- Topics:
- Health
- Agriculture
- Mental illness
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Jim Short was ready when the sun came up each morning over his
fields. He was a farmer who listened to his crops and knew precisely how
to produce a good yield. He took pride in what he did for a living. He
was the type who was the first in the fields in the morning and the last
out at the end of the day.
In Craigmont, Idaho, a town of just 500 people where the state's panhandle starts to widen, Jim was a respected man. He owned his home outright. He had been married 30 years and raised three children, who all graduated from college. He loved to drive his Ford pickup around town. He often hosted friends for supper and loved showing out-of-towners the ways of farm life.
At the end of a long day, he liked to kick back a glass of water and rye — and sometimes he'd have one too many. With a little drink in him, sometimes he would tell his family that nothing made his heart swell like his children. Sometimes he would cry. Sometimes he would tell them that in every other part of his life, he had failed.
His daughter Jamie said that though her father was a deeply conflicted man, she remembers him as a man who personified the spirit of their town. He was always there to help those in need.
He was the first to arrive at the home of friends whose son had died by suicide. Jim felt so much pity for the family, he cleaned up the scene so they wouldn't have to.
Two weeks before his 50th birthday, just after 4 a.m. on July 19, 2005, Jim's wife found him sitting in the field behind their house, gasping for his last breaths after putting a pistol to his head.
Stunned, his family grasped for an answer.
Jim's story is one heard too often in the Gem State. Idaho consistently ranks as one of the states with the highest suicide rates from year to year. In 2010, it ranked sixth, with 18.5 suicides per 100,000 people (PDF), and in 2011, 285 people died by suicide there. Suicide is estimated to cost the state $36 million annually.
Every year, Idaho, New Mexico, Wyoming, Alaska, Montana and Nevada, among others, seem to leapfrog one another in the top 10 as the most suicidal. They're giant states — ones with more fields and long stretches of freeway than urban centers, places with populations of cows that rival those of people. Idaho is where Ernest Hemingway made his home and where he died by suicide in 1961.
And in a place like Idaho, one that relies heavily on rural people and a thriving agribusiness to contribute to its economy, the suicide rate of farmers remains a concern. In a report on suicide prevention in Idaho (PDF) from the state's Department of Health and Welfare, researchers said a lack of social and mental-health support — in addition to the unique stresses of farming — and access to lethal means puts people like farmers at a high risk for suicide.
In Craigmont, Idaho, a town of just 500 people where the state's panhandle starts to widen, Jim was a respected man. He owned his home outright. He had been married 30 years and raised three children, who all graduated from college. He loved to drive his Ford pickup around town. He often hosted friends for supper and loved showing out-of-towners the ways of farm life.
At the end of a long day, he liked to kick back a glass of water and rye — and sometimes he'd have one too many. With a little drink in him, sometimes he would tell his family that nothing made his heart swell like his children. Sometimes he would cry. Sometimes he would tell them that in every other part of his life, he had failed.
His daughter Jamie said that though her father was a deeply conflicted man, she remembers him as a man who personified the spirit of their town. He was always there to help those in need.
He was the first to arrive at the home of friends whose son had died by suicide. Jim felt so much pity for the family, he cleaned up the scene so they wouldn't have to.
Two weeks before his 50th birthday, just after 4 a.m. on July 19, 2005, Jim's wife found him sitting in the field behind their house, gasping for his last breaths after putting a pistol to his head.
Stunned, his family grasped for an answer.
Jim's story is one heard too often in the Gem State. Idaho consistently ranks as one of the states with the highest suicide rates from year to year. In 2010, it ranked sixth, with 18.5 suicides per 100,000 people (PDF), and in 2011, 285 people died by suicide there. Suicide is estimated to cost the state $36 million annually.
Every year, Idaho, New Mexico, Wyoming, Alaska, Montana and Nevada, among others, seem to leapfrog one another in the top 10 as the most suicidal. They're giant states — ones with more fields and long stretches of freeway than urban centers, places with populations of cows that rival those of people. Idaho is where Ernest Hemingway made his home and where he died by suicide in 1961.
And in a place like Idaho, one that relies heavily on rural people and a thriving agribusiness to contribute to its economy, the suicide rate of farmers remains a concern. In a report on suicide prevention in Idaho (PDF) from the state's Department of Health and Welfare, researchers said a lack of social and mental-health support — in addition to the unique stresses of farming — and access to lethal means puts people like farmers at a high risk for suicide.
Nowhere to turn
Rugged individualism is something you'll hear a lot about in Idaho.
It's a phrase popularized by President Herbert Hoover and one Idahoans
use like a creed to describe their self-reliance. But it's a mentality
that doesn't lend itself to seeking help if someone is depressed or
suicidal. (So strong is the stigma of depression, admission of
vulnerabiliy and suicide, that Jim's daughter asked that his and her
name be changed in this story to protect their identities).
Shortly before Jim's death, a hailstorm ripped through his fields and destroyed an entire crop of peas and lentils.
"Farmers have the hardest life where we come from," Jamie said. "The weather makes or breaks the crop, and there are very limited things a farmer can control."
The storm caused Jim to suffer an $80,000 loss.
"I think this sort of broke him a bit," Jamie said. "He worked so hard, and to have it gone in one storm, it was too much."
No matter how hard he worked, Jim wouldn't be able to make up that loss. And he was a humble man who would never ask for help.
Shortly before Jim's death, a hailstorm ripped through his fields and destroyed an entire crop of peas and lentils.
"Farmers have the hardest life where we come from," Jamie said. "The weather makes or breaks the crop, and there are very limited things a farmer can control."
The storm caused Jim to suffer an $80,000 loss.
"I think this sort of broke him a bit," Jamie said. "He worked so hard, and to have it gone in one storm, it was too much."
No matter how hard he worked, Jim wouldn't be able to make up that loss. And he was a humble man who would never ask for help.
Fearlessness is what's required. It's not the same thing, by the way, as bravery or courage.
Efforts by the state to keep its citizens from dying by suicide are
unstable at best. The state's suicide hotline was shuttered because of a
lack of funding in 2006, reopening just last November. And though the
hotline has expanded its hours since then, it has secured only enough
funding to keep the lines open for the next two years.
Even worse, Idaho's medical support system is bleak. Idaho has one of the lowest concentrations of doctors in the country (PDF). Plus its medical professionals are aging. NPR reports that 41.5 percent of the physicians in the state are 55 or older. And Idaho fares even worse for medical residents, with only 3.9 residents per 100,000 Idahoans.
That's all bad news, especially considering that Mental Health America has reported that nearly three quarters of those who die by suicide visited a doctor in the four months before their death. This revelation prompted legislation in neighboring Washington state to require all clinicians to undergo mandatory suicide-prevention training on the chance that they could spot warning signs in a potentially suicidal person.
But in a state with not enough doctors, how can people be helped?
Even worse, Idaho's medical support system is bleak. Idaho has one of the lowest concentrations of doctors in the country (PDF). Plus its medical professionals are aging. NPR reports that 41.5 percent of the physicians in the state are 55 or older. And Idaho fares even worse for medical residents, with only 3.9 residents per 100,000 Idahoans.
That's all bad news, especially considering that Mental Health America has reported that nearly three quarters of those who die by suicide visited a doctor in the four months before their death. This revelation prompted legislation in neighboring Washington state to require all clinicians to undergo mandatory suicide-prevention training on the chance that they could spot warning signs in a potentially suicidal person.
But in a state with not enough doctors, how can people be helped?
Search for solutions
The mentality of rural America has to be understood first, said Dr.
Thomas Joiner, the author of "Why People Die by Suicide" and a Florida
State University professor of psychology. Farmers are acquainted with a
hard life and regularly see death and pain in their work, he said.
"The lifestyle in a lot of rural settings is more rugged," he said. "People are more involved in things involving physicality. All of that kind of pushes people to be generally less afraid of physical, strenuous and harmful things."
That can be lethal when combined with the desire to die and with the more readily available means than most other people have.
"Fearlessness is what's required. It's not the same thing, by the way, as bravery or courage," Joiner says, "It's more that you've gotten used to bodily harm, injury, pain and the prospect of death."
Joiner said restricting the means of suicide has proved effective in preventing it. A barrier on a bridge, for instance, is effective in stopping people from jumping. But what barriers can be erected for farmers living fairly isolated lives?
Judy Gabert, a resource specialist with Suicide Prevention Action Network (SPAN) of Idaho, pointed to guns, which account for 60 percent of the suicides there. She said any talk of restrictions on guns doesn't go over well in Idaho, an extremely pro-gun state, so instead, her organization encourages gun safety and gun locks.
Gabert said that, given the prevalence of religion in Idaho — it's the 15th most religious state in the country and the only northwestern state to break the top 30 — SPAN has begun training clergy members in suicide-prevention strategies.
But Paul Quinnett, the founder of the QPR Institute, which offers a three-step question-persuade-and-refer suicide-prevention curriculum, said the issue needs to be attacked at the root. All states need to take measures to remove the taboos — stigmas that weighed down people like Jim Short — that are often associated with suicide, Quinnett said. He pointed to HIV and AIDS, saying that it wasn't until the "ick" factor was removed that the country recognized the threat of epidemic that the disease posed.
"Some of us in the suicide-prevention field think suicide has the same repulsion to it," he says.
He said opening mental-health clinics in rural areas won't solve the problem. Jamie Short agrees, saying that if there had been help in Craigmont, her dad wouldn't have sought it out.
"He would have never asked for help with anything," she said. "If help was available, sadly, I don't think it would have helped my dad. As much as I wish it would have."
But that's where Quinnett says technology can be an asset. Web-based therapy can be accessed in someone's home — or even from a smartphone — and could be extremely effective in rural communities. People can admit they're experiencing depression or suicidal thoughts and get the help they need, and no one else has to know. He says ManTherapy.org is a site that's good for men to start acknowledging potential issues. With males dominating agriculture and more men dying by suicide in Idaho, he said it's important to understand that mental-health solutions need to speak to that population.
Smaller communities also need to band together to look out for their own — almost like a barn raising, just with mental health, he added.
"You have a better chance, in some ways, of changing the culture in a smaller community than you do in a big city," he said. "You say, 'Our citizens don't die by suicide. We don't let anyone die alone.'"
After Jim's death, the Shorts were faced with harvesting their 3,000 acres of crops.
Craigmont came together and helped, as they knew Jim would have for anyone else.
"Every person reached out and helped in some way," Jamie said.
Trailers parked across their property. Farmers pitched tents in the fields. Soon the Shorts' property was buzzing with 30 combines and 80 grain trucks. Their entire property was harvested in just three days.
"Ironically, even with the $80,000 loss from the crop lost in the hailstorm, it was my dad's best year in about 20," Jamie said.
"There were over 600 people at the funeral in the city park. The town only had 513 people in it at the time. It was amazing. It was horrible in so many ways but beautiful in others."
"The lifestyle in a lot of rural settings is more rugged," he said. "People are more involved in things involving physicality. All of that kind of pushes people to be generally less afraid of physical, strenuous and harmful things."
That can be lethal when combined with the desire to die and with the more readily available means than most other people have.
"Fearlessness is what's required. It's not the same thing, by the way, as bravery or courage," Joiner says, "It's more that you've gotten used to bodily harm, injury, pain and the prospect of death."
Joiner said restricting the means of suicide has proved effective in preventing it. A barrier on a bridge, for instance, is effective in stopping people from jumping. But what barriers can be erected for farmers living fairly isolated lives?
Judy Gabert, a resource specialist with Suicide Prevention Action Network (SPAN) of Idaho, pointed to guns, which account for 60 percent of the suicides there. She said any talk of restrictions on guns doesn't go over well in Idaho, an extremely pro-gun state, so instead, her organization encourages gun safety and gun locks.
Gabert said that, given the prevalence of religion in Idaho — it's the 15th most religious state in the country and the only northwestern state to break the top 30 — SPAN has begun training clergy members in suicide-prevention strategies.
But Paul Quinnett, the founder of the QPR Institute, which offers a three-step question-persuade-and-refer suicide-prevention curriculum, said the issue needs to be attacked at the root. All states need to take measures to remove the taboos — stigmas that weighed down people like Jim Short — that are often associated with suicide, Quinnett said. He pointed to HIV and AIDS, saying that it wasn't until the "ick" factor was removed that the country recognized the threat of epidemic that the disease posed.
"Some of us in the suicide-prevention field think suicide has the same repulsion to it," he says.
He said opening mental-health clinics in rural areas won't solve the problem. Jamie Short agrees, saying that if there had been help in Craigmont, her dad wouldn't have sought it out.
"He would have never asked for help with anything," she said. "If help was available, sadly, I don't think it would have helped my dad. As much as I wish it would have."
But that's where Quinnett says technology can be an asset. Web-based therapy can be accessed in someone's home — or even from a smartphone — and could be extremely effective in rural communities. People can admit they're experiencing depression or suicidal thoughts and get the help they need, and no one else has to know. He says ManTherapy.org is a site that's good for men to start acknowledging potential issues. With males dominating agriculture and more men dying by suicide in Idaho, he said it's important to understand that mental-health solutions need to speak to that population.
Smaller communities also need to band together to look out for their own — almost like a barn raising, just with mental health, he added.
"You have a better chance, in some ways, of changing the culture in a smaller community than you do in a big city," he said. "You say, 'Our citizens don't die by suicide. We don't let anyone die alone.'"
After Jim's death, the Shorts were faced with harvesting their 3,000 acres of crops.
Craigmont came together and helped, as they knew Jim would have for anyone else.
"Every person reached out and helped in some way," Jamie said.
Trailers parked across their property. Farmers pitched tents in the fields. Soon the Shorts' property was buzzing with 30 combines and 80 grain trucks. Their entire property was harvested in just three days.
"Ironically, even with the $80,000 loss from the crop lost in the hailstorm, it was my dad's best year in about 20," Jamie said.
"There were over 600 people at the funeral in the city park. The town only had 513 people in it at the time. It was amazing. It was horrible in so many ways but beautiful in others."
Join the Conversation
People who are sincerely considering suicide often do not talk overtly about it. BUT anyone who interacts with them . needs to not be afraid to ask and indeed to be a little pushy---"Yoe don't seem like yourself lately, I know times are tough but is there anything I can do to help? Or maybe you need to talk to someone about it. In the case of people like this farmer...emphasize that they've done much for others and you just feel you'd like to 'give back' to them.
It's a catch 22---suicidal people are often very good at 'masking' their distress, that's why would be helpers have to be a little pushy---but often part of the problem is that they feel like they're invisible unless someone needs something FROM them---so just letting them know that someone cares enough to risk an angry response by talking about the mood & behavior changes they've noticed---well it it invalidates some of the 'self-talk' they're doing.
So instead of just talking about what causes it and how sad it is and what 'society' can do---resolve to be the sort of person who does something proactive...be sure support flows from you as well as to you---notice what's going on with the people in YOUR life. This includes cyber friends---I have kept people talking---given them my phone number even; I've also been one of a handful of folks on a very densely populated meant to be 'fun' site that contacted the admin after reading a blog that anybody with a modicum of sense could see was that of a suicidal person---we got the admin to check on the person---after leaving messages of support, understanding and pleas to feel free to pm or call us. At least 3 times I know cyber friends brought someone back from the brink, convinced them to seek help a fourth i'm pretty sure was a drama queen wanting the attention ---but you know what---even if the numbers were reversed and only 1 in 4 was legit...i'd do the same things...i'd rather be thought fool by the person and onlookers than risk they were sincere and I didn't reach out. i'd rather have the person angry at me for suggesting they're having emotional issues than risk they needed someone to notice and no-one did---or no-one had the courage and concern to broach the subject.
This story is very sad, and my heart goes out to the family. I'm glad that there are steps to train clergy in responding to these issues, and I hope and pray that healing and change happen.
We all need to say thank you to the farmers of the world..
There didn't seem to be any reference to medications/drugs in the article. If that many visited doctors, there could be extenuating circumstances, such as being told of a serious illness. Also, medications/drugs have both been beneficial and the cause of suicides, so it could be that Jim was given a prescription for an anti-depressant that did not set well with him. Farming/orcharding is a unique job and this is very sad.
The answer is not higher yields, it is a higher pay price for yields. The "best year in about 20", exactly. If people only knew what it took to grow good crops and raise good quality livestock they would have a very different view of the farmer.