Cattle Feedyard Workers in Rural Nebraska: Safety, Health, and Precarity

Abstract

Cattle feedyards, or feedlots, are a common feature of the Great Plains. These animal feeding operations shape the region’s landscape, economy, and social fabric and form an integral part of the American beef industry. They also rely on the labor of thousands of workers, many of whom are migrants, immigrants, and refugees, who often perform dirty, dangerous, and demanding jobs in challenging conditions with high risk of injury. To improve the safety and health of feedyard workers, a multidisciplinary team of researchers and industry stakeholders are collaborating to produce a voluntary, module-based safety and health training program that addresses many of the top hazards on feedyards. This article presents key insights and recommendations emerging from ongoing ethnographic research that informs this project by exploring the perspectives, experiences, and needs of feedyard workers and other stakeholders. Our findings suggest that this program has the potential and opportunity to help meet the needs of feedyard managers, address gaps in limited training, and improve the safety and health of workers. These efforts and other initiatives that address the well-being of feedyard workers may benefit by considering their precarity, along with the broader context of their lives and rural change in the Great Plains.

Introduction

Dirty, Dangerous, and Demanding Jobs

Cattle feedyards, or feedlots, are a common feature of the Great Plains. The state of Nebraska, along with Kansas and Texas, typically have the highest numbers of cattle “on feed” each year in the United States, according to the US Department of Agriculture’s monthly “Cattle on Feed” reports. In 2020 there were 29,145 cattle feedyards in the country, although the vast majority have less than 1,000 head of cattle (USDA 2021). Some of the largest feedyards are in Nebraska, each with tens of thousands of cattle and sometimes part of larger conglomerations of multiple feedyards. These animal feeding operations, designed to quickly and efficiently increase the weight of cattle by providing them with feed and other nutrients prior to slaughter, form part of the American beef industry, contributing to the billions of pounds of beef produced annually in the United States and elsewhere around the world (Ritchie and Roser 2017; Greenwood 2021).

While the roots of this “modern American beef economy” stretch back to the post–Civil War expansion of the cattle trade and railroads that connected towns like Abilene, Kansas, to bourgeoning urban areas further east (Sherow 2018, 8), large-scale cattle feeding emerged in the Plains during the mid-twentieth century. Changes in the efficiency and geography of grain production, consumer demand, rural communities, and multiple technologies related to animal health, production, processing, and transportation contributed to the industry’s emergence and the proliferation of feedyards across the Plains (Wishart 2004, 416). Feedyards provide jobs and shape the region’s rural landscape, economy, and social fabric in significant ways. Consequently, understanding feedyards and the experiences of people who work on them contributes to a richer story of everyday life and rural change in the Great Plains. This knowledge also contributes to ongoing efforts to improve the safety and health of cattle feedyard workers.

Although it is likely that most people seldom consider the human labor involved in bringing their marbled steak to their mouths, feedyards rely on thousands of workers performing what are often dirty, dangerous, and demanding jobs—also known as 3-D jobs (Quandt et al. 2013; Moyce and Schenker 2018; Ramos, McGinley, and Carlo 2021a). These operations are high-risk work environments with high rates of injuries and illnesses (Ramos et al. 2018; Ramos, Duysen, and Yoder 2019; Ramos, Adhikari, et al. 2021; Ramos, McGinley, and Carlo 2021a, 2021b). These rates reflect not only the danger and risk to workers’ lives, bodies, and well-being but also the challenges confronting feedyard operators and managers, including high turnover, difficult recruitment, and rising costs. Many workers arrive without experience on feedyards, and some of them lack experience, skills, or training with cattle, horses, and machinery.

Many of these workers are also migrants, immigrants, refugees, and rural folks from the Plains. Although these terms are often used interchangeably, the anthropologist and physician Seth Holmes reminds us that these and other terms (e.g., migrant, immigrant, migrant worker, farmworker, immigration, and migration) have important distinctions and common “class-based and race-based connotations” (2013, 185–89). Ramos et al. (2018) estimate that 50% of the workforce on feedyards are immigrants, although this number may even be higher. A considerable proportion of these workers, especially those from Latin America, speak limited English (and some indigenous workers speak limited Spanish as well), adding to the challenge of safety training and communication.

What are their stories? What are their experiences and opinions about working on feedyards? What kinds of risks and hazards do they face, how do they adapt, and how do they think their jobs could become safer? These are the kinds of questions that an anthropological perspective and ethnographic toolkit help to address.

As sociocultural anthropologists with rural backgrounds and experience with cattle production ourselves, we set out to explore these questions ethnographically by both observing and participating in the ordinary lives of feedyard workers, and by asking questions about their experiences, perspectives, needs, and emerging issues they were facing. Our aim was to discover new insights, generate hypotheses, hear and share stories, and to better understand the cultural dimensions of feedyards. This applied anthropological research was also designed to inform and contribute to the efforts of a multidisciplinary team at the Central States Center for Agricultural Safety and Health (CS-CASH) to develop a new safety and health training program in collaboration with industry stakeholders.

Based on identified needs and desires to improve worker safety, this voluntary comprehensive module-based training program is called Feedyard 15 (Ramos, Duysen, and Yoder 2019). It involves detailed training modules intended for monthly use and implementation by feedyard staff, along with commendation for completion of training sessions. The program focuses on 15 of the top hazards on feedyards: (1) Slips, Trips, and Falls, (2) ATVs/UTVs, (3) Feedmill Safety, (4) Mobile Equipment/Autos, (5) Tractor/Loader, (6) Cattle Handling/Stockmanship, (7) Processing Cattle, (8) Horseman-ship, (9) Emergency Response, (10) Extreme Weather, (11) Chemical Hazards, (12) Machine Shop Hazards, (13) Electrical Hazards, (14) Bunker Silos/Silage, and (15) Manure Lagoons.

As part of this team, we conducted rapid multisited ethnographic research with feedyard workers and other stakeholders in Nebraska with the aim of generating insights and hypotheses that contribute to the design, implementation, and evaluation of the program (Marcus 1995; Kedia and van Willigen 2005; Isaacs 2013; Bernard 2018). Our ongoing research also complements the team’s quantitative research and data by providing “thick descriptions” of feedyards (Geertz 1973), stakeholder narratives, social and cultural context, as well as an assessment of the problem, needs, and program in practice. An ethnographic approach— the hallmark methodology of cultural anthropology— involves observing, participating in, and asking questions about the everyday lives of “natives” in their “natural habitat.” In this research, our objective was to observe and participate in ordinary workdays and listen to the perspectives and stories of workers, managers, operators, and other stakeholders. This article presents an ethnographic account of cattle feedyards in Nebraska, sharing worker narratives and insights that emerged from our research into their safety and health.

Several key insights emerged from our research. First, we discovered and confirmed that feedyard workers experience difficult conditions and a variety of risks to their safety and health. Many of these workers are hardworking, gritty, and able to adapt to their often dirty, dangerous, and demanding jobs. Second, our findings suggest that feedyards currently implement limited and variable safety training, but workers, managers, and operators express a willingness and/or desire for new safety training materials and resources. Third, in the absence of robust safety training, we discovered that some workers have self-organized systems for managing risk and fostering safety. Fourth, some managers have also taken measures to reduce injuries and shape the culture of feedyards. Fifth, we also learned that one of the key concerns of both managers and workers related to safety and health is a shortage of skilled local labor with agricultural backgrounds, experience, work ethic, and common sense. Finally, we discovered that feedyards are seen by some workers as “the last place to be a cowboy” and, for some migrants, immigrants, and rural people, the best place to improve their lives and future for their families—at least momentarily. These findings validate the risk involved in these 3-D jobs and confirm the need and opportunity for voluntary safety training that takes into consideration the desires, experiences, and context of workers themselves.

Ultimately, we conclude that Feedyard 15 has the potential to help meet the needs of managers and improve the safety and health of workers. Based on our ethno-graphic research and analysis, we argue that this program can help address the gap in available safety and health training for feedyard workers. It can also provide a starting point or resource for managers wishing to implement change, as well as an opportunity for further research on the characteristics and dynamics of the organizational and “safety culture” of feedyards (Ramos, Carvajal-Suarez, et al. 2021). In addition to the hazards of dirty, dangerous, and demanding jobs, many feed-yard workers must also navigate precarious circumstances beyond the workplace. This broader context clearly shapes the safety and health of workers, along with the ways in which they experience and adapt to these jobs. Consequently, we argue that understanding and addressing the precarity of feedyard workers— both immigrants and local rural folks—may be critical to improving safety, reducing costs, retaining labor, and bringing about cultural change. The lives and labor of feedyard workers may also illuminate and raise important questions about emerging conditions of rural life in the Great Plains beyond the sites of industrial agriculture that shape it.

Structural Power, Rural Change, and the Precarity of Feedyard Workers

Like other parts of the American agricultural industry, including the large-scale commercial fruit and vegetable production described by Holmes (2013), cattle feedyards rely on migrant labor and foreign-born workers. However, these operations also employ a considerable number of rural whites from throughout the Great Plains and American West. The term “white” is commonly used on feedyards, often to differentiate European-descended workers from those described as “Hispanics.” We use these terms because they are “emic” descriptors and commonly used by our research participants. Many of the whites we met grew up in rural Nebraska or neighboring states. Yet unlike many other Plains people who have left rural communities—part of a decades-long trend of depopulation—these rural people have remained in the region in hope of finding work, raising families, and making a living.

But as local economies, rural communities, and family farms throughout the Plains struggle to thrive, rural folks are left with limited opportunities in an increasingly industrialized agricultural landscape. For those with agricultural skills and rural backgrounds— especially those with a desire to work with cattle and horses—feedyards offer one potential option. Given this context, should we assume that rural people are simply “choosing” to work on feedyards, and how might the circumstances that lead them to these dirty, dangerous, and demanding jobs compare to those of workers from elsewhere?

As Holmes explains, the indigenous Triqui migrant workers with whom he lived and worked are not simply electing to voluntarily leave their homelands and families to make perilous crossings through the borderlands to then pick strawberries in the United States. Instead, they experience labor migration as something they are “forced” to endure to survive. Not “sending a family member north involves a slow, communal death by the unequal ‘free’ market,” Holmes describes (2013, 26). Labor migration, he tells us, should not be seen merely as an individual choice or the voluntary economic “decisional balance” of someone maximizing self-interest, but as the product of broader social, political, and economic structural forces that “constrain and inflect individual choice and direct the options available to people” (17).

This perspective provides a useful lens for understanding not only the precarity of feedyard workers from Latin America and Africa but also that of local rural people and the role of structural power in the Great Plains. Precarity, in this sense, refers to the vulnerability that people experience to greater or lesser degrees due to certain socioeconomic or historical circumstances, beyond just the shared precariousness of human existence that some anthropologists and philosophers describe (Shaw and Byler 2016; Hinkson 2017; Han 2018; Kasmir 2018). Anna Lowenhaupt Tsing (2015, 1–6) defines the conditions of precarity as “life without the promise of stability,” something increasingly characteristic of all our lives in these “precarious times” shaped by global capitalism. In other words, precarity captures the vulnerability, uncertainty, instability, hazards, and exposures of work on feedyards and rural life throughout the Great Plains more broadly.

Obviously, these local rural folks have not experienced the immense dangers of crossing the border and do not live as physically or culturally dislocated lives as feedyard workers we met from southern Mexico or southern Africa, for example. Yet they also work dirty, dangerous, and demanding jobs in the same agricultural system and struggle to survive in a periphery impacted by similar structural forces that deplete rural communities, impoverish rural livelihoods, and constrain opportunities and choice. While many people from the Plains have left the region to find work on the coasts and in cities, other rural folks remain, and some struggle to survive. These rural Plains people are not simply “choosing” to risk their safety and health on feedyards but often end up working dirty, dangerous, and demanding jobs to make a living in part of the world in which social, political, and economic structural forces leave rural people with limited options.

In other words, the safety and health of feedyard workers are shaped to some extent by their precarity and the broader context of their lives. Improving the safety and health of workers, therefore, demands an ethno-graphic approach that offers insight into these contexts, conditions, and lived experiences. Although anthropologists have studied various aspects of industrial agriculture, including crop production and meatpacking facilities, cattle feedyards are largely absent from ethno-graphic inquiry (Holmes 2013; Stull and Broadway 2013; Stull 2017; Blanchette 2018, 2019; Bessire 2021). This gap in knowledge highlights not only an important opportunity to engage in efforts like Feedyard 15 but also a chance to see, in new ways, the humans behind the meat we eat.

Methods

Fieldwork on Feedyards in Rural Nebraska

This account is based on fieldwork that took place between June 2019 and March 2020, and our analysis is supported and validated by findings from our ongoing research. During this period, we visited 10 feedyards in rural Nebraska for one to two days each. We interviewed and interacted with a wide range of individuals, including workers, managers, and workers’ compensation experts, observing and sometimes taking part in their work. We also participated in a workshop, meetings, and conversations with various stakeholders and individuals involved in the cattle industry. Additionally, we have collected news and other media related to feed-yards and spent time in rural communities of the central Great Plains.

Our research focused on multiple areas of feedyard operations. Most feedyards include a network of cattle pens and alleys, a feed mill, silage piles, processing and “doctoring” facilities, a machine shop, and an office, among other components (Wagner, Achibeque, and Feuz 2014). Each operation therefore involves a variety of different jobs, each with different risks and hazards. Some workers specialize or spend much of their time in one area, for example, as feed truck drivers or “cowboys,” while some workers—especially on smaller feedyards— tend to work in multiple areas as needed. Consequently, our fieldwork focused on observing a spectrum of jobs, experiencing a variety of situations, and listening to a diversity of voices. We not only spent time talking with managers but also took part in a safety meeting, rode along with a feed truck driver and loader operator, assisted a processing crew, sorted cattle with cowboys, as well as observed, interviewed, and followed along with workers in a wide variety of other tasks.

These experiences—and the richness of our research— were shaped by our personal and professional backgrounds in ranching, agriculture, and rural life. Both of us, for example, have considerable experience interacting with livestock and producers as part of rural upbringings and previous research. Bendixsen competed as a rodeo bronc rider for over a decade and Klataske raises cattle on his family’s ranchland in Kansas. We combine research experience on ranching, farmworkers, agricultural safety and health, and the Great Plains. Although feedyard staff sometimes expressed hesitation—and even admittedly “tested” us—out of concerns about undercover animal rights activism (despite our transparency), our rural heritage and experience allowed us to build trust and rapport. One of us even addressed suspicion—evoking laughter among workers—by pointing out evidence of recent deer hunting and butchering in the bed of his pickup truck.

Prior to conducting these activities, our methods and research approach were reviewed and found exempt, under 45 CFR 46.101(b)(2) (2012), by the Marshfield Clinic Research Institute’s Institutional Review Board. The research team values transparency and invites a continual focus on research, specifically including informed consent, openness and honesty, and the protection of individual and feedyard identities involved with this project. These formal and informal processes are also outlined in the American Anthropological Association’s Principles of Professional Responsibility. The names of all research participants in this article are pseudonyms. The following section expands on our findings and analysis by presenting a series of ethnographic insights and a thick description of feedyards in Nebraska.

Findings

Several key insights emerged from our research on the safety and health of cattle feedyard workers in Nebraska.

(1) CATTLE FEEDYARD WORKERS EXPERIENCE DIFFICULT CONDITIONS AND A VARIETY OF RISKS TO THEIR SAFETY AND HEALTH. MANY OF THESE WORKERS ARE HARDWORKING, GRITTY, AND ADAPT TO THEIR OFTEN DIRTY, DANGEROUS, AND DEMANDING JOBS.

As ethnographers, we repeatedly observed these conditions and listened as workers described the risks and hazards of their jobs. Each job on a feedyard comes with its own challenges. For example, we spent part of a chilly morning with a mill worker on a feedyard with around 25,000 head of cattle. This friendly middle-aged white guy with a bushy, gray mustache had worked on this feedyard for “30-some years.” We sat in a cold and dusty office under the mill, where he worked on an old computer, surrounded by stacks of paperwork, and assisted feed truck drivers as they made their morning rounds. There were large filing cabinets and a backup switch panel, as well as a computer monitor near the door that feed truck drivers used to prepare their loads. The mill worker, Martin, often got up from his desk to help drivers at the monitor. This wasn’t Martin’s normal role on the feedyard, but he was filling in for the “mill man,” who was out for sinus surgery—something Martin found unsurprising, suggesting “probably from breathing all this dust.”

One of the feed truck drivers—a big Mexican guy in denim overalls named Carlos—walked into the mill room and joined our conversation on safety and health. Martin talked about the risk of breathing in dust and chemicals, and Carlos agreed, saying the “dust gets terrible.” While Carlos worked at the monitor, Martin offered a tour of a back storeroom with various supplies and stacks of bags of hazardous Rumensin, which can reportedly cloud up around a worker’s face when dumping bags into the closed space. As we walked into the dark room, Martin joked, “You’re not allergic to dust, are you?”

Based on our observations, mill workers like Martin deal with considerable dust from the various processes involved in feed mill operation. As one Salvadorian feed truck driver and mill worker told us, respirators or masks are seldom available, even though he repeatedly requested them (prior to COVID-19). The feed truck is filled with dust, he said. Without air conditioning, it became unbearable to roll the windows up in hot weather, and he opted for dust instead. Yet air conditioning is not the only solution to better working conditions, he added. When asked what needed to change to improve his job and make it safer, this young immigrant worker teared up and responded, “Everything. Everything is difficult, and everything could be improved.”

Like many feedyard workers in general, he also described the long, taxing hours of work. “We don’t get breaks,” he explained. “Today we only have three trucks.” Without all feed trucks in operation, the worker explained that he will have to stay longer, and the work will move slow. “Things break down and go wrong, but the cattle have to get fed.” He told us that “guys get tired and stressed,” which occasionally results in accidents.

His worst accident, fortunately, “wasn’t too serious” but also reflects the type of seemingly random and unexpected hazards that many feedyard workers describe. He slipped getting out of his truck, and because the truck was missing a piece above the wheel, fell on the tire and injured his back. Although he chose to visit a doctor, some immigrant workers on this and other feedyards avoid reporting their injuries or seeking medical attention due to fears of losing their job and being deported.

Despite the long hours and constant dust, this worker (like many others) has adapted to his difficult working conditions. At first his “mind was exhausted” from managing the computer, trucks, and various operations, and while it has become easier, it remains a dirty, dangerous, and demanding job. One problem, he said discouraged-ly, is that “no one cares about what I want. Everyone here cares that they have a job, and they care that they’re making money, but that’s it.”

Not all feed trucks, however, are dusty or unpleasant. Yet the stress of long hours is a similar theme expressed by workers on other feedyards. We rode along with Carlos—the large Mexican feed truck driver mentioned previously—in a relatively new, clean feed truck with plastic covers over the seats. Although it was cold outside, it was warm inside the truck. In fact, much warmer and less dusty than the mill room where we sat before.

As we waited for the feed ration to be loaded in the truck, Carlos plugged in his phone to stream Mexican music on the stereo, and he adjusted the Bluetooth ear-piece that he uses to make calls while driving. Carlos was an exuberantly jovial guy who seemed to enjoy his job—or at least appreciate and feel positively about it. He sees no danger in his truck, but he must remain vigilant to not “run over cowboys” as they pull cattle and work in the same alleys as he drives. This vigilance, however, is required over long hours and can become tiring and stressful.

According to Carlos, he works 12- to 13-hour days, seven days per week, and gets a Saturday or Sunday off every other week. He arrives at the feedyard, where he has worked for six years, every morning at 4:00 a.m., at which point he opens the gate and makes coffee for himself and those that arrive after him. Carlos explains that he has never missed a day and he has never been injured. “My family depends on me,” he said, as he carefully unloaded the feed mixture into a bunk at the edge of a pen.

While workers involved in feeding cattle often work long hours and face a variety of hazards, including dust and machinery, many feedyard workers believe that cowboys have the most dangerous job on the yard. “Cowboys” are also called pen riders, or as one manager preferred to call them, the “cattle handling department,” intending to project a more “Walmart” feel to the job. Basically, these are workers with some of the most direct, intimate, and ongoing interactions with animals, including both cattle and horses. They often work on horseback, and their job typically involves sorting, moving, “doctoring,” and sometimes processing cattle. While passing by the “hospital”—the place where sick cattle are treated—Carlos described it as the “danger zone.” Like many other workers expressed, Carlos believes that cowboys engage in the most difficult and highest-risk jobs, with long hours in often challenging conditions. “Most guys don’t want to do it,” he said. In fact, Carlos joked that even though he knows how to ride a horse, he does not let anyone on the feedyard know to avoid getting assigned the job, since it has become increasingly difficult to find cowboys with skills and experience. Long hours in his feed truck seem much better to Carlos than long hours on horseback or working with cattle in cold, heat, ice, mud, and dust.

Later that morning, the hazards of cowboying became apparent. We all gathered in a cold, dark machine shop for a scheduled monthly safety meeting, but some of the workers did not show up. The traveling safety consultant was late, and many of the workers grumbled that they were busy and had work to do. When the safety consultant arrived, he asked the group loudly, “How you doing?” The manager replied, “Good, till this morning!” and announced that one of the cowboys—a bronc rider in his early 20s—had an accident that “nearly killed him” and was taken to an urgent-care clinic. His horse was apparently spooked by one of the feed trucks that drove past in the same alley where the group of cowboys were pulling sick calves. The workers in the shop chattered about the dangers of a “green horse”—one without the experience of more seasoned horses—which this horse apparently was, arriving the day before.

That afternoon, while sitting in a pickup truck with two of the other cowboys—one of which was a cousin of the injured worker—we listened to their first phone conversation since the accident and learned more details. The injured cowboy was recovering and calling from home and fretted about losing at least three months’ time on a horse, according to his doctor. The other two cowboys in the pickup truck recounted how he was “out cold,” and how they wondered if he was even alive. They pulled him up into a pickup truck and there was “blood all over.” The young cowboy said it “looked like someone slit an artery. There was so much blood! There’s still blood in cow tracks, I’m sure of it.” The older and more experienced cowboy joked that, in hindsight, “we should have called [911] and not moved him, but it was just the kind of decision you have to make.” When the horse “launched” the cowboy off onto the hard, frozen ground, he reportedly “cracked his skull open,” requiring numerous stitches and broke multiple ribs. Horses and cattle are dangerous animals, we often heard, and as the long-time cowboy remarked, “It’s just the risk you take every day with a 1200-pound animal.”

Another cowboy on a different feedyard told us about a close call in which his horse got tangled up in loose wire, and in the commotion, an end of the wire grazed his neck and “could’ve easily sliced my throat.” This was the closest he ever came to disaster, he explained, but he experienced many other minor injuries along the way. Like other cowboys, when asked if he had experienced accidents or injuries, at first he responded “no.” But then, after a moment of silence, the cowboy said, “Well, I have been kicked a number of times, and lots of minor injuries—but I don’t report those.”

Other cowboys described a range of various injuries and hazards, including getting kicked, stomped, or penned by animals, suffering cuts, broken bones, and dislocated shoulders from falling off horses, getting hung up in stirrups and dragged, losing fingers to roping, slipping and falling, and having close calls with feed trucks, lightning, and electric fences. This cowboy also told us the story of how his former partner died after his horse landed on top of him.

On some feedyards, particularly smaller ones, cowboys are also responsible for cattle processing. This job typically involves vaccinating, deworming, implanting, ear-tagging, weighing, and examining animals upon arrival. Some feedyards employ dedicated processing crews, which tend to involve more women than do most other areas of feedyard operation, with the exception of offices and administrative support positions. One processing subcontractor hired by one of Nebraska’s largest feedyards explained to us that he actually prefers to hire women on his staff because they are “more particular, more focused, and do a better job.” This gendered aspect of cattle processing raises important questions about potential health risks specifically to women who are handling drugs like Lutalyse, a prostaglandin used to induce abortions in cattle.

The work of cattle processing in general involves repeated exposure to hazardous drugs, as well as implant guns and needles, hydraulic chutes, and close contact with animals. It often moves fast, with many moving parts, and generally takes place in some sort of partially closed facility or shed. Cowboys and processing crew members described the risks of losing limbs in hydraulic chutes, the dangers of sorting and releasing cattle, and in particular, the possibility of death by Micotil, an injectable treatment for bovine respiratory disease. Most feedyards and processors that we encountered, however, used specialized syringes with safety features that reduce the likelihood of human exposure.

Nevertheless, accidents happen, as we often heard. After a long afternoon processing cattle, in which one of us worked alongside and assisted a group of Spanish-speaking workers, the head cowboy removed his plastic glove and held out his hand. He pointed to a scar at the center of this palm where he accidently impaled his hand with an implant gun. He then lifted up his pant leg to reveal his battered and bruised shin.

In addition to the dangers of working with live animals, some feedyard workers also deal with the hazards of machinery, welding, construction, and machine shops, where repairs are made to vehicles and other infrastructure. We spent part of a morning observing and visiting with workers in a large shop, bustling with commotion and filled with nearly unbearable diesel fumes. This particular feedyard employed 12 full-time mechanics, including a young local guy with experience working for a hydraulic company, trucking and feed mixer companies, a feed business, and repairing combines and trucks. Like numerous other local feedyard workers we met, he never graduated from high school. When asked about the haze that filled the shop, making it hard to breathe, he explained that the workers have asked for vents and fans, but nothing ever materialized. “It’s maybe why I have headaches all the time,” he joked. Another mechanic standing next to us had a brace on his wrist, which he broke after tripping on a jack handle.

The shop manager—a middle-aged South African immigrant worker—walked over from a large truck at the back of the building. We asked his opinion on the main safety issues in the shop, and he exclaimed loudly, “Look around! Everything!” Throughout the shop, tools, hoses, and various parts were scattered across the floor. A welder flipped his mask down and sent sparks flying into the air. Another worker rolled out from under a truck, while many others moved quickly throughout the building. “All the safety equipment is here,” he said, “but we still had one guy get into a [hydraulic scissor] lift with his torch lit, and then fell and got burnt.”

There is no safety training on this yard for mechanics, the manager explained, but he tries to teach them the “right way” based on his years of experience. He grumbled, however, that the accidents and injuries that have occurred were primarily due to ignorance. The idea of “it’s not going to happen to me” is the biggest problem, he said. One worker, for example, reportedly injured his face and broke several ribs after a tire blew up on him— apparently with an available tire cage right next to him. The other major problem, the manager explained, is the pressure to work quickly. He pointed to a long table strewn with tools and said, “Management needs to understand we need time to pick shit up.” As he described the fatigue, long hours, and fast pace experienced by shop workers, another truck pulled up with a tire problem. “I’m pissed!” the manager yelled, and abruptly left the building.

These thick descriptions of cattle feedyards illustrate that they are high-risk work environments, and that feedyard workers face a variety of hazards and risks to their safety and health. Our fieldwork confirmed that feedyard workers have dirty, dangerous, and demanding jobs that often take place in harsh conditions. Each job involves its own set of hazards and potential for accidents and injuries. These examples represent only a small portion of the full range of jobs and hazards on feedyards as detailed under the 15 topics of Feedyard 15.

As many workers explained to us, there are a seemingly endless number of ways to get injured or experience accidents on a feedyard. Some managers and workers argue that many of these accidents come down to ignorance or a lack of common sense. While sitting in the office of one manager, he told us the story of a worker who crashed his all-terrain vehicle (ATV) on a main road in between two nearby buildings. He was not wearing a helmet—although it was apparently strapped to the vehicle—and the resulting head injury ended his career and left him disabled in a nursing home. Although this yard had strict rules on wearing helmets, none of the workers we observed on ATVs that long day wore them.

Many workers also describe the constant, inherent, and sometimes unforeseen dangers of working around live animals and machinery, often at a quick pace in difficult conditions. The closest that one of us came to injury while conducting fieldwork occurred when a large stack of hay bales on a flatbed trailer nearly tipped over on one of us and two other cowboys. Although many feedyard workers begin their jobs without training or experience, they also learn to anticipate hazards and adapt to the high-risk environment. Despite a lack of safety training, workers learn, over time, what not to do—like the worker who, when asked about the most dangerous part of his job, said, “I’ll show you!” and proceeded to drive his front loader nearly vertically up on a large pile of hay while explaining the risk of tipping over.

Adaptation and on-the-job learning, however, do not eliminate the hazards of cattle feedyards, or injuries and deaths among workers. Feedyard workers face considerable risks to their safety and health, and they often work long hours in variety of 3-D jobs. These findings validate both the problem and need for Feedyard 15.

(2) FEEDYARDS CURRENTLY IMPLEMENT LIMITED AND VARIABLE SAFETY TRAINING, BUT WORKERS, MANAGERS, AND OPERATORS EXPRESS A WILLINGNESS AND/OR DESIRE FOR NEW SAFETY TRAINING MATERIALS AND RESOURCES.

Of the 10 feedyards we visited, about half reported formal safety training programs or dedicated personnel. This safety training tends to take the form of monthly or occasional meetings and is sometimes divided among different areas of operation (cowboys, mill workers, etc.). Scheduled meetings appear most common on larger and/or corporate feedyards in which these divisions of labor are most apparent. Managers reported using videos (especially those produced by the Kansas Livestock Association) and leading workers in conversations about risks and hazards. Oftentimes, feedyards rely on safety training and information provided by traveling safety consultants and veterinarians. This raises questions about the depth, breadth, and focus of this training, since some of these traveling consultants are reportedly hired specifically to help avoid the Occupational Safety and Health Administration (OSHA) or address animal welfare concerns—not necessarily to focus on the holistic safety, health, and well-being of workers.

The traveling safety consultant who led the meeting in which we learned a cowboy was injured, for example, confirmed to us afterward that his main goal was to “help deal with OSHA and insurance, try to save money, and try to reduce points.” In fact, as soon as the manager alerted him to the accident, he spoke out loudly to all the workers gathered in the room, “Make sure he doesn’t stay overnight, otherwise we have to call OSHA. We don’t want him to be admitted.” He explained that forms needed to be filled out and they should evaluate what could have been done differently. “I can tell ’em what they need to do if he’s admitted,” he said. “I’ve had to do this 8–10 times since the new rule,” referring to an OSHA regulation.

As the workers passed around a sign-up sheet, the safety consultant began speaking about winter weather and distractions in the workplace. “The number one distraction,” he said, “is your phone,” holding up his cell phone above his head for the workers to see. He continued to lecture about phones, explaining that “Phones aren’t going away. More accidents are caused by cell phones than drunk drivers.” The result of misuse, he warned, was tickets and rising premiums. “How do we handle it internally?” he asked rhetorically. “Use your phone but get home at night. Talk but don’t be trying to do work. Bad habits catch up.” The safety consultant reiterated that “Texting doesn’t mix with whatever we’re doing” and began to set up his computer and projector. He stood to the side as a long, cheesy video about distracted driving on public roads projected dimly onto a white board—clearly designed to imitate the style of popular Allstate Insurance “Mayhem” commercials. Many of the workers looked tired and uninterested, and the big feed truck driver appeared to be asleep in his chair.

After the video ended, the safety consultant resumed his boisterous and rapid-fire presentation. “Be responsible. Life is precious. Make the right decision,” he said. “If I’m driving the truck, I’ll call you right back.” He reminded the workers to keep in mind the hazards of driving in winter weather, and to slow down. “My message,” he added, “is that we’re distracted when working. We’ve got to communicate but got to do it safely, one guy at time. Any questions?”

No one responded. After a short pause, the consultant told the workers that their feedyard “has a good culture” and implored them to “take care of it.” Everyone quickly left the building and headed back to work. In our conversation with the consultant, he expressed an interest in Feedyard 15, saying that “more information is always useful” and that he could use it.

Throughout our fieldwork, multiple managers and workers also expressed a willingness and/or desire for Feedyard 15. One mill manager in particular repeatedly stressed a need for material on the risks of dust accumulation and explosions, especially videos that vividly show the potential outcomes of risky behavior or accidents. He asks his workers to use plastic shovels and refrain from smoking cigarettes to avoid sparks, but said they need more education. “When they see it, it means a lot more than just some guy saying it.” Similarly, the South African machine shop manager also requested visual examples of injuries to show “what could happen if you do it that way.” One of the general managers we interviewed explained that his yard—part of a larger group of feedyards—holds monthly safety meetings and provides monthly bulletins from the corporate office, along with annual corporate safety meetings and insurance company inspections. Yet he also affirmed a desire for Feedyard 15 and pointed out that safety saves money and reduces the impact on other workers. “You can never get enough information,” he said. Another manager on a feedyard without any safety training or hired consultants expressed a similar interest in Feedyard 15, as well as a shared recognition that preventing injuries reduces costs and lowers insurance rates.

Of course, not all the managers or workers we met shared this desire for more (or any) safety training, and some expressed a skepticism for training and its ability to teach “common sense.” Other workers—especially cowboys—described a preference for on-the-job learning and hands-on experience, including a young cowboy who told us that “If I wanted a classroom, I would have got a desk job.”

In general, however, we encountered a willingness and/or desire for new safety training materials, resources, and ideas among feedyard managers and workers, as well as openness and interest in Feedyard 15. Our findings suggest that while some feedyards hold safety meetings and have implemented various strategies for reducing injuries, the extent to which robust safety training is implemented appears limited. Even on feed-yards with ongoing safety training, we documented an interest and desire for additional materials. As we discovered, much of the current safety training and information relies on traveling consultants and veterinarians, whose priorities and resources may be limited in scope and not necessarily focused on the overall safety, health, and interests of workers.

These findings therefore validate the need and opportunity for Feedyard 15, as well as the results of previous research (Ramos, Duysen, and Yoder 2019). CS-CASH may have a unique opportunity to improve the safety and health of feedyard workers by making Feedyard 15 available not only to feedyard managers, operators, and dedicated safety personnel but also to the traveling safety consultants and veterinarians that are relied upon for information. We also recommend a continued focus on user experience and the input of managers and workers who seek to more effectively bring about change.

(3) IN THE ABSENCE OF ROBUST SAFETY TRAINING, SOME WORKERS HAVE SELF-ORGANIZED SYSTEMS FOR MANAGING RISK AND FOSTERING SAFETY.

Reducing accidents and injuries among fellow workers, particularly new and less-experienced ones, is in the interest of workers themselves. In addition to providing informal on-the-job training, feedyard workers have devised strategies for teaching and the transfer of knowledge, as well as regulating risk and aiding in adaptation.

One such self-organized mechanism is the role of “cowboy-as-teacher,” a term we created to describe an apprentice-based system in which more experienced cowboys mentor less experienced and typically younger cowboys as they adapt to their dirty, dangerous, and demanding job. This paired partnership is also important for cowboys engaged in work that often requires more than one person, and likely increases the safety of each individual. We observed this system in action on multiple feedyards.

On one feedyard, for example, we spent a cold afternoon with a pair of cowboys—one who had worked there for 20 years, was highly respected among other workers, and whose photo hung in the main office lobby in recognition of an award. The other cowboy, who started just a few months earlier, was a local 22-year-old former meth user that dropped out of high school and supported two kids. Prior to this job, he had never ridden a horse or worked on a feedyard. “They just said be safe and use common sense,” he told us.

Despite this lack of formal training or experience, this young cowboy worked closely on a daily basis with his much more experienced partner and mentor. Sometimes the older cowboy took the lead on certain tasks but often provided instructions and suggestions to the younger worker, who seemed eager to learn, take initiative, and demonstrate his work ethic. When asked if he had any accidents in his first few months, he responded, “No accidents yet, except for getting run over by a calf and kicked a few times. Other than that, no.” We discussed safety and the various skills involved in cowboying, including spotting and pulling sick cattle. The older cowboy explained that in this job, which he described as the most dangerous job on the yard, “you’re riding and chasing unpredictable animals.” Common sense is essential, he told us, but developing this awareness and the necessary skills requires practice and patience. “I tell the boys that sometimes you gotta wait. It comes with time,” he said. His young apprentice agreed, adding, “It’s something you can’t just read on a PowerPoint.”

We observed another self-organized system for managing risk among a processing crew on a lean owner-operated feedyard without any formal safety training. This experience-based rotational system organized and enforced by the workers themselves allowed the crew to minimize risk to newer workers as they learned the process and hazards of the work. This particular processing crew consisted primarily of white Afrikaans-speaking South African workers, along with a Spanish-speaking Mexican and their newest crew member—a local English-speaking white woman and former nurse.

As with cowboys, it is in the interest of more experienced workers to keep their newer colleagues on the job. Any accident or injury could mean a greater workload for them, as well as a slower and more difficult process. In this case, the experience-based rotational system was clearly designed for new workers like the former nurse, who struggled to keep up with the speed of processing and her single role, which was to spray deworming solution along the backs of cattle. She often missed her mark and at times sprayed the solution near the faces of other workers, receiving guidance from more senior crew members in return.

In this system, newer and less-experienced workers start in the easier, safer jobs and eventually rotate through other roles as they gain proficiency. On this day, a more experienced South African man with a long oar-like plastic paddle ushered in cattle from holding pens outside the metal building—nearly constantly engaging in dangerous standoffs with stubborn animals. Along with the Mexican worker, he funneled the cattle into the chute, and when one animal reached the front, the most experienced worker and crew chief slammed the hydraulic chute closed, holding its head in place for processing. Quickly, in unison, the workers—including another woman—replaced ear tags, inserted implants and vaccines, sprayed deworming solution (if not done already), checked for testicles, and “docked” the ends of tails.

The crew chief, standing in a dangerous location at the end of the chute, examined the animals and often commented on their health and overall condition. As the animals banged into the chutes, they snorted and bellowed, and their heads, legs, and tails peppered us with mud, dung, blood, and saliva. On multiple occasions, the crew chief gave the cattle caring, compassionate pats on their heads. In a moment of intimacy amid the commotion, he smiled and stroked one animal, saying “chubby cheeks” before releasing the hydraulic lever and allowing it to leap from the chute. Then, rapidly, the workers repeated the process a few hundred more times.

Processing cattle is a fast-paced, dangerous job. It involves careful attention and focus over long hours. These workers, for example, work 12- to 14-hour days, and sometimes work longer in the summer. They work for 12 days straight and get two days off. As we gathered during their unpaid lunch hour in a cold, dark shed, the former nurse explained that the hardest part about her new job on the feedyard is the long hours over a 12-day period. “It takes a toll,” she said. “I’m tired by the last day, but my body is getting used to it.” Fortunately, as she adapts to these difficult conditions, this self-organized system for managing risk will help to reduce her exposure to hazards and improve safety along the way.

Based on our observations, these self-organized systems among cowboys and processors function as informal safety training and skill development strategies, while also managing risk and fostering safety (and continuity) among workers with different levels of experience. We anticipate that similar self-organized systems may be identified in other areas of feedyard operation, and that they emerge both alongside and in the absence of formal safety training. Consequently, a richer understanding of these systems may contribute to the design and implementation of Feedyard 15, as well as unique opportunities to engage with workers in their own efforts to improve their safety and well-being.

(4) SOME MANAGERS HAVE ALSO TAKEN MEASURES TO REDUCE INJURIES AND SHAPE THE CULTURE OF FEEDYARDS.

In general, the managers we met during our fieldwork expressed a desire to improve worker safety, reduce injuries, retain workers, and reduce costs. Many of these managers began as cowboys themselves or worked in other areas of feedyard operation, sharing an understanding of hazards and risks with the workers they manage. Within this context, improving safety is widely seen as an important part of reducing costs and retaining a skilled workforce. Consequently, while safety training appears limited, some managers have implemented various other changes aimed at reducing accidents and injuries. We also heard managers express a strong interest in new ideas and methods for shaping the culture of feedyards.

For example, we interviewed Sam, a manager on a feedyard with 15,000 head of cattle who has actively worked to reduce the use of horses and shift the culture away from a “cowboy mentality.” This shift, as Sam explained, is intended to reduce injuries and lost time by removing (or at least significantly decreasing) the risks of working on horseback. It is also a response to a changing workforce with fewer workers—especially local men—with skills and experience with cattle and horses.

“We don’t ride pens,” Sam told us, as we slowly rolled along the frozen alley in his pickup truck. “We can’t find enough guys with horsemanship to spend this much time on horses.” The workers drive trucks, he explained, “about this pace” as we crawled past a pen of cattle. Sam said that it is easy to train workers to spot sick cattle from a pickup truck but admitted that the job is much faster on horseback. He reiterated that there “just aren’t any horsemanship skills. It’s just not safe when you push ’em out in these conditions.”

In situations in which horses are used, however, Sam is adamant that the workers do not use ropes to avoid the risk of injury involved in dragging out an animal. “Let it die instead of dragging it out. Take time, and let the trucks stop,” he said. When Sam saw cowboys using rope, he told us, “I’d pull up, take the rope and throw it in the back of my pickup—no questions asked.” Some of the cowboys complained, he admitted, but it “gets back to the word you haven’t heard us use—cowboy mentality.”

For Sam, the term “cowboy mentality” symbolizes his belief that improving safety by reducing time on horseback requires more than just rules and restrictions, but also a change in culture. This kind of change, however, has not come easy for Sam. He described the ongoing challenge of creating a “mentality of not being a cowboy” and instead encouraging a “team” atmosphere that de-emphasizes the role and prestige of cowboys. “Cowboys are always put on a pedestal, on top of the pyramid,” he explained. “In a pickup, they’re on the same level.” Interestingly, this statement is both literal and figurative, highlighting his desire to reduce the use of horses, as well as the social hierarchy and “cowboy culture” that comes with it. “We don’t call them cowboys or pen riders,” Sam told us. “We call them pen checkers or the cattle department.”

Later, while standing in a dusty office, Sam expanded on his linguistic efforts to reshape the culture of the feedyard. “It’s very risky to create a horseman,” he explained. “It’s way up there in terms of risk. Animals are very unpredictable.” On this yard, Sam told us, “We try to create stockmen. We don’t try to create horsemen, but it won’t go away completely.”

In addition to changing methods and terminology related to animal handling, Sam described other measures taken to “create a culture.” These have included allowing crews to determine and trade their time off, providing cots to stay overnight during winter weather, offering second chances to guys who think “the grass is greener” elsewhere, promoting a slower pace, and encouraging workers to get their job done safety rather than “at all costs.” Fostering safety involves trade-offs; in Sam’s opinion, “By not pushing them, we have to put up with a certain level of lost productivity because it’s safer.”

Like other managers we interviewed, Sam also believes that safety ultimately comes down to “common sense” and “what you learn as a little kid.” He spoke at length about the problems with modern parenting, the coddling of children, along with the impacts of changing norms on farm kids, farm culture, and a skilled rural workforce. In contrast, Sam praised his Hispanic workers who he compared to his “grandparents’ generation.” They learn common sense and safety in childhood, he explained, and they get the job done right and done on time. “Common sense is something that you can’t teach,” Sam told us, implying that this capability cannot be cultivated at the workplace.

That afternoon, we met up with the head cowboy—a local white guy described by Sam as a “real cowboy”— who shared a similar sentiment about common sense in response to a question about safety training. “You can have all the safety training in the world,” he explained, “but it takes common sense. You’re gonna get hurt no matter what, it’s just about where and how bad.” This cowboy—dressed in jeans, a Nebraska Huskers hood-ie, silk bandana, and a muddy black cowboy hat—took issue with his manager’s assessment of horses. “A lot of places say horses are the biggest safety issues, but I don’t think so. It’s about the guys and common sense,” he argued. “Everyone likes to blame the horses, but it’s almost always the guy.” One worker, he told us, “went to euthanize a cow with a .22 and shot himself in the foot.”

Although this cowboy calls himself the “cattle manager” on this feedyard, he still identifies as a “cowboy.” He would prefer to ride a horse more often and explained that it can be more difficult to see cattle from a pickup truck during bad weather. “Oh yeah,” he responded, when asked if he got into this job for the cowboy lifestyle. “If I won the lottery, I’d buy a big ranch in the Sandhills and be out there forever. This is the closest thing I can get to it.” He added, “There’s something special about being on the back of a horse. We only have two nice days a year, and on those days, you just get on your horse and everything goes away.”

While this experienced cowboy may not wish to abandon his “cowboy mentality” or horsemanship, he did express an appreciation for the culture of this feed-yard. He described the openness (and key role) of communication among workers, his ability to evaluate, hire, and train new cowboys, and he recounted how Sam accommodated him when his wife was hours away in an Omaha hospital.

He also told stories about the many times animals have kicked him, bruising his body, and the hazards of cowboying in the same alleys where feed trucks drive. On numerous occasions, he witnessed workers texting or looking at their phones while driving loaders and feed trucks—sometimes noticing animal hair on the front of the vehicles as they passed by. “Life would be safer with drover’s alleys and more gates,” the cowboy told us, referring to the design and construction of the feedyard itself.

In addition to efforts and interest in shaping the culture of feedyards, some of the managers we met expressed recognition of the important role of physical infrastructure and feedyard design in creating a safer work environment. About half of the feedyards we visited had drover’s alleys—a network of lanes and gates for sorting and moving cattle separate from the main alleys used by feed trucks and other vehicles. Multiple managers and cowboys described the dangers of working in slick, uneven high-traffic alleys. A cowboy mentioned how his horse caught its toe on a frozen ridge in the ground left by a truck, which sent both the horse and him tumbling down and injured his shoulder. Similarly, one of the managers we interviewed told us that their one major accident in the previous four years occurred when a cutting horse slipped on the slick surface. “Ideally, we’d have back alleys,” he said. “We’re working on it.”

While some managers differ on the perceived pros and cons of drover’s alleys and other design features, especially given Nebraska’s winter conditions and other factors, our research raises questions about the relationship between feedyard design and worker safety. Based on our initial findings, we hypothesize that the use of drover’s alleys impacts the safety of feedyard workers and, in particular, cowboys. We recommend further research that explores this relationship and variation between states (e.g., Nebraska and Kansas) with different histories and patterns of feedyard design.

Our findings also suggest that understanding the range of strategies employed by managers to reduce injuries or (re)shape the culture of feedyards—along with the responses and perspectives of workers—may contribute to the design and implementation of Feedyard 15. This knowledge may offer insight into the elements of safety culture that improve the safety and health of workers, as well as reduce costs and help retain a skilled workforce. Throughout our fieldwork, we encountered a variety of additional measures aimed at reducing injuries including, for example, a mechanism for communication that offers bonuses for reporting “near misses.”

Further research is needed, however, to understand how these mechanisms function in practice, and the experience of workers themselves. It is also imperative to consider the implications and unexpected consequences of interventions aimed at feedyard cultures devoid of horses and cowboys. Who are the winners and losers, we should ask, and how do these changes relate to norms and notions of common sense, esteem, work ethic, and social hierarchy?

(5) ONE OF THE KEY CONCERNS OF BOTH MANAGERS AND WORKERS RELATED TO SAFETY AND HEALTH IS A SHORTAGE OF SKILLED LOCAL LABOR WITH AGRICULTURAL BACKGROUNDS, EXPERIENCE, WORK ETHIC, AND COMMON SENSE.

In our interviews with workers and managers, we often heard about a shortage of skilled labor and the relatively recent and increasing challenge of hiring local people to work on feedyards. This shortage is widely seen as a consequence of broad social, cultural, and generational shifts in rural life in the Great Plains, with important implications for the safety and health of workers.

George—a feedyard manager with a long, dark mustache—was one of the managers that spoke at length about this shortage of skilled labor. He sat behind a large desk in a warm office, with a window that looked out onto the feedyard. We shook hands and introduced ourselves, and he folded his arms and, like many managers, listened with caution and a kind of no-bullshit reserve. George started his career as a “pen rider” in a neighboring state, having “done all jobs” on feedyards and eventually working his way up to manager of this yard—a small 10,000-head yard that is part of a larger corporate conglomeration of feedyards and farms throughout the region. As we talked about our common backgrounds with cattle and ranching, he seemed to relax and leaned back in his chair. From that point onward, we talked at length about a wide range of subjects including cowboys, labor issues, safety, management, immigration, and rural change.

When asked about his biggest concern as manager, George emphatically described the shortage of skilled labor. “There’s no help,” he explained. “Literally no help!” The problem, he said, is that he struggles to find workers—in particular, cowboys—willing to do “anything that has do with these,” as he held up his hands in front of him.

Young people, George told us, are lured by technology and reject manual labor for less difficult jobs. “They want the title, but they don’t want to work.” According to George, this is largely the result of parents not giving their children chores and responsibilities—a critique of modern parenting that we heard from other managers concerned about a lack of local labor. As George explained, part of the problem is finding people with agricultural skills and backgrounds, and part of it is finding anyone who wants to do the job at all. “There are only a few days of good weather a year,” he explained, so to be a pen rider—which he was for 25 years—you “gotta have the love of it.” After telling a story about two back-to-back blizzards his first year on the job, George responded enthusiastically when asked if he thought about quitting. “Oh yeah!” he said. He thought about quitting, but never did. “It’s not in my generation to just quit a job. Kids now will just quit on a whim. Back in my day it was hard to find a job, so you kept it. Now you can go find another job down the road.”

The labor problem, however, is more than just declining interest or willingness to perform manual labor. “Farms and ranches are depleted,” George continued, stressing the impact of social and demographic change in this part of the rural Great Plains. “People are not having seven or eight kids anymore, so there are just less people raised on farms and ranches.” George explained that “Here we can put out a job ad, and we’ll maybe get one [application] in two months.” When the feedyard used to advertise a job opening, he explained, they would get “tons of applications” and have to sort through them all. Therefore, from the perspective of George (and other managers we interviewed), the problem is both cultural and demographic. The outcome is an ongoing struggle to find (and keep) workers with desire, work ethic, common sense, skills, and experience with livestock.

When asked if he feels optimistic about the future, George told us, “I try not to think about it too much. It’s depressing when looking for help. When things are going well, I’m feeling good.”

As George noted in our interview (and as expressed by other managers as well), the shortage of skilled labor relates directly to the safety and health of feedyard workers. With “no workforce,” injuries are costly, and lost time shifts the burden to other workers. Safety reduces cost, he explained. Without workers with common sense, we were told, there are more accidents and injuries—especially related to animals and machinery. Without common sense, workers are perceived to face a greater risk of injuries because they fail not only to accurately read and interpret the behaviors of cattle and horses but also to instinctually navigate the constant barrage of hazards and high-risk decisions. As George explained, “You can have all the documentation and paper, but until people use common sense it won’t help anything.” Despite this belief, his workers attend monthly safety meetings and George expressed an openness and desire for Feedyard 15.

Throughout our interviews with managers and workers, we often heard about the shortage of skilled labor, problems with retention, the importance of common sense, and the implications for worker safety. One manager described the labor issue and the problem of turnover as the “number one” issue in terms of safety. A cowboy we met, for example, repeatedly returned to the “big question” of social change during our afternoon together. Being a cowboy is “a pride thing,” he told us. “Feedyard cowboys are a dying breed. When I started, people knocked down the door to be a cowboy.” This seasoned cowboy explained that this work used to be about pride and “love for the game,” but now it is a “chase for the buck.” Young men can choose to “go work in a factory with set hours or come out here, where you never know what you’re up against.” Part of the problem, from his perspective, is that young people fail to realize that a rural agricultural life is actually “the good life” (Fisher 2014).

Although feedyards still seek experienced cowboys and horses (which often come as a pair), at least one manager we met described the benefits of recruiting and training new, often inexperienced migrant workers in the use of horses. These migrant and immigrant workers from Mexico and elsewhere help to fill the gap created by a declining rural workforce, while also allowing managers to produce workers without the same behavioral habits or expectations of the cowboys that once “knocked down the door.”

On one large feedyard, which recruits and hires approximately 50% of its workers from Mexico, the general manager explained that their recruitment program “increases our stability.” The head cowboy—a Mexican immigrant who carries out the recruiting—told us that he prefers to “train them the way I want.” He gets on his horse and shows the workers the way he wants the job done. This brings him more respect, he explained as he directed a group of cowboys as they sorted cattle for shipping. “You can’t just tell them from your pickup.” The benefit, according to this head cowboy, is that “They don’t really have bad habits. You go find a real cowboy and try to take his rope away.” As he explained, “A lot of guys want to be a real cowboy, but that’s when they get hurt.”

We discovered that feedyard managers are deeply concerned about a shortage of skilled local labor, as well as the challenges of retaining these workers and the implications for safety. Many managers perceive a direct relationship between feedyard safety and common sense, which they view as an essential attribute that is vanishing along with a rural population with agricultural skills, experience, and work ethic. Consequently, it is vital to view the safety and health of feedyard workers within their broader social and cultural context. By exploring the patterns and implications of rural change, CS-CASH and others have an opportunity to engage with managers in addressing a key concern and evaluating potential responses. This holistic perspective raises several important questions. How are broad social and cultural shifts in the Great Plains impacting cattle feed-yards, including their ability to hire, retain, and train workers? What are the implications for migrant workers, who often arrive without experience with cattle, horses, and machinery? How does safety on feedyards relate to agricultural backgrounds, skills, and experience? Our findings also raise questions about how Feedyard 15 might engage with notions of common sense, respect, on-the-job training, and what it means to be a cowboy.

(6) FEEDYARDS ARE SEEN BY SOME WORKERS AS “THE LAST PLACE TO BE A COWBOY” AND, FOR SOME MIGRANTS, IMMIGRANTS, AND RURAL PEOPLE, AS THE BEST PLACE TO IMPROVE THEIR LIVES AND THE FUTURE FOR THEIR FAMILIES—AT LEAST MOMENTARILY.

In addition to hearing about a shortage of skilled and willing labor, we also learned about the people who do choose to work on feedyards—or who merely end up there. Many of the English-speaking cowboys that we met described the lure of a “cowboy lifestyle,” despite its varied and constant risks. They want to work with cattle and horses and engage in manual labor outside “the office.” Yet, with limited options for a cowboy lifestyle, feedyards represent the job closest to it, especially if health benefits and family are a priority.

We met one young cowboy—dressed in black, with muddy cowboy boots, a silk bandana, sunglasses, cowboy hat, and a huge wad of tobacco in his mouth—who explained how his imagination of the cowboy lifestyle led him to the feedyard. Although this cowboy, Noah, dropped out of high school, he told us that he always managed to find work. He came to the feedyard to learn about working with cattle in large numbers. “Riding a horse is a bonus,” Noah said. “This morning, it was 12 degrees,” he reminded us. “What dumbass wants to do this? I’m trying to.”

Noah explained that there is a “certain romance guys look for as a cowboy,” but on feedyards, “you can cowboy with benefits.” On a ranch, he told us, the benefits might be a house and pickup. There is a “certain romance out somewhere in the middle of nowhere, but you get some of that here.” It was a calm, sunny afternoon on this small feedyard. The feed trucks had finished their rounds, and we worked with Noah and his partner to sort and return cattle from the “hospital.”

“If there weren’t cattle and horses—the romance of it—I wouldn’t be here at all,” Noah said. “The lifestyle drives me. It’s a whole lifestyle. I don’t mind spending endless hours because I’m a cowboy. I knew I wanted to be one as a kid.” He grew up with a horse and spent time in the rodeo. “I always wanted it, but things are changing,” he explained, noting the decline of a “ramming and jamming” approach and its acceptance. Noah remarked, “I came 100 years late. Cowboys adapt, and we keep the little bit of cowboy left in it.”

Noah’s motivation and imagination of the “cowboy lifestyle” reflect a memorable depiction of feedyards— expressed by a long-time instructor of animal science— as “the last place to be a cowboy.” We encountered this sentiment on other feedyards as well, like with the cowboy who dreamed of a ranch in the Nebraska Sandhills or his partner who “always wanted to work with cattle.”

Although some of the cowboys we met envision and pursue a cowboy lifestyle—contributing to the “nomadic” reputation of cowboys—some are also motivated by benefits and stability. Feedyards provide an opportunity to “cowboy with benefits,” as Noah worded it. His partner, who spent 15 years trucking, explained that the health benefits offered by their relatively small, corporately owned yard are essential to pay for his expensive diabetes supplies. Noah agreed, describing his 100% coverage as “a big draw.” Another cowboy with four kids told us about his need for health benefits and stability, despite the allure of ranching. His priority was to “find a feedlot that takes care of guys, and especially their families.” For those in search of a cowboy lifestyle—often young men with rural backgrounds, skills, and values— options are limited.

For other local rural folks that we met—particularly those with low levels of education—feedyards represent one of the limited opportunities for employment around often economically distressed small towns. The former nurse who had recently joined a processing crew, for example, told us that the feedyard paid her twice as much per hour as her nursing job. In addition to improving her financial situation, she also explained that she wanted to work with cattle and described herself as an “animal lover.” With a warm smile, the former nurse noted that there is “something special about them,” referring to her “love” for cattle. Her father raised her to be an “outdoorsman,” instilled a love for hunting and fishing, and for now, working on a feedyard incorporates more of these values and presents a better option than a low-paying nursing job.

Likewise, as one of her South African colleagues told us, processing cattle on a feedyard in rural Nebraska was never an expected destination but rather an opportunity to improve his family’s life and his children’s future. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful for this job, but do you think I want to be here?” the worker asked with pain in his eyes. Like many other white Africans, these workers are fleeing perceived threats of violence, insecurity, and land reform (Klataske 2017). Foreign-born feedyard workers—whether they speak Afrikaans, Spanish, or indigenous Latin American languages—are not simply choosing to venture to the Plains in search of jobs in industrial agriculture. Instead, they are also driven by larger structural and societal forces that compel them to leave their homelands. Similar factors—the loss of small farms and depletion of resilient rural economies, resources, and livelihoods—shape the stories of local folks from the Plains who end up on feedyards as well.

Although we encountered a variety of motivations and reasons for working on feedyards, we also discovered shared themes of limited options and precarious circumstances. How do these limitations, conditions of precarity, and other factors of decision-making impact the safety and health of workers? Part of the cowboy imagination, for example, involves the notion that injuries are imminent, accidents happen, and dangers are just part of the job. Of course, the job is dangerous and there is an array of constant hazards. But to what degree are cowboys accepting this risk because it corresponds with their imagination—and broader cultural expectations—of being a cowboy, and because of limited options for living a cowboy lifestyle elsewhere?

Other feedyard workers—like the former nurse—are not necessarily lured by a cowboy lifestyle, but rather are motivated by better pay and economic opportunities in rural communities with limited options for people with low levels of education—and many other people, in general, for that matter. Immigrant and migrant workers we met described similar motivations and limitations, often working long hours in dirty, dangerous, and demanding jobs to provide better lives for their families. While some cowboys might accept a particular level of risk as part of an imagined “cowboy lifestyle,” our research suggests that the exposure of cowboys and many other workers to risk is shaped by their precarity and limited options for a secure livelihood in the Great Plains and other rural areas. For this reason, we recommend a continued focus on the motivations of workers and the drivers of feedyard employment, along with the broader context of workers’ lives.

Conclusions

Implications for Cattle Feedyard Workers and the Great Plains

This research, based on a rapid multisited ethnographic approach to the study of safety and health, offers insight into the perspectives, experiences, needs, and everyday situations of cattle feedyard workers in Nebraska. Our findings suggest that feedyard workers experience difficult conditions and a variety of persistent risks to their safety and health. Yet many of the feedyard workers that we met are hardworking, gritty, and able to adapt to their dirty, dangerous, and demanding jobs. We also discovered that feedyards implement limited and variable formal safety training—sometimes none at all— but many of the workers, managers, and operators that we interviewed expressed a willingness and/or desire for new safety training materials and resources. These insights validate the problem, need, and opportunity for Feedyard 15. They also highlight possibilities for change that not only may improve the safety and health of workers but also may help managers reduce costs, retain labor, and contribute to safety cultures that meet the needs of those involved.

In the absence of robust safety training, we discovered that some workers have organized systems for managing risk and fostering safety. These systems include the role of “cowboy-as-teacher” and the experience-based rotational system observed among processors. Our findings suggest that efforts to improve the safety and health of feedyard workers may benefit from identifying and building on the “bottom-up” strategies and mechanisms devised by workers themselves. By providing a thick description that goes beyond a basic description of behavior and instead offers insight on motivations for performing dangerous work and strategies for mitigating risk, we learn more about the kinds of interventions that are needed and potentially welcomed. While these efforts of workers may not illustrate everyday resistance (Scott 1985), our examples do show a less powerful group and individuals taking action for themselves with limited resources to alter their precarious circumstances. Recognizing that social change related to safety can originate from below and that more needs to be known about vulnerable workers’ efforts to mitigate risk is one step toward devising safety resources and interventions that are accepted and maybe even celebrated.

Likewise, we discovered that managers have also taken a variety of measures to reduce injuries and (re)shape the culture of feedyards, yet some managers still wonder how best to make this happen and where to start. We documented some of these “top-down” strategies, highlighting the need to better understand their outcomes and implications for the safety and health of workers. In addition to providing insight on both “bottom-up” and “top-down” strategies for managing risk and dealing with an array of hazards, our findings also raise questions about the impacts of feedyard design.

Our anthropological approach to the study of safety and health brings to the forefront the diverse voices, experiences, and motivations of feedyard workers, along with the broader social and cultural context of their lives. We discovered that one of the key concerns of both managers and workers is a shortage of skilled local labor with agricultural backgrounds, experience, work ethic, and common sense. This issue has important implications for the safety and health of workers, illustrating how feedyards in Nebraska are woven within larger patterns of rural change and labor migration. While our research documents some of the ways in which managers understand and address this shortage of skilled local labor, it also offers insight into the people who do work on feedyards. These relatively recent manifestations of industrial agriculture are seen by some workers as “the last place to be a cowboy” and, for many migrants, immigrants, and rural people, as the best place to improve their lives and the future for their families—at least momentarily. By exploring their motivations, stories, and struggles ethnographically and holistically, we gain valuable insight into the humans at the heart of our food system. We also learn how their lives and labor both shape and are shaped by the Great Plains around them.

Based on our research, we argue that Feedyard 15 and other efforts that take into consideration the complex human dimensions of cattle feedyards have the potential and opportunity to improve the safety and health of workers. This demands attention to the precarity of these workers and the connections to safety and health, which in the process should compel us to ask broader questions about the precariousness of rural life and work in the industrialized agricultural landscape of the Plains.