Above all else, agriculture must be made accessible again.

So distant has the American farmer become with their own customers, that my farm will survive into the next generation simply because city folk are willing to pay the price of admission to come look at cows. The disconnect between producers and consumers starts at the top - the entirety of the United States Department of Agriculture does not support a single agricultural lending program to farmers who simply wish to connect directly with their own customers. In America, it is easier to secure funding to milk 10,000 cows in a factory than it is to sell products direct.

I was first introduced to the concept of direct-to-consumer relations while living in Switzerland in my early twenties. Fear not, reader — the experience was not always the standard tale of idyllic storybook Swiss villages where children laugh and play and residents break spontaneously into cultural song and dance. My host father was a cantankerous, villainous character who literally used exchange students — myself included — as alibis in order to pursue his extramarital affairs. He also displayed an unnatural enthusiasm for introducing naive foreign kids to red light districts, but those are stories for another time (buy me an Octoberfest beer at Cheese Days this weekend and I’ll regale you with the tales).

By far, the most honorable education I received while in Switzerland was tied to the relationship farms had with the surrounding community. My Swiss host farm was considered a “large” dairy farm. We milked 30 cows. There were always foreign exchange students cycling through, and at the time of my stay, I was paired with a young man from Germany. In any other scenario, I believe we would have hated each other, but a mutual disdain for our repulsive host father bonded us in eternal friendship.

At any rate, on our “large” host farm that milked 30 cows, it was not unusual at all for strangers to let themselves into the barn during milking, snap a few photos, ask a few questions, and then be on their merry way.

At first, I found the intrusion to be unsettling. In America, you don’t just waltz onto someone else’s property and start taking pictures of them — especially farms. However, I quickly began to appreciate the transparency. All of the interactions were positive. No-one was showing up out of malice or ignorance. In fact, practically every farm boasted its own store of some sort, and one could literally purchase dairy, fruits, vegetables, preserves, baked goods, chocolate, and even home-made schnapps simply by finding a local farm that produced it (my host farm had a greens-keeping business and sold landscaping plants).

Especially in retrospect, I can appreciate a much deeper philosophy behind the transparency of European food production and distribution. In my time in Switzerland, I could see that European farmers were respected — and trusted — by their consumers far more than American farmers are respected and trusted by American consumers. Separation only breeds distrust, uncertainty, ignorance, and fear. And without question, access to locally grown food contributes to a far healthier society.

You don’t need me to tell you that Cheese Days weekend is upon us, but there is one tradition in particular that is my personal favorite aspect of the overall festival.

On Sunday afternoon, anyone attending the Cheese Days parade will hear it.

The sound is unique. It’ll start in the distance, and gradually creep closer. You’ll know it when you hear it — the harmony of cows on parade. The music of Swiss cowbells as local caretakers walk their dairy cows the length of the route, kicking off the Cheese Days Parade.

As the cows approach, take the opportunity to admire their quiet, unassuming beauty. They walk with purpose, their great heads bobbing with each step of their shoulders. As their heads bob, the bells ring out. Some will be adorned with flowers and decorations. The cows walk with a purposeful dignity, as do the farmers taking the lead.

The tradition of cows leading the Cheese Days Parade is a nod toward an authentic old-world practice, where European farmers bring their cows down from summer mountain pastures to cold-weather winter housing in the valleys. I saw this practice firsthand while living in Switzerland. I saw small herds of cows, adorned with bells and flowers, meander down from the highland pastures to their winter barns. The local towns and villages stopped, welcomed them along, and paid genuine respect. My Swiss host farm moved a group of cows this way.

More than just a tradition, the cows on parade are symbolic to the notion that agriculture be made accessible. With accessibility comes respect, trust, and dignity to those of us who choose agriculture as a way of life, which is certainly worth celebrating.

— Dan Wegmueller is the owner of Wegmueller Farms and his column appears regularly in the Times. His website is https://www.farmforthought.org.