"People from pavement." It was atop a deep-soil hill just north of Kansas City that I first heard the term. And it was uttered with some disdain. To be truthful, the tone leaned toward condemnation. Atop this hill, looking over its fenced pasture, a farmer explained that even on the fringe of a city, there is a cultural divide between those who live with pavement beneath their feet and those who have been raised and live rurally.

He explained that people from pavement, or PFPs, as he called them, tended to be a bit shallow in their thinking, narrow-minded in the sense that they didn't consider the consequences of their actions when they strayed off the pavement and into the country. People fished this farmer's ponds with no permission and without closing gates when they left. People built houses on gravel roads, then complained about dust. Urban folks bought their dream spread in the country, then complained about odors from nearby farm animals. And, of course, there is the SUV buried axle-deep on a muddy side road, the driver not understanding why the all-wheel drive didn't deliver as promised.

We've all heard these stories, classics most of them. And they've come to build a stereotype that is easy to joke about, easy to turn to when urban/rural conflicts arise.

Of course, stereotypes are born from certain truths, and truly, "people from pavement" is as apt a term as any to describe the divide between rural and urban. But before we get too disparaging in our labels, we should consider the corresponding opposite: Rural people become "people from gravel," or maybe "people from dirt."

Leave it to the sociologist to sort out the titles and explain the exact differences between rural and urban populations (and the requisite sociologist formula for how we can all get along). Just remember this one important difference: Non-farming, urban people view their discretionary income as what it is--discretionary, not money that needs to go back into farming. Their willingness to spend this money evokes one of humanity's most powerful and base emotions--envy. When a $450,000 house goes up down the road from a well-worn 1890s farm house, the farmer isn't just annoyed that his new neighbors cross the fence now and again. He is envious of that brick house with its carefree central air conditioning and the new pickup that gets traded for a newer one every year. To those who have never had the confidence of a monthly pay check, money spent for non-essentials may seem of ill discretion.

But that's backward thinking. We hold no discretion over other people's money, nor should we. But we can influence where it is spent.

Instead of looking at urbanites as "people from pavement," rural folks should consider them an asset. People from our cities, who want to get to the country and will spend discretionary money to do so, should be considered a means of income. They are a way to exploit those uniquely rural assets--large tracts of land and country scenery--to the benefit of rural landowners.

In this issue, we feature a couple of examples of how agriculture and rural recreation can mix to bring more money to the farm. But these are singular examples. The trick is to find the market. Find what metropolitan people want and capitalize by offering it.

While the comparison is too complex to be precise, it's interesting to note that in Missouri, tourism is bumping along toward an $8 billion industry. For agriculture, the state's farm-gate receipts come in at less than $5 billion.

Wouldn't it be nice to double dip?