He'll never be a farmer, but FFA saved Carson Rudd

On stage as one of the seven officers of Indiana’s branch of the National FFA Organization, Carson Rudd stood out.

For one, he had the build of a football offensive tackle, with a fiery mullet to boot. And he was a polished speaker at an age when most kids, including some of his fellow officers, choke on vowels and lose their train of thought.

He also had perhaps the loudest fan club of anyone in the room, at an assembly of all of Indiana’s 200 FFA chapters in Elliott Hall last week.

Those fans sat not 10 rows out and to the left of center stage, waving miniature American flags when Carson’s name was called as part of the assembly’s festivities, celebrating the year it had been in Indiana FFA, a year which hinged greatly on Carson and his six officer colleagues.

“In the FFA world,” his mother Michelle said afterward, “he’s like a celebrity.”

Carson had just finished his exactly one year serving the agricultural education club, from the position he obtained through an extensive application process and a 1-year delay of college. It was a growth experience for him, one that has led him to apply for a six-person, highly selective national FFA office.

But for the vast majority of his 7-year FFA career, he hadn’t wanted to take the jump.

“If you had asked me junior year, I definitely wouldn't have run for state office,” Carson said. “I just felt like this level wasn't necessarily for me.”

In fact, he almost quit the whole thing. He had done 10 FFA “contests” a year prior to then, where members are scored in presenting findings on a number of agriculture topics, but dropped to only two prior to running for office. So he dove into the deep end to see if he could swim.

“I told myself that I would run as a last ditch effort to see if I do belong here,” Carson said in a speech before the whole assembly. “And see if this organization accepted me, as I showed up.”

He applied for the position, went through interviews, and as he walked out of his final appearance before the committee of his peers who would decide on his candidacy, he felt weightless. He had come out to them as gay.

“It was a big adjustment for all of us,” Michelle said of the aftermath. “Because he is from a smaller community, where differences aren’t as easily accepted.”

When asked where that was, Michelle laughed. It was Flora, in Carroll County, a school of 100 in Cason’s graduating class which went to the regional football championship in 2023. It’s the picture of a rural high school out of a movie, Carson said.

“Very small, in the middle of nowhere. One hundred kids per class. Loved, loved, loved athletes.”

Carson said he had performed as Mr. Warbucks (in Annie) and Grimsby (The Little Mermaid) in his high school theater career in an auditorium last renovated in the 70s. Similarly, the Carroll FFA chapter was promised a new complex, but that “got taken away,” he said.

“It was a normal county high school having their priorities where they were, and leaving the things I was a part of behind.”

Before he came out his junior year, Carson said he felt like he had to hold a part of himself back, from everyone. He “protected” his own friends from uncomfortable feelings they might have once they realized he was gay, by keeping himself suppressed instead.

“I’m a very big people pleaser,” Carson said.

Carson joined FFA in seventh grade, he said, but took two years before going on stage in any capacity in his home chapter. He said his speech last week expressed his mission in the 96-year-old organization, if he were granted a national role, to encourage members to become involved, even if they feel like misfits.

“I feel like the message that I was able to share tonight, is something that I still see the need for in our organization,” he said. “Me saying it once isn't going to instantly change our organization overnight and make sure that every single person feels like they belong.”

Inexorably linked to agrarian culture, FFA has changed before. It began accepting women in 1969, and changed its official name from “Future Farmers of America” to “The National FFA Organization” in 1988 to have more wide-ranging appeal.

“The environment of the state as a whole is conservative, more reserved viewpoints,” Carson said. “But it’s the people you end up connecting with, and them making you feel like you are valid and welcome here is what really shifted that.”

Carson isn’t so much of an outdoorsman or farmer; his family has never been involved in agriculture. Michelle said he “knows nothing about animals.”

For Carson, it’s about encouraging people to do what he did, to join FFA and give yourself the chance to flourish in it.

“It all comes down to what made me feel like I belonged,” he said. “It took a lot of trying new things out and discovering what actually gave me that feeling. I think that’s what got me through high school.”

He wants to major in agricultural education at Kansas State so he can pursue a career as an FFA advisor.

“Some of my biggest mentors in my life were my FFA advisors,” he said. “I have a passion to cultivate this organization into one that is for everyone who sets foot in a classroom or sees an FFA poster while walking down the hallway. We’re almost there, but I want to see it actually (get there).”

His uncle would want him to reconsider that fate, though. After the two-hour session in Elliott, Carson’s uncle told him that if he didn’t go into a public speaking role, he was “missing the boat.” Carson, calling his uncle a “jokester,” said he didn’t see that in the cards.

But not that long ago, he didn’t think his current dream possible, either.