Talk to a vet or a banker
or an extension agent about stress. About the
next 10 years. Not about the interest rate, but
about how you are feeling about the interest
rate. Opening up that valve just a little bit.
Exactly. Because if we don't talk about it, it
eats us alive. And the article mentions resources,
too. If the weight is too heavy, there is the
Do More Agriculture Foundation. There is Farm
Aid, 1 -800 -FARM -AID. Those numbers are there
for a reason. Use them. Absolutely. You know,
looking at Haley standing in that barn, crouching
down with that calf, it really makes you think.
We spend so much time worrying about the future
of the industry. Who's going to milk the cows?
Who's going to buy the milk? Valid worries. But
maybe the future isn't just about the milk. Maybe
it's about the stories we export. The culture
we export. Right. Haley didn't get the dairy
princess crown, but she put the dairy barn on
a national stage in a way a princess never could.
She did. She showed the world that a barn isn't
just a milk factory. It's a home. It's a place
where values are forged. And that's a legacy
worth protecting. And it reminds us that even
if the kids leave the zip code, they never really
leave the farm. They just take the farm to new
places. Well, that's another story from the Bullvine
podcast. These are the people building the future
of dairy, sometimes in the parlor and sometimes
on the stage. If you enjoyed this deep dive,
go to www .thebullvine .com. We have so many
more profiles of people shaping this industry.
And next time. Well, let's just say we're staying
a little closer to the bulk tank for the next
profile. You won't want to miss it. Make sure
you subscribe so you don't miss that one. Thanks
for listening, everyone. Stay safe out there.