There was just one problem: Lewis and Barker could not afford to buy the farm or the land on which it sits—that is, until they worked with an agricultural land trust.

What is a land trust?

Land trusts can be non-profit conservation organizations or, in some instances, government bodies that work to conserve agricultural land in perpetuity.

Without farmland to grow crops or ranchland for livestock, we don’t eat. Conserving farmland underpins a stable local food supply. Without agriculture, jobs are lost; 22.1 million full- and part-time jobs were related to the agricultural and food sectors in 2022, which equals 10.4 percent of the total US employment. Keeping farmland in farming is crucial for our food supply and food security, and it’s why the American Farmland Trust (AFT), a national conservation organization, advocates for keeping farmers and farmland together. 

The ATF predicts that more than 300 million acres of farmland and ranch land could change ownership within the next two decades, with some of it transitioning out of agriculture use permanently. As retiring farmers exit the field, they are looking to the equity they’ve built up in their land on which to retire. That can be a significant sum, something that young or new farmers may not be able to afford. (According to the USDA’s 2022 Census of Agriculture, farmers under the age of 35 account for only nine percent of all producers.) But real estate developers can afford it. 

“Between 2001 and 2021, the country lost 11 million acres of agricultural land,” says Jen Dempsey, director of the Farmland Information Center and senior advisor for the AFT. “Development,” she says, “remains the most significant and direct threat to farmland.” 

Ben Miles, is the Southeast Program manager for Land Trust Alliance (LTA), a member organization with 950 land trusts nationwide. “Most farmers and ranchers could find a buyer willing to purchase their property and develop it, whether into 10-acre ranchettes or 1/8-acre lots,” he says. 

A land trust is able to purchase land outright, remove the development potential and then lease or sell the land back to a farmer. It is also able to help a beginning farmer if the selling price being asked by an existing farmer is too high. 

Community land trusts retain ownership of the property while the farmer pays a tenancy back to the trust to farm the land. But this can be a mixed bag. The farmer owns the buildings and the equipment, but not the land. 

[RELATED: Q&A: How Community Land Trusts Help to Preserve Farmland]

“Farmers look at their property values going up to retire,” says Lewis. Without value in the land, it becomes difficult for the farmer to gain equity or retirement savings. 

How do land trusts work?

By far the most popular way a land trust works is through the purchase of a conservation easement: a legally binding agreement between a land trust and a property owner, designed to keep farms and ranches conserved for agricultural use in perpetuity. 

The land is first appraised without any conservation restrictions placed on it. This is generally the higher value of the land with zoning and development potential attached to it. It is then appraised with conservation restrictions placed on it. The difference between the two values represents the “easement” value of the property. In 2022, the AFT and the USDA Natural Resources Conservation Service sent out a survey to land trusts across the US. The majority of respondents to the survey, 88 percent, reported conserving 5.9 million acres of farmland and ranchland through conservation easements. 

In the case of Oyster Bay, the former owners sold the easement value of the property to Community Farmland Trust. They were then able to retire, having leveraged the equity in their property. Lewis and Barker were able to buy the more affordable property without the development rights attached. Since 2018, they have been producing and selling free-range chicken eggs and meat on the farm’s idyllic 40 acres.

“The fee interests—the dirt, the soil, the property—are in our names,” says Lewis, while the conservation easement is in the land trust’s name. The property owner, in this case Lewis and Barker, retains ownership and usage of the land—such as the right to continue farming or to raise livestock. The legal agreements governing an easement are extremely comprehensive including the buying and selling of the farm property. “Easements can be amended and altered slightly, but it can be a very challenging process,” says Lewis. As a general rule, once the land is conserved and the easement filed with the land records office, it is binding and travels with the property for all current and future owners. Even if Lewis and Barker sell the property, the conditions and restrictions on the easement remain in place forever. 

But nothing is perfect. “The easement in our situation reduced the overall cost of the initial purchase in 2018, but now, as property values overall have risen, the land is worth almost the same as before the purchase,” says Lewis.

This is a concern for Lewis and Barker, as they wonder what will happen when it’s their turn to retire and pay the land forward. Their daughter currently does not want to farm. So, will the property again become unaffordable?

Lewis also cautions that land trusts can be complicated legal quagmires and that those entering into a trust should have tempered expectations. Lease agreements, inheritance regulations and the shared responsibility of land stewardship between the trust that owns the land and the farmer can take time to work out. It took Lewis and Barker more than three years to finally have everything in place. All three parties involved (the sellers, the land trust and Lewis and Barker) needed to work out the details of the sale and conservation restrictions being placed on the land. The land trust had to do land surveys and environmental assessments to obtain a grant that let them purchase the easement. “It all takes time,” says Lewis.

How can farmers get started with land trusts?

For farmers looking to conserve their land in a trust and for young agrarians interested in acquiring farmland, the AFT’s Land Transfer Navigators program in partnership with the USDA Natural Resources Conservation Service is a good place to start.

“Some land trusts,” says Miles, “also have programs connecting new farmers with retiring farmers, through Farm Link programs, or run incubator or community farms, so they may be able to directly help new farmers get access to land and to get their business started.”

Land access and the ability of young farmers to be able to purchase land is a pressing problem that could be addressed in the upcoming Farm Bill. The Increasing Land Access, Security and Opportunities Act is one of several bipartisan bills addressing the issue. Led in the House of Representatives by Joe Courtney (D) from Connecticut, Zach Nunn (R) from Iowa and Nikki Budzinski (D) from Illinois, it hopes to prioritize projects that give direct financial assistance to farmers, involve collaborative partnerships and transition farmland from existing producers to the next generation.

“We are in a land access crisis,” says Lewis. “As farmers get older and look at how they can retire, we need all the options on the table.”

Correction: An earlier version of this story stated that land trusts are legal agreements administered by non-profit conservation organizations. The conservation easement is the legal agreement, while the land trust is the organization that holds or owns the easement. 

The post Holding onto Farmland, One Conservation Easement at a Time appeared first on Modern Farmer.

Witt’s home in South Egremont is a scant mile from Indian Line Farm, the nation’s first CSA; together, the pair of plots represents 28 total acres stemming from another of Witt’s passion projects. Since her founding of the nonprofit in 1980, the Community Land Trust in the Southern Berkshires (CLTSB) has been creating lease agreements throughout the region, aimed at enabling occupants to build wealth (including equity in their improvements) on community-owned land—with the goal of creating an equitable, regenerative future for all. 

We spoke with Witt about the role community land trusts stand to play in the future of farming, especially as access to affordable farmland continues to dwindle. This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

HVS: Let’s start with the basics. What is a community land trust?

SW: A CLT is a nonprofit, regionally based organization with open membership that acquires land, by gift or by purchase, creates a land-use plan that reflects needed land use in the community—from creating workforce housing and securing low-cost land access for farmers to keeping retail space locally owned—and embeds social and ecological objectives for each site.

HVS: How does a community land trust differ from a conservation land trust? 

SW: While conservation land trusts focus on keeping lands in their natural state, the CLT model deals with working lands. Its goal, to take the cost of land out of access to it, is achieved by leasing community-owned land at a very affordable rate for purposes described in a land-use plan. 

Community land trusts are organized to give equity in buildings and other improvements on the land, which are owned by the lessee, while conservation land trusts generally exclude housing and/or other buildings. 

[RELATED: Holding onto Farmland, One Land Trust at a Time]

HVS: What does this community-based approach aim to do?

SW: Achieving long-term security for farmers is among the biggest benefits of community land trust ownership of farmland. A lease, coupled with ownership of outbuildings and improvements including soil improvements, means farmers own all of what they put into their operation. When compared with handshake agreements and short-term leases, this model ultimately positions farmers to apply for grants unavailable to those without land security. 

Preserving farmland in perpetuity is another major benefit. Take Indian Line Farm, for instance: when founder Robyn Van En died unexpectedly in 1997, that farm could have easily been sold as another second, third or fourth home in the Berkshires, and a prime, fertile tract of bottomland for local agriculture would have been lost. Instead, the local community land trust raised donations to purchase the land value; the Nature Conservancy (which owned abutting wetlands) purchased an overall easement; and two local farmers—who had been working the land but lacked the assets to purchase the farm— took out a mortgage to buy the buildings. They have since paid back the debt of the mortgage; improved the house and the barns; built greenhouses and have a thriving business that provides food to local markets and consumers. 

HVS: What are the roadblocks here? What’s keeping more land from being used in this way?

SW: There’s a lot of farmland out there, much of which is tied up by easements and commodity crops—which neither fosters access for the small, diversified farms needed to strengthen the local food web nor does it enable housing on site for the farmer, which is critical. When farmland and housing are combined, it creates a farmstead providing land security and housing security for our small farmers. We’d like to encourage more cooperation between community land trusts and conservation land trusts in securing farmsteads. Conservation land trusts can play a key role in developing land-use plans with ecological considerations.

HVS: What can people do in their own communities to address this issue? 

SW: While the importance of donating “the back forty” (a remote piece of land that has yet to be cultivated) to conservation land trusts is well understood, we seek to encourage the same understanding of how to make donations of working lands—with buildings—to community land trusts. This practice allows donors to remain aligned with their priorities (to help local growers bolster the food supply, for instance) rather than risk leaving property to another type of nonprofit [that] might sell the donated land and buildings to the highest bidder in order to raise cash for other uses. It’s pretty powerful. 

HVS: What can I do today? 

SW: Learn how local land trusts are leading the way in conservation by discovering the active land trusts in your state. Join your community land trust and be a voice there. For a modest annual fee, everyone is welcome to exercise their civic engagement and participate in a community-led solution.

The post Q&A: How Community Land Trusts Help to Preserve Farmland appeared first on Modern Farmer.

His new ebook, First Generation Farming, lays out his vision: building co-ops for first-generation farmers that hold resources in common and control a shared supply chain. His first such effort collapsed under the weight of interpersonal conflict four months after its formation in 2021, but he’s now building a cooperative structure in which his and two other farms supply livestock and eggs to a new entity, Blackbird Farms, a commonly held processor and sales distributor. Eventually, he says, Blackbird will buy the individual farm assets and fold those into a holding company. – Jacqui Shine

This interview was edited and condensed. 

JS: I wanted to hear about your book. You say the message is “how to start farming without ruining your life.”

CN: More or less, yes. 

JS: You’ve been writing about this for a long time. Is your sense of “how to do it without ruining your life” different than it was five years ago?

CN: Five years ago, I would have been able to give some general advice about, like, what products to take, what breeds to raise, more technical stuff like that. But what’s happened over time, as I’ve been able to get a better understanding of how food systems work, especially at scale—how the big boys operate—it became clear to me that if people are going to start farming and stay farming, there needs to be a fundamentally different platform for getting people onto the land. It’s way too risky. This [system] where people are going after grants or trying to do these policy things that make it easier for [first-generation farmers] to get themselves onto a plot of land, get themselves trained, start growing stuff and then trying somehow to market it—it’s just way too risky. And there’s too much attrition for it to ever create enough success to challenge conventional agriculture. 

We need to look to more of what conventional agriculture and conventional farmers have done to challenge some of the abuses that they’ve dealt with, which basically comes down to cooperatives, but a cooperative [model] more geared towards first-generation farmers that takes away a lot of the risk, that [is] really well resourced, that [has] land available for people to use and markets for people to sell into. So, you just take out all of this individual risk that goes into it. My book is about how to build those cooperatives and trying to deconstruct and dismantle a lot of the myth-making that’s led us down this path of thinking that small farms are the answer, which they just aren’t.

JS: There’s an existing set of practices for agricultural cooperatives. Is what you’re describing different?

CN: The only difference between what they’re doing and what we’re doing is that we’re trying to build a co-op that can build new farmers. We’re not trying to create a coordinated network of existing farms. We’re trying to bring in people who don’t have land and who aren’t farming right now, and we’re trying to bring them on to a commons. 

JS: It’s using the co-op model as a way to help first-generation startup farmers get into it, because it’s saner and more economically resilient. 

CN: The engineer in me doesn’t like to build things new if there’s something that exists that works, and co-ops work. Whenever you have an issue where there’s an abusive relationship between agribusiness and agriculture, co-ops tend to do—not a perfect job but a fairly good job of making sure the farmers are taken care of while also producing at the scale where the stuff they do is affordable. So, the only twist we’re trying is saying, “OK, how can we leverage the co-op model so that we can get new people into this and do it under regenerative ethics?”

Photo courtesy of Sylvanaqua Farms.

JS: Originally, you referred to yourself as a permaculture farmer. Have you abandoned that term? 

CN: I think a lot of my attraction to “permaculture” was just because of a void of information about how conventional systems work. They’re not as bad as people say they are. And the ones that are bad are bad for utterly fixable reasons and in utterly fixable ways. When it came to permaculture, small farming, it wasn’t like I had this religious devotion to any of these things. But if I see something that makes more sense and if I’m going to learn things about how conventional farming works, how agribusiness works and I’m going, “this just makes an awful lot of sense,” I want to change my mind.

JS: You don’t use small farming world terms such as “permaculture,” but you do still like “food sovereignty.”

CN: The “why” of me getting into agriculture has never changed. This has always been about making sure that people can determine how they are fed and that the systems that feed them are sustainable and durable and workable. “Food sovereignty” is one of those things that’s loosely defined enough to be able to choose your own adventure in terms of how you get there.

JS: What people want is for there to be room in the small farming system for Black and Indigenous farmers. And you say that system doesn’t work.

CN: Yeah, it’s like don’t run off the cliff. You see white [startup farmers] run off a cliff, you see three or four of them pull hang gliders out there and somehow float to safety, but most of them crash, and you never hear the stories of the crashes. The worst thing in the world for me would be for marginalized people who have something special to bring to the table [to run off the cliff]. Black folks, Indigenous folks, they have something we all need. And if we don’t get it, we’re screwed. I don’t want to see our people just follow these other folks off this cliff, because the consequences for us, number one, are worse. I know plenty of white folks got into farming, fucked up, kind of hit bottom, but they’re able to get up. Black folks, Native folks have a much harder time getting up when we crash. The consequences are harder, we fall on sharper rocks.

JS: What is that thing we need?

CN: It’s that outsider perspective. These are people who are not privileged, who are going to come to farming with the idea of, “I need to feed my people back where I came from where nobody has shit.” It’s a completely different perspective and brings a completely different sense of urgency to it. When that post went viral? My DMs were impossible, just full of colored folks: “I want to start my farm,” “help me start my farm, what do I do?” and it’s like, I see [where] you’re getting this idea from, and we may have to stop it right now before we lose a whole friggin’ generation of people who could do a hell of a lot of good if their energy was just directed 10 degrees to the left.

The post Chris Newman Wants to Help You Start Farming—Without Ruining Your Life appeared first on Modern Farmer.

When challenging its pork producer about its use of manure lagoons and the myriad health and environmental issues they pose, Ganzler knew that Bon Appétit’s end goal was not only to source more sustainable pork but to be able to communicate effectively with its customers about the issue—something that is quite difficult, since no one wants to talk about manure when they’re eating.

This tension is at the heart of Ganzler’s new book: How can companies practice authentic sustainability and work it effectively into their marketing strategy? In the book, Ganzler details Bon Appétit’s progress and missteps in navigating issues such as farmworker rights, pigs raised in gestation crates, chickens in cages, and more. The book, which comes out April 2, also includes interviews with other industry experts who talk about their experiences, including:  Rob Michalak, former global director of social mission for Ben & Jerry’s, who talks about integrating sustainability into operations and his experience with Milk with Dignity organizers; Gary Hirshberg, co-founder of Stonyfield Organic, who discusses picking your battles and taking stands on issues; and Lisa Dyson, CEO and co-founder of Air Protein, who talks about creating alternative protein and striving to be the number one meat company in the world.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Modern Farmer: In your book, you say that when a business does something right or makes progress toward a sustainability target, it should get credit for it. This can bolster the business, but you write that it can also create a ripple effect toward industry change. How so?

Maisie Ganzler: A great example of that was in 2005, when we at Bon Appétit made a commitment to cage-free eggs nationwide. We heard that the client at another corporation said to their food service provider, ‘We’d like cage-free eggs served here,’ and the food service provider said ‘Oh, we can’t do that. There’s not enough available, blah, blah, blah,’—all these excuses. And the client said, ‘Well, Bon Appétit does it for their locations. So, I’m sure you can do it here, too.’ That’s the ripple effect that I’m talking about—once a company has proven that something is possible, other companies now need to come to the table and do the same.

MF: Something you worked on passionately was sourcing pork from producers that don’t house pigs in gestational crates. You didn’t reach this goal overnight but through a series of milestones. You eventually accomplished this with pork producer Clemens Food Group, on which Modern Farmer reported here. To get there, you first had to hear big companies tell you no, it wasn’t possible. Why did you push on regardless? How were you confident you could achieve something that wasn’t being widely done at such a large scale?

MG: I pushed on for two main reasons. One was that it was simply the right thing to do. If you’ve seen a sow in a gestation crate, it’s heartbreaking. They can’t turn around, they can’t walk; it is very clear that something better could be done for that animal. So, that’s where we start, rooted in the idea that it’s the right thing to do for the animal. But as you’ve pointed out, we’re also a business and we want to get market credit. And we had made a public promise, and I was not going to go back on that. So, while I was transparent about the difficulties and about missing the deadline, I never wanted to say it can’t be done. Was I confident that it could be done? Not necessarily, but I don’t need confidence to keep pushing forward.

MF: You advise companies to own their challenges and obstacles to achieving their sustainability goals—something that can be tempting to hide. Why is it actually better to be transparent about these things?

MG: Being transparent is important because one, it will insulate you to some degree from greenwashing claims. If you are the person that’s stepping forward and saying here’s where we fell short, nobody can have that “gotcha” moment. The other thing is that it actually gets you more credit in the end. If you pretend that everything’s easy to do, why should anybody celebrate that you did it? If you’re transparent about how challenging it was, how many bumps there were in the road, how many times you failed and redoubled your efforts, how much more expensive it was, then all the more reason for customers or advocacy groups to laud your accomplishment when you finally do pull it off.

I don’t think that anybody on the consumer side, anybody reasonable, expects perfection from a company. But they do expect honesty. And I think that’s a reasonable expectation. One of the things that I talked to Gary Hirshberg about, the founder of Stonyfield, is he talked about people needing to make an emotional connection with the brand, especially if you’re asking them to spend more money on something. Just what I was talking about [with] gestation crates, and how they are so horrible for sows, that cuts to my heart, not necessarily to my head, because it is more efficient, it is more cost-effective, but my heart tells me something different. And a lot about building an authentic brand based upon sustainability is listening to your heart and being open with your heart.

If you’re not authentic in your desire to make real change, I think that people smell that. And you may actually have something backfire. Instead of [achieving] what you want, you may be in a worse position if you’re inauthentically making these promises.

Ganzler holds a piglet. (Photography provided by Maisie Ganzler)

MF:  You talk about how in Bon Appétit’s Farm to Fork program, you don’t require that producers be certified organic, but you do require that farms be owner-operated. As a farmer in St. Louis told you, if you’re a small farm, you can’t afford to scrap a whole field if you have a fungal outbreak, you need to be able to apply a fungicide. If you held firm to requiring organic certification, you’d end up putting the squeeze on some of your smaller producers. When setting a sustainability goal, how do you make sure that the parameters you choose can actually help you achieve your desired outcome?

MG: You have to first be really clear of what your desired outcome is. So, for the Bon Appétit Farm to Fork program, the desired outcome was to support farmers that were growing for taste—that was the initial impetus of the program: to get the best-tasting food. And to do that, we decided that we had to support small-scale farmers that were close to us that were able to grow for flavor, as opposed to grow for conformity or transportability or a whole host of other reasons. Be really clear about what your goal is. 

MF: Considering Bon Appétit’s size and reach, you encounter a lot of issues in our food system. You work with producers across a wide geography and advocates on a wide breadth of issues. From your perspective, what are the biggest issues in our food system right now? 

MG: From sitting in the chair of a food service company that’s a buyer, I think that the biggest issues really surround animal agriculture, how animals are treated and the impacts that the raising of those animals have on our environment. And there’s a lot of different things in play. And there’s a lot of strong opinions but also some conflicting information. So, I would say that there’s a whole host of issues around animal agriculture.

MF: For small farmers or food businesses that don’t have a marketing department, budget or training, do you have any advice for how they can still tell their story effectively?

MG: I think that the first thing is that they need to figure out what their story is and distill it down. If they have a package, what can they put on the package that quickly communicates the most salient points of their story, not the encyclopedic version of it, because no one’s going to take time to read that. Everybody’s got a website, so the same thing there, really figuring out what your headline is and succinctly communicating that to your customers. And making that headline something that does create an emotional connection with people. Not being afraid to take a stand, whether that is in the issues you take on, how you talk about them or where you talk about them. 

What I was trying to communicate in the book is the importance of both making meaningful change and getting market credit for it. And that’s where the title comes from—You Can’t Market Manure at Lunchtime. There was this real environmental change we were after, dealing with manure lagoons, but we also needed to be able to talk to customers about it. Because we are not advocacy groups, we are for-profit companies. But we have the power to do good in this world and capitalize on it. And there’s nothing shameful about that duality.

The post When Corporate Sustainability Goals Are Good for Business appeared first on Modern Farmer.

“We call ourselves an ‘experience farm,’” says Topaz. “But we could just as easily call ourselves an educational farm.” 

Topaz Farm grows vegetables, berries and more—but it also participates in something called agritourism, a broad term that includes activities and events that bring visitors to the farm. This relationship between the farm and the greater community has been critical to the farm’s survival over the past few years.

When Abeles and Topaz first acquired their land on Sauvie Island, it had been conventionally farmed for decades and had “virtually nothing good in the soil,” says Topaz. As they began to farm the land, they also endeavored to learn about regenerative techniques to foster healthier soil—supplementing with microbes, biochar and more. But these things don’t transform soil overnight, and in the meantime, it was difficult to make enough income through traditional farming alone. This was coupled with other mishaps that often befall small farms. The first year, deer ate two acres of strawberries while Topaz and Abeles were sleeping. This past year, squash bugs helped wipe out their pumpkin crop. Their forays into agritourism have kept the farm afloat.

“We think that for farmers to become sustainable financially and to remain in business and to keep farming, they have to have the flexibility to have diverse revenue sources,” says Abeles.

They aren’t the only ones who feel this way. When announcing the results from the 2022 Census of Agriculture this February, Secretary of Agriculture Tom Vilsack said that many farmers rely on off-farm income to keep their production afloat, and he supports diversifying farmers’ income streams to keep farming economically feasible, although he didn’t mention agritourism specifically.

But despite many farms depending on extra revenue, which agritourism can provide, farmers such as Topaz and Abeles face challenges in navigating agritourism laws. According to Oregon’s legal code, farms can have “farm stands” as long as no more than 25 percent of the sales are attributable to “incidental items and fees from promotional activity.” This includes some but not all aspects of agritourism. But it doesn’t always make sense to Topaz and Abeles what fits into which category—it’s a problem, since there’s a hard cap on incidentals. For example, if they sell tickets to a farm dinner and prepare guests food made from the produce harvested on the farm, this can’t exceed 25 percent of their “farm stand” income. 

Left: At Topaz Farm, as with many agritourism farms, education is a key component. Right: A sign listing some agritourism activities visitors can participate in. (Photography by Topaz Farm)

Other issues emerged. They were told by a county official that if they host live music, it can’t be called a concert. But it is OK to call it a “harvest festival featuring a live music performance.” If a class of school children comes to the farm for an educational field trip and it’s raining (as it often does in northwest Oregon), Abeles and Topaz want to be able to utilize tents, but the county has flagged this as an issue as well, with the outcome yet to be decided.

“We used to say Mother Nature was the most challenging part of farming,” says Topaz. “We’ve replaced that with Multnomah County and the state being the most difficult thing that we deal with. And we’re not alone.”

The immense counterweight to all of these restrictions is that land use laws are in place for a reason: to protect the integrity of farmland. Across the country, millions of acres of farmland have been lost over the last 30 years, due to development and other forms of land conversion. What farmers, conservationists, lawmakers and residents of Oregon and the rest of the country are faced with is a delicate dilemma: How do you preserve the integrity of the country’s best farmland without sacrificing the livelihood of the farmer in the process? 

Agritourism on the farm

“Agritourism” is an umbrella term that encompasses so many different things. The National Agricultural Law Center defines agritourism as the “crossroads” of agriculture and tourism; it draws visitors to farms for educational, entertainment or recreational purposes, and it is intended to increase farm income. Examples vary widely; corn mazes, on-farm markets, farm stays and bed and breakfasts, U-pick opportunities, farm-to-table dinners, tours and classes are all examples of agritourism, and there are a lot more, too. 

This breadth is a double-edged sword. On one hand, there are a lot of different and customizable opportunities to bring in extra income on farms. But, at the same time, regulating all of these different activities as a monolith doesn’t make sense. As a result, the type of agritourism a farm can practice and how much of the business it can be isn’t consistent, not just state to state, but even county to county.

“There is not one nationally or internationally recognized definition,” says Audrey Comerford, an agritourism coordinator at Oregon State University Extension. “Which means it’s kind of an amoeba … [It] encompasses a lot of different things depending on the location.”

Comerford co-authored a new economic impact report on agritourism in Oregon’s Willamette Valley. Of the 18,679 farms in the Willamette Valley, about 4,000 of them may be engaged in some kind of agritourism. For these farms, agritourism can account for as much as 50 percent of their business. 

Comerford says Oregon’s land use laws seem to be stricter than those in other places in general. A national survey from the University of Vermont echoes this point, finding that farmers on the West Coast listed legal regulations as one of their biggest hurdles to agritourism. 

Live music featuring Gregory Alan Isakov at Topaz Farm. (Photography by Sara Wright)

The idea of gathering on farms is not new, says Lisa Chase, director of the Vermont Tourism Research Center at the University of Vermont and lead author of this survey. That’s something that’s been around as long as we’ve had agriculture. The more recent development is the profound disconnect between most people and the farms that feed them—direct on-farm jobs accounted for less than 2 percent of US employment in 2022. 

“What’s new is this disconnect with agriculture, for almost all of the US population, and that provides an opportunity for farms to help the non-farming public learn about food production, and [it] also provide some additional income for the farms,” says Chase.

In this way, agritourism provides an opportunity to increase the “agricultural literacy” of the public. But agritourism is a term that should be only reserved for working farms, says Chase. Unfortunately, that’s a tough thing to quantify.

“The fact that it’s a working farm needs to be included, and then it becomes a question of how do you measure that,” says Chase.

In Oregon, farmers such as Abeles and Topaz of Topaz Farm have to carefully navigate the rule that only 25 percent of their farm stand income can come from “incidental items” and “fees from promotional activity.” Another approach would be to use time spent or labor percentage instead of income, says Chase—something she’s seen in Italy. The benefit of this method is that these incidentals, such as farm stays or farm dinners, earn more over less time. This approach limits the amount of time spent devoted to agritourism, instead of capping the portion of income that is derived from it.

“It became problematic for farms who could make so much money from their overnight farm stays and not as much money from the food they were producing, even though it was a legitimate working farm,” says Chase.

A farm to table dinner at Topaz Farm. (Photography by Topaz Farm)

Even though this is a hard thing to try to quantify, getting it right is paramount. Chase says that, not too long ago, she had a phone call from a developer who was talking about starting an agricultural theme park and was curious about agritourism. Chase advised them that they shouldn’t use that word if they weren’t going to be running a working farm. 

“This is exactly what people are worried about,” says Chase. “As agritourism grows in popularity, it is a real concern. And the core of agritourism is that you’re a working farm. And I think that is what needs to be maintained in the regulations.”

‘Exclusive farm use’

Protecting farmland from losing its working farms is a key concern for Greg Holmes, Working Lands Program Director/Southern Oregon Advocate for 1000 Friends of Oregon, an organization that advocates for land-use planning.

Oregon passed Senate Bill 100 in 1973, creating the Department of Land Conservation and Development. This legislation and subsequent entity became the framework for land use protections in Oregon and, over the last 50 years, has protected much of Oregon’s fertile farmland (as well as forest land and conservation land) by labeling it as “exclusive farm use.”

While the state creates the regulations, it’s up to individual counties to zone the land. This can create some confusion, but the differentiation is essential. The land and the ecosystems it supports vary drastically throughout the state, from the damp, fertile Willamette Valley in the northwest corner of the state to the arid high desert of the eastern half of Oregon down to the piney shared border with California. Zoning all of these counties as though they are the same would come with its own problems. On top of this county-to-county variation, soil suitable for farmland is defined slightly differently for the west side of the Cascade Range versus the east side. 

“There [is] various room for interpretation and different counties apply the regulations, as they understand them, slightly differently,” says Holmes. “The result is that every county has something that fits the definition of exclusive farm use. And it’s protected and zoned for the purpose of protecting agriculture.”

Under Oregon’s legal code, if a farm on exclusive farm use land has a farmstand, income generated from the “incidental” items or “fee-based activity” sold there must be no more than 25 percent of the total farm stand revenue. Agritourism does not fall neatly into this split. For example, U-pick offerings don’t count toward the 25 percent, but tickets to a farm-to-table dinner do. The point is to prevent abuse of farmland—for example, selling things at a farmstand that don’t have anything to do with farming.

“The point of the limitation on the incidental sales is they want to make sure that it remains a farmstand and doesn’t have a store that happens to be located on agricultural land and is drawing people to it,” says Holmes.

A better definition of agritourism, says Holmes, would help draw a cleaner line between working farms making supplemental income and other types of businesses trying to use a farmscape as their setting. It has to address both the tourism aspect and the direct tie to working agriculture.

“The cleanest way to do this would be to start from the beginning,” says Holmes, to define what counts as acceptable agritourism and what should not take place on agricultural land. From there, the law can clarify the process of how to permit acceptable activities. “I don’t think you can ever get a list that’s all-encompassing, but we can do a lot better than what we’ve done now.”

Defining agritourism

Holmes isn’t the only one who has identified the need for a more concrete definition of agritourism. Suzi Spahr, executive director for NAFDMA, an organization that unites agritourism operators, says there’s significant diversity in what agritourism is. 

“You will have many local governments or state government officials who will think that they know what a particular farm will do and then will want to make regulations based on that style,” says Spahr. “But you’ll have a variety of different agritourism operations, and so a one-size-fits-all all very frequently does not fit the industry to its best.”

NAFDMA has created its own definition of agritourism: “Agritourism is an agricultural enterprise attracting visitors to a farm or ranch to experience a connection with agriculture production and/or processing through entertainment, education, and/or the purchase of farm products.”

“We are starting to use that as sort of the basis by which we ensure that the focus remains on agriculture as the main guiding force, the main purpose behind what’s occurring,” says Spahr. 

Sheep at Leaping Lamb Farm. (Photography by Nathan Fussell)

Scottie Jones of Leaping Lamb Farm in Alsea, Oregon practices a type of agritourism where guests can come stay on her farm. Jones found that having an overnight rental on her farm greatly increased the viability of her business. 

“It’s horrible to say this, but, you know, it takes the agritourism for me to be able to be a successful farmer,” she says.

She keeps the farm at the center of the farm stays—she loves the questions from guests that she gets to answer—what does a potato look like in the ground? What is a fertilized egg? Jones says it’s an opportunity for connection.

“We sell lamb—that’s our prime agricultural product that we sell,” says Jones. “But by adding the farm stay, immediately, we were starting to be able to pay for the tractor to break down, and we weren’t using our retirement to be farmers. So, I was wholly invested in what this could do for us; also what it could do for the people that came to visit.”

Jones is also the chair for North America at the Global Agritourism Network and the owner/operator of Farmstay, a network of small overnight rentals on farms across the country. It offers support and resources for farmers looking to diversify their business this way. Jones has also seen some of the abuses of this pathway—hotels or developers trying to create luxury agricultural stays on farmland.

The farm stay at Leaping Lamb Farm. (Photography by Leaping Lamb Farm)

“Farmstay is about working farms and ranches that offer lodging,” says Jones. “So, it’s about going onto a real farm. It’s not a fake farm, it’s not a beautiful piece of property; it’s a working farm.”

She sees these “fake farm” businesses as a detriment to trying to figure out how to proceed with legislation making agritourism easier on actual farms.

“I do understand the fear there,” says Jones. “I just need our regulators to know that there’s the rest of us. There’s the rest of us out there, just really trying to make a dollar and really wanting to make that connection and really wanting to provide a place for people to come to the country and learn something.”

***

Interested in figuring out if agritourism is right for your farm? Audrey Comerford co-teaches this online on-demand course for producers in Oregon. The OSU Extension Agricultural Tourism website can be found here, and you can sign up for its quarterly newsletter here. The Vermont Tourism Research Center has an extensive catalog of resources. Farmstay helps farmers looking to host guests figure out how to get started. And NAFDMA is a central resource hub for North American agritourism enterprises.

Want to learn more about land protections? Read more on the 1000 Friends of Oregon website. Here, you can learn more about Oregon’s land use planning system, read impact reports and brief yourself on important bills in Oregon’s 2024 legislative session.

The post The Business Behind the Farm Visit appeared first on Modern Farmer.

Becoming certified organic, however, is not an overnight process for farmers. Adopting approved organic practices is only part of it. For a food to become certified organic, the farmland must be proven to have not received any pesticides or unapproved substances for at least three years. 

For farmers who use more conventional methods but are interested in transitioning to organic, the process can take years. The investment of time is not without risk. During this transition period, yields can drop and farmers can still be years away from a return. Despite these obstacles, there are several reasons that farmers still pursue organic certification, such as environmental and health benefits.

We talked with Lindsay Haines, National Pest Management and Organic Systems specialist for the USDA Natural Resources Conservation Service, about what this transition looks like and what kind of government-backed support aspiring organic farmers can lean on.

This interview has been edited for length and clarity.

Modern Farmer: Can you tell me what the process of transitioning to organic farming looks like for producers in terms of requirements?

Lindsay Haines: The basic requirement is to not have any what they consider prohibited substances applied to your ground for at least three years. So, that could mean you transition ground that hasn’t had anything on it for other reasons—it was just not used or in a conservation program or something. There weren’t any inputs, it wasn’t producing anything, so it can transition right away. 

Or in the more common circumstances, if people are farming conventionally and using some of the prohibited substances, they have to then stop using those substances and start doing other things—whether they plant a conservation cover for three years or actually start producing crops without those prohibited substances, but you have to document that you have done that for at least three years. So, it could be right away if you didn’t have a history, and you can prove it, or more typically three years, because you need that period of time to remove those prohibited substances.

Much of our conventional agriculture uses synthetic inputs. And they can have some very short-term impacts and long-term impacts. [In organic farming], we want to switch from that chemically based system to a biologically based system. And so, it does take a little time for the system to reset, so to speak.

Certified organic farms can’t use pesticides or other prohibited substances. (Photo from Shutterstock)

MF: During this transition period, what are some of the obstacles or hardships that producers can come up against?

LH: A very common problem with organic folks is weed management. The chemical products that many farmers use are very effective in terms of terminating weeds or plants that they don’t want in their system. If you’re doing things organically, there’s no similar, easy way to do it. It’s usually a combination of practices farmers have to use. They have to use lots of cover crops, and they have to have a more intense crop rotation and they may use some tillage. 

There [are] some infrastructure issues. You need some infrastructure first, before folks can know, ‘if I grow this, where am I going to sell it?’ So, some of the other initiatives across USDA are dealing with that. Bottlenecks with [organic] meat processors is a huge issue. There’s not enough certified meat processors, and then a lot of granaries that don’t have these segregated facilities. But it is getting better. 

MF: Organic certified foods may fetch premium prices. But as producers transition to organic farming, can there be a loss in yield or a financial burden that comes along with making this transition?

LH: There definitely is. We actually are offering what we consider “foregone income” for certain crops and certain regions of the country [to] compensate farmers that will see that sort of dip in yields as they transition. But once they get through the transition, I often hear farmers say it actually takes more like five years [to] get back to the yields that they might have had before. But they definitely do get back. 

Even though they may be getting premium prices, they still have different costs. I hate it when people just focus on the premium prices, because there’s so much behind that in terms of investing in the production and the values and the environmental benefits. So, it’s a big picture. It’s not just about the premium prices.

MF: The USDA offers some support to farmers going through this transition, through programs such as the Organic Transition Initiative. How does the initiative aim to help address some of these obstacles?

LH: A few years ago, the secretary said he wanted all the departments to investigate ways to help people transition. And so, we got a bunch of folks together in NRCS and thought how can we help folks, and we wanted to pursue this foregone income piece. And so, we did the deep economic dive and came up with some ideas for that. 

But we also wanted to help folks overcome the learning curve. Anyone in any business that wants to change how they do things has to learn a new way of doing things. And so, we want to really invest in farmers who want to invest their time to [research and try] these new ways of doing things organically. The thought behind it is to invest in folks, spending more time learning about these new ways of managing, attending workshops, getting mentors, working with other crop advisors or organic experts to find how they need to make every management decision differently throughout their growing season.

Certified organic farms must prove that the land has not received prohibited substances for at least three years. (Photo by Shutterstock)

MF: Part of the initiative is to bolster organic markets. Is there anything that farmers or non-farmers can do to also help support the growth of the organic market?

LH: I think the more people can ask questions [and] be informed, because labeling is just incredibly confusing to people. While the organic standard is not perfect—there’s fraud everywhere, right?—it does set the standard. So, you can go to a place and look at what the standards are, you can talk to your farmers. I just think it’s a great opportunity for people to come together, both farmers and consumers, to learn about our food and our environment.

MF:  Is there anything else you would like farmers or non-farmers to know either about this transition in general or about the Organic Transition Initiative?

LH: I just encourage people, if you’re not familiar with NRCS, [to] come to your local field office, get to know the folks, have folks out to your farm, learn from each other. Get to know your farmers, get to know how your food is produced. Most farmers welcome those sorts of interactions. And I think we’re all better for it, when we learn more about how our food is produced, and our allies with the agriculture industry, wherever people are on the spectrum. It’s very important for our food and also our environment.

***

For farmers: You can learn more about the Organic Transition Initiative here and apply by March 1 through your local USDA Service Center to receive help making this transition. 

For interested readers: To get a deeper understanding of the organic label, read our coverage here.

The post What Does it Take to Become an Organic Farmer? appeared first on Modern Farmer.

Recently, these unassuming spaces are cultivating a new trend in home-grown businesses. Armed with little more than ingenuity and entrepreneurial drive, microgreen growers are transforming the unused corners of their dwellings into profitable farming operations.

Using minimal inputs and resources such as water, energy and land, microgreens can offer a consistent and hyperlocal source of fresh, nutrient-dense produce, especially in urban settings. And done right, they allow farmers to reap a meaningful livelihood—an important consideration in a profession known for grueling demands and razor-thin margins.

“It’s a great gateway crop,” says Don DiLillo, owner of Finest Foods in Huntington, New York, for ushering in a new breed of novice farmers. After finishing college seven years ago, the “video game-playing, beer-drinking kid” dusted off a section of his parents’ Long Island cellar to launch his micro farm. With $3,000 allocated for equipment and many hours spent watching YouTube tutorials, he built a steady farmers market following, selling tender, week-old pea, sunflower, radish and broccoli sprouts.

Now 27, DiLillo has seen his business blossom. After expanding to a vacant neighborhood deli in 2019, he’s since set up shop in his grandparents’ former home, which he shares with his girlfriend and fellow farmer, Alissa Yasinsky. The 800-square-foot basement and garage provide ample space for germination, cultivation and packaging, he says, with the vertical shelf configuration leaving plenty of room to grow. “I could triple [production] and still be able to operate it from my home,” says DiLillo.

Given the cost of Long Island real estate, the space efficiency is “one of the great benefits of [farming] microgreens,” says DiLillo. Plus, he adds, “I can do farm chores in my pajamas.”

Photography submitted by Don DiLillo, Finest Foods.

Small footprint, big potential

“Microgreens” is a term used to describe the tender, edible seedlings of various herbs, vegetables and grains typically seeded in shallow, soil-filled trays, grown under natural or artificial light, then harvested within two weeks of germination. Packed with vivid colors, a fresh crunch and intense flavors that can range from sweet to peppery, San Francisco chefs popularized them in the 1980s to liven up fancy dishes.

Although the specialty greens have maintained their trendy reputation, research has also shed light on their health benefits, finding that the nutrient density of sprouts is often higher than that of mature plants. And because they grow quickly with minimal resources—and without herbicides or pesticides—scientists point to their potential to help bolster nutritional security, hedge against disruptions in the food supply chain and even generate fresh produce on long-term space missions.

Retired army veteran Gerry Mateo started farming microgreens in the garage of his Bakersfield, California home as a way to combat anxiety and depression. It’s proven to be a calming and grounding endeavor, he says, and it has also helped improve his diet. 

When he launched FilAm Vets Hydroponics Farm in 2021, Mateo was overweight and suffering from high blood pressure and diabetes, he says. But a daily dose of his own fresh produce has made him much healthier and lowered his cholesterol. “You can only eat lettuce in a salad or sandwich,” he says. Microgreens are highly versatile, pairing well with—but not overpowering—various dishes and blending easily into smoothies.

Mateo, who also farms leafy vegetables such as basil, kale and arugula hydroponically, was surprised to find high demand for his produce—especially given his Central Valley location. Yet with California’s agricultural hub dominated by large-scale farms and commodity crops, he’s found a comfortable niche at his local farmers market.

Customers now include nearby restaurants, and with business booming, he’s put a 10-by-20-foot greenhouse in the backyard and hopes to upgrade to a larger vertical farming structure in the near future. With arable land at a premium—urban sprawl is a growing threat to the farming region—“I’m lucky to have a big yard,” says Mateo. 

Over the last decade, the appeal of consistent and efficient crop production—made increasingly so by precision technology, AI platforms and data analytics—has spurred a boom in Controlled Environment Agriculture (CEA). By regulating temperature, humidity and light in an enclosed space, CEA structures, which can include everything from tunnel houses to warehouses, can pump out a reliable stream of fresh produce regardless of season, weather or location, often using far less water, soil and inputs than traditional farming.

Despite promises of fortifying and climate-proofing local food production, however, not everybody is convinced about the sustainability of CEA, particularly at scale. Critics equate large ventures to indoor agribusiness: Often backed by companies and private investors with little experience in commercial agriculture, some factory-like facilities can span multiple acres and consume vast amounts of energy. Opponents also question the taste, nutritional value and long-term health implications of crops grown in this artificial setting.

Photography submitted by Don DiLillo, Finest Foods.

But for micro producers, their environmental impacts match their minimal footprint, says DiLillo, of Finest Foods. His energy costs, for instance, are nominal: Although New York ranks among the most expensive states for electricity, his monthly bill, which covers both home and farm, hovers around $300 in the winter and doubles in the summer with air conditioning—in line with the national household average of $430 a month. And with weekly deliveries contained in a 20-mile radius, his transport footprint is super light, he notes.

DiLillo has also focused on eliminating the sore spot of retail microgreens: plastic packaging. He dropped single-use clamshell boxes for a biodegradable and compostable, plant-based alternative, and he even closed his health food store accounts, which require water-resistant adhesive labels. His subscription-based residential customers and chefs don’t miss the vinyl stickers, he says, because “they know exactly what they’re getting every week.”

As for the artificial environment, “I’m not here to tell you that [LED] lights are better than the sun,” says DiLillo. Yet, “the beauty of microgreens comes from the seeds,” he adds, noting that the just-germinated sprouts retain much of their seminal nutrients, thriving under artificial light in the short duration before harvest.

Microgreens at Kupu Place. Photography by author.

The local edge

Hawaii’s year-round temperate climate, however, is ideal for farming microgreens outdoors. Cousins Anthony Mau and Steven Yee established Kupu Place in 2017 as a side gig in the backyard of their family home in Honolulu. (Kupu is Hawaiian for sprout; the property is located on Kupu Place.) Given the sliver of land—about a 16th of an acre—the duo initially had doubts about the business’ profitability. But armed with advanced degrees in agricultural sciences, they started with aquaponics, growing leafy vegetables in tilapia tanks, adding hydroponically grown edible flowers before expanding to microgreens.

“Per square foot, it’s obvious which one is more profitable,” says Mau.

As Kupu’s revenues moved into the black, the space limitations became more apparent. Two years ago, after a grueling search in Oahu’s tight real estate market, the cousins landed on a residential property in Kahaluu, on the island’s windward coast. Once home to orchid farms, the neighborhood, which lies about half an hour from downtown Honolulu, still retains a rural air, complete with roaming chickens, despite an influx of residential development. Because the sellers wanted to keep the land productive, Mau thinks it made their offer attractive.

The 1.5-acre lot has ample space for the growing business. Along with the home that Mau and his wife share with Yee (luckily, “it wasn’t a tear-down,” says Mau), there’s a storage room with refrigerators, sinks and germination shelves, while the yard has two 20-by-40-foot shade houses with room for another. Naturally vented and sunlit, the wooden structures display a colorful patchwork of microgreens in local flavors such as red shiso, lemon balm and tatsoi.

Although Kupu’s competition comes from California, on-island production gives the business a tremendous edge, says Mau. Along with lead times of hours instead of weeks, they’re able to accommodate last-minute orders and high levels of customization. And with nearly 90 percent of Hawaii’s food consumption reliant on imports, any boost in homegrown crops for the local market benefits the state’s food security, says Mau.

Since the move, Kupu has become Mau’s full-time endeavor (Yee still runs his landscaping company), and, at 32, he’s in it for the long haul. Microgreen farming is particularly suited to career longevity, he says, as farming at waist height is simply more manageable.

Kaʻinapu Cavasso agrees. One of Kupu’s two employees, she started orchard farming at 16. But the constant repetition of bending down to plant, weed and set up irrigation and looking up to prune trees and harvest fruit became taxing, she says. Now 20, her new job is “a lot more mellow, ergonomic and efficient,” she says. “I love farming…so I hope to [continue] this for a long time.”

The post Cultivating Profits in a Compact Crop appeared first on Modern Farmer.

In 2009, Maine lobster fishers were required to replace more than 27,000 miles of floating ground line (underwater ropes that float above the ocean floor and connect trawls) with whale-safe sinking line (which rests on or near the ocean floor, preventing whale entanglements). Then, in 2015, they were mandated to put more traps on each buoy to reduce the number of end lines, or individual points of harvest, in the water. By 2020, Maine lobsterers had to ensure their gear was labeled in case of a whale entanglement. The next year, regulators instituted a closure of a 1,000-square-mile area during a particularly lucrative time of year for lobsterers, and in 2022, regulations enforcing the use of weak links, which allow whales to more easily break free of entanglements, went into effect. Making these changes was costly and time-consuming for lobster harvesters.

Photography by Shutterstock.

But since right whales are so endangered—the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration (NOAA) estimates that there are only about 360 North Atlantic right whales remaining, with only around 70 reproductively active females—advocates say it’s important to address threats to their continued existence now, before it’s too late. After all, large whales are important to their marine environments. “They are vital to the balance of marine ecosystems, play an important role in the food web and are key indicators of the overall health of the ocean,” says Jennifer Goebel, NOAA’s Marine Mammal Policy Analyst.

According to NOAA, regulating fishing equipment is key to protecting vulnerable right whales. “Vessel strike and entanglement are the leading threats to whales,” says Goebel. Until the required marking of lobster gear went into effect in 2020, it was difficult to attribute whale deaths and injuries to specific pieces of equipment. Since the regulation went into effect, other large whale species have been found entangled in Maine lobstering gear, demonstrating, says Goebel, that the equipment can, in fact, pose a threat to right whales as well.

Curt Brown, lobsterman and marine biologist for Ready Seafood, says that Maine’s lobstering industry has been proactive in complying with these new regulations. “We’re certainly not opposed to protecting right whales, quite to the contrary.” But many lobstermen and women question the necessity of these seemingly ever-more-restrictive right whale regulations, particularly because they maintain that there has been no documented entanglement of a right whale in Maine lobstering equipment since 2004, and there has never been a recorded right whale death associated with Maine’s lobstering industry. “Ultimately, we’re not in favor of being put out of business for rules and regulations that aren’t going to save any right whales,” explains Brown.

However, NOAA says that right whales do appear to be getting entangled in fishing rope off the coast of Maine, but the incidents can be difficult to document officially. “Most, over 85 percent, of all North Atlantic right whales show scars caused by entanglement, and about 100 new scars are detected each year, says Goebel. “Of the 1,600 entanglement scars and incidents evaluated by New England Aquarium researchers, only about 16 have been traced back to a fishing location—that is one percent. In most entanglement cases, no gear is observed. When gear is observed, it can rarely be retrieved.” Tracing these injuries back to the equipment that caused them is, therefore, quite complicated.

Lobster fishing in Vinalhaven, Maine, 2017. Photography by Shutterstock.

Ultimately, Maine lobsterers say that these regulations still pose significant risks to the financial viability of the industry. Maine’s lobster industry is composed of thousands of individuals, effectively all small business owners. Brown estimates that, conservatively, harvesters along the coast of Maine spent a collective $100 million adhering to regulations designed to protect right whales over the last 20 years, in addition to the hours of labor required to implement these changes. Although some state and federal subsidies are available for lobsterers, they say that the money doesn’t come close to covering the costs they’ve invested in making these changes.

In fact, some lobstermen, like Bruce Fernald, say that they very rarely even see whales out on the water. “We’re doing all this just because we’re supposed to, but there are no real issues with whales in our area,” says Fernald, who’s been fishing for more than 50 years. “We do it because we have to or you’ll lose your license.”

Some are feeling anxiety as the industry changes. “Within the last two years, there’s a lot of guys riding on the border of red,” says fourth-generation lobsterman Mike Sargent, who started fishing full-time in 2016. Rising costs of equipment and labor, plus supply chain shortages and a growing list of regulations, are making some lobsterers question their long-term prospects in the industry. A year ago, says Brown, “There were more boats for sale than I think I’ve ever seen, more traps for sale than I think I’ve ever seen.”

Sargent lives in Steuben, a town of 1,129 residents, and says that lobstering is really the only viable industry in town. “If fishing were to go south, this place would close up. There’s nothing here for me to do that I could support myself with the cost of living here. It just doesn’t exist.” 

Mike Sargent. Photography submitted.

Many of Maine’s lobsterers come from families that have done this work for generations, but it’s become more difficult for younger people to enter the industry. “Think, if you’re going to put your roots down here, you’re a young person wanting to start a family, the realization is it might not be here for you,” says Sargent. “There’s a good chance it won’t be here for your kids. So, do you want to put roots down here and not give your kid the same opportunities you had? You know, it’s a risk.”

The collapse of the lobster fishing industry could absolutely change the face of coastal Maine’s culture. Without a healthy, sustainable lobster fishery “many of these island communities would very quickly just turn into vacation homes for people from out of state, and that would be very different from what we have now,” says Brown.

Maine’s lobster fishers are hoping that things are starting to look up. In December of 2022, they won a six-year break from new regulations, which they hope will provide some stability for the industry and, in turn, for their communities. But regulators whose aim is to protect right whales still want to see changes in the industry, including wider use of ropeless fishing gear. Some environmentalists say that without the ability to enact new regulations, whales will die.

Brown underscored that the industry is well equipped to contend with the inevitable changes to come and that the six-year pause gives them some breathing room to adjust at a slower pace. But it’s still unclear how the industry will take shape after the conclusion of the six-year pause. What is clear, though, is that Maine’s lobsterers are committed to preserving their way of life. “The thought of losing this fishery to regulations that aren’t warranted is, in my mind, unacceptable,” says Brown. “People know Maine for its lobster resource. People don’t come to Maine to eat chicken.”

The post The Uncertain Future of Lobstering in Maine appeared first on Modern Farmer.

Canada’s current agricultural production model is unsustainable and in desperate need of reform. A range of issues plague the current system, including corporate consolidation, farmland concentration in the hands of non-farmers and foreign buyers, pollution and animal welfare issues, as well as soil erosion and the poor treatment of migrant workers.

The loss of farmers in Canada is exacerbating these problems, with the farming population shrinking and aging significantly. In the last two decades alone, Canada has lost nearly 150,000 farmers with the current population standing at just 260,000. Of those remaining, only 8.5 per cent are under the age of 35 years.

This trend reveals that few young people from farming families are choosing to stay in farming, and those from non-farming backgrounds face obstacles like high costs and a lack of training.

While the farming population represents only a small percentage of the overall population, the impact of these issues extend far beyond the agricultural community. Current social crises, including biodiversity loss and food inaccessibility, affect everyone.

New report on agriculture

One of Canada’s leading agriculture research institutions, the Arrell Food Institute at the University of Guelph, released a report in April in collaboration with the Royal Bank of Canada and Boston Consulting Group with suggestions for transforming Canada’s agriculture sector.

The report advocates for a national policy strategy to help Canada become a global leader in productivity enhancing automation and in low carbon, sustainable food production.

The report has some highlights, like emphasizing the importance of improving immigrant opportunities in agriculture. It recommends providing permanent status to 24,000 farm workers and 30,000 farm operators over the next decade. This could improve opportunities for thousands of temporary foreign workers who are a crucial part of our food system.

However, the report falls short in a number of ways. It fails to address industry consolidation and doesn’t question the underlying assumption that large-scale commodity production for export is the only production system that matters.

Instead, it advocates for more capital-intensive automation and mechanization in line with the longstanding “bigger is better” agriculture policy of the past fifty years. Envisioning farming as hyper-specialized, where specializations only converge in a marketable product, misses critical aspects of farming knowledge.

Expensive technology costs continue to disproportionately benefit large agri-business corporations, with farmers receiving only marginal benefits for their investments, alongside a mountain of debt. The recommendations, as they stand, will only lead to further consolidation of power and land inequality.

Searching for solutions

Rather than focusing on automation and technology that may displace new farmers, agricultural innovation should be farmer-led, meaning research is aligned with real challenges experienced by farmers.

Farmer-researcher Eric Barnhorst, for example, conducted research on regenerating fallow fields with the Ecological Farmers Association of Ontario in 2022. He found that the cover crop method increased active carbon in the soil — a key indicator of soil health and regeneration potential.

Technology, if not carefully implemented, can make our systems more fragile, as seen with modern types of tillage that increase soil erosion. Instead, we should incentivize methods grounded in Indigenous stewardship customs that have maintained and improved soil health for centuries, like cover cropping, intercropping and mixed-use cropping.

There should be room for the promotion of agro-ecological and organic farming practices. This sort of production could make it possible for more diverse farmers to succeed, and for a greater variety of products distributed into local markets. Recent disruptions in the food supply chain have highlighted the importance of local food production.

Rather than treating agriculture fields as industrial factories, an alternative approach would involve encouraging more regenerative practices and cultivating a new generation of farmers integrated in their communities who know the land intimately.

Supporting young farmers

Moving forward, there is a pressing need for policies that promote sustainable farming practices, support the next generation of farmers, and address the systemic issues contributing to the current crisis in agriculture.

Without policies that address the growing barriers in Canadian farming, it will become more difficult for new farmers to thrive, no matter how much immigration, education or automation we invest in. New young farmers require mentorship, public investment in research and advisory services, financial security to invest and, critically, access to good farmland.

How these potential farmers will gain access to farmland with current land prices soaring past $25,000 per acre and restrictive policies that limit smaller-scale farms was left unaddressed by the recent agriculture report.

Rethinking urban growth boundary expansion to include small-scale farming, as well as making it possible to sever 50 acre farm lots in rural municipalities would be a good place to start. Creating more farmland trusts to protect and make productive farmland accessible to young farmers without debt and interest costs could also help long term.

Urban agriculture training sites and interdisciplinary approaches to studying food production are necessary for young people living in the city to become future farmers. Agriculture should be integrated into multiple fields of study, ranging from engineering to the social sciences, at all levels of education so children know farming is a viable career path from the get go.

We should strive for a food system that better serves our communities which includes leveraging all possible strengths within the Canadian agriculture context.

Richard Bloomfield is an Assistant Professor in Management and Organizational Studies at Huron University College, Western University. He is also a co-founder and board member of Urban Roots London, a non-profit urban farm.

This article is republished from The Conversation under a Creative Commons license. Read the original article.

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“In this business, you have to wear a lot of hats and be ready to jump in when and where you’re needed,” says Mosser, a principal at Seven Hills Food, an independently owned, USDA-inspected meat-processing and packaging plant in downtown Lynchburg, Virginia.

The company processes about 150 cattle per week and partnered with dozens of area cattle farmers to launch a state-branded line of grass-fed beef, Virginia Beef Co., in 2018. It got an early shot in the arm when the nation’s second-largest retail grocery chain agreed to pilot flagship hamburger blends at a handful of local stores. Rave customer reviews and pandemic-related beef shortages fueled rapid expansion: The truck Mosser is helping load will deliver meat to about 100 Kroger Company stores in Virginia, West Virginia and Tennessee. 

Dalton Mosser (right) and production manager Donta Coleman (left). (Photo courtesy Seven Hills)

That means customers can walk into their local grocery store and buy grass-fed, regionally sourced ground beef—and for about 20 cents cheaper per pound than the current national average.

Experts call both the relationship and option rare exceptions. 

“It’s rare to see [regionally sourced meats] on shelves at large chains, even at the local level,” says Rebecca Thistlethwaite, director of the Niche Meat Processor Assistance Network (NMPAN), a nonprofit that helps support small processors with marketing, applying for state and federal grants and more. Most ground beef consumed in the US travels hundreds, if not thousands of miles before it hits grocery shelves—Kroger’s organic Simple Truth line, for instance, is raised and slaughtered entirely in Uruguay.       

That, says Thistlethwaite, is due to extreme consolidation in the $67-billion US beef industry. 

Market share for the country’s four biggest meat-packing companies—Tyson, JBS, Cargill and Marfrig—has skyrocketed to 85 percent today from 25 percent in 1977. The Big Four, as they’re commonly known, now have plants that can process more than 5,000 head of cattle a day. And of those, a dozen accounted for nearly half the total US beef supply in 2022. 

“These companies are so big, they play by economic rules that don’t apply to other processors,” says Thistlethwaite.  

Automated equipment saves time and maximizes output while slashing labor costs. Fewer plants and minimal competition lowers prices paid to ranchers for cattle. Cornered supply chains create advantages when negotiating contracts with prisons, school systems and mega-retailers such as Walmart. 

Unable to compete, more than half of the country’s small and midsize processors have shuttered operations in the past 20 years alone. 

“At this point, [the Big Four have] surpassed any efficiencies associated with economies of scale,” says Thistlethwaite. Now, the focus appears to be on manipulating the marketplace. 

The Department of Justice launched an ongoing price-fixing investigation into the Big Four in 2020. It has since faced an onslaught of civil suits and most—like JBS’s $52.5-million, 2022 agreement with Minnesota grocery stores and wholesalers—have resulted in large settlements. A group of small Illinois distributors filed a similar suit this past October, claiming the companies “exploited their market power … by conspiring to limit the supply of beef sold to purchasers in the US wholesale market” from 2015 through at least 2021. 

The Four argue that supply and demand factors, not anticompetitive behavior, determine the price of beef and cattle. But the White House and Congress seem to agree with the plaintiffs. 

The USDA implemented the first phase of efforts to crack down on anticompetition in November. The measures come in addition to a 2022 executive order allotting $1 billion in American Rescue Plan funds to help independent processors expand capacity.  

“When dominant middlemen control so much of the supply chain,” reads a related White House update, “they can increase their own profits at the expense of both farmers—who make less—and consumers—who pay more.” 

The announcement cited Federal Reserve stats showing the inflation-adjusted cost of ground beef rose by about 30 percent since the early 1980s and reached record highs in 2021. While ranchers’ share of consumer dollars spent on beef has fallen by more than a third since 1973, the Big Four have seen soaring profits—especially since the pandemic. 

Consolidation also puts the nation’s food supply at risk. 

For instance, COVID-19 infections led to shutdowns at major plants, disrupting supply chains and fueling shortages that helped Seven Hills, the Lynchburg processor, nab its deal with Kroger. Cyberattacks closed JBS plants in 2021, putting 20 percent of US processing capacity on hold.           

Seven Hills Food is an independently owned, USDA-inspected meat-processing and packaging plant based in Lynchburg, Virginia. (Photo courtesy Seven Hills)

About $450 million in federal grants has been distributed so far. Como, Mississippi’s Home Place Pastures was among the recipients and received $500,000 to increase cold storage and processing capacity. 

“It’s been a gamechanger,” says owner Marshall Bartlett. But the grants only cover 20 percent of project costs and having to borrow $2 million in match-funding “is what’s keeping me up at night,” he says.  

Bartlett started sustainably raising pigs on a portion of his family’s 1,800-acre, fifth-generation row crop farm in 2014. Frustrations around securing reliable USDA-inspected processing and packaging inspired him to build a small plant two years later.  

“I’d gotten some orders from Memphis chefs, but the closest slaughterhouse was booked for months,” says Bartlett. Even then, he says, “I had to drop off my animals, wait a few days, come back and pick up the carcasses, drive them 50 miles to the nearest butcher shop for processing, then convince them to let me use [their co-op room] for packaging. It was insane.”   

The plant, which was partly funded by state grants, brought dramatic expansion. Bartlett went from raising 15 to about 600 pigs and has added around 200 head of cattle. Home Place does custom processing and labeling for dozens of small area farms and partners with 11 on a direct-to-consumer line of meats. It now has 30 full-time employees and processes about 1,500 pigs and 500 cattle per year in addition to sheep and goats. There’s also an onsite butcher shop, farm store and restaurant.

Bartlett says business is thriving and plans to continue to scale up over the next decade. But he doesn’t see chain grocery stores as part of the plan. 

Without major legislative changes, “processors like us will never be able to compete at that level,” says Bartlett. Looking to the future, his focus is on educating more consumers about the benefits of eating locally raised sustainable meat and finding innovative ways to bring in more direct sales.

“This is a niche market,” says Bartlett. “Realistically, if we can pick up even a fraction of the regional market share, that would be a huge win.” 

MIssissippi-based Home Place does custom processing and labeling for dozens of small area farms. (Photo courtesy of Home Place)

Mosser, the Seven Hills president, has applied for millions in USDA grants. He says a $500,000 infusion could outfit the company with equipment that would easily increase processing capacity to 500 cattle a week. With double that amount, he could ramp up to more than 1,000. Over time, profits from the expanded capacity could be reinvested in sister plants and establishing Virginia Beef type product lines in neighboring states. From there, he could branch out to poultry, pork, bison and lamb.   

“That would go a long way toward creating an affordable and sustainable regional food system,” says Mosser. “What’s so frustrating is that the demand is there and we’ve proven we have a [competitive model]. All we need is a little help to get us to that next level.”  

He worries that too much government money will go to boutiques and startups versus proven midsize plants that could cumulatively impact competition and keep more locally raised meat in regional food systems. Thistlethwaite, the NMPAN director, partly shares his concerns. 

“I do worry we’re going to see a lot of these new plants fail over the next few years,” she says. Seventeen have or are being built in Montana alone. “This is a tough business to break into. If you don’t have those end consumers lined up, you’re not going to make it.”  

Thistlethwaite says that small and midsize processing capacity should be expanded at all levels and that the government needs to do more to prop up plants. Legislation and stronger antitrust regulations can help redistribute market share. Institutions such as  schools, prisons, hospitals, universities and government agencies can provide readymade customers. 

“Look, this is an immensely complex problem,” she says. It took decades for consolidation to occur and “unfortunately, there is no magic bullet that’s going to fix it overnight.” 

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