In another excellent installment of its “Rural Reckoning” series, the Denver Gazette highlights the open hostility Colorado’s state legislature shows toward agriculture — a story that’s old news in places like Weld County but still shocking to anyone living within Uber distance of the Capitol. The article focuses on Colorado’s top-tier ranchers and farmers and how the state’s political elite have all but declared war on them. From restrictive regulations to laughable promises from Governor Polis that never materialized, the disconnect between Denver policy and rural reality has grown into a full-blown chasm — and folks out here are tired of being told it’s all in our heads.
The Bullet Point Brief
- Weld County = Ag Country: We don’t just do agriculture in Weld — we dominate it. #1 in Colorado ag output (by a mile), #8 nationally overall, #1 in sheep and goats, #2 in cattle and calves, and #7 in dairy cows. We don’t just know ag — we are ag.
- Polis’ Rural Blueprint = Empty Promises: His 2019 “Rural Economic Blueprint” talked a big game — broadband internet, road repair, boosting farm revenue — but delivered mostly PR and platitudes.
- Policy vs. Reality: Renewable energy schemes and $2 billion trains to Boulder don’t pay for diesel or cattle feed. And despite promises, country roads are still cratered and ranchers are still struggling.
- Regulations Incoming: You think it’s bad now? Wait until the war on cow farts kicks into full gear. Expect new regs on feedlots, methane emissions, and livestock operations in the name of “climate.”
- Ranchers Aren’t the Problem: Ag folks are the original conservationists — they care for the land, they work it, and they protect it far better than any whiteboard-toting Boulder bureaucrat.
My Bottom Line
First off, once again: credit to the Denver Gazette for giving voice to the half of Colorado that doesn’t live in a high-rise, bike to Whole Foods, or consult their therapist before ordering a cheeseburger. The “Rural Reckoning” series is a welcome light shining into the policy darkness — and nowhere is that light more necessary than in agriculture.
This latest article drives home what we in Weld County already know: the state legislature treats agricultural producers with thinly veiled disdain. We’re not constituents to them — we’re carbon emitters. We’re not job creators — we’re climate criminals. They talk about us like we’re a burden. Meanwhile, we’re feeding the nation, propping up the economy, and exporting enough beef and dairy to keep half the nation’s grills and cereal bowls full.
Governor Polis likes to wave around his 2019 “Rural Economic Blueprint” like it’s some sacred scroll. Let’s examine the actual results:
- High-speed internet? That’s nice if you want to stream Bridgerton, but it won’t haul a single bushel or fix a single axle on a busted-out rural road.
- Renewable energy development? You can’t graze solar panels and you sure as hell can’t grow wind turbines. If he wants green energy, maybe he should plant it in his Boulder backyard.
- Road repair? Still waiting.
- Boosting farm revenue? Unless Jared’s writing personal checks, no farmer’s bank account got fatter under his watch.
- Rural popularity? Only among reintroduced wolves — who are currently enjoying all-you-can-eat calf buffets in Northwest Colorado.
The real battle in Colorado isn’t urban vs. rural. It’s cattle vs. climate. Because out here, ranchers aren’t just managing livestock — they’re defending a way of life. And that way of life is being legislated into oblivion by climate cultists who think methane is more dangerous than fentanyl and would rather regulate feedlots than arrest fentanyl dealers.
And here’s the kicker: the very people they’re targeting are the ones who know the land best. Ranchers aren’t the problem — they’re the solution. They rotate pastures. They manage water better than most of the state agencies. They treat the land like it’s their legacy — because it is.
So when some academic in a Boulder think tank starts drafting methane regulations between bites of a quinoa bowl, maybe it’s time someone handed them a shovel and pointed them toward the nearest calving barn.
Here’s the truth: the agriculturalists of Weld County — and all across Colorado — aren’t just essential. They’re exceptional. And the state better start recognizing that before the last rancher turns out the lights and lets the wolves run the place.
