During a recent trip to Nashville, I found myself thinking about the first time I landed at that very same airport. I was 19, headed to the RFD-TV studios to record a special with Orion Samuelson. At the time, it felt like a big moment — one of those early milestones that help shape a life.

Orion was already a legend, though he never carried himself that way. As a fellow Wisconsinite and someone shaped by FFA, we shared an instant bond. We talked about speaking contests and how they had given us confidence, direction and purpose. His voice — deep, distinctive, unmistakable — was one I had heard before, but sitting across from him, it became something more personal. It carried warmth, humor and a quiet steadiness that reflected a generation rooted in resilience and humility.

That wasn’t the first or last time Orion would interview me, but it was never routine with him, always sincere and memorable. Earlier this month, when he passed away, I found myself reflecting on the role he and others like him played in my life — and in the lives of so many across rural communities.

The first farm broadcaster I met was Bob Meyer from Loyal, Wis.. I will never forget the feeling of walking into a studio for the first time — equal parts excited and awe-struck. Bob had a way of making conversation feel easy. Over the years of my FFA career he was a friend, a cheerleader, someone who believed in what I could accomplish.

We always laughed about my first state FFA officer interview. In Wisconsin, new officers are on the radio show at five the morning after their election. I had inside knowledge: the interview was held in a conference room without an audience; it didn’t matter what you wore. My new teammates showed up in full official dress, eager to make a polished impression, I walked in wearing leopard pajama pants. Bob loved that story — not because of the outfit, but because it reflected authenticity. Be yourself. The rest will follow.

A few years ago, I spoke at an event Bob was emceeing. He introduced me in his deep rumbling voice, and it felt like I was back in my youth running across the stage at FFA convention. We laughed and reminisced. It was a moment I was glad to have as it was the last time I would see Bob. Earlier this year, he passed away unexpectedly.

Farm broadcasters occupy a unique place in American life. They all build relationships with their audiences, but farm broadcasters are something more. They are part of the daily rhythm — voices heard in tractors, kitchens and pickup trucks at dawn. They deliver markets and weather, but also perspective, reassurance and hope. They tell the truth in hard times and celebrate in good times. Farm broadcasters are neighbors.

Digital noise and endless information dominate our world today and farm broadcasters are a dwindling group. The profession is changing, evolving, and in some places, fading. That reality makes me feel especially fortunate to have grown up in a time when those voices were constant companions.

Because for me, they were never just voices on the radio. They were mentors, encouragers, examples of integrity, kindness and a deep love for agriculture and the farmers and ranchers who make it possible.

They may no longer fill the airwaves, but I like to believe those voices don’t really disappear. They echo — in memories, in values passed down and in the lives they helped shape. Somewhere, in the wide-open spaces they loved, the steady, trusted tones of Bob and Orion still carry on.