Opinion: Invisible support networks are one of farming’s greatest assets
© Adobe Stock When I close my eyes and think about home, I imagine it like a root system – thin, tiny connections spreading deep underground.
Years ago at Groundswell, I learned that plants speak to each other through mycorrhizal networks – fungal threads that carry messages, nutrients and support between roots.
Whether they’re in the centre or sat on the outskirts, the network sustains them all. That’s how I see my farming community.
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About the author
When I was 12, I joined Butsfield Young Farmers’ Club.
Inside the old, wooden meeting hut – Elsdon Lodge – a room of mostly unknown faces beckoned me in. I am who I am today because of those people.
Not only those in Young Farmers, but their parents and grandparents, our neighbours, non-biological “aunties” and friends from other areas, all interconnected to form our wider farming community.
One of the greatest strengths of our industry is the support in our communities. Finding sheep out on the road and knowing who to call.
My dad ringing a neighbour to borrow his daughter for shearing, then years later, dragging her over at Stirling Bull Sales: “Jenny, I need a vet, what do you think…?”
Back home after three years and having a former YFC member arrive, curlers in hand, the morning of a friend’s wedding to save my bacon after one frantic message for help.
The knowing that, in hardship, these people show up without question. This network whose brilliance and importance appears most strongly in times of need.
This support network gave me belonging, identity and confidence.
Like a launchpad, it propelled me towards what I loved – new experiences, new people, New Zealand.
But while I lapped up every opportunity NZ offered, the lack of social support was like a hole in my stomach. No network, no roots, no underground support system.
Eventually, I learned the word for what I was missing.
In Te Reo Māori, your people, where you hold a place, where you are wanted and loved and belong – they are your “whānau”.
I’d had that my entire life without realising it but, in NZ, I had to build one from scratch. Slowly, over the years, that hole filled as I created my own farming network.
The people who extended invitations weren’t just being kind; they were helping me grow new roots.
Experiencing both sides made me realise how privileged I was to be born into my farming community. Most of us inherit these networks without trying.
But for those who enter the industry from outside – think of what it takes to walk into a place with strong communities when you don’t know a soul.
So, to those of you who extend invitations to newcomers, I applaud you. Your openness matters more than you know.
To those comfortable in your inherited networks, perhaps apprehensive or too tired to try with a new face – I challenge you.
Have you ever experienced what it’s like to not belong? Not knowing who to call when something breaks, who to lean on for advice, where to put those sheep that are out?
Nobody waiting at the airport, the shiver of nerves at an event where everyone knows each other, but nobody tries to talk to you? If you had, would you be more inviting?
Our industry’s greatest strength lies in these mycorrhizal networks of support.
Appreciate your roots, but don’t be afraid to help new ones take hold.