ValJay Rigby is a fifth-generation farmer from Cache County in northern Utah and president of the Utah Farm Bureau Federation. By traditional standards, he and his wife are nearing retirement age.
“The best thing that would happen for her is we could both retire, and she would drag me around the world doing humanitarian work,” he said.
But times are tough for farmers. Agriculture is struggling with an aging workforce in Utah and beyond.
“Right now, we've delayed our plan for retirement, because we don't have an easy way to do it.”
A lot of pride comes from farming, Rigby said. Keeping the same property in the family for several generations is a badge of honor. But he has to hang up his boots eventually and knows he’ll face difficult decisions like selling land. That will make it even harder for his son to continue the family legacy.
“We're probably going to be part of that generation that sells some of the farm ground that we bought to finance moving into retirement,” he said.
A recent report from the Kem C. Gardner Policy Institute shows agriculture plays a steady role in Utah’s economy — contributing billions of dollars to the state's overall gross domestic product. The report focused on 2022, when agriculture produced $2.3 billion in sales.
For the last decade, the economic output across major commodities in the state — like beef, dairy, hay and poultry products — has trended generally upward.
The institute’s report pointed out, however, that over a third of Utah’s producers are older than retirement age. That year, the average age of a farmer in Utah was 57, they note. In 2002, the average age was 55, according to the U.S. Census of Agriculture.
According to Spencer Gibbons, CEO of the Utah Farm Bureau Federation, farming in Utah has become increasingly difficult.
In a roundtable discussion with Rigby and KUER, Gibbons pointed to the challenges facing Utah farmers. Land prices are high, and producers’ margins have been razor-thin for years due to factors such as drought and market volatility.
As a result, many farmers are selling land for short-term gains, which shrinks their operations, reduces long-term profitability and makes farming less attractive to younger generations.
Many producers are encouraging their children to attend college or begin careers in more reliable industries. Gibbons, a generational dairy farmer from Cache County, said he told his sons, “‘Oh man, you better figure out how to make a living before you ever want to come back to the farm,’ and I think that's scary.”
If family farms in Utah get sold off or priced out of operation, the agricultural legacy that dates back to the state’s founding could be lost. Those pressures are already leading farmers to hard decisions.
“Do we erode our equity in our existing business and continue to operate at losses because we love farming so much?” he asked.
There’s not a direct threat to everyday Utahns’ food. Groceries would still stay on the shelves thanks to a growing reliance on imported goods from around the world. On the other hand, homegrown Utah produce, according to Gibbons, is at risk. Especially as he worries about future generations that might decide to skip farming or ranching because they decide that “there's got to be an easier way to make money.”
Encouraging Utah’s youth to maintain a passion for local farming is imperative to upholding a strong farming culture in the state, he said. Those ideals have traditionally been promoted by organizations such as Future Farmers of America or 4-H.
Heather Thomson, the Utah 4-H program coordinator for Utah State University Extension, grew up on a generational farm in northern Utah. The 4-H program is a national initiative for youth to gain experience in health, science and agriculture.
In 2020, they started Cowboy Camp, a three-day retreat for kids across the state to gain hands-on experience in agriculture. The program includes local farm tours, horseback riding and classes on the supply chain from farm to table.
Thomson said the camp has gained momentum.
“Last year in 2025, registration filled in just 11 minutes — like we crashed the registration system,” she said.
Thomson surveys the kids in the program. After the 2025 camp at Bryce Canyon, she found the 38 students who attended had a genuine interest in continuing agricultural pursuits.
“One hundred percent of the youth that attended Cowboy Camp now plan on taking care of an animal,” she said. Adding that, “95% reported that they planned on taking part in a 4-H agriculture or an animal science project.”
Now that many children today grow up in urban settings, rather than on farms, young people are “disconnected from where their food comes from, fiber, fuel, everything like that,” she said. The camp is connecting participants to the science behind growing and raising food, and it’s a win either way if they see themselves as a farmer or rancher someday or something adjacent, like a veterinarian.
“I think there's a lot of unique angles of advocacy that the youth can become involved in,” Thomson said. “Either as the engineer designing the machinery to harvest the food, the lawmaker creating the policy to support it, [or] the consumer making informed decisions.”
