Doing it right by doing it wrong

GILMAN, Wis. — Last August, Tristan Swartz faced a defining moment: a near brush with death from which he cannot explain how he survived. That moment changed his outlook on life and catalyzed him to share his story of dairy farming near Gilman.

Swartz was driving a skid loader through his yard when the power line broke loose from the barn and landed on the cab. When the line began to burn through the window, Swartz called 911.

“I told them I was trapped in my skid loader with a live power line caught between the door and the boom, and it was sparking,” he said. “I kept the skid loader running. I was afraid that if I shut it off, the boom would go down and it could arc to the ground and ground me.”

Miscommunication delayed the emergency response. Swartz waited for nearly an hour and a half before help arrived, with a live power line sparking inches from his head.

“Sitting there, I got to thinking about a lot of stuff,” Swartz said. “I started looking back through pictures and videos. I thought, ‘When I die, this isn’t going to be a dairy farm anymore. It’ll probably become part of a big grain farm, and everything will get torn down.’ I was wishing there was some way to preserve it.”

In a conversation Swartz had with his father following the incident, the idea to preserve his farm through videos was born.

“My dad said it was no wonder we don’t have many young people farming because they look at those videos and think it’s impossible, that you have to have new equipment and a thousand cows,” Swartz said. “He said I ought to show them they don’t need that, to show the real side of farming, to tell my side of the story.”

A week later, Swartz posted a video that marked a new chapter in his life.

“I was swathing grain, and my steering wheel broke off,” Swartz said. “I rigged something up with a crescent wrench and took a little video.”

By the following morning, the video had 50,000 views. So, Swartz kept filming. Now, he shares his life as he milks 50 cows and manages 500 acres.

Swartz posts videos on his Doing It Wrong Dairy social media channels. The initial video has garnered 6.5 million views, and in just over six months, the page has grown to more than 280,000 followers.

“There are more than half a million followers now on all the platforms,” Swartz said. “I’m getting 5 million views a day, and I can get as many as 1,500 messages a day.”

The sentimental approach Swartz takes to farming draws a large portion of his fan base. From taking in cows most would never dream of milking and giving them a forever home, to breathing new life into equipment older than he is, Swartz sees value in things others might discard.

Swartz found an unlikely kindred spirit in his neighbor, Tom Victory. The pair developed a friendship that culminated as Swartz took it upon himself to provide end-of-life care to his friend. In fulfilling Victory’s final wishes, the two farms have become one. The story of that friendship has become one that has captivated Swartz’s followers.

Swartz has plans to rehabilitate the dairy barn on Victory’s farm to provide housing for his youngstock. To generate funds to raise money for the work that needs to be done, Swartz had planned to auction off the old farmer’s prized hat, which has become part of the trademark of Doing It Wrong Dairy.

“When I announced on my live channel that I was going to sell that hat to go toward the barn, people started messaging me, urging me to keep it,” Swartz said.

The green Dairyland Seed hat, along with the bib overalls Swartz wears, has indeed become iconic in the world of Swartz’s followers. Swartz attended the National Farm Machinery Show in Louisville, Kentucky, as the guest of Kerr Auction, with whom Swartz has been working. With a crew of friends entrusted to care for his girls at home, Swartz headed southeast.

What surprised Swartz most when he arrived in Louisville was how his fan base showed up.

“It felt like an Elvis sighting or something,” Swartz said. “People wanted to take pictures with me; companies were offering to pay me to spend an hour in their booths. My girlfriend and I couldn’t even order dinner at a restaurant because people kept coming over to talk.”

While the hat and bibs have become part of the brand that Swartz unintentionally created, he has begun to learn how to embrace his newfound fame. He has been approached by companies wanting to affiliate with him for marketing purposes, but Swartz is selective in who he chooses to associate with.

“I tell people I’m on sale, but I’m not for sale,” Swartz said. “I don’t want to tie myself to a company just for money. I want to be able to help friends, to promote the smaller businesses — the ones who are like me.”

One of the more surprising things for Swartz has been outreach from organizations, including legislators and policymakers. Swartz has been booked for appearances at 16 farm shows in the next year and has received requests to speak at events. He has been a guest on several podcasts.

While the ability to diversify his farm income through the sale of hats and other merchandise has been a boon for Swartz, the most valuable benefit to his accidental side hustle has been the human aspect of connection.

“I’ve got three different kinds of viewers — people who grew up farming, people who wanted to farm and people who miss farming,” Swartz said. “What I’m doing, the way I’m doing it, it appeals to them. It is neat this has happened, kind of mind blowing. I’m still in shock over the way it has all taken off, that people want to hear what I have to say.”