BUSINESS

Government Seizes Farmer’s Land to Build Airport for Corporate Jets and Business Hangars

Tue, 12 May 2026 11:42:10 GMT

The government is taking Jeff Melin’s Georgia farm. His crime? Preserving 450 acres and pouring blood, sweat, and tears into the property.

“We already gave the government land for eminent domain,” he says. “Now they’re back wanting more. Now they want it all.”

Even in the nightmare realm of eminent domain power grabs, Melin’s case is particularly shocking. His farmland is being obliterated, with roughly 225 acres ripped from the middle of his operation to house an airport: Cows replaced by corporate jets. Barns replaced by hangars.

“And it’s not even for commercial passengers,” he says. “It’s an airport for billionaires to park their jets and big businesses to have hangars.”

“My grandfather, dad, and myself protected this land,” Melin continues. “We survived depressions and disasters, and kept this place together for decades. My dad turned down millions of dollars, over and over, from subdivisions.”

Melin describes a sickening contradiction of farmland preservation. “We sacrificed to keep this wonderful place whole, and now that’s why they want it. How could it be more ironic? If we’d have built on it or trashed it, they’d leave it alone. The better and longer you take care of your land, the more at risk you are to losing it.”

Insult to deepest injury, Melin is getting a per acre pittance for his land, he says. “They force me to sell against my will and then pay a fraction of the value. And I’m not allowed to turn them down. My story will make you question what kind of country you’re living in.”

Heaven No More
Sixty miles south of Atlanta, in Spalding County, Melin stares across gentle hills veined with creeks, rubbing against a mix of pastures and woods: cattle, water, deer plots, dove field, pecan grove, and much more. Despite the beauty, it also contains a withering family legacy.

“Our farm was not for sale at any price because our lives were molded around this land,” says Jeff Melin.

(Photo courtesy of Melin Farms)

Awaiting grinding at the edge of the 70-acre pecan grove, a chain of toppled trees stretches like fallen dominoes, with many of the specimens over a century in age. Concrete poles are already in place as pecans give way to power lines. Soon, grass will give way to a 6,000’ asphalt runway, as part of a 730-acre new airport for Spalding County.

“I’ve got 90 days to get my stuff out of a 40’-by-60’ shop so they can get started,” Melin describes. “It’s an order to vacate. That means 90 days to move 75 years worth of farm equipment. I don’t even know where I’ll put all the tools, welders, compressors, and all the rest. I don’t have another shop built. I’ve got to get rid of at least 65 cows and 30 calves right off the bat.”

“They’ve killed my farm,” he adds. “This will be the end of me. And when I say, ‘they,’ I mean the county, state, and federal government. All three are involved with this airport.”

“All together, they’re taking about 225 acres from the middle of my operation. They’re leaving me land in the back that’s landlocked, that I can’t get to, and then leaving me land on the front of one side that’s going to be landlocked. I never dreamed this is how it’d end. For sure, my grandfather and dad (John Bennett Melin) never dreamed it, either. This was heaven to us.”

In 1951, the Melin clan pulled stakes in Red Wing, Minnesota and moved over 1,200 miles to Griffin, Georgia, hauling cattle the whole way, to start Melin Brothers Poled Herefords.

Melin’s 450-acre farm is split into four parcels. The county is taking a 225-acre strip from the middle.

(Photo courtesy of Melin Farms)

“I love everything this farm represents—heart and soul,” Melin says. “I love it so much that I took a job close to home as a mechanic at Delta Airlines so that I could work the land and help my dad. We grew up with sacrifice. Didn’t matter if it was family vacation or Thanksgiving—somebody had to be here to feed. People in farming know exactly what I’m saying. Our farm was not for sale at any price because our lives were molded around this land.”

“At 57 and approaching retirement age, to have your land and life snatched away feels like a terrible dream, but I know it’s real. It all started with a newspaper article: They didn’t even have the decency to knock on my door.”

Blood and Tears
In 2012, Melin opened a morning newspaper to find himself in the bull’s-eye of eminent domain’s “common good.” The existing Spalding County airport’s runway was deemed too short, and Melin’s farm was listed among four to five potential sites to build a new airport on 730 acres, including 124 hangars for express and corporate jets.

The opening stage of airport-related construction commences as a power line takes out a pecan grove on Melin’s land.

(Photo courtesy of Melin Farms)

According to the Georgia Department of Transportation, a new airport would generate $24 million in economic impact per year for Spalding County.

Melin was stunned. His ground is hilly. “I thought it was impossible. A mistake. Why build an airport in hills? I couldn’t imagine the amount of dirt moving and earthworks and boxing creeks it’d take to build an airport on my land. I mean, it even requires moving power lines and a gas line.”

No matter. Melin’s land is open and near town. Case closed, in the county’s eyes.

“We’re an old mill town. There’s plenty of other spots that are flatter, but they don’t want to deal with the legalities and paperwork. Better to take prime agriculture ground preserved across my dad’s lifetime at a cost of blood and tears. There’s a lot of other dilapidated land around here, but it’s not open and would require diligence and hassle. Better to steal mine. There was no public vote or opportunity to say no. Nothing.”

Melin’s 450-acre farm is split into four parcels. The county is taking a 225-acre strip from the middle. Irony upon irony, Melin already had willfully ceded ground to eminent domain. “Many times in the past, for genuine public good, we got out of the way when roads were widened, because we cared about people’s safety. This is not that. This is greed and power.”

An Honest Dollar
Letters and studies. Environmental. Archeological. Ecological.

“They dragged it out, year after year, and never let you know what was really going on,” Melin contends. “They never listened. They never communicated with us face to face. They didn’t come to my house. They didn’t seek me out. They didn’t come find me and say anything. They sent a few letters and made their announcements.”

“It just doesn’t seem like America when someone shows up and says, ‘We’re taking your land for a set price, and you’ll like it or else,’” says Melin.

(Photo courtesy of Melin Farms)

“It was shoddy. No matter what I said, they’d respond, ‘We just have to keep on doing studies.’ This was a foregone conclusion, but they pretended otherwise. They didn’t even know there were five gas lines under me and were going to put hangars on top of them.”

Money doesn’t replace lifeblood, but Melin assumed he’d receive a “fair price” for his land.

Melin had fair reasoning behind his assumption: According to the county, there was nowhere else to build an airport presented as indispensable and necessary. Arguably, Melin was sitting atop the most vital land in Spalding County.

“Nope. They wouldn’t give me an honest dollar.”

Like It or Else
Every year, Melin poured in money to improve his land and soils. Fertilizer, lime, weed control, and myriad other management costs—even foot patrol with a backpack sprayer to kill thistle. “None of that goes into their valuations. All I can do about value is look around and make reasonable judgements based on how much got paid recently for land recently around me. There was an old cattle farm right down the road that we did business with for years. It was 100 acres, fenced and cross-fenced, and sold for $75,000 an acre to Georgia Power for a substation. The owner got $7.5M.”

According to schedule, construction of the new Spalding County Airport will begin in 2026 and conclude in 2031.

(Photo by Google Maps)

“About 2 miles from me, the county bought a 29-acre school site and paid $14,000 per acre about 22 years ago: $420,000,” he adds.

However, according to Melin, Spalding County offered a fraction of what the school property brought per acre. “I’m getting lowballed with a percentage of what the other properties sold for, but I can’t refuse the offer. Don’t tell me about federal guidelines and fair market value. I have eyes. I can smell corruption and manipulation. Doesn’t mean I can prove it, but it’s right in front of my face.”

“It just doesn’t seem like America when someone shows up and says, ‘We’re taking your land for a set price, and you’ll like it or else.’”

Farmer In the Way
According to schedule, construction of the new Spalding County Airport will begin in 2026 and conclude in 2031. Within proximity of Melin’s farm, a groundbreaking ceremony is imminent.

“The better and longer you take care of your land, the more at risk you are to losing it,” warns Jeff Melin.

(Photo courtesy of Melin Farms)

“The lieutenant governor, state officials, politicians, and county commissioners will all be there, backslapping, grinning, and congratulating each other,” Melin notes. “Not a one of them can look me in the eye. Can you imagine if eminent domain was used to take their land to park a jet? No, you can’t imagine such, because that would never happen to them.”

“But I’m just a farmer in their way. They’re happy to take my land and call it ‘progress and public good.’ Force me to sell, take my land, and fly in the billionaires and big companies.”

Grass and dirt in a forced exchange for concrete and asphalt. A farm legacy erased by county, state, and federal seizure. “They’re taking my farmland so rich men can have hangars for their jets,” Melin concludes. “That sound like the ‘public good’ of eminent domain?”

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

Stealing the Farm: China Continues Raid of US Agriculture by Theft and Agroterror

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

How the Deep State Tried, and Failed, to Crush an American Farmer

Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust

Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing

Georgia Watermelon Heist Explodes into Epic Night of Pandemonium

Sisters of Farm Fraud: How 4 Siblings Fleeced USDA for $10M

When Conservation Backfires: Landowner Defeats Feds in Mindboggling Private Property Case

Cold-Busted: Frozen Deer Decoy Nabs Poachers and Cocaine in Spectacular Sting

Sticky Fingers: USDA Fraudster Steals $200M in Stunning Scam

Oregon Farmers Navigate The Ups And Downs Of A Changing Ag Landscape

Wed, 06 May 2026 22:05:35 GMT

Helle and Bruce Ruddenklau make almost every agronomic move on their Willamette Valley, Oregon, farm with their balance sheet in mind. Crop rotations, contracts and niche markets are the core tools they use to maneuver through and survive today’s costly inputs and soft crop prices.

The couple farm about 1,100 acres near Amity, Ore. They own a third of the ground and rent the rest.

About half the acres are in commercial grass seed — perennial ryegrass and fescue for lawns, golf courses, sports fields and parks. The rest of their acreage cycles through wheat, an oilseed called Meadowfoam (highly sought after in cosmetics, skincare products, and specialty industrial applications), green beans, occasional sweet corn and peas, radish seed for export to Japan, clover seed and hazelnuts.

The crop diversity is critical. It helps even out the economic ups and downs of farming, and it also helps address a problem the couple didn’t even know they had initially in the 1990s: herbicide-resistant grass weeds, a challenge exacerbated by the fact they produce commercial grass seed.

“We had to come up with a different way of fighting some of these grassy weeds without chemistry, and that was through rotation. And no-till was the other big, big thing,” Helle recalls.

In the late 1990s, the couple invested in a no-till drill and redesigned their rotation.

“The (commercial) grass seeds stay in for two to four years, and when they come out, we have at least two years of other crops in those fields so we can get new chemical applications on, try to rotate and get on top of any grassy weeds that may have built up,” Helle tells Andrew McCrea during a recent episode of Farming The Countryside , available on Farm Journal TV.

Focused On Crop Diversity To Create Income

Crop rotation is a framework for stacking income streams. Every crop has to pull its weight against rising fertilizer and fuel costs.

“As with all farmers, our input costs are higher than what they have been. That’s been a huge challenge. Everybody here’s trying to find something that’s more profitable to grow,” she says, adding that she believes Midwest farmers have an even harder time generating ROI.

Grass seed has delivered strong margins at times, but COVID-era demand whipsawed the market. A surge in lawn and turf projects sent prices sharply higher in 2020. Seed companies then pushed acres. A couple of variable years later, and the industry became awash in seed.

“We’re still working through that oversupply from three years ago or so,” Helle says. “Our price has dropped in half, basically, from what it was.”

With prices cut and input costs elevated, some growers are rolling the dice and producing grass seed on speculation.

“You have the option to grow grass seed without a contract, and then you have it on the open market,” she says. “If there’s a market for it, you can sell it. If not, you just sit with [it] in the barn and wait.”

The Ruddenklaus work hard to avoid being in that position, growing most everything under contract.

“We have one field that we have an open market Kentucky 31 variety on. But other than that, everything we grow is under contract on both the grass seed, specialty crops, hazelnuts, vegetables, everything.”

Relationships Play An Important Role In Farming

That contract-first mindset shapes what they plant and who they do business with.

“A lot of it is relationships with different dealers… that we know they will treat us fairly, and they know that we will produce a quality product for them,” she says.

Those relationships open doors to new niche markets that fit within their existing rotation.

“A few years ago, a local economic development company came to us and said a local soy sauce manufacturer was looking to have some local production of hard red spring wheat,” she recalls. “Oregon traditionally grows soft white wheat, so it’s not something we had worked with in the past, but we decided to try it, and that’s become a very valuable little niche market for us that has worked out well.”

Through that same connection, the farm links with AgLaunch, a Tennessee-based network that brings farmers and ag tech startups together.

“The companies come in [and] want to get the support of the farmers, the advice, the on-farm trials,” she says. “In exchange, they have to give up some equity to the farmers’ network. So through that, we also are getting exposure to some new companies and potentially new opportunities. We are definitely always looking at things.”

Some experiments — like trying grain corn and soybeans — have not become permanent fixtures on the farm. But even those tests help the Ruddenklaus calibrate where their competitive edge really lies: in specialty crops backed by contracts and rotations that help them manage weeds and other risks at the same time.

“I think agriculture has an amazing, amazing story. Farmers are innovators, and that’s just part of what we have done through generations,” Helle says.

“I’m not pessimistic about where we’re at,” she adds. “I believe agriculture has a bright, bright future. We belong in society. We have an important role to play. It won’t look the same as it has in the past, but we’ll figure it out.”

Helle was the recipient of the Top Producer 2026 Woman in Agriculture award . The award was sponsored by ProFarmer.

Know someone you would like to nominate for the Top Producer Woman In Agriculture? Nominations are open! Recommend your candidate here .

Stealing the Farm: China Continues Raid of US Agriculture by Theft and Agroterror

Tue, 05 May 2026 11:49:51 GMT

China is stealing the farm. Real-time. Live action. Happening now.

The most devastating raid of agricultural technology in U.S. history has been underway for at least 25 years and continues at a blistering pace.

Case after case, year after year, brazen Chinese Communist Party (CCP) espionage continues. Yet, every federal prosecution highlights an undeniable truth—each bust is a pebble in a landslide of successful heists. Two new cases per day and 2,000 pending investigations, according to the FBI, many of those ag-related, all while CCP officials brazenly proclaim a theft policy of “picking flowers in foreign lands to make honey in China.”

Whether pinching product from research labs, digging rows in the heartland, masquerading as USDA-approved envoys, hiding seeds in carry-on luggage, mailing crop pathogens in panties, plane-hopping with trade secrets, or a litany of other heists, there’s always something new for the CCP to steal.

The ransacking of U.S. agriculture is on. Arguably, bigger and bolder than ever.

Adios From Wuhan
From 2014-2016, Jiunn-Ren Chen, a Chinese national, split time between Ankeny, Iowa, and St. Louis, Missouri, working under the Monsanto umbrella at The Climate Corporation (TCC). Good job and good life for a family man with a wife and daughter. More like good cover.

In late 2015, Chen contacted Sinochem China National Seed Corporation and requested employment. Sinochem, steered by the CCP, reciprocated. In May 2016, Chen flew to Beijing, met with Sinochem reps, and caught a flight back to the U.S. On June 1, he resigned from Monsanto/TCC, but kept hush-hush on the new job with Sinochem, insisting he was moving to China to be closer to extended family.

“If a gang of thieves tells you they are going to steal your farm, you should believe them,” says Col. John Mills.

(Photo public domain)

Later in the same day, June 1, Chen logged into TCC’s Google Drive account and downloaded six files. The following day, he downloaded two additional files. Further, between June 4-10, he downloaded 55 more files.

According to subsequent FBI testimony: The files downloaded by Chen after his resignation contained trade secrets and confidential proprietary information … Further analysis revealed that Chen had used his TCC email address to transmit confidential trade secrets and proprietary information to other email accounts on at least five occasions between approximately August 19, 2014 and February 14, 2015.

On August 19, 2016, Chen bought three one-way airline tickets to China. The next day, he, along with his wife and daughter, boarded an 11:30 a.m. flight out of St. Louis Lambert International Airport, 63 files the richer. Adios.

By way of Shanghai, Chen disappeared in Wuhan. He was never caught. He was never criminally prosecuted.

Chen’s story is dime-a-dozen. In 2022, then FBI Director Christopher Wray described the level of CCP theft as “More brazen, more damaging than ever before.”

“When we tally up what we see in our investigations, over 2,000 of which are focused on the Chinese government trying to steal our information and technology, there is just no country that presents a broader threat to our ideas, our innovation, and our economic security than China … The Chinese government steals staggering volumes of information and causes deep, job-destroying damage across a wide range of industries, so much so that … we’re constantly opening new cases to counter their intelligence operations, about every 12 hours or so.”

“That theft, those threats,” Wray added, “are happening right here in America, literally every day.”
Col. (Ret.) John Mills , national security professional and former Director of Cybersecurity Policy, Strategy, and International Affairs at the Department of Defense, told Agweb in 2021: “The FBI woke up to this threat far too late, and now we are in very deep. It is the CCP’s goal to steal, glean, obtain, transcribe, and photograph anything of value from the U.S., and the agriculture sector is right at the top.”

Best Western Comforts
Multiple Chinese thieves and spies nabbed over the past decade offer a tiny glimpse behind the CCP’s espionage curtain and suggest ag theft on a vast scale.

• 2011: Mo Hailong, director of international business for Dabeinong Technology Group and a legal U.S. resident for 10 years, was spotted crawling through Iowa corn rows, pocketing biotech seed. The incident spurred a multi-year FBI investigation. Hailong and several CCP cohorts were arrested in 2013, boarding a plane for China. Hidden inside their luggage, under microwave popcorn bags and Subway napkins, were hundreds of seed samples. No matter: Hailong had already mailed over 1,000 lb. of seed corn (Pioneer and Monsanto) to Beijing. He was sentenced to 36 months in prison.

Mo Hailong’s prosecution was a tip-of-the-iceberg bust.

(Photo public domain)

• 2013: Weiqiang Zhang obtained a doctorate in rice genetics at LSU and got a job at Ventria, a Kansas-based biopharmaceutical corporation, as a seed breeder, where he stole seed samples representing $75 million in research. Zhang used USDA letterhead to send counterfeit invitations to six colleagues in China, welcoming them on a tour of Ventria and several more ag stops. The delegates made the rounds (including Dale Bumpers National Rice Research Center in Stuttgart, Ark., where Zhang’s main accomplice, Wengui Yan, worked as a geneticist) and were nailed just before flying home with hundreds of rice seeds in their bags, hidden inside envelopes slipped inside a Best Western remote control pouch and within the folds of an Arkansas Democrat Gazette newspaper. Zhang was sentenced to almost 10 years and Yan to one year.

Weiqiang Zhang, left, and Wengui Yan, nailed in an Arkansas/Kansas seed tech case.

(Photo public domain)

• 2017: Haitao Xiang worked for The Climate Corporation (Monsanto) estimating soil properties via satellite imagery. On May 24, 2017, Xiang announced his forthcoming resignation, and roughly two weeks later, on June 9, after completing an exit interview, downloaded a proprietary algorithm, the Nutrient Optimizer, onto an SD card, and drove from St. Louis to Chicago O’Hare. Xiang was caught at boarding with the SD card in a carry-on bag. He was allowed to leave for China; the FBI wasn’t certain, at that point, what was on the card. After a return to the U.S., in 2019, Xiang was arrested. Despite seizure of the SD card, Xiang presumably had stashed other copies of the Nutrient Optimizer, and possibly delivered those to CCP contacts. He was sentenced in 2022 to 29 months.

However, outright ag technology theft is only one facet of the CCP’s duplicity. Next up, agroterrorism.

Lie and Deny
In July 2024, Zunyong Liu, a plant pathology scientist from Zhejiang University, flew into Detroit from Shanghai on a tourist visa. He claimed to be on a vacation to visit his girlfriend, Yunqing Jian, a postdoctoral researcher at the University of Michigan (UM) in Ann Arbor. (UM maintains roughly 4,000 Chinese students, roughly half the university’s foreign population.) Both halves of the loved-up couple had expertise with a nasty biological pathogen, Fusarium graminearum, a strain that causes head blight and annually inflicts billions of dollars in crop losses. Both had contributed to major academic papers on Fusarium.

Zunyong Liu’s four baggies of smuggled plant material.

(Photo public domain)

U.S. Customs officers gave Liu the squeeze—and out spilled a chain of lies and half-truths. He claimed to have no “work materials” with him, but inside a small pocket of Liu’s backpack, officers found crumpled tissues concealing a filter paper with a “series of circles drawn on it” and four plastic bags containing red plant fibers.

Liu doubled down, insisting on a setup, and claimed the material was planted in his carry-on. As investigators tightened the screws, Liu folded, admitting he was transporting Fusarium for research at UM.

While searching Liu’s iPhone, Customs agents found a pdf in a WhatsApp folder: 2018 Plant-Pathogen Warfare under Changing Climate Conditions. The article referenced Fusarium as a destructive disease and pathogen for agriculture.

When FBI agents questioned Liu’s girlfriend, Jian , she denied all knowledge of Liu’s smuggling or intentions. She lied—repeatedly. As agents asked for her smartphone, Jian began “manipulating” the device as it was seized. The phone contained multiple communications with Liu (deported back to China) that had been wiped clean, but the remaining messages were damning and showed direct involvement in Liu’s illegal activity.

Yunqing Jian both knew about her boyfriend’s smuggling efforts, and had personally smuggled biological material into the U.S.

(Photo public domain)

Additionally, her phone contained a telltale work assessment form from January 2024 that included a pledge of loyalty to the CCP: I adhere to the four basic principles , support the leadership of the Communist Party of China (CCP), resolutely implement the party’s educational guidelines and policies, love education, care for students, unite colleagues, love the motherland, and care about national affairs…

Adding deep layers to the cake, Jian had personally smuggled biological pathogens into the U.S. on prior occasions, and had given another Chinese national, Xia Chen, explicit instructions in how to conceal and code pathogens in postal mail: “There are usually no problems. Rest assured. I have mailed these before.”

Pleasures and Pathogens
Days after the arrest of Yunqing Jian (sentenced to time served in November 2025 and deported to China), another Chinese national, Chengxuan Han, a scientist at a laboratory in Wuhan, was nabbed by U.S. Customs agents on June 8, 2025, at Detroit Metropolitan Airport after a flight from Shanghai. Han was traveling on a J1 work visa to do research at the University of Michigan, specifically at the lab of Professor Shawn Xu of the Life Sciences Institute.

Chengxuan Han: “Hello! This is a fun letter with interesting patterns. I hope you can enjoy the pleasure within it.”

(Photo public domain)

Why was she apprehended? Han mailed four packages, which she labeled as “plastic plates,” but which contained plasmids and petri dishes of C. elegans with genetic modifications (a nematode prohibited from import by USDA) from her Wuhan lab to the UM lab. The packages were intercepted by U.S. Customs. Inside one package was a book with a peculiar envelope slipped between the pages. The envelope held a handwritten note with 28 shapes and a “labeling scheme” for each shape. The note stated: “Hello! This is a fun letter with interesting patterns. I hope you can enjoy the pleasure within it.”

From the get-go, Han denied mailing any packages. Pressed by investigators, she then admitted mailing packages, but insisted the contents only included paper cups and a book. Later, Han acknowledged the biological material, but insisted it was part of a sequencing game she devised with clues given for each plasmid “for fun.”

Confronted with more evidence, Han fessed up, according to an affidavit submitted by FBI agent Edward Nieh: “Han admitted that she had sent packages containing nematode growth medium (NGM), in the petri dishes, and plasmids, in the envelope. Based on my training and experience, it is unlikely that the petri dishes contained solely NGM because NGM is readily available and inexpensive in the United States. CBP Officers conducted a manual review of Han’s electronic devices and found Han had deleted the content of her devices three days prior to her arrival to the United States.”

Han was sentenced to time served, roughly three months, and deported back to China—free to mail more pathogens to the U.S.

Scot-Free: Have A Nice Flight
Who, specifically, were the intended recipients of Han’s “fun” packages at the University of Michigan?

Enter three Chinese citizens, all research scholars holding J-1 visas at the Shawn Xu laboratory: Xu Bai, Fengfan Zhang, and Zhiyong Zhang. As soon as authorities made the connections, the threesome bailed.

On September 29, 2025, the trio was terminated by UM after refusing to participate in an internal investigation. Three weeks later, the men were arrested at JFK International Airport at the departure gate for a flight to Beijing.

The handwritten “matching game” of Chengxuan Han, along with one of eight smuggled petri dishes.

(Photo public domain)

Bottom line, despite the arrests, all three got away scot-free. In February 2026, DOJ dropped the case against Bai, F. Zhang, and Z. Zhang . Smuggling charges were dismissed at DOJ’s request. The three researchers flew home to China. “The dismissal came as a pleasant surprise,” stated John Minock, their attorney. “We don’t know the details. What we were told was there was some kind of intervention by the Chinese consulate in Chicago.”

Underwear of Man-Made Fibers
Generally, panties laced with E. coli, mailed 8,000 miles to a CCP plant pathology researcher in Indiana by a technology company in China, tend to draw U.S. Customs attention.

In June 2023, Youhuang Xiang, a card-carrying member of the Chinese Communist Party with a doctorate in plant physiology, received a J1 visa to study genome editing in wheat plants and resistance to fungal diseases at the Department of Biology at Indiana University (IU) in Bloomington. Among his specialties: Fusarium graminearum.

On March 28, 2024, Xiang received a package from China. Per shipping documents, the package was listed as “Underwear of Man-Made Fibers, Other Womens,” and shipped by Guangzhou Sci Tech Innovation Trading.

Youhuang Xiang: Deported for smuggling biological material into the U.S. Ironically, Xiang (kneeling, far right) was a 2024 National Fusarium Head Blight Forum Poster Competition third-place winner.

(Photo U.S. Wheat & Barley Scab Initiative)

Tracked and questioned by U.S. Customs and the FBI, Xiang played innocent. Denial and more denial: I never worked for the CCP and if any of the labs I worked at in China were funded by the CCP, I don’t know anything about it.

The package, he initially declared, was merely a jacket. However, Xiang later admitted the “clothing” contained plasmid DNA derived from E. coli bacteria and was mailed to him for use in his research at IU. He pleaded guilty to smuggling E. coli and was sentenced to time served (four months) and deported.

And the band played on.

Midnight In Michigan
The funnel is in place. In a typical year, 250,000-300,000 Chinese students (roughly one-third of all foreign enrollees) attend U.S. universities, with almost all in science, technology, engineering, and mathematics (STEM) fields and all vetted by the CCP. “Every Chinese student who China sends here has to go through a party and government approval process,” a senior U.S. official told Reuters in 2018. “You may not be here for espionage purposes as traditionally defined, but no Chinese student who’s coming here is untethered from the state.”

A 2019 FBI report states “the vast majority of students and researchers from China are in the United States for legitimate academic reasons.” However, the FBI’s determination is damning, considering the “vast majority” potentially leaves tens of thousands in the active espionage category.

Camp Grayling, where five Chinese University of Michigan students were caught at midnight photographing military vehicles and facilities.

(Photo U.S. Army)

The FBI report also asserts: “the Chinese government uses some Chinese students … and professors to operate as non-traditional collectors of intellectual property.”

“These Chinese scholars,” the analysis notes, “may serve as collectors, wittingly or unwittingly, of economic, scientific, and technological intelligence from U.S. institutions to ultimately benefit Chinese academic institutions and businesses.”

A cursory look at Chinese researcher/student espionage activity beyond agriculture, just over the past few years, is striking.

• In 2020, two Chinese University of Michigan master’s students, Jielun Zhang and Yuhao Wang , were apprehended while photographing military infrastructure at Naval Air Station Key West (NASKW), in Florida. Zhang was sentenced to a year in prison; Wang got nine months. Also, days prior to Zhang and Wang’s arrest, another Chinese national, Lyuyou Liao , was arrested at NASKW for entering and taking pictures, and sentenced to one year. (Significantly, another Chinese university student, Zhao Qianli , while on a summer exchange program in 2018, was caught photographing and videotaping at NASKW. He was sentenced to a year. His host university in the U.S. was not publicly disclosed.)

• Saw-Teong Ang, a University of Arkansas engineering professor, was indicted in 2020 for wire fraud after accepting U.S contracting funds related to NASA and the Air Force while making false statements and not disclosing CCP ties. Ang got a year in prison.

• Zhengdong Cheng, a professor at Texas A&M, was charged in 2020 with wire fraud for hiding relationships with Chinese corporations and universities, while accepting a NASA grant. Cheng was sentenced to time served after 13-month prison stint.

• Song Guo Zheng, a professor of internal medicine at Ohio State University and Pennsylvania State University, was sentenced to three years in an immunology fraud. After hiding affiliation with a CCP-influenced university, Zheng attempted to flee the U.S. in 2020, according to DOJ: “He was carrying three large bags, one small suitcase and a briefcase containing two laptops, three cell phones, several USB drives, several silver bars, expired Chinese passports for his family, deeds for property in China and other items.”

Zhengdong Cheng, a Texas A&M professor, was sentenced to time served after 13-month prison stint for hiding CCP relationships and obtaining grant money.

(Photos Texas A&M University)

• After Texas A&M University began questioning CCP influence at its lab facilities, and attempted to find out how many faculty members were involved with Chinese recruitment, the answer was stunning. From the Wall Street Journal , Jan. 30, 2020: “… they were astounded at the results—more than 100 were involved with a Chinese talent-recruitment program, even though only five had disclosed their participation.”

• Former University of Florida professor Lin Yang was indicted in 2021 for making false statements in 2019 regarding a $1.75 million grant from the National Institutes of Health (NIH). “Our indictment alleges that Yang engaged in acts of deliberate deception so that he could also further the research goals of the Chinese Communist government and advance his own business interests,” said U.S. Attorney Lawrence Keefe. Yang fled the U.S. in 2019, prior to the indictment, and has not returned.

• In August 2023, five Chinese University of Michigan students (Zhekai Xu, Renxiang Guan, Haoming Zhu, Jingzhe Tao, and Yi Liang) were caught at midnight photographing military vehicles and facilities at Camp Grayling, a Michigan National Guard site. They graduated and left the U.S. before charges were filed in October 2024.

• In April 2026, Tianrui Liang, a Chinese university student visiting the U.S., was charged with photographing military aircraft at Offutt Air Force Base, near Omaha, Neb. Liang said the pictures were for his “personal collection.” According to the FBI, Liang also drove to Ellsworth Air Force Base in South Dakota prior to his Nebraska stop. Liang is currently in federal custody.

And the kicker for U.S. agriculture? The number of CCP-approved Chinese students in U.S. colleges, according to the White House, is set to climb to 600,000 per year. Simple math: If the CCP taps a mere 1% for espionage and theft, that means 6,000 spies/moles on American campuses. Every percent higher means an exponential leap in technology thieves.

Coerce, Coopt, Compel
China openly flaunts its policy of theft. The CCP, in 2017, announced it would force all citizens and companies to steal trade secrets via a national intelligence law: “any organization or citizen shall support, assist, and cooperate with state intelligence work” if directed. The blanket law includes students or researchers. Coerce, coopt, and compel.

The CCP has executed the most expansive technology heist in history, tapping all fields of U.S. industry, business, and production, including agriculture, as evidenced by a 2017 report by the U.S. Commission on the Theft of American Intellectual Property estimating a loss of $255 billion to $600 billion to the U.S. economy each year, and fingering China as the “principle IP infringer.”

“It is the CCP’s goal to steal, glean, obtain, transcribe, and photograph anything of value from the U.S., and the agriculture sector is right at the top,” says Col. John Mills.

(Photo public domain)

In 2019, Joe Augustyn, a 28-year veteran of the CIA, stated, “We know without a doubt that anytime a graduate student from China comes to the US, they are briefed when they go, and briefed when they come back.”

“They don’t just come here to spy ... they come here to study and a lot of it is legitimate,” Augustyn said . “But there is no question in my mind, depending on where they are and what they are doing, that they have a role to play for their government.”

Previously cited national security expert John Mills, echoes Augustyn. “It’s my opinion that many are either working for the Ministry of State Security (China’s CIA-FBI hybrid organization), and 100% are fully aware of their obligation to the CCP … Part of their presence here, granted with CCP permission, is a promise, often a quid pro quo, to assist the CCP in getting whatever is needed.”

“I’d say most all U.S. industries have been asleep, certainly including agriculture,” Mills adds. “The CCP gave us a blueprint and announced they were going to take over certain high-tech industries, and agriculture was right there on the list. They literally told the world what they were going to do. If a gang of thieves tells you they are going to steal your farm, you should believe them.”

Seed, digital tech, or machinery, the CCP has jammed fat fingers deep in the American ag pie. They play for keeps.

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

How the Deep State Tried, and Failed, to Crush an American Farmer

Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust

Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing

Georgia Watermelon Heist Explodes into Epic Night of Pandemonium

Sisters of Farm Fraud: How 4 Siblings Fleeced USDA for $10M

When Conservation Backfires: Landowner Defeats Feds in Mindboggling Private Property Case

Cold-Busted: Frozen Deer Decoy Nabs Poachers and Cocaine in Spectacular Sting

Sticky Fingers: USDA Fraudster Steals $200M in Stunning Scam

No Consent: Tennessee Farmer Defeats TVA Energy Giant in Property Rights Battle

Tue, 28 Apr 2026 11:47:31 GMT

Come hell or high water, utility companies rule farmland. Power lines talk and farmers walk.

“Not this time,” says John Gregory. “We’re not selling and we’re not giving way.”

The Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA) intended to carve a pole-and-wire corridor through Gregory’s 650 acres—a 239-year-old historic family farm founded at the close of the American Revolution.

“They thought they could run over us, but this is the age of digital and social media,” he says. “They didn’t expect for the public to find out what they were doing and they didn’t expect farmers to have a voice.”

Cheapest and Fastest
Thirty miles northeast of Nashville, John and Kaytlin Gregory, alongside John’s father, Robert “Frosty” Gregory, background steers, and grow corn and soybeans, outside Gallatin, in Sumner County, Tennessee. In addition to direct-to-consumer beef, pork, and chicken, Kaytlin runs a booming farm school and homeschool program, bringing in elementary kids from the Nashville metro to learn the basics of row crops, livestock, pollination, wildlife, weather, and nature. She barely keeps up with demand: First started in 2023 with 30 kids, the hands-on sessions now draw 300-plus participants.

“Families who preserve their property are the ones who get penalized because eventually the utility companies or the government can take advantage of what you saved,” says John Gregory.

(Photo by Gregory Family Farm)

“For some of these kids, it’s the only exposure they get to agriculture and the outdoors during their entire childhoods,” Kaytlin explains.

“That’s what has always been done on this farm ,” John adds. “Find a way to meet a need and provide for our community. We’ve done it for almost 240 years.”

Sincerely. In 1787, Revolutionary War veteran Joseph Wallace, of Mecklenburg, North Carolina, earned 640 acres for his militia service. Family in tow, he crossed the Blue Ridge Mountains and settled in Sumner County. Nine generations of full-time farmers later, his direct descendants still work the land.

“That’s who we are,” John says. “But our survival was put under threat from a power line.”

A TVA line was set to cross the Gregory’s farm pastures and woods with a 100’ right-of-way, balding the ground and essentially erasing farm school.

“It would destroy what we do and what we’ve worked so hard to build,” Kaytlin says. “TVA proposed 10 posts with guidelines across the farm. All vegetation and trees removed in the corridor, and that means they’d take out the exact trail and creek crossing and education area we use for farm school.”

“It was all so unnecessary,” John says. “This is not about the inconvenience of farming around a light pole. This is about tearing up the entire way our farm works. They can easily go another way, and everyone knows it. This is not the way to treat people.”

“TVA assumed we would all do exactly as we were told,” says Kaytlin Gregory. “It works for them everywhere else, but not this time.”

(Photo by Gregory Family Farm)

“Families who preserve their property are the ones who get penalized because eventually the utility companies or the government can take advantage of what you saved,” he adds. “They see a wide-open parcel on a map and roll in because it’s the cheapest and fastest route.”

Significantly, TVA promotes itself as a model of “environmental stewardship,” a claim John dismisses. “TVA wanted to plow through our 239-year-old farm to run power to a mega-development with over 1,000 houses stacked on top of each other and destroy the land we use to teach kids about the outdoors, animals, and agriculture. That is TVA’s idea of environmentalism?”

Making Noise
The proposed power line first poked the Gregory property in spring of 2024 via a snail-mail letter from TVA. Paraphrased: A power line is coming via multiple potential routes, and your land may or may not be in one of those routes.

“They had a public forum in May to come by and voice your opinion,” John notes. “They also had it open online to make comments. That was it. After the forum, everything went silent. I didn’t think any more about it.”

“Your farm or private land will be next, so don’t be afraid to speak out and expose what these companies do,” says John concludes. “You’re no longer a voice in the wind.”

(Photo by Gregory Family Farm)

Three months later, on August 25, a TVA surveyor pulled up to the Gregory farm shop, according to John, and stated, “I’m here to survey where the power lines are coming across and I need permission.”

The surveyor showed John where the lines would run across the farm: “I could see right away it would ruin everything me and Kaitlyn had worked on, plus the rest of the farm. Seemed like this just couldn’t be happening.”

The chain of process was in motion. Survey. Historical study. Ecological study. In mid-January 2025, TVA workers placed stubs precisely where permanent poles would be stationed.

“By this point, there was yet to be a TVA representative set foot on the farm or even a letter in the mail talking about buying the easement or purchasing the easement,” John recounts. “Every time they came to do something, my dad asked to speak to somebody in charge and he’d get the same answer, ‘That’s further up the token pole. I’m just here to do a job.’”

Frosty’s patience was gone. He demanded a TVA official high in the brass. “Finally, a TVA engineer called my dad, and he told the guy about our farm school and what a power line would do to our farm school.”

“TVA knew the power line would put an end to our agriculture education programs,” says Kaytlin. “They knew farm school was a crucial part of our farm.”

(Photo by Gregory Family Farm)

The engineer, according to John, insinuated that farm school was a “made-up” cover, and insisted on proof of its existence.

Kaytlin responded with online links, signup information, and social media videos as proof of the farm school’s wide outreach and success. “TVA knew the power line would put an end to our agriculture education programs,” she contends. “They knew farm school was a crucial part of our farm. They knew our farm was in continuous operation since the Revolutionary War. They just didn’t care.”

“My dad reached out to the TVA guys again and again,” John explains. “That’s when they shut the door and said, “No. There’s nothing we can do.”

John, Katylin, and Frosty were supposed to roll. “No way,” John adds. “That’s when we started to make noise.”

All Hands on Deck
Initially, the Gregorys put crosshairs on a single goal: Get one particularly imposing pole removed and pray that farm school could still function.

The Gregory family alongside country music artist John Rich, second from right, a major proponent of private property rights.

(Photo by Gregory Family Farm)

“Didn’t work,” John says. “They wouldn’t talk to us about it. Not even a single pole off the table.”

All hands on deck. John and Kaytlin began making calls, pleading for help: TVA reps, engineers, state legislators, congressmen, media. Anyone. Everyone.

They cranked out a petition and spoke out in social media videos, hoping to gain attention.

And then some. They caught the eyes and ears of a heavyweight country music star and songwriter. Enter an irate John Rich, a major league advocate of property rights, who ran their story up the viral flagpole : The Gregory Family does NOT CONSENT to the @TVAnews running transmission lines across their 239 year old, Revolutionary War Era farm. Thank you @jeremymansfield for ringing the bell! I call on @SecRollins and @USDA to look into this ASAP.

(In 2025, Rich led successful grassroots opposition to a proposed TVA power plant in Cheatham County , Tennessee. In February 2026, he was appointed as a citizen advocate by USDA to help roll out the Farmer and Rancher Freedom Framework , aimed at countering ag lawfare.)

“Well, wouldn’t you know?” John recalls. “Almost instantly, TVA called telling my dad that they’d move that single pole anywhere on the farm so they could come across.”

Frosty responded with a line in the sand: I’m not agreeing to that. No consent. We don’t want this power line.

The Gregorys had found their voice.

Blood, Sweat, and Tears
“Publicly, TVA pretended our opposition was the first they’d heard about any of this,” Kaytlin explains.

Significantly, TVA released statements claiming ignorance regarding Gregory family resistance to the power line: “TVA has been working directly with Mr. Robert Gregory, the landowner, for several months and this concern had not previously been raised.”

Gregory Family Farm has been in operation since 1787.

(Photo by Gregory Family Farm)

“Not true,” Kaytlin counters. “We’ve got texts to prove otherwise. Frosty was against the line from the start, but they wouldn’t listen or let him talk to anyone up high. They never came around to have conversations with surrounding landowners. It’s very clear: TVA assumed we would all do exactly as we were told. It works for them everywhere else, but not this time. This was never about anything except protecting our farm.”

Money played no role, she explains. As in, there was no holdout or hope for a big payout. “Money. Money. Money. That’s comical,” she exclaims. “We’ve broken our backs with blood, sweat, and tears to keep this farm going. That’s what we care about and that’s why its lasted for 240 years. We’re not selling, period.”

“My dad’s been approached close to 10 times in the last 15 years to sell this whole place,” John echoes. “The plans went from industrial stations to housing developments. Every time, the people making those offers left with hat in hand. We’ve been here too long to sell. Some people see the dollars and don’t understand what I’m saying. Those people never will understand.”

In March 2026, with public discontent at full-bore, TVA ended the power line cut across Gregory Family Farm, choosing a different route.

A TVA spokesman told Agweb.com: “There was significant objection to a TVA-proposed route impacting the more than 200-year-old farm owned by the Gregory family. TVA has agreed not to pursue that route … TVA is exploring other options for the transmission line route, which would more closely follow existing rights of way.”

Additionally, TVA contends a newly-formed “Landowner Task Force,” including several farmers, will offer future input on energy projects.

Backbones of steel. John and Kaytlin Gregory.

(Photo by Gregory Family Farm)

The Gregorys are hopeful regarding TVA’s change of direction, but wary. Without the “noise” made by Kaitlyn and John, there would be TVA poles and wires across Gregory Family Farm . Instead, the Revolutionary War-era farm is in full operation, and farm school is in session.

“Your farm or private land will be next, so don’t be afraid to speak out and expose what these companies do,” John concludes. “You’re no longer a voice in the wind.”

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

Family Farm Wins Historic Case After Feds Violate Constitution and Ruin Business

County Shuts Down 15-Yr-Old’s Bait Stand on Family Farm, Threatens Daily Fines

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

How the Deep State Tried, and Failed, to Crush an American Farmer

Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust

Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing

Presumed Guilty? Farm Couple Fights Feds for Fair Trial and Jury

Tue, 14 Apr 2026 11:48:48 GMT

An agriculture crisis is exploding as farmers protest the administrative state’s power of judge, jury, and executioner.

A South Carolina farm family faces bankruptcy and almost $1 million in federal fines, with no proof of wrongdoing beyond the closed walls of a single agency.

“How can this happen in America?” ask Antonio and Esmeralda Sandoval. “We are presumed guilty and not allowed a jury or outside judge. In our wildest dreams, we never imagined this could be legal.”

Remarkably, it’s not legal, according to the U.S. Supreme Court, yet the Sandovals and other farm families are locked in a bureaucratic vise with no checks or balances.

“Injustice and isolation. Those words only describe part of what our own government is doing to us,” Esmeralda Sandoval says. “We’re supposed to shut up and not ask for a jury of our peers while the government pushes us into bankruptcy and takes what we’ve built for 30 years?”

$1-Million Surprise
In upstate South Carolina, on 400 acres of hilly ground in Spartanburg County, the Sandoval family grows tomatoes, peppers, cucumbers, squash, and bell peppers at Del Valle Fresh, a vegetable operation bootstrapped over three decades.

“It’s demoralizing to be charged with abuse when our workers return year after year to help us,” says Esmeralda Sandoval.

(Photo by Del Valle Fresh)

“We believe in old-school farm values of gratitude and responsibility,” Esmeralda says. “That’s how we raised our kids. Two older sons serve in the Marine Corps, and my daughter is currently a commanding officer in the Navy aboard the Arlington. My youngest son, 17, was admitted to an apprentice program in Virginia, to build Navy ships. We work and we serve. We’re not criminals and we don’t mistreat people.”

In a typical year, Del Valle employs up to 100 seasonal employees obtained from the Department of Labor’s (DOL) H-2A foreign worker program. Del Valle’s H-2A employees, sourced from Mexico, typically work at the operation in 6 to 10-month stints.

In May 2021, during the heart of the Covid era, DOL audited Del Valle for the stretch between December 10, 2019 to December 5, 2021.

“It all started when they came out in multiple vehicles, maybe four cars with six to seven people, and flashed their DOL badges,” Esmeralda says. “Honestly, at the time, I thought they were from the FBI. We didn’t hear back from them for almost a year-and-a-half. I thought, ‘They’ll make us do some of the normal regulatory adjustments, but nothing major.’”

Antonio Sandoval, and granddaughter, Amy, catching supper on the farm.

(Photo by Del Valle Fresh)

Instead, 15 months later, Sandoval received a DOL letter and the surprise of her life. “They said we owed them almost $1 million. The public sees that giant number and thinks we must have done terrible things, otherwise we wouldn’t get the penalty. No. We didn’t abuse anyone.”

According to DOL, Del Valle owed $368,123.58 in unpaid wages to 102 workers and was liable for civil monetary penalties to the tune of $511,904.70. The total was $880,028.28, and “due and payable within 30 days.”

The Same Water Cooler
“We never mistreated H-2A workers,” Sandoval emphasizes. “Never.”

“We’re accused of everything from holding back hours to not putting the correct safety posters on our farm walls to fraudulent paperwork,” she says. “We were in the middle of crazy Covid restrictions, and as a family, we were in the middle of losing four loved ones—Antonio’s mother, my grandparents, and our grandbaby. I can’t properly describe the pressure from DOL during all of that.”

Antonio Sandoval faces bankruptcy and almost $1 million in federal fines, with no way out of DOL’s closed loop system.

(Photo by Del Valle Fresh)

Once charged by DOL, the Sandovals were stuck behind DOL walls. The federal government’s departments, agencies, and sub-agencies operate internal courts separate from independent scrutiny. Therefore, the Sandovals faced rulemaking, enforcement, investigation, trial, and judgement—all by DOL personnel. Figuratively, they were subject to government employees who drank at the same water cooler.

The Sandovals requested a jury trial. Denied. On March 10, 2025, DOL Judge Paul Almanza declared that DOL “must adjudicate this matter in accordance with the H-2A regulations, which do not provide for a jury trial.”

On May 2, 2025, the Sandovals sued DOL. “We’re paying out of pocket to defend our farm and our name after being falsely charged with mistreating our workers,” Esmeralda explains. “It’s demoralizing to be charged with abuse when our workers return year after year to help us. It’s straightforward at this point. If we lose, we’ll have to pull the plug on our farm and 30 years of our lives. What they’re doing is unjust and it’s not even supposed to be legal.”

The U.S. Supreme Court agrees with Sandoval.

Bureaucratic Hamster Wheel
In a historic 2024 case, SEC v. Jarkesy, the Supreme Court ruled that citizens are entitled to a jury trial when facing with civil penalties imposed by administrative law judges at federal departments and agencies.

David and Debbie Ross: “People might think there’s no way something this unjust happens in America, but it does. It’s happening on our farm to us.’”

(Photo by Institute for Justice)

However, DOL has continued with in-house adjudication. In 2024, according to Institute for Justice, DOL collected $4.9 million in back wages and imposed $5.8 million in penalties on agricultural employers.

On a parallel track with Del Valle in South Carolina, a Kentucky farm couple faces $70,000 in H-2A related fines. David and Debbie Ross , who
grow corn and tobacco in the northern Kentucky hills of Harrison County, at Triple R Farms, are demanding a jury trial.

“It’s sickening what the government can get away with,” Debbie says. “We’ve done nothing wrong and we want a jury of our peers to hear the evidence. All of it.”

“I don’t want this to ever, ever happen to another farmer or small business owner or American,” says Joe Marino. “The time for change is right now.”

(Photo by Institute for Justice)

The Rosses, like the Sandovals, are suing DOL, and their case carries heavyweight ramifications for agriculture and beyond. “People might think there’s no way something this unjust happens in America, but it does,” Debbie adds. “It’s happening on our farm to us.’”

In New Jersey, brothers Joe and Russell Marino , owners of Sun Valley Orchards, challenged DOL (Sun Valley v. DOL) after a nine-year, bureaucratic grind centered on an H-2A paperwork violation and $500,000-plus in fines. In July 2025, the 3rd U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals ruled DOL violated the Constitution and that charges against the Marinos had to be brought in an independent court. DOL has appealed the ruling and is asking the Supreme Court to hear the case.

“People need to know our whole story because this is how government agencies operate,” said Joe Marino, after his initial court victory. “The public will be sickened to find out what DOL did. I don’t want this to ever, ever happen to another farmer or small business owner or American. The time for change is right now. It has to be now.”

“We are presumed guilty and not allowed a jury or outside judge,” says Antonio Sandoval. “In our wildest dreams, we never imagined this could be legal.”

(Photo by Del Valle Fresh)

Yet, the Marino brothers, along with David and Debbie Ross, and Antonio and Esmeralda Sandoval, are stuck on a bureaucratic hamster wheel.

“We feel terribly alone,” Esmeralda says. “Imagine someone with government power trapping you inside their federal office and then demanding $1 million to get out. No. We want a fair trial in front of a jury, just like the Constitution says.”

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

When Conservation Backfires: Landowner Defeats Feds in Mindboggling Private Property Case

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

How the Deep State Tried, and Failed, to Crush an American Farmer

Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust

Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing

Solar Panel Plague or Progress? Controversy Explodes as Farmland Disappears

Tue, 07 Apr 2026 11:40:39 GMT

Roughly 2,200 acres of prime farmland is vanishing under a blue blanket of glass, plastic, aluminum, and silicon in Kalamazoo County, Michigan. The disappearing act, increasingly common in rural America, is a sweet source of income for some farmers, but a bitter pill for many adjoining producers and landowners.

“Giant solar panels mean prime farmland gone forever and the ruin of rural life, not to mention a potential environmental mess,” says Kate Smit, whose farm sits close to the proposed solar facility.

Smit’s property will be the next-door recipient of 461,000 solar panels strung in 5,400 rows, much of it surrounded by 7’-high fencing.

Bill Peter, a homeowner adjacent to the incoming facility and former longtime employee of Liberty Farms, the same operation that leased the acres for a solar transformation, is opposed to the installation: “Don’t insult me by calling it a ‘solar farm.’ I’m not fooled. What’s happening is sick, and whether you live in Michigan, Indiana, Illinois, or any other state, it’s coming to your backyard. Today here and tomorrow everywhere.”

Peter was fired by Liberty Farms on March 27, he claims, as a direct outcome of his opposition to the solar lease. “I don’t agree with the ‘tiny percent of overall farmland’ excuse,” he adds. “This is one of the saddest things I’ve seen in American agriculture in my lifetime. It ends with glass and metal covering millions of acres.”

Is Peter correct? How many solar acres are planned: 10 million by 2030? 20 million by 2040? Less? More?

Eyesore or Green Beauty?
Standing at the edge of her 97 acres of grain outside Richland Township, Kate Smit sweeps an arm toward the horizon. She soon will be surrounded by a sea of solar panels. Her property almost rubs nearby Liberty Farms—which leased 2,268 prime acres to Consumers Energy, the second largest electric utility in Michigan, for a solar facility with construction and operation scheduled in 2026.

Proposed coverage of the 2,268-acre solar panel site in Richland Township.

(Image by Consumers Energy)

“Our family farm dates back 100 years and now my kids will inherit our fields beside a sprawling, industrial mess,” Smit describes. “We’re an example of what’s going on all over Michigan and the U.S.”

(The Liberty Farms solar installation is not a done deal. The Richland Township planning commission has not yet approved Consumer Energy’s application.)

“Our area in Richland has gorgeous nature with abundant deer, ospreys, bald eagles, cranes, and you name it. We’re also a wonderful agriculture community, and it’s all the bigger shame because prime farmland is what they’re using for this solar project.”

According to a release, Consumers Energy “expects the Project to be in service for at least 35 years. Consumers Energy has worked diligently with nearby landowners and residents to minimize Project impacts on the surrounding community.”

“Are you kidding me? That farmland is lost way past 35 years or 50 years, or whatever ridiculous number they throw out,” Smit says. “No one wants solar panels here, and Consumers knows that. Our community is fighting this tooth and nail. Consumers came here hush-hush, did deals with MDOT, and suddenly our landscape is permanently destroyed.”

(Consumers Energy declined Agweb interview requests regarding the Richland solar installation.)

“We want to stall Consumers’ solar project until we can get a bill passed in our state senate to where townships and counties have to vote if a solar panel company wants in,” Smit continues.

Solar lease rates for agriculture land are significantly high.

(Graph by AFBF)

Two miles from Smit, Bill Peter, 70, who sits on the Richland Township board as a trustee, lives down a mile-and-a-half road dotted with seven homes. “I’m about to get circled by solar panels,” he says. “Literally, Consumers Energy is putting panels all the way around. They’ll take out the tillable ground and replace it with glass.”

Ironically, until March 2026, Peter was employed at Liberty Farms, the new landlord of Consumers Energy. “I’m not afraid to tell the truth and they fired me for it. That’s their choice,” he emphasizes. “I’m not sitting quietly while 450,000 solar panels permanently replace the best farm soil around.”

Generally, solar panels are made of 76% glass, 10% plastic, 8% aluminum, 5% silicon, and 1% copper.

“There’s nothing green about this green energy,” Peter contends. “They want to put glass, steel, aluminum, and plastic on top of a natural watershed area, and completely cut the ground off from photosynthesis, and then tell you it’s environmentally safe for 50 years, and won’t hurt the soil with contamination? What happens when a tornado or natural disaster tosses grinds all these panels to particles?”

“We’re all tired of this renewable energy talk,” he adds. “It funnels to tax dollars and tax breaks, and backroom deals and mandates. This Richland installation is rumored to be a $50-plus million contract, ultimately paid for by us in one way or another.”

“Wake up,” Smit echoes. “No matter where you’re at in the U.S., the land beside you or the land in your community could be next. How many panels will they put in if they can get away with it?”

Battle of the Pens
In 2021, President Biden (Executive Order 14057 ) mandated that the federal government reach net-zero carbon emissions by 2050. A massive solar push was included in the plan. How much farmland was needed to reach the net-zero goal? Estimates ranged from 10 million to 26 million acres, with upper end projections of 50 million.

“We’re supposed to say nothing while solar panels and data centers explode, and we’re told about the wonders of green, renewable energy,” says Smit.

(Photo by iStock)

However, in 2025, President Trump signed Executive Order 14148 , revoking Biden’s mandate.

In 2024-2025, solar infrastructure covered approximately 1 million-plus acres of farmland, with roughly half of the acreage directly on cropland. Overall, the U.S. contains almost 880 million acres of farmland.

“It’s not that complicated to me,” says Ed Yelton, a cattle producer in Dearborn County , Indiana. “They’ll build as many as they can get away with. If you think it’s not a big deal because they’re only on a fraction of total farmland, wait till one pops up beside you. Who in the hell wants to see the monstrosity?”

“And if a different presidential administration comes in, they might pick up a pen and sign another executive order and we’ll be at 50 million acres before you know it. Let me be direct: Whatever number the government pushes, that tells me they want far, far more.”

A mile from Yelton’s pastures, Linea Energy has a lease on 1,200 acres of planned solar panels. “It’s beautiful farmland, or was,” Yelton says.

Prime agricultural land is popular for solar installations, partially because it’s often open, dry, and relatively flat. Construction costs for solar conversion on farmland are generally lower than on other types of ground.

The pressure from solar installations and data centers on rural landowners and communities is just beginning, Kate Smit says.

(Graph by AFBF)

“The energy people slipped in here and signed leases with people without nobody knowing it. These are the same people that tell you that solar isn’t permanent while they’re hauling in glass, fencing, and concrete. This is same story you see in North Carolina, New York, Kentucky, Oklahoma—it’s all over the place.”

“We’re pressuring our zoning board to do something,” Yelton exclaims. “That might be the solution in the future: Only allow solar panel installation beside the homes and properties of county officials and board members. Hell, that might sincerely stop some of this.”

Private Land v Public Choice?
Whose ox is gored? When millions of dollars in lease contracts are at stake, how does the right to use private land as a property owner sees fit weigh into the solar equation? Simply, solar pays tremendously well compared with corn, cotton, rice, or soybeans.

“It’s a tough one,” Yelton admits. “I believe a person should be able to do with their land whatever they want, but solar is something else. If you’re the next to get panels beside your land or house, you’ll be sick. The only solution to panels and AI data centers is to let a community decide.”

“The power companies and the government all know this is wrong. That’s why they call them ‘solar farms.’ They use words to trick and influence the public, but that’s an insult to anyone in agriculture. I’m sticking with common sense: Once you put glass, aluminum, and plastic all over a field, that’s no longer a farm.”

Well and Good
As of 2024, American Farm Bureau Federation estimates over 1.25 million acres of farmland has been covered by solar installations:

The ERS (Economic Research Service, USDA) approximates solar’s footprint as of 2020 at 336,000 acres of rural land based on the total solar production capacity installed in U.S. Census designated rural areas. As solar capacity has more than doubled since 2020 and is increasingly coming from utility-scale solar, this estimate is woefully out-of-date. Using SIEA’s current estimate of 200 GW of installed solar capacity, ERS’s estimate of 7.5 acres used per MW of production, and AFT’s estimate that 83% of solar installations are on farmland, we roughly estimate that 1.25 million acres of farmland have been converted for use in solar production. While that may be a startlingly high number to some, it would represent 0.14% of the 879 million acres of farmland in the United States.

“No matter where you’re at in the U.S., the land beside you or the land in your community could be next,” says Smit. “How many panels will they put in if they can get away with it?”

(Photo by iStock)

Whether eyesore and erasure, or energy godsend and income windfall, the pressure from solar installations and data centers on rural landowners and communities is just beginning, Kate Smit says.

“We’re supposed to say nothing while solar panels and data centers explode, and we’re told about the wonders of green, renewable energy,” she concludes. “If it’s all so well and good, then who wants one outside your bedroom window?”

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

When Conservation Backfires: Landowner Defeats Feds in Mindboggling Private Property Case

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

How the Deep State Tried, and Failed, to Crush an American Farmer

Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust

Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing

From Constraints to Catalysts: How Ag Leaders Turn Hardships into Strategy

Thu, 02 Apr 2026 18:19:02 GMT

In an industry defined by “one-year-at-a-time” cycles, the greatest threat to a growing operation isn’t just a market downturn—it’s the inertia that comes with size. Farm Journal CEO Prescott Shibles argues that long-term survival requires a rare blend of faith and agility. To maintain an entrepreneurial mindset, leaders must lean into “conviction” as the core of a strategy that survives the lows.

Here is how four industry leaders are turning today’s constraints into tomorrow’s differentiators.

1. Build when times are hard.

When Brent Smith, president and CEO of NewLeaf Symbiotics, joined the company in 2023, the grain market was entering a significant down cycle. While some saw a risky time to lead a startup, he saw an opportunity.

“I learned in my first startup that the best time to build a business is in hard times,” Smith said said during a discussion at Top Producer Summit. “Because if you can’t withstand tough times, you’re not going to survive long term.”

For Smith, survival meant doubling down on the company’s core: science. Despite the pressure to cut costs, NewLeaf continues to spend half of its operating expenses on science.

“It would be very easy to peel that back,” he admits. “But we focused on projects that make the most impact the quickest, while keeping an eye on the long-term innovation in our pipeline.”

2. Control what you can control.

Farmers face the ultimate constraint every year: the weather. Scott Beck, president of Beck’s Hybrids, recalls the planting crisis of 2019 when constant rains kept tractors out of the fields well into May.

“I was concerned for our customers not being able to plant, but also for us not being able to plant our seed for the next year,” Beck says. “There was nothing that we could do to control the weather, but we could control how we interacted with our customers.”

Rather than retreating, the Beck’s team focused on transparency and empathy, using video series to connect with farmers and even forming small groups for prayer and support. Ultimately, they wanted farmers to know they cared and were there to support them however they could.

Despite the financial reality of what could happen if farmers didn’t plant and returned seed, Beck’s decided their course of action would not include employee layoffs. Instead, they prepared to sell land to protect their people.

“Fortunately, the weather broke and everybody was able to get planted,” he says. “Then the second miracle happened. We had the second warmest September on record, and that’s what brought the crop through to enable 2019 to not turn out as bad as it started.”

3. Turn disadvantages into advantages.

In 2014, Lamar Steiger, owner of The 808 Ranch, was tasked with a monumental challenge: helping Walmart reinvent its beef supply chain. At the time, the retail giant was at a disadvantage, forced to accept whatever the major meatpackers provided.

Steiger’s strategy was to turn that lack of control into a new kind of independence.

“I convinced the Walmart team to go around the traditional supply chain,” Steiger says. Today, Walmart sources 28% of its beef from its own “farm-to-table” supply chain.

There’s no question that decision was really good for Walmart. But Steiger says it was also really good for him personally.

“It reminded me that no matter how big you are, there are always challenges,” he says.

4. Create “white space” for the future.

When the day-to-day tasks of an operation become overwhelming, long-term strategy is often the first thing to go. James Burgum, CEO of The Arthur Companies, believes leaders must intentionally carve out “white space” for their teams.

“It’s important to find ways where people can actually spend their time working on the business, not just in the business,” he says.

By protecting time for team members to execute ideas that are three to five years out, Burgum manages the tension between short-term urgency and long-term viability.

“It’s hard to step away from the daily fires you’ll face in your operation, but it’s important,” he adds. “How we manage that tension of short term and long term is creating that white space and making sure that we consciously work on the business.

The Long Game

Ultimately, resilience in agriculture is about knowing when to push and when to pivot.

“You have to know when to put the gas down, and you need to know when to tap the brake,” Smith says. “And regardless of what you are doing, you need to stay focused on what you’re doing.”

Whether it is investing in science during a downturn or choosing customer empathy over the bottom line, these leaders say constraints don’t have to be roadblocks; they can be the very catalysts that drive an operation forward.

Landowner Builds Off-Grid Container Home on Farm, Triggers Regulatory Rumble

Tue, 31 Mar 2026 11:49:21 GMT

Is Chad Cane’s great sin going off-grid on the farm?

When Cane began building a container home on private land, county officials trespassed on his property, ignored due process, and levied a chain of regulatory penalties, he contends.

“Don’t dare try to live simply and responsibly if you don’t fit into the state’s model. We want to be left alone out in the countryside, but instead we’re fighting selective permitting schemes that violate basic constitutional rights.”

Self-sufficiency and solar power in rural America? “No,” he says. “More like targeting and potential jail time.”

Hell of a Surprise
In 2021, Chad Cane and Rhonda Aho were given 2.5 acres of her father’s 40-acre farm, the last vestige of a family operation reaching back to the 1950s and still planted in corn and soybeans today.

Aho and Cane’s Cass County property and container location.

(Photo Google Earth)

Located outside Pine River (population 990), in central Minnesota’s Cass County, the 2.5 acres, partially edged by evergreens and jack pines, is surrounded by agricultural land. West, across a paved road, sits a cattle farm; north, a neighbor with another 40 acres; south, farmland; and east, a mix of timber and farmland.

In May 2021, Cane, 55, bought six shipping containers and placed them on the gifted acreage. “Rhonda and I decided to build a container house and go off-grid. We wanted to live basic on the farm. Bother no one. Build at our own pace.”

Cane sought the blessing of his only immediate neighbor. “They were enthusiastic and gave us a big thumb’s up. Other than them, there was no one else we could possibly bother. It was just a matter of putting in the time and effort to build a modest container home with my own hands—no public harm, no commercial activity, and no one else involved on private property.”

By the summer of 2022, Cane was making headway, digging a basement and utilizing solar panels for power. On June 22, Cane got a “hell of a surprise.”

An unidentified, unannounced woman entered the property as Cane was working. She walked behind the containers, taking photographs of the basement, solar panels, and Cane, he insists. “I was taken totally by surprise and had no idea who she was. I said, ‘Do you know you’re trespassing?’”

“We were building on private land and not hooking onto public utilities, but I think that made them want to control us even more,” Cane says.

(Photo Google Earth)

“She said, ‘I’m from the county assessor’s office.’”

The individual gathering information and taking pictures, Cane says, was Cass County staff appraiser Sandy Bennett. The property was posted with “no-trespassing” signs, including “private drive” hanging on the entry gate.

“She had no warrant, authorization, or permission,” Cane says. “A local government official walking around private land taking measurements and photographs? I didn’t know all my rights, but I knew this was crazy.”

Back came the county.

Out in the Sticks
On January 10, 2023, Cane got “another shock” behind his containers. “Around the corner walks a different lady than last time and says she’s from the county and she’s supposed to check on my progress.”

Cane contends photographs taken by Cass County on his property, including this basement image, were illegally obtained by county reps.

(Photo courtesy of Cane)

Cane says Jerri Huston, another Cass County staff appraiser, began asking construction questions. “I told her I wasn’t through with anything yet, and she said, ‘I could tell that you’re not done from peeking inside.’”

“I was really angry about the actions of a county official that knew better,” Cane continues. “She was the second official to trespass, take measurements, take pictures, and snoop around—all without authorization. Blatant violations of the most basic property rights.”

“This was all done without warrant or consent. I told her she knew she’d driven through my gate and a no-trespassing sign and walked by another sign to get around back. She left, but I knew this was only just beginning.”

(Citing pending litigation, Cass County officials decline Agweb.com interview requests regarding Aho and Cane’s property.)

Less than 24 hours after Cane demanded Huston leave, Cass County officials downloaded (January 11) Google Earth images of the property, he notes. Several weeks later, on February 2, Cane received a letter from Troy Nelson, resource specialist with Cass County Environmental Services, declaring the containers in violation of regulations:

An on-site inspection was performed on your above listed property. This inspection revealed the presence of six storage containers, with at least one of them placed upon a basement. There is also a solar panel on site. These structures all require permits according to the Cass County Land Use Ordinance (LUO) section 501 “Permits Required”.

On a permit search of this parcel, it revealed no land use permits were approved or applied for on this property. These structures all now require After-The-Fact permits (LUO 604) which are 3 times the original cost.

Nelson’s letter refers to an “on-site inspection.” However, no on-site inspection was conducted by Cass County, Cane says.

“It’s deceptive. The wording makes it sound like he (Nelson) officially walked the property and examined everything. No way. He drove up to the gate and took a couple of pictures. That’s it. And there was 2’ of snow on the ground. How would he judge whether there was truly a basement?”

“Truth is, he used Google, Eagleview , and the photos taken by the county appraisers when they illegally came on my land. That’s an abuse of power. You illegally come on private property twice, and then pretend to have performed a legal inspection the third time when you never even were on the land.”

(Citing pending litigation, Cass County declined all Agweb.com questions related to the Aho/Cane property.)

Per the county, Cane needed permits for all six containers and solar panel. He was required to sign a residential building permit application—and abide by the stipulations.

Cane insists no on-site inspection of his property ever was conducted by Cass County.

(Photo courtesy of Cane)

“It said I had to be done in two years. Keep in mind, I was building all by myself, so there was no chance in hell I’d be done. It said I had to agree to inspections and the state could come on our property. It said they can do a stop-work order if I violate their regulations.”

“All these permits, rules, and regulations for a few containers and solar panels for a family living off the grid, out in the sticks?”

Cane began questioning past permitting: Cass County had abundant shipping containers and solar panels scattered over 2,400 square miles. How many were permitted?

The answer, he says, was telltale.

Hammer Time
Roughly a half-mile to the south of Cane and Aho’s property, a neighbor had a shipping container. Almost a half-mile east, a commercial property housed four containers. Further down the road, at another commercial business, 10 containers were visible from the road. And Aho’s uncle, residing inside Pine River, kept two shipping containers.

“Throw a rock, hit a shipping container,” Cane says.

He asked each property owner or business owner a direct question: Are your containers permitted?

“None. Zero. Nobody had a permit,” Cane contends. “Nobody had ever been asked for a permit. Nobody had ever had county officials even take a look at their containers. I looked online in the public records for our area of the county (Barclay township) and found no permits issued for shipping containers in the 53 years of available data. Another township, same thing. Another, same thing. I found one township with a couple of permitted containers. Literally, there are thousands of unpermitted containers here.”

What about solar panels? “I started going around asking people with solar panels who told me they didn’t have a permit and had never been bothered about it by the county. What the county was doing to me was the definition of selective enforcement. In my opinion, because I threw them off our land, they decided to hammer us. I wasn’t sure what they’d do next.”

Jail time, possibly? Yes, according to Cass County.

Criminals and Containers
Approximately one month after Cane received a notice of violation letter from Nelson at Environmental Services, he received another letter (March 16, 2023) from Cass County assistant attorney Nicole Cayko, regarding his sewage system: get permitted, get fined, or go to jail for 90 days:

… any habitable structure with pressurized water requires a Subsurface Sewage Treatment System (SSTS). All septic systems require a design by a licensed professional and a permit from Cass County.

You must bring your property into compliance within 30 days of the date of this letter or further enforcement action will be taken.

Each day of a violation of an ordinance constitutes a separate offense. Each offense … is punishable by up to 90 days in jail, a fine of not more than $1,000 or both.

“We were building on private land and not hooking onto public utilities, but I think that made them want to control us even more. And to top it off, they didn’t even know exactly what I was building, except for the information they took illegally. Suddenly, we were criminals for trying to live in a container.”

Sewer and Solar
Pebble became landslide. Cass County hired a law firm, Iverson Reuvers, to seek enforcement or sue Cane in district court. On September 20, 2023, Cane received a certified letter from Iverson Reuvers, declaring him in violation of land use land use ordinances and in violation of sewage ordinances:

… the County will seek injunctive relief and/or criminal charges, in addition to any costs and fees awarded by the Court.

“Why is the state so desperate to regulate a solar panel?” Cane asks. “That’s the whole point of an off-grid power source—to generate our own power and not bother anyone.”

(Photo courtesy of Aho/Cane)

Three months later, sewer became solar. On the heels of Cass County’s noncompliance enforcement, the Minnesota Department of Labor & Industry put crosshairs on Cane’s solar power. Cane received a letter (December 28, 2023) from senior investigator Chris Nguyen, requiring Cane to undergo a solar inspection and obtain a permit.

Before the Department considers whether formal action is warranted or necessary, we would like to offer you the opportunity to respond to the allegations and/or potential violations noted above. Please provide this office with your written response by January 11, 2024. Additionally, please include in your written response the following:

• Identify who installed the solar array and did the electrical work.

• Provide copies of any invoices/contracts/agreements between you and whomever installed the solar array if it was not you…

A violation of either of these statutes would constitute cause for the imposition of monetary penalties of up to $10,000 per violation.

“Why is the state so desperate to regulate a solar panel?” Cane asks. “That’s the whole point of an off-grid power source—to generate our own power and not bother anyone. I believe it’s just one more means for the state to control people.”

Chain of Suits
In January 2024, accusing Cass County of numerous constitutional violations, Aho and Cane filed a federal lawsuit against the county and 14 of its employees.

With time/date marked by Cane, he contends Cass County officials downloaded Google Earth images of the container location a day after he threw a county appraiser off the property.

(Photo courtesy of Cane)

“When they’re engaging in unconstitutional enforcement and threatening to throw Rhonda in jail as the landowner, what was I supposed to do? This wasn’t about land ordinances,” says Cane, who represented himself and Aho, despite no legal background. “This was about basic freedoms.”

In June 2024, Cane’s lawsuit was dismissed. “I did my best, thinking I could just present the facts to a judge. Big mistake. It was all about procedure and filing; facts were irrelevant.”

In July 2024, Cass County sued Aho over the zoning ordinances, and won in January 2025. Cane followed with a second lawsuit against the county—now pending.

And the off-grid container home? It remains unfinished.

Personal Liberty v. Permitting
Rules for thee, but not for me, Cane posits. “The county ignores fundamental private property rights and then wields land use ordinances like I’m building a skyscraper or amusement park. They frame this as a zoning dispute, but it’s really a civil rights and government overreach dispute.”

“We want to be left alone out in the countryside,” Cane insists, “but instead we’re fighting selective permitting schemes that violate basic constitutional rights.”

(Photo courtesy of Aho/Cane)

How does Cane answer calls to pay the penalties and obtain permits?

“Somebody has to stop government overreach. We’re supposed to live in a free country with personal liberty that ensures the government doesn’t come on our land at will. Our crime was stacking cinder blocks, digging a basement on private land, and then challenging their selective enforcement.”

“There’s nothing more American than getting a piece of land far out and building something from nothing to live simply off-grid,” he adds. “This is not the land of the fee and home of the slave. Not everything needs to be regulated.”

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

When Conservation Backfires: Landowner Defeats Feds in Mindboggling Private Property Case

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

How the Deep State Tried, and Failed, to Crush an American Farmer

Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust

Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing

Farm Family Slammed by DOL Sues Feds, Demands Jury Trial

Tue, 24 Mar 2026 11:50:00 GMT

No jury or independent judge allowed. Welcome to a farmer’s nightmare and the sequestered world of the administrative state.

David and Debbie Ross, facing $70,000 in fines, are demanding a jury trial. The U.S. Department of Labor (DOL) claims the couple is guilty of mistreating H-2A workers.

The Rosses are trapped within the closed loop of a single agency: Pursuit by DOL agents, enforcement by DOL personnel, trial by DOL attorneys, testimony by DOL witnesses, decision by DOL judge, and review by DOL appellate judges.

“It’s sickening what the government can get away with,” Debbie says. “We’ve done nothing wrong and we want a jury of our peers to hear the evidence. All of it.”

The Rosses are suing DOL, and their case carries heavyweight ramifications for agriculture and beyond. “People might think there’s no way something this unjust happens in America, but it does,” she adds. “It’s happening on our farm to us.’”

Neverending Merry-Go-Round
In the northern Kentucky hills of Harrison County, at Triple R Farms, a small operation started in roughly 1990, the Rosses grow tobacco and corn, and maintain a small cattle herd.

David handles planting and management, but during the fall season, due to the heavy demands of tobacco harvest, he employs a team of H-2A workers sourced from DOL. Housed on-farm, the H-2A workers typically remain at Triple R for several months.

“We’ve always valued the H-2A program,” Debbie says. “Every year, when we finally get all our tobacco in the barn, David has a big pig roast for our H-2A help, most of who come from Mexico. To get charged with mistreatment of anyone working on our farm is ridiculous.”

On December 1, 2021, three DOL agents, as part of a scheduled, annual audit, sat at Debbie’s kitchen table and combed through Triple R paperwork. Debbie, dealing with soreness of muscle and a slight cough, gave them open access.

“They seemed considerate. I provided all our documents and they went out to look at the farm and our housing facilities. Maybe they stayed six hours or so.”

Triple R Farms in Harrison County, northern Kentucky.

(Photo by Google Earth)

The next day, Debbie and David tested positive for Covid—waylaid by the virus. The remainder of the audit was conducted by email over the next month.

“We got Covid bad—really bad. We went to one hospital multiple times for fluids and another hospital to get infusions,” she explains. “We ended up being physically drained almost the entire month of December, but at least we knew what was wrong.”

What David and Debbie didn’t know? Despite dealing with an anemic farm economy and the effects of ill-time flooding, the couple was about to feel the bureaucratic hammer of DOL and be forced onto the agency’s merry-go-round.

Nothing to Hide
There was no tobacco left to strip—at least not in quantities requiring a volume of H-2A workers.

“It’s pretty simple,” Debbie says. “Heavy rains and flooding ended our tobacco work. We didn’t have tobacco to put up in the barn. We told our H-2A workers they could stay and do other jobs, but they wanted to go home. No problem. It had turned cold and I didn’t blame them. They signed the proper legal forms and voluntarily went back to Mexico. The government now says we fired them. That’s crazy and untrue; we did not.”

“The auditors, attorneys, and judges all were from DOL,” says Debbie. “The same people who made and enforced the rules, were the same people who judged whether we followed the rules.

(Photo by Institute for Justice)

The H-2A crew originally was scheduled to leave Jan. 30, 2022. Instead, as described by Debbie, they left December 11, 2021.

“Trying to get all the paperwork done with the workers, while we were at our worst with Covid, was seriously difficult. But we just wanted to do things right by everyone. We had nothing to hide. We want the public to know what happened; DOL does not.”

Dropping a Bomb
The months ticked by with no word from DOL regarding the audit. “I started getting worried that I’d missed something in the mail,” Debbie explains. “Before I knew it, over a year had passed since they visited our farm. I emailed them in January 2023 to check in.”

DOL responded. How about sharing a meal in Harrison County?

“We met the DOL guys at a nice restaurant in town, with no idea about what they were about to do. There was two of them, but later it was obvious that only one of them was an auditing official. The other guy barely said a word and we figured out he was there as backup in case things got out of hand. They knew what they were about to hit us with.”

Seated at a diner, 13 months after visiting Triple R Farms, DOL dropped a bomb and the first mention of any violations: You owe $27,000 in back wages for 11 H-2A workers.

“That’s ridiculous,” David replied. “The H-2A guys didn’t work because they weren’t here. They weren’t here because they wanted to leave.”

“No way,” Debbie added. “The workers left voluntarily. They all signed saying so.”

While delivering the $27,000 penalty at the diner, the DOL rep knew there was a deeper layer to the cake. The $27,000 was a mere portion of the overall penalty.

(DOL did not respond to Agweb.com questions regarding the Ross/Triple R Farms case.)

“They never even told us at the restaurant, but they knew the whole time,” Debbie says. “We owed a further $42,000 in penalties, on top of the $27,000. They never said a word.”

Several weeks later, in late February, a DOL letter arrived in the Ross’ mailbox: You owe another $42,000 for firing H-2A workers, along with associated penalties.

Grand total? $70,049.93.

Pay Up or Bounce

What was the government’s basis for the $70,000-plus?

DOL’s H-2A rules include a three-fourths guarantee “to offer the worker employment for a total number of work hours equal to at least three-fourths of the workdays.”

However, there is no three-fourths guarantee if an H-2A worker “voluntarily abandons employment before the end of the contract period.”

Further, H-2A workers can be released based on farm conditions “beyond the control of the employer due to fire, weather, or other Act of God that makes the fulfillment of the contract impossible, the employer may terminate the work contract.”

(Photo by Institute for Justice)

“We fired no one,” Debbie emphasizes. “They went home voluntarily. On top of that, we had a flood that meant we didn’t have enough pounds of tobacco to function normally.”

Debbie’s protestations to DOL had no effect. “Our H-2A workers left of their own accord, while we were in terrible health from COVID, and I did my best with the paperwork. DOL blamed me for not calling their office in that moment with details, but it’s a miracle I was able to get the paperwork signed at all, considering we were deathly ill. What were we supposed to do? Force someone to stay? The whole deal is beyond unjust.”

Pay the $70,000 toe-tag or bounce into agency court, according to DOL. “We didn’t have a clue what we were up against,” Debbie says. “The auditors, attorneys, and judges all were from DOL. The same people who made and enforced the rules, were the same people who judged whether we followed the rules. It was a stacked deck like you can’t believe and about as un-American as you can get.”

In the Bull’s-Eye
On March 12, 2026, represented by Institute for Justice (IJ), David and Debbie sued DOL in district court, seeking to stop the agency from forcing the couple into in-house court.

“If DOL wants to impose fines, it should have to go to a real court where the Rosses would get an independent judge and a jury of their peers,” says IJ attorney Rob Johnson.

The Rosses are trapped within the closed loop of a single agency: Pursuit by DOL agents, enforcement by DOL personnel, trial by DOL attorneys, testimony by DOL witnesses, decision by DOL judge, and review by DOL appellate judges.

(Photo by Institute for Justice)

“DOL is forcing a farm family to defend itself against a huge, punishing fine in the agency’s own in-house courts, where the only judge they can get is an agency bureaucrat,” Johnson continues. “That, in no way, is a fair or just proceeding.”

Is Johnson correct? He’s absolutely in the bull’s-eye, says the U.S. Supreme Court.

A Dark Hole
In a seismic 2024 ruling, SEC v. Jarkesy, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that citizens are entitled to a jury trial when hit with civil penalties imposed by administrative law judges.

Jarkesy tore down the walls of in-house courts, where the federal government (including USDA-NRCS) has sky-high win rates. In 2015, former FTC Commissioner Joshua Wright shed light on a phenomenally high agency win rate from roughly 1995 to 2015: “In 100 percent of cases where the administrative law judge ruled in favor of the FTC staff, the Commission (appeals board) affirmed liability; and in 100 percent of the cases in which the administrative law judge found no liability, the Commission reversed. This is a strong sign of an unhealthy and biased (emphasis added) institutional process.”

“We were presumed guilty from the start, and it’s shameful what they did to us,” says New Jersey producer Joe Marino.

(Photo by IJ)

DOL’s in-house system levies major penalties: In 2024 alone, according to an IJ release, DOL collected $4.9 million in back wages and imposed $5.8 million in penalties on agricultural employers. In many cases, DOL does not return money to workers, but either keeps it or passes it to Congress.

Echoing Jarkesy, and similar to the Ross case, brothers Joe and Russell Marino, owners of Sun Valley Orchards in New Jersey and represented by IJ, challenged DOL (Sun Valley v. DOL) after a nine-year, bureaucratic grind centered on an H-2A paperwork violation and over $500,000 in fines. In July 2025, the 3rd U.S. Circuit Court of Appeals ruled that DOL violated the Constitution and that charges against the Marinos had to be brought in an independent court. (DOL is contesting the ruling and asking SCOTUS to hear the case.)

Joe Marino contends he was deemed guilty out of the gate by DOL. “They took us down a dark, dark hole that I can’t describe properly with words,” he described after his court victory. “I never thought honesty and facts wouldn’t matter in America, but that’s what happened. We were presumed guilty from the start, and it’s shameful what they did to us.”

Yet, if the U.S. Supreme Court and the 3rd Circuit both ruled on the unconstitutionality of in-house courts, why are David and Debbie Ross still trapped behind DOL walls and denied a trial by jury?

Real Court, Real Jury
The Ross case was assigned to DOL Judge Willow Fort, a long-time DOL player. According to the Rosses’ complaint, Fort “has been employed by DOL for over half of her legal career ... She worked as a trial attorney in the DOL’s Office of the Regional Solicitor representing the Secretary of Labor in enforcement actions beginning in 2011, and was appointed as a DOL ALJ in Cincinnati, Ohio in November 2021.”

“People might think there’s no way something this unjust happens in America, but it does,” says Debbie. “It’s happening on our farm to us.’”

(Photo by Institute for Justice)

Fort has denied the Rosses’ requests for a jury trial and is proceeding with an in-house DOL trial, and scheduled the next hearing for September 2026—during the middle of harvest.

“This has got to stop,” Johnson says. “Right now, we have agencies across the administrative state that are just trying to come up with excuses and distinctions to not apply Jarkesy. The Ross case is certainly one where the U.S. Supreme Court justices have said one thing, but the administrative state is doing another. It’s up to the courts to force the bureaucrats in this country to follow the law. These types of cases are happening across the country.”

“Bottom line,” Johnson adds, “if the government wants to take your money, they should have to take you to a real court with a real jury, and not an agency bureaucrat.

As for Debbie, she contends DOL’s actions are “outrageous and abusive.”

“We live year to year in farming, and can’t survive by losing $70,000. My husband is 69 and I’m 65, and we farm with tremendous risk and make just enough to keep going every year. David has had triple bypass surgery and five stints, and I’ve had open heart surgery for a bad valve, and the stress of this, on top of the fines, is almost too much to handle. We’re not afraid to work daylight to dark, but then government does this to us? Maybe $70,000 is not so much to some people, but it’s everything to us.”

“I actually thought we could explain the facts and somebody at DOL would listen,” she adds. “Now I know better. But if DOL won’t listen, we should be entitled to a jury and judge that will listen.”

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

When Conservation Backfires: Landowner Defeats Feds in Mindboggling Private Property Case

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

How the Deep State Tried, and Failed, to Crush an American Farmer

Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust

Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing

Killing the Working Man: Farm Shop Tax Assessment Jumps 400% in Single Year

Wed, 04 Mar 2026 12:38:34 GMT

After struggling through the worst year of his agriculture career, John Paul Brooks got smoked with a tax bill from hell. His 2025 farm shop assessment skyrocketed 400% in a single year from roughly $10,000 to $50,000.

“Robbery,” says Brooks, owner of Brooks Custom Applications in Houston, Mississippi. “If you think they don’t abuse small businesses, then my story says otherwise. They make sure we own nothing.”

Tax Hell, Bureaucratic Heaven
Since 2017, Brooks has leased to own a 100’ by 100’ farm shop in Sunflower County, in the heart of the Mississippi Delta. In 2025, Brooks switched the “business personal tax” from the previous owner to his company, Brooks Custom Applications.

“I was just trying to survive and suddenly I was facing a crazy $50,000 tax bill for a single shop,” Brooks explains.

(Photo by Chris Bennett)

Following the change, the county tax assessor’s office sent a contracted official to Brooks’ shop to take stock. Brooks estimated the assessment would be in the ballpark of past years—a range of $10,000-$12,000. Instead, he received sledgehammer surprise. The new annual tax tab was $50,980.32, going beyond machinery to include a DVD player, plastic chairs, wooden desk, shelves, grease gun, microwave, and more.

“I thought it was an error. A mistake. Then I started looking at the list of items and they’d taxed me on literally anything inside the building. Plastic table, ladder, wooden shelves, television, broken DVD player, and so on. I’m talking a 20-year-old air compressor, grinder, and grease gun. It was everything at the property, excluding the land and shop itself. They would’ve taxed me on the commode and sink, but those were attached to the building.”

Brooks, 44, was incensed. Mirroring the overall agriculture economy, Brooks Custom Applications, with a footprint in three states, already was mired in the toughest stretch of its 20-year history. Starting with six sprayers/spreaders in 2003, Brooks bootstrapped to build the company to an 800,000-acre footprint with 40 machines.

Brooks’ 2025 Sunflower County tax tab.

(Photo courtesy of JP Brooks)

And then came 2025. Commodity market freefall compounded by a torrential sequence of ill-timed, spring rains resulted in a 40% acre reduction. The result for Brooks? In August 2025, a precipitous plunge from 800,000 acres to 500,000 triggered Chapter 11 bankruptcy.

“That was all in the background. I was just trying to survive and suddenly I was facing a crazy $50,000 tax bill for a single shop. I protested and asked county officials what was going on, but they told me there’d be no changes. They just said that’s the way it was.”

“We don’t make the law, we just have to abide by it,” says Cynthia Chandler, Sunflower County tax assessor. “I know it may not seem fair, but I don’t agree with every law that has been written myself.”

“We have to do what the law says and that’s a lot of farm equipment,” echoes Renee Upton, Sunflower County deputy tax assessor. “Everything that’s in there under personal property law is taxable … If somebody sent me a $50,000 tax bill, I would be shocked too. But again, we’re doing what the law says that we have to do, whether we agree with it or not.”

John Paul Brooks’ Mississippi Delta farm shop.

(Photo Google Earth)

Tax hell and bureaucratic heaven are the same place from Brook’s perspective. Sunflower County is $3.1 million in the hole due to business closures, and Brooks believes his tax bill is indicative of county officials unwilling to use “common sense” interpretations of the law.

“They can hide behind regulations, codes, and laws, but other counties don’t pressure small businesses to this degree,” Brooks describes. “They’re over $3 million in debt and businesses are leaving, but they double-down.

“The system is crooked and corroded, in my opinion. They make damn sure you never truly own anything.”

Cutting Off Arms
Why the giant tax jump from past years of approximately $10,000 to precisely $50,980.32 in 2025?

By the letter of the law, Brooks owed 3% on every item in the shop, after paying 7% sales tax to purchase each item.

“The average person doesn’t realize how much small businesses get taxed and how tax officials operate,” Brooks says. “It’s called killing the working man.”

(Photo by Chris Bennett)

“Say you buy a $100,000 piece of farm machinery. That means you pay 7% sales tax or $7,000 up front. Then, the county, for as many years as you own it, taxes you annually at 3% or $3,000. And it can never, never depreciate below $20,000—even 50 years later. That means you pay for your equipment over and over. And think about the long-term taxes on a $600,000 John Deere sprayer. Or a $1 million piece of equipment.”

“By law, the county can come in and do the same thing to your screwdriver, radio, and grease gun. By law, the county can come in and break your business by nickel-and-diming you to death. By law, they can tax you dry, but that doesn’t make it right. I’ve never encountered anything to this degree, except in Sunflower County.”

In comparison, at Brooks’ shop location in Tennessee, the difference is extreme. “I pay zero in Tennessee. Zero. In that state, custom application is treated like farming and everything else. They want your business in Tennessee.”

In Mississippi, farmers, loggers, and crop dusters don’t pay 7% out the door, Brooks notes. They pay 1.5% in equipment-related sales tax, and are on the legislative cusp of sales tax elimination on specialized machinery.

“They would’ve taxed me on the commode and sink, but those were attached to the building,” Brooks says.

(Photo courtesy of JP Brooks)

“I don’t qualify for any of it,” Brooks explains. “Why? I’m a custom applicator business. Even though I generate and make 100% percent of my income from agriculture, I get no exemption. If I buy a new $600,000 sprayer, then I pay $42,000 sales tax and that’s a major competitive disadvantage. It means covering more acres to offset the tax.”

Sunflower County’s insistence on a $50,000-plus business personal tax will force Brooks to leave, he continues. “Think about the insanity of it. I’ve still got to pay the property tax on the building and land. After it’s all said and done, they expect me to pay a whole package of $60,000 to $70,000. That leaves me with no choice but to go.”

Chandler says businesses frequently leave Sunflower County. “It happens all the time. I mean, people move all the time from Sunflower County to other counties. Wherever they move, they’re going to be assessed property.”

However, across his career, Brooks says he’s never dealt with such tight tax interpretations.

“It’s not right to push taxes to the absolute highest level possible. We all know this kind of thing happens across the country to small business, and I’ve had my fill. What does our government, at a federal and state level, do when it has a deficit? They don’t cut their own arms off, they start cutting ours.”

Pound of Flesh
Big business boosted and small business hammered, Brooks insists.

“Across the nation, if a big business comes to town, the state and the county get together and they give them tax credits and waive all the taxes that they’d otherwise pay, just like we see with AI data centers. Big business has the power to negotiate on the front end, but a small business has to shut up and pay.”

Beyond Sunflower County, the tax powers claimed at both state and federal levels wildly exceed the Constitution or the framers’ intentions, Brooks warns.

“The system is crooked and corroded, in my opinion,” Brooks says. “They make damn sure you never truly own anything.”

(Photo by Chris Bennett)

“The scary part is we’re only one law or tax amendment away from government officials coming to your house to tax your couch and TV, just like they tax small business. What’s to stop them in the future when the state needs money from going in your home and taxing the recliner you sit in? Think about it: At my business, they already tax my couches and chairs.”

Tax officials, Brooks says, always wants a pound of flesh from small business.

“Just, for example, go buy a $1,000 item, and you’ll pay around 7% sales tax. Then, you start paying around 3% per year for owning it. I have a 20-year-old air compressor, so it’s had a 67% tax over the 20 years. That means I’ve paid $1,670 for it so far. We pay 30% on our income, 7% tax when we spend our income, and 3% per year to own whatever we buy. Sound reasonable?”

In the meantime, Brooks faces a $50,980.32 bill and a decision to pull stakes. “The average person doesn’t realize how much small businesses get taxed and how tax officials operate,” he adds. “It’s called killing the working man.”

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

When Conservation Backfires: Landowner Defeats Feds in Mindboggling Private Property Case

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

How the Deep State Tried, and Failed, to Crush an American Farmer

Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust

Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing

Regulatory Nightmare: California Penalizes Trainer for Teaching Dogs to Avoid Rattlesnakes

Tue, 24 Feb 2026 12:59:48 GMT

Handcuffed, home searched by armed agents, and hauled to jail over training dogs to avoid rattlesnakes?

In a bureaucratic tangle, Jake Molieri, 27, has been taken to the brink of business ruin. Owner of SnakeOut, Molieri trains dogs to steer clear of native rattlesnakes. However, Molieri is in breach of California Department of Fish & Wildlife (CDFW) code because he uses live native rattlers and charges for his services.

“They shut me down in the name of regulations so contradictory their own officials can’t even make sense of them, but they’ll never admit it,” Molieri contends. “Logic doesn’t matter to them. Only the regulations matter.”

CDFW insists Molieri is an outlaw unless he either conducts training using non-native, albino rattlesnakes or charges no fee. Albinos or on the house, demands the state.

Molieri has drawn a line in the legal sand. In October 2025, repped by Pacific Legal Foundation, he sued CDFW for violations of the First and Fourteenth amendments. “I don’t want anyone else tossed in jail or to have their business at risk because they got caught up in the bureaucracy.”

The Hornet’s Nest
In August 2023, getting dressed and geared up at roughly 7 a.m. for a day of dog training in northern California’s Sacramento County, Molieri heard a knock on the front door.

On the stoop stood several armed CDFW officers, backed by a search warrant. “I’ll never forget opening the door to see a guy with a pistol on his waist. I was shocked. To this day, I can’t even remember how many guys were there. It was a blur and they searched for a couple of hours. They took my place apart, told me I couldn’t train dogs with rattlesnakes, and then left.”

CDFW declared Molieri’s training to be unlawful because he used live, native rattlers and charged for the training.

(Photo by SnakeOut)

“I didn’t hear anything from them for about a year and a half. I did everything I could to find out about what permits I needed and why I was apparently being prosecuted. I had a fantastic attorney, Kathy Raines, but basically, we heard nothing from CDFW.”

(Citing pending litigation, CDFW declined comment on all questions related to Molieri and SnakeOut.)

Molieri had unintentionally kicked a hornet’s nest. His crime? Training dogs in rattlesnake aversion—the bread-and-butter of his business. However, according to CDFW, he was an ecological outlaw.

Raised in the outdoors with a family heavily influenced by science and hunting, Molieri obtained a university degree in biology, and built SnakeOut , a one-man-show reptile removal business. Sacramento County is home to a host of wildlife, including an abundance of snakes—most notably Northern Pacific rattlesnakes, typically ranging as adults from 2.5’ to 4’ in length.

In response to heavy demand from farmers, landowners, and urban residents along city edges, Molieri advertised publicly and began teaching snake avoidance to canines. The training service was a massive hit.

“There’s a tremendous need for the service because of the emotional trauma to dogs and families. It can result in significant financial cost or even death.”

Molieri’s training utilizes live rattlesnakes to familiarize dogs with smells, sounds, and physical appearance of snakes, backed with a minimal vibration or static pulse via an electric collar. No harm to dog or snake. Molieri has trained 700-plus dogs, including police K-9 units. (Molieri also offers training sessions for children and families.)

“I never set out to sue anyone,” Molieri says. “But when the state goes overkill by searching my house, locking me in a cell, and making my business tough to operate, I’m left with no choice.”

(Photo by SnakeOut)

“We use live rattlesnakes and outfit them with a small muzzle. It’s a vital service. We teach the dogs basic avoidance and it’s the best equation for everyone with no harm to snakes or dogs. I’ve never been the only guy doing this type of training. Other companies do this and have been doing so for longer than I’ve been alive. But CDFW chose me to go after and almost ruined my life.”

Skin and Meat
It is legal to own up to two Northern Pacific rattlesnakes. It is illegal to commercialize Northern Pacific rattlesnakes. Thus, CDFW declared Molieri’s training to be unlawful because he used live, native rattlers and charged for the training.

“What the hell? That regulation is intended to keep people from catching dozens or hundreds of rattlesnakes and killing them for skin or meat or pets,” Molieri notes. “It’s got nothing to do with using a few snakes to train dogs and children on safety courses that ultimately help protect the snakes.”

(CDFW declined all questions related to SnakeOut litigation.)

Adding a layer of irony, CDFW told Molieri he could continue training and charging fees if he stopped using native rattlesnakes and switched to non-native albino rattlesnakes. In a nutshell, CDFW’s edict: Do it for free or do it with albinos.

“This is an appalling case of government overreach,” says PLF attorney Brandon Beyer. “I think it speaks to the American entrepreneurial spirit that you have this guy who’s grown up around reptiles, loved the outdoors his whole life, and found a way to help everyone involved.”

(Photo by SnakeOut)

Acquiring and caring for non-native albino rattlesnakes placed a financial burden on Molieri. Additionally, albinos are light-sensitive, significantly more dangerous to use in training, and not an assured substitute to teach dogs to avoid native Northern Pacific rattlesnakes.

“Training with native rattlesnakes and charging for the service was the heart of my business. That was how I made the bulk of my income,” Molieri explains. “But I tried my best to follow CDFW’s regulations.”

Facing business collapse, Molieri applied for a scientific collecting permit (SCP) in 2023, a 100-day wait (a mandatory timeline defined by state regs) to enable legal possession of native wildlife for educational use. However, even if he obtained the SCP, Molieri still was required by CDFW to either train dogs for free with native rattlers, or charge and use albino rattlers.

“The logic is beyond comprehension,” Molieri says. “No matter what I did, and no matter who I contacted at CDFW, every person had a different answer than the last person. Ask 10 people and get 10 different responses. The regulations are so senseless that CDFW’s own employees either produce different answers or have no answers at all.”

With no concrete boundaries regarding the regulations, no SCP permit issued, and Molieri’s SnakeOut business in limbo, state officials doubled down.

He was thrown in jail.

Snakes and Jumpsuits
Almost a year and a half after CDFW obtained a warrant and searched Molieri’s property, he arrived home in November 2024, to find two police officers waiting outside his residence. Bench warrant in hand, they told Molieri he’d missed his appointed court date.

Albinos or on the house, demands the state.

(Photo by SnakeOut)

Molieri was cuffed, arrested, and taken to Sacramento County Main Jail. “I had never received any notice, period, of a court date in way over a year since the search warrant. I’d heard nothing.”

“I asked the officers to just call my attorney, but they wouldn’t. They took my phone, put me in a car, and away we went, with nobody in my family having any idea I was arrested. It was insane. I told them, ‘Nothing ever came in the mail from USPS telling me about a court date; I never got any phone calls about court; and my attorney was never contacted.’ Didn’t matter what I said. They locked me up like a common criminal over rattlesnake aversion training. No wonder CDFW has such a hostile relationship with hunters and the outdoor community.”

Polo shirt and blue jeans atop a slim build, Molieri started a seven-hour stint beside outlaws in orange jumpsuits—repeat offenders incarcerated for robbery, assault, and drug dealing.

“The inmates were looking at me kind of curious and asking, ‘What are you in for?’”

“I’m here because of snakes. Snakes.”

The result? Facing four misdemeanors for reptile possession “violations,” from 2023, Molieri’s case was dropped. No criminal charges. Period.

“The district attorney dropped everything, but in so many ways, the stress was only just beginning,” Molieri says.

He was snared in the cogs of a bureaucratic machine that wasn’t about to let go.

Hitting the Gas
Legally, Molieri can own a Northern Pacific rattlesnake. By law, he can kill it, cook it, eat it, or turn its skin into a belt. But he can’t use the same snake to teach a paid class on safety for dogs and children. Such use is commercialization, according to CDFW.

“To CDFW, the facts don’t matter; logic doesn’t matter; reason doesn’t matter. The only thing that matters is the regulatory book, no matter how tangled or outdated. If you challenge their regulations, they’ll hit the gas on you and go balls to the wall.”

“I don’t want anyone else tossed in jail or to have their business at risk because they got caught up in the bureaucracy,” Molieri says.

(Photo by SnakeOut)

“I’m providing a valuable service supported by farmers, conservationists, police officers, and homeowners that keeps harm away from dogs and snakes. But now I’m forced to use albinos and put my entire business in jeopardy. Why? CDFW’s regulations that they can’t even defend.”

In 2025, still not issued an SCP permit two years beyond CDFW’s mandated 100-day application process (per Molieri, CDFW claims to be “short-staffed”), Molieri took CDFW to court , represented by Pacific Legal Foundation (PLF), for a breach of the First and Fourteenth amendments.

“This is an appalling case of government overreach,” says PLF attorney Brandon Beyer. “I think it speaks to the American entrepreneurial spirit that you have this guy who’s grown up around reptiles, loved the outdoors his whole life, and found a way to help everyone involved.”

“Jake’s done everything the right way, but CDFW has doubled down behind the most confused and contradictory regulations. It’s been over two years and he hasn’t even gotten word about his SCP permit. Look at the absurdity of the state’s position: Do the training voluntarily or use albinos. None of that has anything to do with protecting wildlife.”

Molieri’s contentions regarding violations of his Fourteenth Amendment rights by CDFW are based on a denial of due process and a breach of equal protection. His claims of First Amendment violations stem from his inability to give information to people willing to pay for the knowledge.

“We want to reach the discovery process and ask CDFW, ‘Specifically, how do the regulations protect native wildlife and how has Jake not done that?’” says Beyer . “Confused regulations have consequences for business owners, particularly when they have irrational government interference around them. We want to vindicate Jake’s rights and allow him to provide these services and make a living out of protecting dogs and families from prevalent rattlesnakes across northern California.”

No Choice
CDFW doesn’t remove snakes. CDFW doesn’t train dogs in rattlesnake aversion.

“There are people in genuine need regarding snakes and safety, and who do they call? It’s not CDFW, it’s businesses like mine,” Molieri emphasizes. “We teach dogs to stay away from harm, and we save families a whole lot of anguish and expense, all while helping to protect the snakes themselves. Throughout this whole twisted story, if I hadn’t have had great attorneys, I might have a criminal record—all for training dogs illegally.”

“The state says that if I want to teach a little kid a few valuable facts about a native animal, or if I want to teach some dogs to stop touching a dangerous reptile that could kill them, that’s illegal by CDFW regulations, despite it being done for decades in California. It’s absurd.”

“I never set out to sue anyone,” Molieri adds. “But when the state goes overkill by searching my house, locking me in a cell, and making my business tough to operate, I’m left with no choice. And this should never happen again to anyone else.”

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

When Conservation Backfires: Landowner Defeats Feds in Mindboggling Private Property Case

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

How the Deep State Tried, and Failed, to Crush an American Farmer

Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust

Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing

Farmer Nabs Thieves, Exposes Flood of Agriculture Theft by Drug Addicts

Tue, 10 Feb 2026 12:57:48 GMT

When Sam Krautscheid raised a pistol to freeze two thieves, he was aiming at an epidemic of agriculture crime. In an era of heavy drug addiction and minimal prosecutions, farms are the soft underbelly of rural crime, and the crisis is deepening.

Growing crops in Grant County, Washington, one of America’s hottest ag crime zones, Krautscheid faces an onslaught of outlaws steadily stealing and destroying equipment. Losses to theft have become part and parcel of agriculture—a standard business consideration.

“Defend your farm or lose everything,” he says. “This is only getting worse and everyone knows it.”

Picking the Wrong Farmer
On Sept. 9, 2023, roughly 12 miles from the Columbia River, on the eastern side of the Cascade Curtain, Krautscheid finished baling hay, piled three sons into his pickup, and rumbled toward town for a meal and a country music concert. It was a hair before 7 p.m., at the tailend of a summer filled with repeated 911 calls by Krautscheid to report stolen goods.

Less than a mile from his home, at the crossing of two major highways, Krautscheid approached a gravel lot containing multiple farm-related utility buildings: storage shed, three double-wide trailers, and a house—all vacant.

On Sept. 9, 2023, a pair of outlaws chose the wrong farmer to rob: Sam Krautscheid.

(Photo courtesy of SK)

A four-door sedan, parked beside the main shed, caught Krautscheid’s eye. “No. Shouldn’t have been there.”

He pulled over, reached for a Kimber .45, and exited the truck, ordering his three boys to remain with the vehicle. He walked to the car, peered in the windows, and observed the backseat odds-and-ends of burglary: massage table, gas cans, weed whacker. Immediately, Krautscheid called the police, reporting a likely theft in progress.

As Krautscheid neared the building, pistol drawn, an arm wrapped around the corner. He barked an order as two thieves came into plain view. “Get down. Get on the ground and don’t come any closer. I don’t want to shoot, but I will shoot.”

Thief No. 1, closest to Krautscheid, folded. Thief No. 2 advanced, armed with a billy club—a weapon of attack and certainly not a pry tool for larceny. “I didn’t know what kind of drugs were affecting him, and it took me yelling out several times for him to stop and realize I was armed.”

“I kept backing up to make sure he couldn’t close the distance,” Krautscheid continues. “I was not gonna let him around the corner at all because my boys were at the pickup.”

Krautscheid held the men, Glenn Richard, 45, and Jesus Rangel, 28, until police arrived. Both already were on a revolving door policy with law enforcement and the courts. Richard had 37 failures-to-appear; Rangel had 17 failures-to-appear.

“One guy got sentenced to zero jail time,” Krautscheid recalls. “The other guy with the billy club got 12 months of time and 12 months of community custody.”

“In so many terrible ways, that was just a normal day on the farm for us. It’s a snapshot of how bad crime is in our state. As farmers, small business owners, and people who live and work in rural areas, we’re paying for the decisions of politicians.”

Catch and Release
Since the Richard-and-Rangel bust in 2023, the pace of Grant County ag crime has increased, Krautscheid says.

Breathtaking to the eye, his geography is home to a wide variety of crops from peas to carrots to sweet corn to potatoes to 200-bushel wheat. However, the region is parched and often receives a mere 6” of rain per year. Irrigation is a near absolute, featuring pivots laced with copper wiring running to pumps and circles.

The Krautscheid family of Grant County, Washington.

(Photo courtesy of SK)

Copper is a crime magnet, particularly amid the highest base metal prices in history. Fentanyl and methamphetamine addicts inflict tens of thousands of dollars in equipment damage to gain a few hundred dollars on a backdoor sale of stolen copper.

Approximately two-and-a-half hours east of Seattle, Krautscheid manages Hefty Seed Quincy and grows roughly 2,400 acres of crops. He describes persistent losses to drug thieves. “They strip everything. They take what they can get and leave. Whether it’s the wire between the pump and panel, or the wire to the transformers, they’ll take it all from a pivot system, depending on how much time they have.”

The theft is farm-wide, far beyond pivots. “It’s not uncommon to pull up to a tractor and find your batteries stolen. It’s one thing to steal batteries, but they cut the leads into the motors, because it’s quicker than loosening the bolts. Last winter, they busted the conduit and ripped it right out of a pump motor. They’ll take anything. We have wind machines in our orchards running off Ford V-10 motors. They’ll steal the motors out of the orchards.”

Krautscheid bleeds a bare minimum of $10,000 per year to theft and damage—far higher in some years. Extrapolating Krautscheid’s losses across grower, county, and a state with roughly 32,000 farms and ranches, the totals are staggering.

“We have wonderful people here, but 95% of our problems come from the few that ruin everything and threaten our livelihoods,” says Krautscheid.

(Photo by SK)

“We’re at the point where we’re blocking back roads and entrances to properties and gating and trying to find solutions to keep people from getting into these areas. But even if you catch them, or know who they are, the court system will let’em go.”

In 2024, one of Krautscheid’s county neighbors placed an air tag on a batch of copper wire that was subsequently stolen. “He tracked it to the new location immediately that morning,” Krautscheid details. “The sheriff’s office arrived and nobody got arrested because the thief claimed another guy gave him the wire. That’s what they always say, because they understand how to get off. It’s repeat crazy.”

Daily Vigil
A solution starts at the top, Krautscheid insists.

“If you steal from a store in Washington and the total is less than $700 or so, the law basically leaves you alone. Ultimately, that kind of nonsense comes right from our state politicians. They keep making the rules worse. One of the most terrible things you can be in Washington State is a property owner. People are moving away non-stop to get away from a political climate gone nuts.”

“Defend your farm or lose everything,” Krautscheid says. “This is only getting worse and everyone knows it.”

(Photo by SK)

“We can’t even get a monitoring system on the criminals because it costs an outrageous $5 per day,” he adds. “How can a cell phone cost $50 per month, and a simple monitoring device cost three times that?”

Back on his farm, Krautscheid maintains a vigil. Every day.

“If I wasn’t in agriculture, I’d probably join the mass exodus of people leaving. Instead, my goal is to make Grant County a horrible place for people to do crime. We have wonderful people here, but 95% of our problems come from the few that ruin everything and threaten our livelihoods. And they’ll keep on until the day our state legislators are forced to do something.”

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

When Conservation Backfires: Landowner Defeats Feds in Mindboggling Private Property Case

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

How the Deep State Tried, and Failed, to Crush an American Farmer

Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust

Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing

Sticky Fingers: USDA Fraudster Steals $200M in Stunning Scam

Tue, 13 Jan 2026 13:14:37 GMT

A crime “mere mortals wouldn’t even contemplate.” An astounding $210-million haul pulled out the front doors of USDA.

Who steals over $200 million in fake USDA loans, drives a Rolls, runs a chop-shop, and jet-sets the globe? Who attempts to escape in a chartered plane, carries on scheming behind bars, draws his wife into the action, and triples down with more swindles—all after pleading guilty?

Nik Patel. The Florida-based con artist steered a chain of astonishing agriculture-related scams, each more jaw-dropping than the previous, and racked up a whopping 52-year sentence in the federal pen.

Welcome to the manic reign of a brazen fraudster who forged his own fall. The biter got bit.

Life in the Fast Lane
In 2012, First Farmers Financial, helmed by CEO Nik Patel, was flying high with a flagship location in Orlando, Fla., and satellite offices in California and Georgia.

Twenty-nine years young and married with children, Patel hitched his wagon to USDA, specifically to the Business and Industry Guaranteed Loan Program, under the guise of helping rural communities. To ride USDA’s coattails, Patel and First Farmers COO Tim Fisher crafted a lie from whole cloth. They fabricated documents claiming a solid business structure, deep experience, and assets exceeding $20 million with Wells Fargo.

Fisher, later pinched by the feds and sentenced to 10 years, fessed up. “In order for us to establish the business, I assisted in creating falsified financial statements, falsified resumes, and falsified other background documents between our company, so that we could get a USDA approval from the United States, in order for us to do loans for the USDA.”

Translated: USDA bought the head fake and gave certification to First Farmers—based on Patel’s paperwork lies.

USDA certification in hand, Patel went into chop-shop overdrive, forging 26 USDA loans, ranging in value from $2.5 million to $10 million, for a total of $179 million. The 26 loans, polished with bogus USDA employee signatures, fictitious borrower names, and fake USDA loan ID numbers, were a fantasy and had no government backing.

Pictured with then Sen. Marco Rubio, Patel, left, and wife, Trisha, made the political rounds.

(Photo Instagram)

Patel then dangled the $179-million package—a criminally audacious move considering he had no prior felony history. (Patel did have previous misdemeanor convictions in 2011 and 2012, for DUI and assault on a police officer, both of which resulted in short sentences of home confinement.)

First to sniff Patel’s bait was Pennant Management, an investment company in Milwaukee, Wisc. Not willing dupes, but painfully deficient in the vetting department, Pennant reps flew to Florida and were wooed by Patel’s silver-tongued claims that First Farmers stood atop $52 million in assets, $17 million in cash, and a profit line of $1.8 million. All lies.

Patel further impressed Pennant with counterfeit balance sheets for 2011, 2012, and a portion of 2013. Pennant was willing to buy the $179-million package deal. After all, the bundle was almost entirely guaranteed by USDA, according to Patel, who later wrote to Pennant with third-person bravado: “Effectively Nik Patel serves as a one man loan committee—reviewing the opportunities as they flow into him for consideration.”

To ensure Pennant officials didn’t smell the ruse, Patel ginned up “audited financial statements,” for 2013, prepared by esteemed CPA “Geoff Kane.” However, Kane, despite a glowing biography provided by Patel, was a fiction. Kane was Patel.

Where did Patel’s stolen money go? In a hole; offshore; Dubai; family?

(Photos public domain)

In for a dime, in for a dollar. Pennant jumped headfirst and snatched the $179-million offer, wiring the funds to Patel at BMO Harris Bank in Florida.

Cha-ching. Patel hit the fast lane, dumping tens of millions of dollars on hotel projects, a lavish $4-million home, a Rolls-Royce and Lamborghini, boats, custom suits, jewelry, part ownership of a jet, international vacations, cathouse visits to a favored brothel in Panama—according to prosecutors, and political donations, even opening his home to host a fundraiser for then Florida Gov. Rick Scott.

Patel was just warming up.

Dubai Diamonds
In September 2014, Pennant got curious. After finding address inconsistencies in First Farmers’ paperwork, Pennant knocked on USDA’s door with a list of borrower names and loan numbers. USDA’s response was damning: Total sham. Name and numbers do not exist.

Panicked, Pennant ran to the FBI. Too little, too late, for the Milwaukee-based investment advisor business. Pennant collapsed the following year.

On Sept. 29, 2014, the feds filed a criminal complaint against First Farmers and Patel. In 2015, he was arraigned in the Northern District of Illinois and pleaded not guilty. However, on Dec. 6, 2016, Patel changed his plea to guilty on five counts of wire fraud . Sentencing was scheduled for April 6, 2017.

In the interim, unfazed by the inconvenience of criminal prosecution, Patel continued spending. He dropped $23,368 on a ski trip and approximately $30,000 on his daughter’s birthday party at a Four Seasons Hotel. And all the while, as he feigned remorse and awaited sentencing, Patel’s second fraud was in motion. In public, he played the penitent and announced a desire to recover money for his victims, requesting—and receiving—sentencing date extensions to generate cash.

Patel, pictured with President Trump, rubbed shoulders with political leaders on both sides of the aisle.

(Photo Instagram)

Behind the outward contrition, Patel was managing the clock, stretching time to organize the second scheme, this time another hoodwink of USDA, along with Farmer Mac, to scam investors in Iowa. While final sentencing for the first fraud was delayed until Jan. 9, 2018, Patel went into overdrive, intending to make another pile of coin and go on the lam.

Starting back in June 2017, he had invented the alias of “Ron Elias,” a fictitious “Vice President of Guaranteed Lending” at Banco Do Brasil (BDB). In reality, there was no such position at BDB and the bank never engaged in USDA lending, but Patel, correctly, predicted nobody would check.

According to DOJ, Patel’s USDA-Farmer Mac con job was three-layered: “First, Patel fabricated fraudulent loan documents that falsely represented that a bank in Miami had authorized loans to be made to convert hotels in rural areas into assisted living facilities. Although the bank in Miami exists, it had never made any of the loans … Second, Patel applied to USDA to guarantee the fake loans pursuant to its Business and Industry Guaranteed Loan Program. Third, after the USDA agreed to guarantee the fake loans, Patel sold the guaranteed portion of the fake loans to the Federal Agricultural Mortgage Corporation, also known as Farmer Mac. Patel executed the scheme on three occasions, receiving almost $20 million in proceeds. Patel used a portion of the funds from that scheme to pay some of his restitution, but he was saving much of it to flee the United States.”

Pocketing $20 million as Ron Elias while on supervised federal release, thanks to loan guarantees provided by USDA and a wad of cash courtesy of Farmer Mac, Patel then applied for political asylum in India and Ecuador, claiming to be a victim of abuse and persecution by DOJ. Palm up, Ecuador accepted. In the months prior to sentencing, Patel lined up a chartered flight, luxury vehicles, $500,000 in emergency cash, beautiful home, private chef, and schools for his daughters in Ecuador.

Patel, alongside then Florida Gov. Rick Scott.

(Photo Instagram)

Partnered with another business crony, Kevin Timirchand, Patel aimed to launder the $20 million by the “cleanest way to do the transaction, kill any trace, and cover everyone,” via a Dubai diamond purchase. DOJ investigators later seized a memo written by Patel, detailing his intentions:

I have arranged a diamond merchant that I trust in Dubai (based out of India-Parsas Patel). He is a major player and I’ve bought from him before, He has a 103.78 carat diamond. Shape is a modified shield, it is VS1 purity, and Color is Fancy Dark with brown greenish and yellow. He will provide a GI and Kimberly Certificate. This Is one of the rarest diamonds in the world that is very sought after. He is also going to sell us 2-3 other diamonds similar to this one (smaller but similar) The 3-4 diamonds he sells us value will look on paper like $30MM and he will invoice for it $30MM.

To cover his absence from his scheduled sentencing in Chicago for the initial $179 million scam, Patel planned to tell DOJ officials he was “going to rehab or a meditation camp for a week, this way they do not suspect anything by my phone being shut off,” while missing his court date.

“I may even use a different name to leave,” he noted. “The only people I have to tell is the pilot so he can document his flight log.”

Kevin Timirchand, Patel’s accomplice in the Farmer Mac fraud.

(Photo public domain)

On a Saturday morning, Jan. 6, 2018, three days prior to sentencing, Patel rolled to Kissimmee Gateway Airport, driven by Timirchand in a Cadillac Escalade. At 7 a.m., as luggage was transferred to a chartered jet, four FBI agents bagged Patel. In his possession, according to DOJ, “Patel had an Indian passport in his name (forged and backdated to 2010), United States currency ($20,000), documents relating to his attempt to obtain asylum in Ecuador, financial documents indicating access to accounts holding millions of dollars, and detailed checklists for tasks relating to obtaining asylum in Ecuador and setting up a new life there for himself and his family.”

Thrown in Florida lockup, Patel already was piling more blocks on the Jenga tower.

Another Drink at the Well
Awaiting transfer to Chicago, Patel pulled levers from behind bars and went all-in on the Ron Elias charade. His crony, Timirchand (later arrested and sentenced to two years in prison), was Patel’s instrument beyond prison walls. Per a DOJ attorney’s testimony in June 2018: Patel instructed Timirchand how to log-in to the account and instructed him which emails to send to various peoples in order to further the fraudulent misrepresentations and to actually cause the funds to be disbursed. There were phone calls to Mr. Timirchand from the jail instructing him how to send emails to someone else, to representatives of the USDA.

On March 6, 2018, Patel, then 34, was sentenced to 25 years for the original $179 million fraud.

Surreally, Patel, federal prisoner #61337-018, was unbowed. It was time for another drink at the USDA well.

House of Cards
The following year, in 2019, while imprisoned for the first fraud ($179 million), and under indictment for the second fraud ($20 million) stemming from the Farmer Mac debacle, Patel engineered a third fraud, this time keeping it in the family. His accomplice? Wife, Trisha Patel.

Via emails, phone calls, and prison visits between 2019 and 2023, the pair spun a wooly web. Rather than Patel taking a fake identity such as Ron Elias or Geoff Kane, Trisha assumed two bogus identities, “Maya Greer” and “Robert Engelmeyer,” later exposed by phony email addresses and burner apps.

The Patels conjured a fictitious lending company, Community 1st Mortgage, fronted by lead officer Maya Green (Trisha).

Trisha Patel masqueraded as Maya Greer and Robert Engelmeyer.

(Photo Facebook)

According to Trisha’s subsequent plea deal: “This new loan scheme had another new concept beyond the creation of a fake lender. It included the use of legitimate business to facilitate the fraud. Nikesh Patel looked for a business that was for sale and discovered a listing for Precision Powered Products, Inc. (PPP), a commercial pump manufacturer in Houston, Texas. The company’s owner wanted to retire after nearly 40 years of running the business. Nikesh Patel Inquired with a broker about the listing in late 2020 and learned specific information about the business.”

Incredibly, the Patels used Texas-based PPP to dupe USDA.

Trisha hid her true identity behind the mask of Robert Engelmeyer, a fictitious PPP executive, who needed an $8,540,000 loan from Community 1st to expand PPP business—not in rural Nebraska or rural New Mexico—but rather, in rural Puerto Rico. Trisha, acting as Robert Engelmeyer, persuaded USDA that PPP needed a loan to boost operations in Cabo Rojo.

And the business address leased by PPP in Cabo Rojo? A vacant building under renovation, with no relation to commercial pump manufacturing. A shell. No one at USDA bothered to check. Instead, USDA backed the $8,540,000 loan at 80%.

After securing USDA’s guarantee, Trisha, masquerading as Maya Greer of Community 1st, sold the loan for $7,446,880 on Nov. 21, 2021, to Hanover Securities, a broker-dealer in Memphis, Tenn. (According to Trisha’s later plea, Hanover “broke the loan into smaller portions and resold them to smaller banks. To avoid detection, Trisha Patel would pay the loan payments each month for each of these loans using fraud proceeds.”)

The day of sale, Hanover wired $7-plus million to Community 1st and Maya Greer. Trisha emailed her husband at Seminole County Jail in Florida, writing: “It’s here!!!! Finally.”

Patel answered: “Amazing news! I will call after count, after 5 pm. Make sure its showing credited and available.”

Trisha Patel, second from left, attends a White House Diwali event October 2022, during the Biden Administration.

(Photo Instagram.)

Trisha then doled $1.2 million of the haul to “various attorneys, lobbyists, and consultants on behalf of Nikesh Patel,” greasing the political skids for Patel’s release. (Keeping up appearances, she also spent $81,000 on a new BMW.) Trisha made the rounds of high society on both sides of the political aisle, even popping up at a White House party in October 2022.

However, the Patel’s house of cards finally crashed in 2023, as the FBI and USDA Office of Inspector General discovered the paper trail. Trisha was arrested; Patel, already under lock and key, was given a cell cleanout. As described by FBI Special Agent Alex Duda, the results were telltale: “On Sept. 20, 2023, officials at the Seminole County Jail conducted a cell search of Nikesh Patel’s cell. The officials observed a large quantity of documents, estimated to consist of approximately 3,000 pages, in six neat stacks under Patel’s mattress. The officials characterized the amount of documents located in Patel’s cell as ‘substantial’ and ‘extraordinary.’”

Wash, rinse, repeat. Once again, it was time for Patel’s sentencing, but this time Trisha also faced the music.

Sticky Fingers, Twisted Threads
No one left to lie to. On Sept. 18, 2024, Trisha, 41, was sentenced to 51 months in federal prison, and is currently incarcerated at FCI Marianna , Florida. A month later, Oct. 8, 2024, Patel was sentenced to 27 years on top of his previous 25 years—a draconian total of 52 years in the pen, a disproportionate sentence in the eyes of many legal observers. He is doing time at FCI Bennettsville , South Carolina.

Patel, left, hosting a fundraiser at his home for Florida Gov. Rick Scott.

(Photo Facebook)

Strikingly, on the heels of his near-escape to Ecuador during his second con (Farmer Mac), and after his third con (USDA-PPP) was in motion, Patel, on July 6, 2020, while incarcerated, authored a third-person post on Medium , claiming victimhood due to “racial tactics” by DOJ: “The pattern of prosecutorial misconduct against people of color extended to ignoring evidence and making willfully false claims in the case against Patel,” he wrote. “It demonstrates a pattern of misconduct that Patel is hoping to further expose in his clemency plea.”

At the post’s end, he signed off: “Nikesh Patel, former Investment Banker, resident of Florida and the subject of overzealous prosecution. Hoping to get justice and have my narrative told.”

Patel’s claims of injustice gained the attention of Jesse Jackson in 2022. Jackson urged the U.S. attorney’s office to release Patel on home confinement. A mere 10 months after Jackson’s advocacy, Patel’s fraud No. 3 exploded, along with its surreal narrative tied to 3,000 pages stuffed under a mattress and Puerto Rican pump fakes, all bookended by another 27 years on Patel’s sentence. As of 2026, Patel describes himself as a “political prisoner” and seeks a presidential pardon.

From the get-go, the threads of Patel’s crime saga twisted deep. All told, he siphoned approximately $210 million. Where did the money go? The feds recovered over $100 million. The rest? In a hole; offshore; Dubai; family?

Nik Patel steered a chain of astonishing agriculture-related scams and racked up a 52-year sentence in the pen.

(Photo public domain)

Judge Charles Kocoras, when sentencing Patel back in 2018 for the first $179-million con job, presciently described the con artist extraordinaire: “There’s a certain diabolical genius to what he did here.”

Kocoras added a sobering kicker, particularly considering Patel’s second and third frauds were yet to spawn. Kocoras described the tangled, initial scheme as one that “most mere mortals wouldn’t even contemplate.”

Despite knowing the fuse was already burning on more theft, Patel solemnly assured the court: “It is going to be my actions that will show remorse.”

Actions, indeed.

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

How the Deep State Tried, and Failed, to Crush an American Farmer

Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust

Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing

Farmer Unearths Lost Treasure, Solves WW2 Mystery

It’s Meeting Season: How to Conquer the Crowded Room

Tue, 06 Jan 2026 19:27:10 GMT

You walk into a crowded room of people you don’t know. Everyone is laughing and talking in their groups. It would be much easier to walk right back out, but you are there to represent a group with the mission of meeting people and making connections. So, you take your next step forward. But now what?

For some people, this is what nightmares are made of. For Jennifer Tirey, executive director of the Illinois Pork Producers Association , this is what she lives to do.

“Jennifer is excellent at building relationships with people,” says Josh Maschhoff, president of the Illinois Pork Producers Association. “She can walk into a room where she might not know anybody and quickly make introductions and connections with those people. And most importantly, she can remember their name, and she can do it with a lot of people.”

Maschhoff admits he often finds himself in a room with a lot of people, and he can’t remember their names.

“Whether it’s fellow producers or members of the legislature, the closer I can put myself to Jennifer Tirey, the better off I will be,” he says. “I know I’ve got a resource that can help pull me along when I’m struggling because she can remember all of those people.”

He says her ability to remember the details about someone’s personal life and truly make a connection with them makes her unique.

Authentic Relationship Building Takes Work

How do you develop a superpower like this? Tirey admits it does take work.

“You just can’t go into a room and know a lot of people’s names without putting a lot of work into it,” she says. “I go back to the very first meeting that I had with Pork Producers. I’d only been on the job for less than a week, and they had already scheduled a regional meeting in Bloomington. I spent the entire car ride — because someone else was driving — memorizing the names of the individuals that were going to be there because I wanted the producers to know that I care and want to know them.”

If you want to truly connect with people and build a relationship, you have to be willing to work at it. Before every event, Tirey devotes time to reading over the list of who will be there and looks up photos to try to memorize faces.

“I’m always learning and trying to sharpen that skill,” she says. “I think that’s a valuable asset to have within agriculture. At the end of the day, agriculture is a really small community, and you cross paths a lot. You need each other to be successful.”

How to Connect and Be Remembered in Any Room

Now, back to the crowded room. Before you enter, adopt a mindset that you are there to learn and support others, not just “work the room.” Here are a few tips to help you connect with the crowd.

1. Scan The Room.
When you enter the room, use soft eye contact as you scan the room. Don’t stare, but instead do a “sweeping gaze.” According to the Science of People , a sweeping gaze is a slow, methodical look around the room. Start the gaze the moment you enter a room by looking to your left then slowly sweeping across the room until you find your opening or where you want to go. Then, make longer eye contact there.

“It’s easier to make connections when you give yourself the outward look that you want to meet people,” Tirey says.

2. Project Confidence.
Remember to smile and stand tall to project confidence as you head toward where you want to go. If you don’t feel confident, don’t worry because you aren’t alone, says Marilyn Sherman, a well-known motivational speaker .

“Even when you don’t feel confident, act confident. It will change your entire mindset,” Sherman says.

3. Make Direct Eye Contact And Have a Firm Handshake.
Tirey says the best advice she has to offer when connecting with people is to start with direct eye contact. Let the person you are talking to know they have your full attention.

“In addition to eye contact, a really firm handshake to a person that you’ve never met gives a good impression,” she adds. “It also keeps you top of mind with them.”

4. Listen.
“Really taking a moment to listen to who they are and what they have to say is key,” Tirey says. “I think doing this gives me a chance to internally set myself and get prepared for meeting somebody new. It allows you to learn about the person you’re trying to get to know without any ulterior motive.”

She believes taking a pause and letting people share what they want to share first is a great way to understand where they are coming from, too.

5. Offer Value.
Tirey says she strives to be a straight shooter and appreciates that when meeting others.

“Life moves fast, and I would much rather cut to the chase.” Tirey says. “I love making connections and catching up with people, but there are things that must be done, too. I appreciate directness and constructive criticism because that makes me a better person.”

If you have a relevant idea or suggestion, be ready to share it succinctly.

“One thing that works like magic is creating a memorable moment,” according to Wave Connect . “Think about ways you can add value right in the moment. Maybe you overhear someone mention a challenge they are facing, and you can recommend a solution or introduce them to someone you know. That kind of value sticks.”

As Maya Angelou said: “People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did. People will never forget how you made them feel.”

Learn more about Tirey in the latest episode of The PORK Podcast.

Copper Thieves Cuffed by New Farm Security Innovation

Wed, 17 Dec 2025 13:01:51 GMT

Copper theft, at the bull’s-eye of agriculture crime since at least the 1990s, finally has a heavyweight foe on the farm—a watchman that never sleeps.

Amid the highest copper prices in history and 30-plus years of ag equipment destruction, Cop-R-Lock provides unprecedented theft prevention, contends Bobby Rader. “It’s as close to having a human being standing at your pump site, even in the most rural areas, as you can possibly get.”

Copper hit an all-time high of $5.96 per pound in 2025, triggering a blitz of theft across farms, substations, construction sites, telecommunications infrastructure, and numerous other industry hubs. Copper larceny sucks over $1 billion from the U.S. economy each year.

“From seed to water to machinery, we’ve got phenomenal innovation in every area of agriculture, except in the ag crime space,” says Rader, Chief of Police for Porterville, Calif. “Cop-R-Lock is the answer and there’s never been anything like it.”

Insult to Injury
A red metal plague is raging. Copper wire is easy to steal, and easy to sell at a scrapyard’s backdoor. Ground zero of copper theft arguably is central California’s Tulare County, often ranked as the No. 1 ag-producing county in the U.S.

Each year, Tulare and its surrounding Central Valley counties grow tens of billions of dollars in thirsty crops demanding water. The region is covered by pumps and irrigation systems housing a massive volume of copper wiring. Throw a proverbial rock, hit a pump. Drive a quarter mile in any direction, pass two or three pumps.

“This is not the California you see on television,” explains Rader, who led Tulare County’s Agricultural Crimes Unit for almost 16 years. “This is cowboy and ag country. This is rural America. It’s a place where drug addicts, particularly meth or heroin users, prey on pumps and steal copper. There’s an incredibly high amount of agriculture production here, and therefore, it’s a magnet for copper thieves.”

Tulare County is a flat valley maze of citrus and tree nut groves, i.e., plenty of pumps and farm sites just feet off the road with no line of sight for producers, landowners, or passersby.

“Up to now, copper theft has been easy,” Rader describes. “A criminal drives around at night, pulls 10’ off the road, and rips all the copper from a well, and nobody sees them and nobody hears them and nobody interrupts them. There is no immediate consequence, and the theft might not be discovered for days.”

“Cut off the ability to hide in the dark unaffected by consequence,” Rader says. “The opportunity belongs to the farmer and law enforcement now.”

(Photo by Farmblox)

Copper theft occurs year-round, but peaks from November to March, when fields and groves are often unmonitored and pumps are shut down. “It can easily happen during summertime and irrigation season, but generally, it happens over winter, when guys aren’t checking their pumps. If you’re a copper thief, you can go out at night and hit five or six pumps in one area, and nobody’s going to know about it for weeks. Law enforcement can’t get involved until it’s far too late.”

The copper theft burden shouldered by farmers is extraordinarily heavy. A thief hitting a small pump system might yield a mere $150 return in recyclable value, yet easily inflict $5,000-$7,000 in damage to the farmer-owner. However, if the given site houses multiple pumps and panels, the damage skyrockets to $100,000-plus. Insult to injury, the thieves often return and steal from the same sites after repairs.

“The worst I’ve ever seen at one site that I’ve personally investigated was about $150,000,” Rader notes. “That was the cost for the electrical contractor to come to the site, repair everything, and put new wire back.”

Multiplied across county and country, copper theft costs are staggering.

No more, Rader insists. The blue-collar lawman, raised in farm fields and shaped by a career at the frontline of ag crime, has developed a ferocious solution.

“Cut off the ability to hide in the dark unaffected by consequence. The opportunity belongs to the farmer and law enforcement now. Cop-R-Lock .”

Consequences Before Damage
What is Cop-R-Lock? Rader’s self-engineered tech innovation to protect farms from copper theft in real-time via a trigger wire attached to a sensor. The system protects a well system before theft and damage begin.

“A sensor is installed at the pump site. A trigger wire is integrated into the conduit systems at pump and panel, on the inside and outside,” Rader says. “That creates consequences immediately triggering Cop-R-Lock when anyone starts to cut the conduit or open the panels.”

The consequences are immediate and two-fold. One, extremely bright lights and a screaming siren go off. “It’s an absolutely overwhelming volume and creates a physiological response of stress in a thief.”

“We’ve got phenomenal innovation in every area of agriculture, except in the ag crime space,” says Rader. “Cop-R-Lock is the answer and there’s never been anything like it.”

(Photo by Farmblox)

Two, mass notifications are triggered. “It’s all controlled by an app. Whoever you put in the contact list is going to get the alert of the precise location where the attempted theft occurred. It can be anybody including family, employees, and local law enforcement. Everybody knows right away the system is being tampered with.”

“Literally, it shrinks the thief’s window down to minutes instead of hours, and it also ensures weeks don’t go by without someone knowing about the theft attempt.”

The tech, with a price tag under $4,000 per unit, extends beyond pumps and irrigation, and protects fencing, vehicles, batteries, and more.

“Run a trigger wire through chain link fence, or run it through multiple pieces of equipment, or anything else on a farm. Any cutting of that wire means instant notification to the owner. Noise, lights, notifications, and consequences—before damage.”

Genesis
After almost two decades trailing outlaws, Rader has seen every shade of ag crime. When he helmed the Agricultural Crimes Unit, 10 p.m. calls from frustrated farmers were a steady part of the job. “I’d hustle out and try to help, so furious over what some meth-head had done to another hard-working farmer. I grew up in these fields. I’m an agriculture guy and I care. These criminals steal several hundred dollars in copper, but leave behind tens of thousands in damage for a farmer. Or they leave behind a farmer who suddenly can’t irrigate and loses even more money. The whole thing drove me crazy.”

In early 2024, Rader was drowning a pot of leaded coffee at 3 a.m., wrestling his frustrations while considering how to stop a serial copper bandit who wrecked a chain of sites across Tulare County.

“I kept asking myself for a simpler solution. What are we missing? I’d searched the internet for years for something that instantaneously cut off opportunity, but there was nothing out there except another form of the latest, greatest game camera alarm.”

Prior to law enforcement, Rader was a contractor. Translated: His back pocket contains a mix of mechanical and electrical know-how. “I was standing by my kitchen counter, holding a coffee cup, and it hit me like a bolt.”

Rader grabbed a napkin and pen, and drew a blueprint. Two hours later, he transferred the scrawl to a notepad: Cop-R-Lock was born.

Assisted by a local engineer, Rader built five prototypes on a shoestring budget and filed for a patent. “I needed help and that’s where FarmBlox stepped up. They understood what farmers are going through and recognized how bad copper theft it. They jumped on it and turned it into what we have today, which is a protection tool for any farmer across the country or world.”

“We mail Cop-R-Lock to farmers and they either install it or get an electrician to do it,” Rader adds. “It’s an amazingly simple system to install and very easy to operate. One thing for certain, copper theft is not going away. The thieves are coming, but we’re ready with a tool that cuts off opportunity right from the get-go.”

At the Heart
Methods for copper theft prevention vary by farm, ranging from steel cages, wire frames, fences, and concrete poured around conduits. Rader’s innovation is common-sense technology, he insists. “It’s simple and strikes at the heart of the problem. We’re taking away a thief’s opportunity.”

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

Outraged Farmers Blame Ag Monopolies as Catastrophic Collapse Looms

Family Farm Wins Historic Case After Feds Violate Constitution and Ruin Business

County Shuts Down 15-Yr-Old’s Bait Stand on Family Farm, Threatens Daily Fines

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

How the Deep State Tried, and Failed, to Crush an American Farmer

Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust

Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing

Farmer Unearths Lost Treasure, Solves WW2 Mystery

Scientists Team with NASA to Grow Crops in Space as Zero Gravity Yields New Discoveries for Farmers on Earth

Fri, 10 Oct 2025 20:42:34 GMT

As humans set their sights on living beyond Earth, one surprising challenge is emerging: how do we grow healthy crops in the uncharted environment of space?

Purdue University researchers, in partnership with NASA, are answering this question by experimenting with tomato plants aboard the International Space Station (ISS). Their groundbreaking work could pave the way for future space colonies—and even improve agriculture back on Earth.

From Earthly Challenges to Space Solutions

Plants, like humans, are susceptible to diseases caused by microbes, bacteria, fungi, and viruses. On Earth, these problems are manageable, but in the confines of a spacecraft or a Martian colony, a sick crop could spell disaster.

Stranded astronaut Mark Watney (Matt Damon) struggles to survive on Mars in “The Martian” motion picture that first came out in October 2015.

(20th Century Fox/The Martian)

Dr. Anjali Iyer-Pascuzzi, a professor of Botany and Plant Pathology at Purdue, has spent years collaborating with NASA engineers to develop the Advanced Plant Habitat—a growth chamber designed to give plants their best chance to thrive in space.

“For decades, NASA sent plants into space, but always in containers that weren’t ideal for growth,” Dr. Iyer-Pascuzzi explained. “With the Advanced Plant Habitat, we’ve finally created an environment where we can truly study and support plant development beyond Earth.”

Tomatoes Take Flight: Engineering Meets Biology

The journey from concept to space-ready experiment wasn’t easy. Denise Caldwell, a Purdue PhD candidate, described the difficulty of translating biological needs into engineering solutions.

“We faced problems like how to keep seeds in place and how much water to use,” Caldwell said. “I grew this successfully 22 times and so I felt confident that what we were doing was going to work.”

Their efforts paid off when, in December 2023, their tomato experiment launched to the ISS. By early 2024, astronauts began testing the system in space—an apex moment for Caldwell. “Watching from home with my children as the experiment began was surreal. We were learning how plants behave in ways we never could on Earth.”

Last week I saw plants for the first time in 4 months. I might have gotten a little teary. We get fresh fruit and veggies via our cargo vehicles and they provide welcome pops of color and scent, but it turns out this does not compare at all to seeing living plants and smelling… pic.twitter.com/AfxHemAUbz
— Loral O'Hara (@lunarloral) January 24, 2024

Unlocking New Knowledge for Earth and Beyond

One of the most exciting discoveries from the experiment is how microgravity reveals hidden aspects of plant biology.

“When you take away gravity, you start to see pathways and genes and functions that you normally wouldn’t see on Earth,” said Dr. Iyer-Pascuzzi. “So, for me as a scientist, that’s the really cool thing because we have this plant hormone that now we’re seeing connections, in space, when we remove the gravity, that we didn’t see here.”

These lessons have the potential to help farmers on Earth by unlocking new scientific knowledge about plant growth and resilience.

One key insight is that plants seem less concerned with the lack of gravity, as long as they receive the right light, nutrients, and carbon dioxide. However, some natural plant defenses are suppressed in space, meaning extra care will be needed to prevent disease.

Looking ahead, Dr. Iyer-Pascuzzi is optimistic: “Is it possible to grow crops on Mars? Absolutely—if we provide the right conditions.”

Stranded astronaut Mark Watney (Matt Damon) discovers his potato farm has been destroyed as he struggles to survive on Mars in “The Martian” motion picture. (20th Century Fox/October 2015)

(20th Century Fox/The Martian)

As Purdue’s team continues to analyze data from the ISS experiment, their work represents a giant leap for both human and plant kind. Their research isn’t just shaping the future of space travel—it’s also helping us better understand and improve agriculture right here at home.

Reference:

For more on Purdue’s space plant research, visit Tomatoes in spaceflight: A giant leap for human and plant kind.

Tiny Tech, Big Impact: Purdue Researchers Harness Nanotechnology to Transform Farming

Mon, 06 Oct 2025 20:19:33 GMT

At Purdue University, researchers are working at the tiniest scale to tackle some of agriculture’s biggest challenges. While their innovations may be microscopic, their impact could transform how the world grows its food.

Unlocking the Power of Nanoparticles in the Field

Tucked away in a quiet upstairs lab, scientists are developing “nanocarriers"— ultra-tiny particles designed to deliver pesticides, fungicides and herbicides more precisely to plants.

“We work with agrochemicals from insecticides to fungicides and [are] even starting to work with herbicides now,” says Caleb Fretz, a Purdue PhD student. “The goal is to try to increase the delivery efficiency of those active ingredients using nano delivery as a way of getting them to their biological targets.”

Currently, less than 0.1% of pesticides actually reach their intended targets. Purdue’s team hopes to boost that to 1% or more — a tenfold leap that could revolutionize efficiency and cut costs for farmers.

“If we can get even 1% of our pesticide to its target, that’s a huge leap in efficiency,” adds Luke Johnson, a fellow PhD student in Agricultural and Biological Engineering.

Assistant professor Kurt Ristroph , who leads related nanotechnology work at Purdue, highlights the broader vision.

“Our team’s focus on nanocarriers could make crop agriculture more sustainable and climate-resilient,” he says.

Precision Targeting: How Nano-Encapsulation Works

These particles, often organic and built with a protective shell, are engineered to shield and deliver their active ingredients exactly where crops need them most. The nano-shells allow them to travel through a plant’s leaf, stem and roots to get closer to the target.

Citrus Greening, a disease currently devastating orange trees in Florida, often takes up residence in the tree’s phloem. That area is traditionally a hard-to-access region where pests and diseases hide.

“We can tune what we put on the surface and the size [of the particle] to better reach those targets,” Johnson says.

They’re also able to engineer surface charges and add biomolecules, like sugars, in order to direct treatments to precise locations inside plants.

“If we can translocate our nanopesticide through the leaf, stem and down to the roots where pests lay eggs, we can dramatically reduce the amount of chemicals needed,” explains fellow researcher Bilal Ahmed.

Tracking these particles is also crucial as the technology prepares to undergo regulatory approval.

“I am developing ways to track these particles using metals, tagging them with different receptors,” Fretz says. “That way, we know exactly where they go — whether to the roots, inside the phloem or elsewhere.”

Collaboration and the Road to Sustainable Agriculture

This research is part of a larger collaboration across academia, industry and government.

Ristroph recently organized a major symposium on nanotechnology for plant drug delivery, with findings published in Nature Nanotechnology.

“The precise delivery enabled by nanotechnology could revolutionize agriculture,” notes Professor Greg Lowry from Carnegie Mellon University, a co-author of the study. “But, there are still technical challenges we must address.”

For Purdue’s team, practical application is just as important as scientific discovery.

“It needs to be something you can load in your sprayer and apply just like current formulations,” Fretz says.

The aim is to make the transition seamless for farmers, enabling quick adoption and scaling.

As agriculture faces rising costs, climate variability, and a need to limit environmental impact, this nano-scale innovation offers hope.

“We want to apply less pesticide, less often —improving farmers’ bottom lines and reducing chemicals in the environment,” Johnson says.

It’s a tiny idea with the potential for a giant leap in global farming — one that could make agriculture more efficient, affordable and sustainable for generations to come.

National Farm Safety and Health Week: Stay Safe This Harvest Season With Expert Tips

Mon, 22 Sep 2025 21:12:05 GMT

Farmers spend a good chunk of their professional lives out in nature, producing healthy crops that feed communities and the world. But if there is one drawback to farming, it’s that it is one of the most dangerous jobs in the U.S., according to Laura Siegel, AgriSafe Network.

Whether you’re talking about tragic grain bin entrapment , dangerous combine harvester fires, or just the simple fact that farmers, their family members and employees spend a lot of time in and around heavy equipment, the bulk of on-farm accidents unfortunately often involve farm machinery.

Siegel spoke with AgDay anchor Clinton Griffiths (video above) about how farmers can help reduce accidents and injuries. She says one approach that significantly reduces accidents is getting enough sleep.

“Harvest is coming up and we know a lot of people are losing sleep because with technology you can use those lights to stay up and work until the job is done,” Siegel says. “But honestly, working [with] your machinery with less sleep is as dangerous as if you’d been drinking [alcohol]. So, it’s important to make sure we’re getting enough sleep.”

Siegel shares these reminders to help everyone stay safe this fall:

If you currently have a pair of boots or gloves with holes in them, you should replace them to “prevent you from [having] any contact with harmful chemicals or organic materials.”
When working with machinery, make sure that your clothes are tight and not loose fitting. “And if you’re wearing a cover-up, make sure that the sleeves aren’t hanging loose because those can get caught in the equipment and cause accidents.”
Take the time to slow down and always be aware of your surroundings when you’re driving or towing farm machinery. “Even if you’ve taken these same roads every day for the past 50 years, ag roadway accidents are some of the highest [occurring accidents] compared to any other area, despite having less traffic.”
Practice smart, defensive driving on public roads. “You don’t know when a big farming vehicle might be coming down [the road] and they can’t stop as fast as you might be able to in your pickup truck or ATV.”

Side-Marking Machinery

(Lindsey Pound)

The University of Wisconsin-Madison’s John Shutske has 40 years of experience advocating farm safety best practices. He spends a lot of time talking about the dangers of slow-moving vehicle (SMV) and car/truck interactions on rural roadways.

Shutske says tractor-auto incidents on rural roads are increasing due to a handful of factors, including the higher average age of farmers (60-plus in many areas), a growing need to operate farm equipment on public roadways due to farm growth and consolidation, and distracted drivers. And most rural roads don’t have wide shoulders where you can quickly veer off to avoid a collision, with many lined by deep drainage ditches.

The average vehicle operator driving at 55 mph and approaching a SMV traveling in the same direction, like a tractor hauling two grain carts at harvest, on a two-lane highway with good visibility will have 11 seconds to slow down before an accident occurs, he says. If the driver of the car or SUV is distracted or simply does not see the SMV right away, it significantly reduces the amount of time needed to stop safely.

(ifloortape.com)

One answer, according to Shutske, is for the owner-operator of the SMV to make the vehicle more conspicuous, or recognizable, to oncoming traffic. There are many ways to do that, one of the easiest is to mark all vehicle and implement dimensions (rear, sides, front, etc) with side-marking tape and/or SMV signs (the red upside down triangle) made from retroflective material, which is engineered to reflect light back at the same intensity that is shined upon it.

“The side-marking tape [at your local hardware store], you can find it for $25, and you can essentially outline every piece of equipment,” Shutske says. “It’s an incredibly cheap investment and one that can save lives.”

He also says there are new safety products available from Amazon and other retailers that are made with LED lights and retroflective material that can be “bolted or clamped on, or affixed with magnets” for under $300 to add safety lighting and markings to any piece of equipment, regardless of age.

What About Trailers?

(Lindsey Pound)

It’s important to use side-marking tape on your trailering equipment, Shutske adds. You don’t have to mark a machine continuously across its side, he says you can simply outline a box or upside-down triangle with the tape at each end point. And always make sure your trailer is loaded and balanced correctly, and you have sufficient braking power for the load you’re hauling.

As more farmers embrace automation and robotics — remotely-piloted machines often must be hauled from field to field — more trailers will be seen loaded up with farm equipment on public roads. Spray drones often require large, bi-level trailers with a lot of heavy equipment packed on, like nurse tanks and power generators.

“We’re seeing a lot of big and small robotic equipment, and transportation is really going to be an issue,” Shutske says. “Right now, most have a steering wheel and seat for the operator, but I do see a future where we need to think about regulations and safety standards [for driverless farm equipment]. Trailering [safety] is going to be a lot more important in the future.”

If you want to learn more tips and tricks for staying safe, AgriSafe Network’s National Farm Safety and Health Week 2025 is happening this week. The agency is hosting 10 free online webinars exploring best practices for staying safe around the farm.

Get registered and check out the webinar topics at learning.agricafe.org/NFSHW.

Your next read: Drought Conditions Intensify Threat Of Field And Combine Fires

Sex, Lies and Green Energy: Biodiesel Fraudsters Pull $145M Heist

Tue, 15 Jul 2025 12:01:07 GMT

Buy 35 million gallons of biodiesel on the cheap, sprinkle in green fairy dust and sell, baby, sell. Everybody parties until the clock strikes midnight.

From 2009 to 2012, a New Jersey kingpin with a Midas touch, three seemingly ordinary Indiana brothers and a host of underlings skinned U.S. taxpayers for $145 million by cooking the books on a pipeline of renewable fuel. The recipe replaced corn and soybeans with deception, death threats, diamonds, fine art, fast cars, violence and a tower of lies.

Welcome to a carnival of depravity and the ultimate green energy shell game.

A Faustian Deal
Built like a linebacker, with roughly 250 lb. strapped to wide shoulders, and notoriously hotheaded, Joe Furando, 46, was a force of nature in 2012, or at least a bull in a China shop. He claimed to possess mob connections, looked the part, and could have broken his arm patting himself on the back.

The Bergen County, New Jersey resident owned a host of fuel trading companies anchored to two main establishments: Caravan Trading and Cima Green.

Celebrity bona fides to polish the scam: Paul Teutel Sr., of Orange County Choppers, flanked by Furando and Tracy.

(Photo courtesy of Discovery)

Seven hundred miles west of Furando, in east-central Indiana’s Middletown, the Ducey boys and their family business, E-biofuels, were floundering in farm country.

President Craig, CEO Chad and logistics manager Chris, along with their in-law, director of sales Brian Carmichael, were the backbone of E-bio, a Henry County-based plant producing biodiesel. Animal fat, corn oil, soybean oil and other vegetable feedstock, chased by catalyst chemicals, went into the Ducey’s vats and was reborn as biodiesel.

Craig Ducey, left, and Chad Ducey, right, pictured in better days with President George Bush. In total, the two brothers were sentenced to 13 years in prison.

(Photo public domain)

Started in 2006 on the straight and narrow, E-bio’s profit potential quickly withered. By 2009, searching for an angle, the Indiana brothers signed a devil’s bargain with Furando, who would later threaten to stab, disappear and kill employees or associates.

Come, throw in your lot with us, we’ll all share the loot. Proverbs 1:14

Stolen Honey
Work life and married home life were interwoven in a twisted knot for Furando. His two main companies were steered by 26-year-old Katarina Tracy, director of Caravan Trading and COO of Cima Green, who had lived in his home for roughly a decade. Furando began a relationship with Tracy when she was his babysitter, according to both Tracy and federal prosecutors. At the time, he was 36 and she was 16.

“He knew that I’d had a difficult background, is probably the best way to put it,” Tracy told CBS television’s Whistleblower series in 2018. “And he took advantage of that.”

Surreally, Furando promoted Tracy, once his teen nanny, to the helm of multi-million-dollar, booming businesses. “Joe had two different management styles,” she added. “One was, he would praise you and tell you that everything was fantastic. The other side was a literal version of hell. He would tear you apart and he would make you feel like you were no better than a piece of garbage.”

In late 2009 and early 2010, via Caravan Trading and Cima Green, Furando and Tracy began supplying E-bio and the Ducey brothers with biodiesel—the first drops of an astounding 35-million-gallon total purchase.

Furando sold the biodiesel and the Duceys pretended they made it. At both ends of the Indy-Jersey deal, the players raked in a king’s ransom—millions of dollars with plenty more wood to chop.

The E-bio plant in Middletown, bull’s-eye of the biggest tax and securities fraud scam in Indiana history.

(Photo public domain)

How did the scam work? Alchemy.

In 2005, Congress passed the Renewable Fuel Standard (RFS), mandating biofuel blends be added to gasoline and diesel, regulated by EPA. At production, biofuels have RINs attached, essentially bonus bucks. In addition to RINs, every gallon of biofuel comes with a tax credit. Both the RINs and tax credits can be redeemed once—and only once.

E-bio and Furando dynamited the system. Furando bought RIN-less biodiesel from Arkansas and California that had already entered the market, and sold it to the Duceys, who pretended it was virgin and made at the E-bio facility. The Duceys then resold the same fuel, reloaded with RINs and tax credits, to unsuspecting customers. Every transaction was backed by a chop-shop of fake invoices, receipts, and bills of lading.

Furando’s Caravan Trading headquarters in Park Ridge, N.J.

(Photo by Kohn, Kohn & Colapinto)

Among conspirators, “Alchemy” was Furando’s code word for the magical pipeline system. Every freshly-cooked gallon of diesel was legally tagged with 1.5 RINs, and at the time, the commercial market paid 75 cents to $2 per RIN. The additional tax credit paid $1 per gallon. Therefore, a fake gallon of virgin biodiesel technically could be worth at least several dollars beyond market value to the Duceys. On average, after paying Furando 50 cents per gallon above his costs and “piece-of-the-action” kickbacks, they skimmed at least $1.60 per gallon for doing nothing but physically moving the product.

The result? E-bio transformed from a biodiesel cooking plant to a laundering facility. Buy low and sell high—sweeter than stolen honey.

The Money Tree
Greed only grows. In 2010, having bought 1 million gallons of RIN-less biodiesel from Furando, the Duceys sold E-bio to CEO Jeff Wilson of Evansville-based Imperial Petroleum—a fuel company hemorrhaging money. On paper, according to 2009 earnings, it was one floundering business buying another. Wink, wink; nudge, nudge.

“We take waste, bring it in, and produce a new product—a new fuel,” said Furando in 2012, months before his con game crashed.

(Photo by Discovery)

E-bio, now under Imperial ownership, blossomed into a money tree. Multiplied by millions of gallons, the profit margins were staggering. Every time a tanker trunk moved, E-bio and Furando made approximately $15,000.

Wilson, Imperial’s CEO, gave flight to E-bio’s golden goose. According to federal prosecutors: “After the acquisition, Imperial’s annual revenue increased from approximately $1 million to approximately $110 million, more than 99% of which was from E-bio’s illegal business.”

As the biodiesel swindle boomed, E-bio’s physical plant was a shell, literally idle from May 2010 to July 2011. Furando, concerned EPA might take note of the glaring lack of genuine production, compelled E-bio to cook token batches of biodiesel. He created Green Grease Solutions, a side business selling genuine feedstock to E-bio to keep up appearances in case the feds came knocking. Furando urged E-bio to purchase catalytic chemicals just to “pour them down the sink.”

Wilson later would claim ignorance regarding E-bio malfeasance. The plain evidence spoke otherwise, including a damning May 2011 email sent to Wilson by his son and Imperial board member, Aaron Wilson. Per a federal complaint, the email detailed part of the scam:

[A Third-Party Biodiesel Supplier] sells [the fuel] to Caravan by barge for $4.30 and makes 30 cents minus transport. Caravan sells to E-bio for $4.45 plus delivery and makes 15 cents per gallon for doing almost nothing. E-bio generates RINs & therefore can sell the product for full market value of $5.25. I think this example paints a fairly accurate picture of what’s really happening.

Wilson wooed investors, provided misleading inspection reports, sent out press releases boasting of E-bio’s biodiesel production, and provided facility tours to showcase ongoing production (nonexistent). In a nutshell, he erected a tower of lies.

Furando’s scam paid for a 7,447-square-feet home worth $3.5 million, Picasso and Dali artwork, a jewelry hoard, Rolex and Patek Philippe watches, a Schimmel grand piano, motorcycles, cars, and a haul of other items.

(Photo by Kohn, Kohn & Colapinto)

Meanwhile, sucking in RINs and tax credits, biodiesel flowed from E-bio to its client base in one of three ways: filtering, turn-n-burn, and ghost loads (terminology used by E-bio employees and its associated truckers).

In “filtering,” biodiesel moved from fuel terminals to E-bio’s Middletown plant. Loaded into tankers, E-bio then drove it to customers. In “turn-n-burn,” tanker trunks arrived at E-bio filled with fuel purchases, but didn’t unload at the plant. Drivers picked up false paperwork and kept rolling to customers. In “ghost loads,” tankers never touched the E-bio facility, instead traveling direct from fuel terminal to customer. They obtained bogus paperwork en route via fax.

Roughly 30% of all E-bio biodiesel was delivered in ghost loads to customers in Illinois, Indiana, Pennsylvania, and Texas. The Texas ghost loads were extremely brazen: The tankers never left the state. They never left the city. How? The tankers picked up biodiesel from terminals in Houston and delivered it to customers in Houston. Crosstown madness—considering the biodiesel was purportedly produced at E-bio in Indiana.

And what to do with whispers and murmurs from the truckers who caught on to the con? E-bio greased them with $100 gift cards after each load. Loose lips sink ships.

Going Feral
Furando craved the catbird seat. Despite $55 million in gross profit in two years, he refused to stay low and count his knot, instead splashing cash. Spending alchemy-derived dollars, he acquired five Salvador Dali paintings, one Picasso painting, three Pissarro paintings, one Renoir etching, one Neiman painting, a 2011 Ferrari, a 2011 Harley Davidson, a haul of gold-diamond jewelry, Rolex and Patek Philippe watches, fancy rugs, grand pianos, and much, much more.

Furando, right, and Tracy, left, escorting Paul Teutel Sr. and millions of television viewers, into the E-bio facility.

(Photo by Discovery)

Doubling down on the intensity of the spotlight, in what ranks among the most brazen moves in modern criminal history, Furando and Tracy took the Discovery Channel into the heart of E-bio’s manufacturing facility in Middletown, Indiana. In 2012, Furando wrangled a two-episode spot on American Chopper (Season 9, Episodes 6-7) after ordering a custom-built, $150,000 biodiesel motorcycle emblazoned with one of his company names—Cima Green.

Escorting American Chopper star Paul Teutel Sr., Furando and Tracy marched a nationwide television audience into the E-bio plant—the very location they’d turned into a false front—and crowed about the basics of proper biodiesel production.

“Today we are going to show Paul Sr. and the OCC crew how we make biodiesel,” declared Tracy, without a hint of shame, in the segment’s intro. “We’re going to show them the process for bringing in the vegetable oils and the animal fats and then mixing it with the different chemicals like methanol and sodium methylate, and then we’re going to show them where it goes through the different processes to turn it into the finished fuel itself.”

Then, speaking directly to Paul Sr. as cameras rolled, she amplified the lie: “All of these trucks go out to local U.S. facilities to pick up the soybean oil and the used cooking oil. It’s all domestically produced, which is phenomenal for not only sustaining green jobs, but also creating new American jobs for the people here in the United States.”

Juiced for his camera time, Furando snatched center stage—and didn’t miss a beat. “Different than some of the other renewable energy products, we produce a lot of the fuel that we make out of waste products, so we wanted Jason and Paul Sr. to have a real appreciation of how we take waste, bring it in, and produce a new product—a new fuel.”

A new fuel. Indeed.

In 2016, Joe Furando, 50, pleaded guilty and was sentenced to 20 years and a $56 million restitution penalty.

(Photo by Discovery)

By all measures, Furando was supremely confident his con game would hold up to legal scrutiny. Gobbling even more attention, he donated the Teutel-built chopper to the National Biodiesel Board.

Outwardly, Furando was flush. Inwardly, Furando was feral. What began with cheating on soybean oil devolved into violence, fake rape charges, death threats, and murder-for-hire claims.

Swimming With Boots
In 2011, Furando caught wind that Imperial/E-bio shorted him $1 million. Maybe; maybe not.

Furando put the squeeze on Imperial’s top investor-relations consultant, Gary Williky, who would later give incriminating info to the feds. According to an affidavit submitted by Williky:

Furando threatened to “start with Williky’s sister and that he knew where she lived.” Furando repeatedly told Williky and others in front of Williky that he was “connected” to the mafia and that his father had actually been part of the mafia. Later, Williky learned that Furando had held a gun to an employee’s head when the employee displeased Furando.

Tim Jones, CFO of Imperial and president of E-bio, after likewise crossing Furando, received a double-barreled blast. One, Furando threatened to stab Jones, and, two, Furando had Tracy threaten to file a knowingly false rape charge against Jones.

A biodiesel car, one of many Cima Green promotions steered by Furando.

(Photo public domain)

There were others, including employees of Caravan Trading and Imperial/E-bio, with similar allegations against Furando—from holding a worker hostage to smashing an employee’s head in a wall, leaving a dent.

Behind the menace and intimidation, Furando was swimming with his boots on—and he didn’t even know it. In walked a whistleblower.

Lying Eyes
In January 2011, Furando hired 21-year-old Alex Chepurko as a financial trader at Caravan. Chepurko seemed a willing dupe: lanky college dropout, naturalized citizen from Russia, easily steered.

Nope. Furando may as well have hired Elliot Ness.

Out of the gate, Chepurko was struck by the obvious: Caravan had no production capacity. Everything Caravan sold was made elsewhere. Yet, 99% of sales were to one giant whale, E-bio, who sometimes paid almost $1 above the market.

Whistleblower Alexander Chepurko provided investigators with damning evidence against Furando.

(Photo by CBS)

Months into Chepurko’s tenure, Furando spilled the tea: “He pulled me aside and basically tells me that this operation they’re doing with E-biofuels is called alchemy,” Chepurko told CBS television in 2018.

Rattled, Chepurko began copying incriminating reports and recording conversations with a hidden smartphone app. Chepurko’s level of risk was extreme. Furando had grown paranoid, deploying anti-bug device technology, convinced a mole was in the mix. Furando was right.

As Chepurko continued gathering evidence, rumors of the E-bio-Caravan con game bounced around the biodiesel industry. The walls, for E-bio and Caravan, were closing.

In August 2011, ear to the ground, Furando fired Chepurko. Instant regret. Furando understood the maxim: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer.

Furando attempted a rehire. “He actually sent threatening text messages,” Chepurko later detailed in 2018. “Pick the f*** up.”

“At one point, he actually called my parents and made a threat that guys my age, ‘get found in ditches all the time in New Jersey,’” Chepurko continued.

Backed by a trove of evidence and recordings, Chepurko ran to the feds, becoming the first in history to simultaneously trigger the False Claims Act, Dodd-Frank Act, and IRS whistleblower laws.

In May 2012, the FBI raided Furando’s New Jersey offices. At Caravan, Cima Green, E-bio, and Imperial, almost all the players instantly turned into know-nothings, professing ignorance: Conspiracy? Alchemy? Who ya gonna believe, me or your lying eyes?

Furando, pictured basking at center stage, sold 35 million gallons of alchemy-spiked biodiesel.

(Photo by Discovery)

Furando made bail and promptly resorted to form, allegedly attacking Tracy. “He threw me to the ground and started beating me,” she told CBS. “He proceeded to smash my head into the marble floors. He bent my fingers back to the point where they nearly broke. He strangled me. He pulled out my hair. I was only able to get away by the sheer grace of God.”

When Tracy cooperated with federal investigators, Furando dropped her a text: “Suicide is ur only option.” And from a jail cell, according to prosecutors, he threatened to hire a hit on Tracy.

After $100 million-plus in loot and enough dysfunction to fill a season of Jerry Springer, the top players in a criminal chain stretching from Indiana to New Jersey changed their tune. They copped pleas.

No one left to lie to.

A Gaggle of Felons
In 2015, Brian Carmichael, 39, E-bio director of sales, was sentenced to 5 years after acknowledging guilt. The Ducey brothers all pleaded guilty. Chad, 40, E-bio CEO, got 84 months; Craig, 44, E-bio president, 74 months; and Chris, 49, E-bio logistics manager, 72 months.

Imperial Petroleum CEO Jeff Wilson, 63, was the lone plea holdout. After an eight-day trial, he was found guilty and sentenced to 10 years and $16 million in restitution.

In 2016, Joe Furando, 50, pleaded guilty and got 20 years and a roughly $56 million restitution penalty. He also was forced to surrender his jewelry hoard, Rolex and Patek Philippe watches, Picasso’s and Dali’s, a 7,447-square-feet home worth $3.5 million, a Schimmel grand piano, motorcycles, cars, and a haul of other items. Tracy, 30, turned state’s evidence and was sentenced to 5 years—reduced to probation.

All told, the E-bio-Furando debacle stands as the biggest tax and securities fraud scam in Indiana history: 35 million gallons of biodiesel sold for $145 million-plus. Among the felons at the heart of the heist, only Furando remains in prison. He is slated for release on Feb. 5, 2031.

Joe Furando, green energy alchemist.

(Photo by Discovery)

Stunningly, the main haul of cash stolen off the backs of U.S. taxpayers by Furando and E-bio was pinched in a mere two-year time frame. If not for arrogance, reckless behavior, and greed, how much “alchemy” might have been in the cards?

Tens of millions more? Hundreds of millions more? Furando’s lament.

My son, do not walk the road with them or set foot upon their path. For their feet run to evil, and they are swift to shed blood. Proverbs 1:15-16

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing

Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust

How the Deep State Tried, and Failed, to Crush an American Farmer

Sisters of Farm Fraud: How 4 Siblings Fleeced USDA for $10M

Organic Implosion: How Two Grifters Cooked $50M In Fake Fertilizer and Rocked Agriculture

Ghost Cattle: $650M Ponzi Rocks Livestock Industry, Money Still Missing

Wed, 21 May 2025 12:09:31 GMT

How does a $650 million cattle con crash? Under the creaking weight of a mere 26 cows.

From 2017-2019, a motley trio of Ponzi scammers—Illinois cowboy, Midwest matron, and polished Georgia fixer—hoodwinked investors and burned through $140 million per month at peak mayhem. New money paid old money.

The stunning scam was a madhouse of blind wire transfers, bogus promissory notes, hearty handshakes, and monopoly money. Three prison sentences later, questions linger over who was behind the curtain and where the booty is buried.

Helluva Tale
Built like a brick house and every inch the central Texas cattleman, plain-talking Roye Stephens was not a man to burn. In September 2017, Stephens dialed Marvin Wills and reported the theft of 26 cows.

Special Ranger Wills , long-time veteran of the Texas & Southwestern Cattle Raisers Association , listened as Stephens dropped a “helluva tale,” centered on the escapades of sketchy businessman touting interests in show cattle and legal marijuana: Mark David Ray.

Roye Stephens, the Texas rancher who put the spotlight on Mark Ray.

(Photo by Facebook)

“At first, I thought Roye Stephens was just talking about Mark Ray doing something local, but I could tell something was off—way different than most anything I’d ever heard at the ground level,” Wills says. “Stephens was describing what would become one of the biggest cattle scams of all time.”

“There was a history of cattle dealings between Stephens and Ray, and those dealings weren’t always fruitful, but Stephens kept going back because every deal was almost too good to be true,” Wills continues. “Ray always had a sweetener.”

Stephens paid Ray $75,000 for half-interest in 52 head of Lampasas County cattle which had been trucked to an Oklahoma feed lot. In a nutshell, the 52 cows did not exist—whether in Oklahoma, Texas, or Timbuktu. The transaction was an inventory fantasy. Stephens had been skinned—and his call for justice would be the key that picked the lock on a buck-wild $650 million shell game.

In tandem with Lampasas County detective David Thorpe, Wills began tracing Ray’s tracks across the livestock industry. “The story was wild,” Wills says. “A real cluster. Ray had investors and connections all over the place, and he’d even gone to Russia with the supposed intention to open a packing plant. He was big-time, except nobody really knew what was real and what was fake about him.”

Wills was certain: Ray was up to his neck in crime. “We knew he sold the exact same number of cattle at the exact same weight to packing plants. Impossible. Week to week on the rail with precisely the same numbers? No way.”

In March 2018, after robbing Stephens, Ray was indicted in Lampasas County for “false statement to obtain property” and “theft by deception.” Specifically, the indictment included a damning text sent by Ray, asking Stephens to pay “for cows with calves on them with eggs put in but of course no confirmed. Cows are at Pawhuska Oklahoma. $2,265 per pair plus freight 52 pair.”

A plea? Settlement? Slap on the wrist? Fine?

Rather, an explosion. Ray, 57, arrived for his bond hearing in Lampasas County by flying in on a luxury Beechcraft King Air—over 26 cattle in rural Texas.

“He showed up in a million-dollar airplane,” Wills recalls. “Basically, he may as well have set off a bomb. That’s when we absolutely knew this was much deeper than a handful of cattle. Who was this guy? Who?”

In short time, Wills and Thorpe were seated in an Austin FBI office, spilling their giant cup of tea.

“We started this, and the feds ended it,” Wills exclaims. “To this day, it boggles my mind. The money; the marijuana; the cattle. Still doesn’t all add up.”

Hometown Dust
The man grew money.

Mark David Ray, at least as far back as the early 2000s, wrangled golden cattle deals. A son of Knox County, in west-central Illinois, he loved flash and the fibrous feel of a thick knot of crisp bills.

“We started this, and the feds ended it,” says Special Ranger Marvin Wills. “To this day, it boggles my mind.”

(Photo by TSCRA)

His scheme? Ray, as president of Berwick Black Cattle Company and director of Source of Champions, offered bang-bang cattle investments with promises of pronto payback plus high interest—sometimes 25% in months.

Operating out of Abingdon, Ill., things were rosy out of the gate. On Jan. 13, 2002, according to a subsequent Illinois State Securities Department investigation, Ray sold a $150,000 “investment contract” to an Illinois cattleman, and 14 days later paid back the $150,000, plus $3,000. On Nov. 7, he sold another “investment contract” for $122,500 and paid back the principal, along with an extra $5,000.17, 21 days later.

A blitz of similar transactions and bigger returns followed, stretching until 2005, when the wheels came off and the investor payments stopped boomeranging. In a nutshell, Ray got pinched and was barred from doing business: “The Respondents (Ray) shall be permanently prohibited from offering and selling securities in the State of Illinois.”

No matter. Ray, an investment prophet, shook off the hometown dust and made tracks for the West.

With no criminal charges filed in Illinois, the Berwick Black Ponzi was a learning lesson. The next go-around, Ray swung for the fences.

Make It Rain
He talked the talk. He played and preyed. He wore boots and jeans.

“Mark Ray knew how to use his background in agriculture and gain trust,” says Joshua Mayes, former Securities and Exchange Commission (SEC) senior trial counsel, Enforcement Division, who spearheaded a subsequent investigation uncovering Ray’s scam. “He would go to cattle shows, compete for awards, and rub shoulders with people who thought he was legit. Salt-of-the-earth farmers, ranchers, business people, and average joes—he fooled them all with a handshake.”

Ray claimed to have mastered the cattle flip, fattening cows in feed lots for crazy money: Give me $500,000 today. I’ll give you $600,000 in eight weeks.

“He was so good at speaking the lingo and moving fast,” Mayes continues. “Literally, within months of meeting people, he’d have them wiring him hundreds of thousands of dollars without so much as a napkin scrawl promising payback—sometimes with no financial statements, no deal transaction firm, and no proof. Just his word.”

Based in Denver, Colo., Ray put a foot in both agriculture and legal marijuana, founding three companies: Custom Consulting, Universal Herbs and MR Cattle. To bolster his phenomenal sleight-of-hand skills, he needed team players: Someone to haul in whales and another to grease the financial skids. Enter old friends Ron Throgmartin and Reva Stachniw.

Throgmartin, living in Buford, Ga., was CEO of Diego Pellicer, a legal marijuana business. He had been in the trenches during Ray’s Illinois cattle Ponzi. Throgmartin became Ray’s general consultant and appeared the part, presenting a credible business front.

Stachniw, who looked like a cross between a PTA grandmother and Sunday school teacher, was an Illinois crony from Knox County. A retired nurse, she knew the cattle industry and was owner and manager of RM Farm and Sunshine Enterprises.

Ray, Throgmartin, and Stachniw steered investors toward high-speed returns on cattle flips, straight business loans, and marijuana investments, typically in the 10-20% range.

What a threesome. They made it rain—as in, $140 million per month at the height of the scam.

“People With Money”
How did the money machine work?

First, Ray’s engine required prodigious amounts of fuel—a tall order considering he essentially had no cattle. Like a Ponzi politician, Ray needed to raise massive amounts of money, steadily sucking in new investors to pay off old investors.

Ron Throgmartin served as Ray’s business face, keeping track of major investors and drafting emails, texts, and promissory notes to bolster the scheme.

(Photo by Facebook)

“He had to constantly make deals,” Mayes describes. “The whole train stops if he doesn’t consistently fool new victims. Once he got rolling and got his victims comfortable, he convinced some to let their investments ride: ‘Right now I owe you 124,000, but I have another deal coming up, and you can make it $150,000 if you give me another 3 months.’”

Throgmartin served as Ray’s legitimate business face, keeping track of major investors and drafting emails, texts, and promissory notes to boost the scheme.

Stachniw handled the bank accounts. She ensured Ray avoided bank detection by keeping his name out of transactions. She maintained accounts in the names of RM Farm and Sunshine Enterprises, signed promissory notes, signed stacks of blank checks for use by Ray as needed, and transferred tens of millions as requested by Ray.

According to federal prosecutors, Stachniw “advised Ray and Throgmartin, generally via text message, telephone call, or email, on a near-daily basis, how much money the co-conspirators needed to raise from victim-investors to avoid overdrawing the various bank accounts the co-conspirators used, and exposing the scheme. At times, Stachniw expressed surprise that Ray was able to find victim-investors willing to continue to invest, for example, writing to Ray on or about August 7, 2018, “I can’t believe you are able to find people with money.”

As the Ponzi pyramid climbed, investors unknowingly were wiring other investors. Literally, victim to victim per Ray’s lies. From the SEC report: Ray would instruct Victim A to wire funds to Victim B, telling Victim A that the funds were for the purchase of cattle from Victim B. Ray would tell Victim B, however, that the funds received from Victim A were payment for another cattle trade in which Victim B had previously invested.

“The investors were lulled to sleep,” Mayes explains. “One ranch gets a wire transfer from a second ranch in another state. The first rancher with the incoming money makes an assumption: The money must have come from a cattle deal.”

From late 2017 and continuing through in or around early 2019, Ray, Throgmartin, and Stachniw raised approximately $650 million from victim-investors.

Translated: The Big 3 tapped hundreds of investors for two-thirds of a billion dollars in a mere 17 months.

Lifesavings, Gone
As Ponzi structures reach skyward, they inevitably creak and collapse. No different with Ray’s Jenga tower.

Reva Stachniw, a retired nurse, knew the cattle industry and was owner and manager of RM Farm and Sunshine Enterprises.

(Photo by Facebook)

Ray had too many irons in the fire. When Roye Stephens called the law over stolen Lampasas County cattle, what first appeared as a tiny fissure turned into a gaping hole of access for the SEC and federal prosecutors. The SEC filed against Ray, Stachniw, and Throgmartin on Sept. 30, 2019. Federal prosecutors filed an indictment against Ray on Feb 20, 2020, and against Stachniw and Throgmartin On April 22, 2021.

“When we busted them,” Mayes says, “they were moving over $100 million per month, but that’s far from what sticks in my mind. I just remember the victims. At first, the victims didn’t believe it was all a scam. Then their disbelief changed to panic. Lifesavings, gone.”

“When the public thinks of Ponzis, they think of Bernie Madoff and his sophisticated victims. Therefore, the public thinks of a Ponzi as stealing from the rich. That’s not true most of the time, and by no means in this case. These were mainly middle-class victims in agriculture that worked for a lifetime to make a nest egg to invest. Just normal people lured by a high return. And they wind up on the brink of suicide because a good day, maybe the best day, is getting back 25 cents on the dollar.”

Pulling Levers?
Ray took a plea deal and admitted to bank fraud and wire fraud, throwing Throgmartin and Stachniw under the bus, agreeing to testify against both. Throgmartin and Stachniw claimed innocence as victims of Ray’s duplicity. They were found guilty in a jury trial in 2022.

The trio was sentenced in 2023. Ray, 50 months and $23,374,664 in restitution. Stachniw, 72 months, $14,597,335 in restitution and forfeiture of $6,013,370. Throgmartin, 72 months, $14,597,335 in restitution and forfeiture of $1,004,904. The mastermind, Ray, got the least amount of prison time.

“Stachniw and Throgmartin were convicted of being knowing participants,” Mayes says. “Their defense was, ‘We didn’t know it was a Ponzi. We didn’t know what Mark Ray was truly doing.’ The evidence says otherwise.”

(For more on Throgmartin’s defense and his claims about Ray, see his May 2023 YouTube interview.)

What was Ray’s long-term plan? What was next if the scheme hadn’t crashed?

“I don’t think he had a plan at all,” Mayes contends. “I think he just compartmentalized in the moment and kept going. I also suspect he believed that if things got bad, he could just declare bankruptcy, ride it out, and face no charges. It certainly worked the first time in Illinois.”

Sticky-fingered Mark David Ray used new money to pay old money in a $650M heist.

(Photo by Facebook)

And where did the money go? The feds tracked a portion: “Despite putting little to none of their own money into the scheme, the co-conspirators transferred substantial amounts of the proceeds of their conspiracy and scheme to themselves for their personal benefit. For example, between in or around 2017 and in or around 2018 alone, Stachniw transferred approximately $9,000,000 traceable to victim-investors to her personal investment accounts, including approximately $1,000,000 in or around August 2018. Throgmartin received more than approximately $3,000,000 over the course of the conspiracy, including at least approximately $800,000 from Stachniw in or around August 2018.”

But what of Ray’s loot? Was it laundered, flipped into the marijuana business, buried in a hole? Was there another figure behind Ray pulling levers?

“He was playing the high life with jets and travel, and there were reports of gambling, and he had to pump lots into the lower parts of the pyramid,” Mayes concludes, “but where the rest of the money really went is unclear to this day.”

While Ray robbed Peter to pay Paul, there was a mountain of cash left over. The SEC report still echoes: Tens of millions of dollars’ worth of investor money is missing and unaccounted for.

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

Game of Horns: Iowa Poacher’s Antler Addiction Leads to Historic Bust

How a Nazi-Fighting Oklahoman Rejected NFL Draft and Went Home to Farm

Sisters of Farm Fraud: How 4 Siblings Fleeced USDA for $10M

Tractor Terrorist: How a Forgotten Farmer Attacked Washington with Fertilizer Bombs

Farmer Unearths Lost Treasure, Solves WW2 Mystery

How The Deep State Tried, And Failed, To Crush An American Farmer

Organic Implosion: How Two Grifters Cooked $50M In Fake Fertilizer and Rocked Agriculture

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

Sisters of Farm Fraud: How 4 Siblings Fleeced USDA for $10M

Tue, 08 Apr 2025 12:08:21 GMT

Once upon a crime, four sticky-fingered sisters, all in their seventies, pulled a surreal $10 million fraud by filing almost 200 false claims of prejudice against USDA.

The geriatric quartet cranked a drive-by discrimination operation for 10 years, steering a chain of applicants to cash settlements via claims of race and gender bias, all while taking a bite from each piece of the pie.

In league with almost 200 fake farmers, a greedy attorney, a Jiffy Tax fixer, a crooked notary, and a jaw-dropping countersuit, the sibling foursome racked up 115 counts of mail fraud, money laundering, tax evasion, and conspiracy to defraud the IRS.

Grandmother grifters Lynda Charles, Rosie Bryant, Delois Bryant and Brenda Sherpell executed a heist that rivals the most audacious scams on agriculture record. Older the violin, sweeter the fraud.

Tapping the Till
Raised in rice country—central Arkansas’ Lonoke County, roughly 45 miles southeast of Little Rock—siblings Lynda Charles, Rosie Bryant, Delois Bryant, and Brenda Sherpell (hereafter, the Bryant sisters) took a shot at farm-related entrepreneurship in 2008. However, their ag venture came with a heavy wink, as described in a subsequent indictment:

Beginning in or about June 2008, and continuing through in or about November 2017, in the Eastern District of Arkansas, and elsewhere, the defendants … knowingly and intentionally devised and participated in a scheme to defraud the United States of America by depriving it of property.

Rubbing elbows with the faithful at church gatherings, the Bryant sisters devised a means to repeatedly steal from USDA. Theft in plain sight.

The Bryant sisters recruited an assembly line of fake farmers and took a cut from each claimant.

(Photo by Chris Bennett)

And which specific USDA till did the Bryant sisters tap? Billions of dollars flushed by a rising tide of discrimination lawsuits resulting in the largest combined civil rights settlement in U.S. history.

The Golden Girls
In 1997, Timothy Pigford, an African-American corn and soybean farmer in North Carolina, along with 22,000 other producers, sued USDA, alleging prolonged racial discrimination during loan processing and a failure to investigate related complaints from 1983 to 1997. The class action lawsuit, Pigford v. Glickman (aka Pigford l), was settled in 1999: Roughly 70% of applicants were approved and received a total settlement of $1-plus billion in cash, tax payments, and debt cancellation.

Pigford l triggered an avalanche of similar suits alleging USDA discrimination. In 1999, Keepseagle v. Vilsack (4,300 claimants) was launched by Native American farmers. In 2000, Garcia v. Vilsack was filed with allegations from 50,000 Hispanic farmers. Also in 2000, Love v. Vilsack featured 53,000 female farmers. All the while, an additional 68,000 African American farmers were packaged in Pigford ll, contending they were given an inadequate application deadline in Pigford l.

The total haul of the Bryant sisters? At least $11.5 million.

(Photo by Chris Bennett)

Secretary of Agriculture Thomas Vilsack settled the suits on a massive cost scale. Each Pigford case, over $1 billion; Keepseagle, $760 million; Garcia and Love, settled simultaneously, approximately $1.3 billion.

Curiously, despite USDA’s central role in the biggest government race and sex discrimination payout on record—purportedly carried out against 200,000 Native Americans, Hispanics, African Americans, and women—there were no departmental repercussions. The settlement payout totals necessitated a substantial amount of USDA employment involvement. However, no USDA officials or workers reportedly were reprimanded, demoted, or fired.

Amid the cascade of litigation, the Bryant sisters hatched a grift to score beaucoup settlement money by recruiting an assembly line of claimants. Find some farmers, line’em up, move’em along with fake documents, get a percentage from each claimant, and fudge the IRS numbers for bonus bucks.

USDA investigator Dax Roberson connected the dots to nab the Bryant sisters and Everett Martindale.

(Photo by USDA)

Were the Bryant sisters recruiting actual farmers? No. According to the U.S. Attorney’s Office , Eastern District of Arkansas, “the claimants had not suffered discrimination and, in most cases, had not even attempted to farm.”

Crooked, but highly motivated, the four golden girls got busy. There were plums to be picked.

Pulling Levers
USDA lumped the various legal lawsuits into two separate claims categories: Black Farmers Discrimination Litigation (BFDL) and Hispanic and Women Farmers and Ranchers (HWFR). (Native American farmer settlements were separate.)

Boiled down, claimants in BFDL or HWFR could obtain $62,500 and potential debt cancellation. (The $62,500 was broken into an initial lump of $50,000, and a separate $12,500 transferred directly to the IRS for tax withholding.) Attorneys assisting claimants could receive a maximum fee of $1,500 per client.

Attorney Everett Martindale was sentenced to one year and a day behind bars.

(Photo public domain, Facebook)

Applicants for settlement money had to submit a class action claim form describing their rejections from USDA programs or economic losses. The paperwork could be submitted by a representative for anyone deceased, or for anyone deficient in mental or physical condition. HWFR applicants had added leeway and could submit a notarized witness statement “from someone who witnessed the alleged incident.”

After completion, all forms were submitted to Epiq, a third-party compliance company in Portland, Ore., that reviewed claims and doled out payment.

Lynda Charles, Rosie Bryant, Delois Bryant, and Brenda Sherpell gamed the system. They successfully pulled the levers on an astonishing 192 claims before getting pinched.

Cooking the Books
The Bryant sisters needed scores of fake farmers, i.e., recruits who would lie and apply for payments via the BFDL or HWFR lawsuit settlements. Starting in June 2008, the sisters began casting a net, offering claimants a path to $62,500 in USDA settlement money, in return for a share of the loot—typically ranging from $10,000-$25,000. The Bryants did the legwork; the fake farmers signed the docs; and everyone got paid.

Niki Charles, the rubberstamp notary, was sentenced to 16 months in prison.

(Photo public domain, Facebook)

Dax Roberson, Special Agent in Charge with USDA’s Office of Inspector General, described the setup:

“We found out the sisters approached people at church gatherings, advising attendees that they were eligible for black farmers litigation settlements, and stated they could apply for financial relief if their ancestors had ever been discriminated against…”

“The sisters provided attendees with a blank application signature page and asked them to sign it,” Roberson added. “But the attendees did not complete, or in most cases, even see the applications. The sisters attached the signature pages to fraudulent applications and submitted them to USDA.”

Beyond the Bryant sisters, the scam required key players, particularly a notary to rubber-stamp all paperwork and sworn affidavits submitted by recruits. Enter Niki Charles, a notary public and daughter of Lynda Charles. Keep it in the family.

Niki Charles notarized and verified fictitious witness testimony regarding discrimination, yet “none of the statements were signed in her presence by the witness purporting to verify the acts of discrimination referenced in the claim,” according to her subsequent plea agreement.

In addition to Niki Charles, who pocketed at least $90,688 with her notary stamp, a lawyer was needed to grease the skids. Up stepped long-time Little Rock attorney Everett Martindale.

Representing almost all the Bryant’s BFDL and HWFR recruits, he signed and affirmed the veracity of the claim forms. In truth, according to his plea, “Martindale did not investigate any claim or have any evidence to substantiate the statements reported in the claim.”

According to Everett Martindale’s plea, he “did not investigate any claim or have any evidence to substantiate the statements reported in the claim.”

(Photo public domain, Facebook)

The BFDL and HWFR claim forms were mailed from Little Rock to Epiq in Oregon. Once approved for payment, BFDL and HWFR checks were issued to Martindale by Epiq. He was temporary bagman.

Per his plea: Martindale deposited the BFDL checks into his law firm trust account and issued a check from his trust account to the claimant for the claim. Martindale withheld his attorney fee from the settlement checks and issued the claimant a check for the claim minus the attorney fees. For the HWFR claimants, the checks were issued in the name of the claimant alone. When Martindale received the claimant’s checks from Epiq, he provided the checks to one or more of the other defendants rather than to the claimant. For the HWFR claims, Everett Martindale had an agreement with Lynda Charles, Rosie Bryant, Delois Bryant, and Brenda Sherpell to split the attorney fee equally, with each of these defendants receiving one-fifth of the fee. Martindale received at least $51,000 from his involvement with the scheme.

In 2013, already vacuuming hundreds of thousands of dollars, the Bryant sisters doubled down by juicing Jerry Green, owner of Jiffy Tax, into the scam. In return for $550 per person, Green cooked the books on 82 tax returns that “contained false items totaling $4,615,009.”

With the players—fake farmers, notary, attorney, and accountant—pulling on the rope in unison, the Bryant sisters captured millions in loot. However, the take wasn’t enough to satisfy growing greed.

In 2015, incensed after Epiq denied some of their false settlement claims, the sisters dropped a how-dare-you bomb: They sued USDA for civil rights violations and demanded a jury trial.

Pile of Coin
Brazenly, on June 8, 2015, the Bryants sued the very government entity they were stealing from—USDA. The lawsuit accused USDA Secretary Thomas Vilsack and his claims administrators of depriving the Bryants of constitutional rights by rejecting some of their settlement claims.

Lynda Charles, Rosie Bryant, Delois Bryant, and Brenda Sherpell were raised in rice country.

(Photo by Chris Bennett)

Tacking on almost 200 other purported farmers in their complaint, the Bryants sought $62,500 in compensatory damages for all, beyond “costs, fees, and interest.” Shooting for the moon, they also asked for punitive damages “in whatever amount determined by this court.”

Ironically, while suing Vilsack and USDA, the four siblings were living large, spending cash later traced to their ongoing fraud: Rosie Bryant, in 2014, purchased a 3,278-sq. ft., three-bedroom, $610,000 home in Colleyville, Texas. Lynda Charles and Delois Bryant bought adjoining lots for $97,400 and $87,400 at the Rockwater Village development in North Little Rock in 2015. Lynda Charles bought a $58,959 Chevrolet Express van in 2016. Also, in 2016, Delois Bryant bought a $113,271 Mercedes-Benz G550.

Their lawsuit was dismissed. Their fraud continued to surge. On Nov. 5, 2015, the Bryants filed for an Arkansas business license as “Jovi Women and Hispanic Litigation,” a front for the settlement swindle. By 2017, their pile of coin was $10 million—and the gleam caught the eye of USDA and IRS.

Pied Pipers
In 2019, following a USDA Office of Inspector General investigation, the Bryant sisters, notary Niki Charles, attorney Martindale, and tax preparer Green, were indicted (115 total counts) in the U.S. District Court Eastern District of Arkansas. Each sister was charged with eight counts of mail fraud, one count of conspiracy to defraud, and 82 counts of false tax returns. Three of the sisters also were charged with 12 counts of tax evasion and multiple counts of money laundering. Niki Charles and Martindale were hit with eight counts of mail fraud. Green received a conspiracy charge. (Significantly, prosecutors chose to only pursue charges for crimes committed after 2012.)

Facing the state’s potential to call over 200 witnesses at trial, Green, the bookkeeper, was the first to roll, copping a plea in January 2021. The other dominoes fell fast. After initially pleading not guilty, all four Bryant sisters admitted guilt and signed plea agreements on July 6, 2022. Niki Charles followed a month later, on Aug. 2, signing a plea. Two days later, Aug. 4, 2022, Martindale followed suit, the last to sign a plea bargain.

The sisters’ total bag? Lynda Charles stole at least $2,176,000; Rosie Bryant stole at least $2,176,000. Delois Bryant stole at least $2,176,000. Brenda Sherpell stole at least $1,700,000.

In June 2023, the ring was sentenced. Niki Charles, 50, got 16 months in the pen. Martindale, 76, of Little Rock, received one year and a day behind bars. Likewise, Green, 42, got a year and a day in prison.

Lynda Charles, 73, Rosie Bryant, 75, Delois Bryant, 76, and Brenda Sherpell, 73, each were sentenced to two years in federal prison, and ordered to pay $9-plus million in restitution. All told, the sisters faked 192 claims, “resulting in a loss of over $11.5 million.”

Pied pipers of farm theft.

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:
Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

Cornhusker King: Visionary Nebraska Farmer Paved Road to Modern Ag

Wed, 02 Apr 2025 12:05:05 GMT

What is the measure of a farmer at twilight?

Record yields, big dollars, giant acreage? All for naught, says Stan DeBoer.

“The only things that mattered were the Good Lord, my wife, my daughters, and helping other farmers,” he insists. “The rest was noise.”

A strongbox of a man with python arms, hands of stone, every inch of 6’4”, dark hair flowing under a trucker hat, garbed in t-shirt, Levi’s, and cowboy boots on Nebraska dirt, DeBoer was a force of nature. Think Elvis with muscles.

Decades ahead of his time, DeBoer rode risk as an ethanol pioneer, Tractorcade driver, irrigation innovator, gubernatorial candidate, and vital player during the wildest soybean heist in U.S. history, each endeavor toe-tagged with an undeniable maxim—first bird to fly gets all the arrows.

Stan DeBoer paid the costs of success for future generations of American farmers.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

In the FBI’s labyrinthine basement, at the back of a forgotten filing cabinet, a surveillance file surely exists on the activities of a renegade DeBoer. Likely spilled across the first memo: This Nebraska farmer is a born leader, keeps his word at all costs, and stirs the passions of fellow producers. Stan DeBoer is a damn problem.

Roll the Dice
In 1938, on the flats of Gosper County in southcentral Nebraska, a stick-built home with no electricity or plumbing saw the birth of DeBoer. Six months later, after surrounding land was slated for the bottom of a 2,000-acre irrigation reservoir, DeBoer’s father, George, put the bare-bones home on wheels, and as bread dough baked in the tiny kitchen’s wood stove, he rolled the structure to dry ground roughly a section distant—supper ready on arrival, still warmed by the waning embers.

House moving and bread baking—all in a day for the DeBoer family.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

The bliss of a rural childhood doglegged in 1945 after the loss of DeBoer’s mother, Effie, to cancer. With George punching a clock at an ammunition naval depot in nearby Hastings, young DeBoer spent every summer into his teens chasing the shadow of an older brother, Bryce, working corn and soybean rows in Cozad, 100 miles west of Hastings. Farming became DeBoer’s outlet—and gameplan in life.

“What I was doing in those fields was a disaster, but fall still came every year,” he says. “Bryce looked out for me and he became like a second father. I learned and learned, and it stirred an internal desire to farm.”

At an early age, DeBoer hoed his own row beyond farming, and at a head taller, he kept an eye out for the weaker party. “Maybe nothing bothered me as much as someone pushing down an underdog. I was always capable of defending myself, and I did likewise with my friends. I never worried about sharing the same opinion with the crowd.”

Young Stan DeBoer, bottom left.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

At high school’s end, DeBoer clawed for a toehold in agriculture. Despite no father in farming and no family land, he possessed unshakeable belief and a willingness to roll the dice.

“Risk has always been farming,” explains DeBoer, now 86. “I was never afraid of debt. I’d go buy a tractor tomorrow, because the moment you make that purchase and drive away onto the road, you’ve made a statement: ‘You believe.’”

Eighteen-year-old DeBoer was certain his future ran along a straight line to farming—until a young lady crawled under his 1951 Mercury 4-door.

It was obvious: She was the one.

Dark Elvis
Born by fire. Literally.

Young Bonnie Nielsen, bottom left.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

In 1940, heavily pregnant Vivian Nielsen, along with her husband, Herman, scrambled to put out a prairie fire adjacent to the couple’s dairy operation. The exertion triggered the premature birth of Bonnie Nielsen—raised to weather every wind of the farming life.

When Herman wasn’t tending cows, he drank coffee by the pot at the Dixie Inn in Cozad; it was his office. In early 1958, 18-year-old Bonnie walked into her father’s haunt and slid into a booth just as DeBoer entered the joint.

Thunderstruck, Stan and Bonnie: “Taken together, they were an awesome looking pair—really special. Hook’em up together to any wagon and they could pull it,” describes Wayne Cryts.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

DeBoer eyeballed the girl with hair spun from sunshine. DeBoer was thunderstruck by the dairyman’s daughter. Dark Elvis met blonde beauty.

“I remember the exact booth where Bonnie was sitting,” he says. “I just happened to know the girl she was with, and I walked over to them. Bonnie was a nurse’s aide at the hospital, so I asked if I could drive her to work.”

On the road into town, DeBoer’s tire caught a nail. A most fortuitous puncture.

The DeBoer daughters: Kris, Ginny, Johna, Leigh, and Stephanie in the arms of Stan.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

“I got out to change the tire, and the next thing I knew, Bonnie was laying on the ground, helping to fix the flat. I knew right then she was the best thing ever to happen to me—the luckiest night of my life. I was afraid she might not be real.”

Real, indeed. Bonnie was golden-hearted, steel-backboned, razor-tongued.

Months later, the Nebraska teens walked the aisle. Truly, a matched pair.

“She was my everything and my world to this day,” DeBoer says, his voice breaking. “A lover, and I have five children to prove it. A hugger, and I have a widespread community to prove it. A homemaker, and I have the quality of my lifetime to prove it. What role didn’t she play?”

Stan and Bonnie impacted the lives of thousands of rural Americans—repeatedly standing in the gap with no gain at hand.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

“Bonnie guarded our home, patterned five daughters after herself, and was beside me for every farming step I ever took,” DeBoer adds. “Of every event to come in our life, she was never afraid. All the dumb ideas I had were never dumb to Bonnie, and that made the world easy to conquer.”

The pieces were in place for a monumental farming life.

Return to the Plow
Presenting his bride with a pink, two-bedroom home north of Cozad, DeBoer’s domestic bliss contrasted with an agricultural operation stretched painfully thin—one well and a handful of cattle. “Generally, we were raising 100-bushel corn and getting $1 per bushel, with the elevator probably taking a nickel. Inputs were cheap, but accumulation of money was impossible. I don’t remember holding a $100 bill in that era, and very few $20 bills.”

No fear: Stan DeBoer takes the mic and rallies farmers at a benchmark moment in agriculture history—the Ristine soybean raid.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

At 22, DeBoer talked his way into a temporary carpentry job (along with Army Reserve duty) with AT&T to build a link in a chain of line-of-site towers. “I should have paid them for the lifetime of knowledge I gained in five months,” he says. “I never stopped using those skills on the farm.”

When AT&T’s Cozad construction was completed, the outfit boss approached DeBoer with a lucrative work offer at another location, and a potential spot in the leadership chain.

DeBoer returned to his plow.

11-Mile Snake
When old money owns the land, sometimes a switch is in order.

In 1966, DeBoer pulled stakes and moved his family 30 miles southeast to the edge of Bertrand in Gosper County, trading the little pink house for a curiosity hidden behind a vast curtain of sunflowers. The inner core of DeBoer’s new home was an old railroad depot.

DeBoer’s tractorcade train snakes toward Washington, D.C., 100 miles per day.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

He worked rented ground for $300 per month and a fifth of the yield. His first year, targeting 125-bushel irrigated corn, he rolled snake eyes: The crop was hailed out for a total loss. Roll’em again.

Row by row, field by field, DeBoer pieced together an operation into the 1970s, but as he navigated between stability and prosperity on his own ground, commodities nosedived and the agriculture economy plummeted in tandem, pulling down farms across the U.S.

“We were like so many other farmers—always extending the numbers to go one more year,” DeBoer recalls. “Always having to convince a lender to go again. Something had to change. And it can never just be about solving your own farm problems: What about all those farmers coming after you? There’s right, wrong, and responsibility in farming, and part of that is trying to work for change beyond your own lifetime.”

A farmer army in Washington, D.C., 1979.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

In 1977, amid the agricultural maelstrom, 350 miles southwest of DeBoer in Baca County, Colorado, five farmers seeded the American Agriculture Movement (AAM), aimed at two basic principles. One, parity: A fair price on crops to just cover the costs of production and enable a farmer to make a survivable living. Two, country of origin labeling (COOL).

A true populist surge, with no official leadership, AAM exploded via local farmer meetings and phone trees, resulting in a series of protests at county, state, and national levels. Ringleader by example, DeBoer leaped into the fray. Tip of the spear by nature.

Foremost among the protests was the 1979 Tractorcade (DeBoer also participated in numerous AAM events and provided congressional testimony on Capitol Hill about the state of U.S. ag) to Washington, D.C.—an epic 5,000-tractor farmer army that crossed the continent at the height of winter in four separate convoys. The producers rumbled into the nation’s capital and occupied the National Mall, demanding Congress address the realities of an agriculture industry in collapse.

DeBoer’s Tractorcade branch set out for D.C. from North Platte, Neb., in January: 100 miles per day, 8 mph, dark morning to dark evening, 17 days on the road with snowfall on each day, including a blizzard.

At its furthest, the line of tractors and support vehicles snaked 11 miles—including the steady roll of an International 1256 with Bonnie at the wheel.

Respected and loved by all: Bonnie DeBoer.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

Fellow Tractorcade participants Eugene and Laurie Schroder (son and daughter-in-law of Gene Schroder, one of AAM’s five original Campo, Colo., founders) recall DeBoer and Bonnie. “Stan was so well-respected,” Eugene says. “So big and strong that he always stood out, but known more for being trustworthy. The whole family was that way, just outstanding.”

“Bonnie was a miracle lady,” Laurie echoes. “A blondie with a smile always on her face, yet so tough. A kind touch and looked so nice, but tough as nails.”

In a moss gold, 1976 Chevy pickup, DeBoer drove point ahead of the tractor train, negotiating with law enforcement to find highways and resting stops at amusement parks, fairgrounds, and parking lots.

Concerned over the D.C.-bound procession, the FBI dropped moles into the procession, garbed in blue-collar clothing. “At least from Galesburg, Ill., the government had plants with us dressed up like farmers,” DeBoer notes. “The message had hit Washington that we were truly coming, and they did their best to stall us on the road, because they knew we were going to converge with the other tractor trains and roll into town together.”

Scouting in front of the 11-mile snake, DeBoer was told by highway patrolmen to change routes, away from a major highway. Bulldog with a bone, DeBoer was not a man to be pushed. “I told them, ‘No way.’ I said, ‘Why don’t you drive back to the guys in the tractors and try telling each one which way they can go?’ That settled it.”

Stan DeBoer’s brother, Bryce, made waves to ensure the AAM message gained attention in D.C.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

Once in D.C., DeBoer, alongside producer Corky Jones, became the voice of Nebraska farmers. Every day, inside the offices of congressional reps on Capitol Hill, DeBoer laid out the why’s and how’s of the agriculture crisis and the extreme need for change.

Each night, he walked the farmer encampment stretched across the mall between Capitol Hill and the Washington Memorial. “I’d go from facility to facility to the trucks and trailers to answer questions. We’d have a final meeting at a motel each night, and every state had at least one representative individual. So many of us were fighting for our very farm existence.”

Several months later, the last remnant of AAM producers left D.C. “We tore up and reseeded the mall before we left,” DeBoer describes. “No doubt, we left it in better shape than we arrived. Did we do any good in Washington? We sure tried.”

After the 1979 Tractorcade and participation in other farmer protests in multiple states, with reputation building and profile expanding, DeBoer jumped headfirst into a buck-wild grain heist.

The Great Soybean Raid
In January 1981, in open defiance of the federal government, producer Wayne Cryts announced his intention to steal 32,000 bushels of his own soybeans held at the bankrupt Ristine elevator in New Madrid County in southeast Missouri.

Who else? Stan DeBoer front-and-center at the historic soybean heist in southeast Missouri.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

The soybeans, despite being grown and owned by Cryts, were considered part of the elevator’s bankruptcy losses. Cryts selected Feb. 16, George Washington’s birthday, as the day of liberation—the Great Soybean Raid.

Over 750 miles northwest of Ristine, DeBoer and Bonnie were incensed by the news of Cryts’ plight. Already on the federal radar after the AAM protest involvement in Washington, and despite nothing to gain except a felony prison sentence, they hit the highway, bound for the Missouri Bootheel. Arriving at the Ramada Inn in Sikeston, where Cryts was preparing for the logistics of the breakin-breakout with trucks and bucket brigades, DeBoer immediately threw his weight and reputation into the fray.

Recalling DeBoer’s support, Cryts is deeply grateful—and still impacted 44 years onward. “Stan DeBoer. Stan DeBoer,” Cryts repeats with emphasis. “Let me tell you about Stan DeBoer.”

“The first time I met Stan, he was somebody I respected from the first words he said and the standout way he conducted himself: A man of truth. The guy you want in your corner.”

“He was such an impressive physical specimen,” Cryts describes. “I’d say he had to be 6’4” or taller, and his wife, Bonnie, was a very nice-looking lady. Taken together, they were an awesome looking pair—really special. Hook’em up together to any wagon and they could pull it. Guaranteed.”

Wayne Cryts hold a sample jar of “stolen” soybeans from the Ristine raid.

(Photo by Chris Bennett)

DeBoer and a host of other farmers from Missouri and the Midwest were prepared, short of violence, to physically retrieve Cryts’ crop. “We wanted the American people to know exactly what was going on,” DeBoer says. “We hid nothing. I got on television and did an interview that night, letting everyone know what the government was up to and why we were taking the beans the next day.”

Surrounded by nervous U.S. marshals and FBI agents, DeBoer faced a genuine prospect of imprisonment. “They were tired of us and they had already experienced several months of us in Washington. Yes, I knew they recognized me by then, but I didn’t care. I was helping Wayne Cryts no matter what. If not, I could be next, or any farmer could be next. I could never just sit back on my own farmland and watch bad things happen to another farmer.”

Peeling tin, taking beans, making history at Ristine.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

At 10 a.m., Feb. 16, before the eyes of U.S. marshals and FBI agents, Cryts and a massive throng of farmers entered the Ristine elevator grounds, loaded almost 80 trucks (over two days), and drove away with 32,000-plus bushels of soybeans. Pressure cooker rattling, the feds stood down.

“I was in and out of the elevator office, dealing with federal authorities,” Cryts explains. “While the raid was going, there were a lot of guys out there who listened to Stan’s opinion of how to proceed. That’s how influential he was; that’s how powerful his reputation was.”

And when the trucks were loaded and leaving, after the intensity of the action waned, how did DeBoer behave? No glory; no backslapping. He organized the grating and cleaning of the elevator grounds.

“That’s my last memory of Stan,” Cryts says. “I saw him leading by example. I saw him and Bonnie walking around the elevator, holding a bag, and humbly picking up trash and cigarette butts out of the gravel. There they were, 1,000 miles from home, helping me for no other reason than they believed it was the right thing to do. Says a lot about a man. Says a lot about a woman. Says a lot about them.”

Trucks loaded with Wayne Cryts’ bushels at Ristine.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

On the elevator grounds, federal officers recorded every name and action. And DeBoer was already on their radar, Cryts says.

“I want to go on record and make people realize what I believe is the most important part of the whole deal,” Cryts emphasizes. “After Ristine, it was always said, ‘Wayne Cryts has courage.’ Let me tell reality. I acted out of desperation. The real courage on display was by Stan DeBoer and others there like him. Why? They jeopardized all they had for someone they didn’t know, and they knew they could get hurt, injured, in jail, or pay lifetime penalties—all of those consequences were very, very real. I’m saying Stan and Bonnie were the people with everything to lose, and that is rare courage in farming or any part of life.”

“Justice and freedom don’t depend so much on standing up for yourself as they do for standing up for others,” Cryts emphasizes. “That’s what Stan believes and that’s how he lived his life. I’ll never, never forget what he did. Stan DeBoer put his head in the noose for me.”

After the surreal raid at Ristine, firmly in federal crosshairs, DeBoer risked it all on a giant brew of corn and milo—fuel alcohol.

Keep the Wolves Away
In 2023, ethanol contributed $54.2 billion to GDP and sucked up roughly 40% of all U.S. corn yield—an industry partially built on the shoulders of DeBoer and other likeminded farmers who laid the foundation stones of modern renewable fuels.

Gasohol gallons.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

In 1981, DeBoer and his three farming brothers visited the Schroder family in Baca County, Colorado, to eyeball a fledgling ethanol operation. Remarkably visionary, the Schroders erected one of the first ethanol plants in U.S. history, built from scratch.

By hand, DeBoer and his siblings then constructed Nebraska’s first ethanol plant of sizable production—mild steel and 10,000-gallon tanks. “It was a financial opportunity for myself and a bigger one for my entire region. We could see how the future was shaping up.”

Right idea; wrong time. After trial and error, DeBoer hit the wall.

“Our plant worked so well, but it didn’t matter. We didn’t have the volume needed, and when the corn price went up 40 cents, and we couldn’t rely on the cattle industry to take our byproducts, we were in trouble. Additionally, we should have built with heavy stainless, but we didn’t know that earlier. Bottom line and final problem: Our debt limit.”

When the funds ran out, DeBoer and his brothers took an ethanol bath. “We had no means to pay what we owed. The only solution was closure. If you’re going into a venture and you don’t recognize the numbers, be careful. If you don’t have that number to lose, you better think hard. I didn’t listen, and it all ended on the debt line. A life of debt. That was me.”

“If you don’t have that number to lose, you better think hard,” says DeBoer.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

No blame. No self-pity. Just a fight to keep the wolves away.

On countless late nights in the 1980s, consumed by angst over his wife and daughters and the dismal state of agriculture, DeBoer walked the floor of Kirk’s truck stop outside Lexington, alongside a cohort of other farmers who couldn’t sleep. Their world looked different when the sun came up.

“The average outsider would just tell us to work harder and rent more land,” DeBoer says. “Sure, but when you have outside factors undercutting that, you better react. You better make sure the politicians care about what the country has for dinner.”

Words backed by action. DeBoer ran for governor.

Refusing the Plum
In 1982, with minutes to go before deadline, DeBoer filed paperwork and entered Nebraska’s gubernatorial race. “The guy in office (Charles Thone) had little care for the problems of agriculture, and my objective was to get him out.”

Stan DeBoer at Farm Aid lll at Memorial Stadium, Lincoln, Neb., Sept. 19, 1987.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

At 42, DeBoer was still a physical presence, explains his grandson, Isaac Kuck.

“He’d never lifted weight in his life, unless you count tractor weights,” Kuck says. “At one of the primary debates, the candidates were sitting on stage and the guy beside my pop was leaning back in his chair, when the legs slid off the edge. Pop saw it happening and reached back with a single, giant hand on the back of the guy’s neck to keep him from crashing backwards and getting a serious injury. Incredible strength.”

DeBoer fared well in rural communities—but his campaign lacked the financial legs of other candidates. In 1982, Bob Kerrey was elected as governor of Nebraska. In the aftermath, over dinner, Kerrey offered DeBoer a plum job in his administration.

Stan DeBoer: Keeping the Wolves Away

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

“I suppose a lot of people would have taken the offer,” DeBoer reflects. “No, thanks. I went back to plowing.”

Back to his fields. Back to his Chevy pickup. Back to life as a creature of habit—leaving the rows at midday to answer the dinner bell and drink a glass of tea. Back to Bonnie.

A Farmer at Twilight
In 1981, a year prior to his gubernatorial run, DeBoer was blessed with the first of a “cream of the crop” fleet of 20 grandchildren and 34 great-grandchildren, a figurative beginning for his finest years—all devoted to family and friends.

Stan and Bonnie DeBoer, surrounded by legacy.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

In 2003, he handed the business end of the plow to his younger brother, Byron, and nephew, Jesse, still maintaining a mild hand in the operation. A workaday farm grind changed to mentorship, countless hours coaxing wood into handcrafted masterpieces (still to this day), and attention to a flowerbed and prosperous garden alongside Bonnie.

In July 2023, over 40 years past the peaks and valleys of tractorcades, grain grabs, and ethanol endeavors, Bonnie passed away at 83.

DeBoer pauses, gathers his emotions at her memory, his voice shaking. “Together. Always. Me and her. I’ll tell any man out there: If you are fortunate enough to marry a lady that is of the same mindset, you will be a tough pair to duel with.”

Stan DeBoer, alongside a golden-hearted, steel-backboned, and razor-tongued lady: Bonnie DeBoer.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

Hands-on, or indirectly, DeBoer and Bonnie impacted the lives of thousands of farmers and rural Americans—repeatedly standing in the gap with no gain at hand. See a need, meet a need.

“Theirs is a story where financials are not the determiner of wins and losses,” Kuck says. “My pop was never afraid to dream, and those dreams are what helped make others successful today.”

A man ahead of his time, DeBoer refused the comforts of status quo in favor of risk and rectitude. At every juncture of his farming life, DeBoer had the option to stay within the bounds of his own rows. Each time, he chose otherwise: “I’m a right and wrong fellow. I’d take any of those risks again if I thought it would help us all. Every risk was worth it because I have grandsons and nephews in farming now. I’ll tell them or anyone younger: Protect your ears; be careful with desire; don’t follow the crowd; and never believe anybody has magic.”

The last dance: Stan and Bonnie, forever and a day.

(Photo courtesy Megan Motis)

Full circle, what is the measure of a farmer at twilight? The integrity of Stan DeBoer.

“At the end of life, what does a man want on his tombstone? I hope mine says, ‘Helped the Underdog Farmer, Loved His Family, and Loved the Good Lord.’” DeBoer concludes. “Nothing else ever mattered.”

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:
Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

Renegade Colorado Farmer Pushes Deeper into Unconventional Agriculture

Wed, 26 Mar 2025 12:01:50 GMT

Who plants at least 12 different crops a season, slashes nitrogen applications by over half, aims to seed 3”-row grain in 2025, grows rice in bone-dry conditions, and steadily uncovers unique market demand? Roy the renegade.

Roy Pfaltzgraff’s row crop operation, a hive of unconventional research, is set to push even further to the blade’s edge.

“We’re going to build an online community, Seeding Circles, that teaches farmers where and how to find markets, and brings buyers to growers,” Pfaltzgraff says. “I want to show people a way to recruit food companies and know what’s being asked for.”

Survivability
Outside Haxtun, under the armpit of the Cornhusker line, Pfaltzgraff works 2,000 dryland acres in northeast Colorado. Split between Phillips County’s low hills and flats, his fields (60% sand, 20% clay, and 20% loam) sometimes see below 6” of moisture during the worst growing season, but average 13” of precipitation per year.

Pfaltzgraff operates a farm in flux—steady adaptation. Whether double-cropping, applying table sugar in-furrow, drastically reducing herbicide applications, or trialing crops when the nearest likeminded producer is 1,000 miles distant, Pfaltzgraff is the epitome of outside-the-box.

In the rows, during field days, at speaking events, or by email—Pfaltzgraff gets the same question from farmers: How do you find markets?

(Photo by Haxtun Heritage Mills)

Walk his rows and expect to see black beans, buckwheat, black-eyed peas, clover, camelina, non-GMO corn, open pollination corn, chickpeas, flax, milo (both red and food grade white), oats, pinto beans, and sunflowers. (Sesame is on the crop roster for the first time in 2025, and Pfaltzgraff intends to grow mushrooms in containers.)

“Every farmer I interact with is concerned about survivability. That means having something to pass to the next generation,” he says. “That can only happen if there’s genuine profitability, soil health, and market opportunities. Our on-farm research is geared toward those needs.”

In the Crosshairs
In 2025, Pfaltzgraff intends to begin installation of a full-time, on-farm education center. Annually, he has six to eight research projects across his operation.

· Rebuilding an air seeder to test 3” row spacing in cereal grains and edible beans—super-narrow to conserve moisture and suppress weeds. (Drilling corn, grain sorghum, and sunflowers on 12” centers has been standard for Pfaltzgraff for several years.)

“We’re going to build an online community, Seeding Circles, that teaches farmers where and how to find markets, and brings buyers to growers,” Pfaltzgraff says.

(Photo by Emily Kamala)

· Colorado rice—unheard of in the region—is under trial. In 2024, Pfaltzgraff’s rice cultivation ended with freezing damage in the boot stage. “This year we’ll get it in the ground earlier, somewhere in early to mid-April. We’ve tracked down a landrace variety that may work very well out here, and that comes from research by USA Rice Federation.”

· Pfaltzgraff has transformed his headlands—areas of persistent weed and compaction issues—into 158 acres of pollinator strips. Essentially, the first 90’ of headlands in each field are a pollinator haven. “There were bad grasshopper issues around this year, but not in our fields. The grasshoppers stayed in the strips, and that triggered praying mantis to come in and eat. Control by nature. It made my dad ask, ‘What else have we screwed up with old farming methods?”

· An agrivoltaic system, providing a shelter belt and solar power, is gathering data. The buffer has reduced moisture consumption by significant levels: 30% roughly 120’ downwind, and 50% closer to the main body. “It’s really interesting research,” Pfaltzgraff notes. “We’re looking for a computer processing company to come in and build an off-grid server farm run by solar on our farm.”

· Two flux towers in separate fields monitor soil respiration every 15 minutes, measuring gas exchange between soil/vegetation and the atmosphere. “It provides carbon data for different crops and that’s run by retired USDA researcher Jerry Hatfield,” Pfaltzgraff says.

· Pfaltzgraff has applied for a grant to fund research on glyphosate remediation. “Our grain picks it up at 42 parts per billion, but glyphosate isn’t applied to the crop. We’ve all seen the stories about glyphosate found in rainwater, but in parts per trillion. Therefore, it’s gotta be residual in our soils. When we test it, the soil has 47 parts per billion as residue. I’m pissed as a famer because I’m told that doesn’t happen; I’m told glyphosate goes away.Now people are blaming the rain? No, I believe it must be remediated and that is through improved soil health.”

“Those who support glyphosate don’t want to talk about this, and those who oppose glyphosate don’t want to know about remediation because they don’t want it used ever again,” he adds. “I want to do the research and let everyone take their shots. I know it might put a target on my back, but we have to do what’s right for the soil.”

Seeding Circles
In the rows, during field days, at speaking events, or by email—Pfaltzgraff gets the same question from farmers: How do you find markets?

The answer is part of Pfaltzgraff’s effort, alongside his fiancée, Emily Kamala, to create Seeding Circles . “We’re creating a national resource with farmers across the country to bring in outside experts and to recruit food companies to come and tell farmers specifically what they’re looking for,” Kamala says. “Seeding Circles is a hub of support, pricing, profit, marketing, and agronomics. It’s a place to learn about new markets and diversification. We need a community to show people where and how to find markets, and to provide a base of farmers available to buyers.”

Annually, Pfaltzgraff has six to eight research projects across his operation, including an agrivoltaic system.

(Photo by Emily Kamala)

“We want to create pockets of local food,” Pfaltzgraff adds. “Local food nationwide is how to counter the industrial scale food industry. All the time, I hear farmers say, ‘I have no local market.’ My response? ‘Your community doesn’t eat?’ If you are farming, then you are raising food—either for humans or animals. Disease and health issues are getting more important to the public by the day, and the problems can be fixed by relying on farmers. I believe we feed a nation by feeding our community.”

On the back of every bag of grain sold by Pfaltzgraff’s Haxtun Heritage Mills , a QR code tells consumers where the product was grown by field, and when it was seeded, harvested, and cleaned—to the day it went into the bag.

“Farmers have been marginalized by the big food companies who say real traceability is impossible. That’s not true. It’s absolutely possible if big food buys direct from farmers and gets past only buying from grain brokers. I’m saying this can be done, but we have to make sure the farmer is part of the story. Those are all pieces of a puzzle coming together in Seeding Circles.”

Roy Pfaltzgraff, left, works 2,000 dryland acres in northeast Colorado, outside Haxtun.

(Photo by Emily Kamala)

Riding shotgun with Pfaltzgraff’s concern over food sourcing is his alarm over rural decline. “Right now, and we all know it, the biggest export of rural communities is our children. I want to help reverse that trend. Maybe you know your kids are not interested in farming—but they may be interested in running a milling company or being in an ag-related enterprise. It’s a shame not to create opportunity and give them the option. That’s ties in directly to Seeding Circles.”

“If you sell strictly to the commodity market, then you can’t tell the history of your family and it gets lost. But if you bring in local food as part of the picture, including direct markets and extra markets, you bring that back. Pride of product.”

Risk and Reward
Pfaltzgraff doesn’t sugarcoat. Extreme crop diversity comes at a high cost.

In 2022, his crops drank a mere 6” of precipitation for the entire growing season. In 2023 and 2024, his rows were pounded with significant hail damage. With so many different crops in his fields, he can only get insurance on roughly half of what he grows.

“In 2022, it was so dry that we only harvested half of our crops, and our neighbors harvested none. However, they were better off because they had crop insurance on everything. Advancement comes at a cost.”

Roy Pfaltzgraff’s operation in Colorado: “Every farmer I interact with is concerned about survivability … That can only happen if there’s genuine profitability, soil health, and market opportunities.”

(Photo by Haxtun Heritage Mills)

After six years of growing black-eyed peas, Pfaltzgraff got RMA to sign off on the legume. However, he’s been waiting on insurance for seven other crops. “It’s a sticky spot. We’re told these crops won’t grow in Colorado, but we have the proof over and over in our field. If we want them insured, we have to get experts to write letters assuring the crops will grow, but RMA still maintains the right to refuse the letter.”

Pfaltzgraff does not fit in the standard farming model sought by insurers and bankers.

“Our situation is tough. We provided yield data that averaged 1,000 lb. per acre on a crop, and they said we had no market. We then provided financial data that shows we make $400 per acre net on dryland. That’s a ridiculous amount of money for this part of world. It’s great in the years you get some rain and little hail, but if either of those changes the insurance world rewards the old practices and the lender starts breathing down your neck. That’s got to change if we want healthy soils for the future.”

As always, Pfaltzgraff adjusts on the fly. “I don’t fit into their tables of risk so I’m being asked to innovate. You sure about that?”

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

Missouri Farmer Calls for Audit of Big Business and Bureaucracy After Crop, Soil Losses

Tue, 25 Mar 2025 11:30:20 GMT

Missouri farmer Gary Kempker contends his farmland helps generate billions of dollars for big business, conservation, and bureaucracy, all while he has endured almost $300,000 in crop losses since 2013.

Kempker cannot consistently access his rows due to the high flow of the Osage River related to hydroelectric demand around the Lake of the Ozarks region. Additionally, the increased volume of water has eroded his bankside acreage for a mile and a half, eating approximately 75’ along the entire stretch.

Blame, he insists, falls on electric powerhouse Ameren Corporation, Missouri Department of Conservation (MDC), Missouri Department of Natural Resources (MDNR), U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (FWS), and Federal Energy Regulatory Commission (FERC).

“I’m fighting for access to my own ground against organizations backed by billions in taxpayer dollars and layers of bureaucracy,” Kempker says. “I want straight answers. Who’s taking responsibility for my farmland losses?”

“They’ve taken our money and about 75’ of our riverbank, and now they want 50’ more of our riverbank for one of their projects. It’s a crime in broad daylight, but no government agency or politician dares to say anything because of the might of big business.”

“They all take federal tax dollars so I’d like to see them all audited and how they’re connected,” he adds. “Let the chips fall where they fall.”

“It’s All Undeniable”
In central Missouri’s Miller County, alongside the Osage River, Kempker is patriarch of a 600-acre row crop (corn, soybeans, and wheat) and cattle operation helmed by his son, Joe. The outfit includes two Century Farms, testament to an agricultural heritage dating to the early 1900s.

“From every state agency to Ameren to FERC to my own politicians at the federal level … No one will address the facts,” says Kempker.

(Kempker Farms)

Kempker’s acreage includes two “islands” (16 acres and 52.5 acres) within the river. His property line begins at the low-water mark. For the duration of ownership, Kempker and his forefathers have farmed the islands and driven machinery onto the ground via gravel bars and roads—all owned by the family. The island soils are rich, yielding dryland soybeans at a low of 50 bushels per acre, with select spots cracking 100 bushels per acre.

Crop success is contingent on timing, whether planting, managing, or harvesting. However, Kempker’s access to his island soybeans is often blocked by the Osage’s high level. The river’s flow, up and down, is owned and controlled by Ameren at Bagnell Dam, located approximately 30 miles upriver from Kempker. The dam is the plug for Lake of the Ozarks.

Ameren operates the dam on a federal FERC license (Ameren, FWS, MDC, and MDNR are all licensees). According to the license, (article 3.3.6), Ameren is supposed to lower the river level for growers during “ground preparation, planting, cultivation, spraying, and harvesting crops.” However, the license carries an agronomically impossible demand, requiring farmers to “coordinate together and provide specific times for needed access.” Additionally, the license states that lowering the river flow can only be done with agreement from MDNR, MDC, FWS.

Kempker’s island road covered by rising water.

(Kempker Farms)

The license is fantasy, Kempker insists. “We’re talking farmers stretched over three counties and 21 islands,” he says. “To consistently ‘coordinate’ every time you need to work a piece of ground, and then get unanimous approval from three separate agencies, in addition to Ameren and the Federal Energy Regulatory Commission, is beyond impossible. No one except a bureaucrat can look at the wording of the license and not recognize the fix is in.”

The result? Kempker cannot work all his acres. “In summer 2024, just for example, when it was time to apply fungicide to our soybeans—a critical step—Ameren ran water high enough that we couldn’t get on the islands. We took the chemicals back to the dealer and dealt with yield loss as the result. That’s been going on for years, and we are forced to operate in realization that whenever Ameren needs current, the water stays up and we lose.”

Compensation is due, he continues. “Some years we lose thousands of dollars to Ameren. On top of that, we’ve lost roughly 75’ of bank—so far. Ameren sends more water down the river than ever before and makes more money than ever before, and meanwhile, politicians, conservation officials, and federal representatives all pretend this isn’t happening. And FWS, MDC, and MDNR are on the license. They are all responsible.”

“Look at the law and license. Look at my crop losses. Look at my soil washing down the river. Look at the fouled state of the river. And look at environmental conditions at Lake of the Ozarks. It’s all undeniable.”

Untouchable
In summer 2024, Kempker attended a public meeting held by FWS and the Corp of Engineers regarding erosion along the Osage River. Bottom line, he says, the agencies want 50’ inland to create a riparian buffer, along his entire mile-and-half of riverbank property. “I can’t count the amount of environmental, multi-million dollar studies they’ve done. I can’t even count the number of meetings and maybe 30-plus phone calls I’ve had with them. Now they say they want to put in a buffer to prevent more catastrophic erosion. They’ve taken 75’, and they want 50’ more, all at no charge.”

Kempker’s riverbank damage: “…They want to put in a buffer to prevent more catastrophic erosion. They’ve taken 75’, and they want 50’ more, all at no charge,” he says.

(Kempker Farms)

“People who live here know the terrible state of the river and know it needs to be dredged,” Kempker adds. “Instead, conservation officials want to widen the river. I asked them, ‘Will you compensate landowners?’ Their answer, ‘No. We don’t have that kind of money.’”

“We live here; we farm here. We see the damage to this river across our lifetimes. Look at the fish and the shells—they’re not here in the number of the recent past. Smell the water—there’s years now when it literally stinks. Why? Foul water comes from above at Lake of the Ozarks, but that place is politically untouchable.”

Billions in Profit
Economic boom, population increase, real estate jump, tourism boost, i.e., Lake of the Ozarks is a happening place with hype from casinos, amusement parks, and resorts. And even more business investment is funneling into the region.

Thirty miles upriver from Kempker—Bagnell Dam.

(Wikimedia Commons)

“Is anyone surprised there was an E. coli outbreak at the lake this summer and the beach shut down? Everyone knows, including MDNR, that sewer systems around Lake of the Ozarks are not adequate for the people pouring in,” Kempker says. “That foul water is flushed right outta Bagnell Dam and into the Osage River.”

“The pollution in the lake and the erosion on the river is going to continue to get worse because Lake of the Ozarks is a fishbowl connected to sewer lines,” Kempker says. “That’s my opinion. But nobody will disturb Lake of the Ozarks and its billions in profit.”

How Much Money?
Kempker believes the Takings Clause, contained in the Bill of Rights, is directly applicable to the inaccessibility of his farmland due to high water from Bagnell Dam. The Takings Clause (within the Fifth Amendment) states: …nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.

Gary and Elaine Kempker, pictured where they’d normally have road access to an island farm.

(Photo by Kempker Farms)

In 2022, the U.S. Supreme Court handed down a significant river/dam ruling in Arkansas Game & Fish Commission v. United States, noting that “recurrent floodings, even if of finite duration, are not categorically exempt from Takings Clause liability.”

Kempker cites the 2022 ruling as precedent to his stance. Yet, after scores of meetings and phone calls across a decade-plus with officials from Ameren, MDNR, DNR, FWS, and FERC, Kempker claims he has never been given answers to his questions regarding culpability for his losses.

“All I’ve ever asked was for all of them to uphold the terms of their license, just like the text in the agreement says.”

Specifically, Kempker refers to Section 10-C of the Federal Power Act : Each licensee hereunder shall be liable for all damages occasioned to the property of others by the construction, maintenance, or operation of the project works or of the works appurtenant or accessory thereto, constructed under the license, and in no event shall the United States be liable therefor.

“All I’ve ever asked was for all of them to uphold the terms of their license, just like the text in the agreement says,” says Kempker.

(By bwmdJeff Wikimedia)

“That license is signed by Ameren and all the agencies—and issued by FERC. The government is benefitting from taking my ground. That is a taking; that calls for compensation.”

“Ameren has never once tried to purchase an easement from me and has never offered a penny in compensation. Ask yourself a question: While they deny me the ability to work my ground, how much money does Ameren make every year? The answer blows people away.”

Ameren ranks 494 on the Fortune 500 list. Ameren hauled in $7-plus billion in revenue in 2024; netting well over $1 billion.

Straight Answers?
Standing on his farm, looking downriver, Kempker points to a bridge spanning the Osage. The bridge is slated for refurbishment as part of the Rock Island Trail, a rails-to-trails project managed my MDNR.

“By the time that entire project is completed, I’d expect they’ll spend at least $100 million,” Kempker says. “There seems to be money for every project imaginable, while our riverbank continues to wash away and we can’t work all our land.”

“Look at the law and license. Look at my crop losses. Look at my soil washing down the river. Look at the fouled state of the river … It’s all undeniable,” says Kempker.

(Photo by Kempker Farms)

“From every state agency to Ameren to FERC to my own politicians at the federal level, including Senator Josh Hawley’s office, I can’t get a straight answer on any of this. No one will address the facts.”

(Sen. Hawley’s office did not respond to Farm Journal interview requests regarding Gary Kempker’s contentions related to crop loss/erosion/Ameren/Bagnell Dam.)

“Let everyone be audited,” Kempker concludes. “At some level, they all get federal tax dollars. The projects, the studies, the bureaucracy, and all the business relations. I don’t think the public will like what’s revealed.”

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

Diesel and Dust: Texas Farmer Eyeballs Income Beyond the Rows

Tue, 18 Feb 2025 13:22:46 GMT

“Even in the worst of times, there’s money beyond the rows.”

Texas farmer and Marine veteran Orin Romine backs his words with diesel work, wild pig hunts, milo by the basket, and digital tech.

For pennies or dollars, Romine’s side-stream income is centered on a survivor’s straight-shooting perspective: “Find the area where your farm spends the most money and learn to do it yourself. It’s crucial in the early years of a career and always crucial in any years that are tough.”

Tough Numbers
In the parched bleed of soil types between High Plains’ sand, Concho Valley black dirt, and Rolling Plains red dirt, Romine grows hay, grain sorghum, cotton, and wheat on 14,000 rain-fed acres, alongside his father and brother-in-law, in Big Spring, roughly 40 miles east of Midland and 100 miles south of Lubbock.

As the adage rolls, there’s no one more hopeful than a West Texas farmer. “Gotta be,” says 41-year-old Romine, a fourth-generation producer, “when you’re only getting 16-18” of moisture per year.”

Romine’s cotton yields range from 400 lb. to 2 bale per acre, but on most of his ground he shoots for 1 bale per acre. “As things are, if we make the bale, our inputs are above what that bale is valued at. Those are the tough numbers and we have to deal with them.”

Whether in Texas, Illinois, Nebraska, or Mississippi, Romine emphasizes situationally-dependent opportunity. “No matter what state you’re in, the big commonality of farmers is access to some amount of land. There’s a way, regardless of where you’re at, to supplement the grocery bill or reduce pressure in the worst years.”

Eyes Wide Open
In 2001, Romine graduated from high school, entered trade school at Texas State Technical College in Sweetwater, and obtained an associate degree in diesel technology in a year-and-a-half program.

“I already had diesel know-how from being around my grandfather, but I acquired even more learning and added something of value to the family operation by making sure I knew how to keep us from having to take things to the equipment dealer. The extra learning provided me with real skills to bring to the table so my father could justify me as an employee and allow me to start working to someday having my own operation.”

“Doesn’t matter where you farm, the one thing you’ve got for sure is the ability to use land to generate extra income,” Romine says.

(Photo by Romine Farms)

Not so fast, young man, insisted Romine’s father and grandfather: Work, live, and learn off the farm.

“Our family has never, never handed over a legacy,” Romine explains. “Right or wrong, we strongly believe that you go earn a living to understand the world. My dad never wanted me to look over my shoulder at what might have been. When you come back to the farm with eyes wide open, it helps make that commitment certain.”

In 2003, as the Afghan War churned, Romine joined the Marines and was deployed to Afghanistan in 1st Tank Battalion, Company A, as a M1 Abrams tank mechanic—an extreme exercise in discipline that paid off on the farm.

“In the military, we had to do our best with what we had. In a deployment, resources are finite and you can’t get parts. You’re forced to adapt on the go; fix on the go. If you wanted something in the moment, you were responsible to make it right then. Those lessons translated directly back to the farm.”

Diesel and Dust
Stateside, back on Texas dirt, Romine wielded mechanic skills for his father during the day and freelanced at night to earn extra dollars. “That was money freed up from the expense line and allowed margin for me. It’s different on every farm, but find a big hole where your family is dropping money and fill that hole.”

Almost 20 years later, how much money has he kept in-house via diesel know-how? The number may be inestimable, Romine explains. “Just the labor savings alone have to be crazy.

We live in a throw-away culture, but in farming, that attitude wipes you out. If it breaks or wears down, I can fix it and that results in tremendous savings.”

Farmers are among the best on the planet at keeping a machine running and rolling—but there’s always another lesson to grasp, Romine contends. “By nature, farmers fix stuff to stay in business. That is a given on any operation. However, when it comes to diesel or other mechanical areas, my advice is not just to rely on what you know. Take your skills to another level, and that sometimes means going and getting trained—specifically for the purpose of eliminating expense or creating opportunity around your farm.”

Welding is another skill ripe for farmer improvement, Romine suggests. “We all know the saying, ‘What’s the difference between farmers and welders? Not all welders think they can farm.’ Truth is, there’s incredible financial benefit to your operation if you or someone in your outfit polishes your welding skills at specialty training at a local community college or trade school. Gain ability above your farm experience. It translates to real savings later.”

Romine purchased a low-end mill and lathe in his shop—about $5,000 in total cost. He soaks up YouTube lessons to gain an edge. “I’m always seeking people out to sharpen my skills so I can make things right here on the farm and save money. Every lesson means less waiting for parts to ship from the other side of the country. I make it myself.”

Whether diesel, welding, or crafting parts, Romine emphasizes the vertical fit of each acquisition. “Take any one area and it may not save much money, but when you integrate all of those over the long run, and you’re also steadily increasing your knowledge, the value gets incredibly high—especially during planting and harvest. Every little bit you do to increase self-reliance means a huge advantage.”

In 2020, Romine turned from steel to flesh. Time to take on a wild pig plague.

Knock’em Back
Texas is home to 2-plus million wild pigs—and Romine feels the pain. Even in extended late December-January grain sorghum harvest, it’s not unusual for Romine to kill 10-12 wild pigs shooting from the combine platform. In some years, pig depredation prevents planting in susceptible fields. He once maintained a steady regimen of trapping and thermal-vision night shoots, but the control efforts barely made a dent.

“We live in a throw-away culture, but in farming, that attitude wipes you out,” Romine says.

(Photo by Romine Farms)

Four years back, Romine turned pig presence into a revenue stream by joining with a professional outfitter on a 25-75 split. After a minor investment slapping together a few blinds and refurbishing a section of employee housing, the stage was set. “We got attorneys and drew it all up so that ourselves and our landlords were all protected. Then we gave the outfitter rope to hunt dove and deer, but especially feral hogs.”

The result in year one? A $40,000 return. Knock’em back and put some cash in the box.

“We’re talking about people coming from the East Coast or Idaho or even locals, and sometimes three to four nights per week. We got paid a royalty for people to chase and kill hogs in the open country of West Texas.”

And after four years, the outfitter split has made a significant impact on Romine’s wild pig numbers—and his bottom line. He’s now able to grow grain sorghum in fields previously off-limits due to depredation.

“Doesn’t matter where you farm, the one thing you’ve got for sure is the ability to use land to generate extra income,” Romine says. “Different circumstances and different environment, but I see farmers all around trying new things.”

Pennies to Grow
Farm fresh. Romine cites demand for locally-grown food. “I’ve got livestock friends raising and butchering in their own town. I’ve got friends growing sweet corn and selling local. I’ve got friends growing pick-your-own produce. I’ve sold milo heads in the fall for parties and wedding decorations at $100 a basket and it cost me pennies to grow.”

“There’s not a single person in agriculture that I’m aware of that doesn’t have the ability to grow or raise something that can be sold directly as food. It may require you to work like crazy to get your customer base up, and sometimes build your own market. But the opportunity is everywhere right now.”

And in the future? Romine dives digital.

Pro v Con
Having worked as a beta-tester with Blue River’s autonomous tractor tech, Romine encourages his 14-year-old son, blessed with an affinity for electronics, to learn all things related to programming.

As a member of a regional USDA-ARS oversight committee, Romine has steered his son to participate in a digital research project for yield estimates. “He’s helping with the algorithms in their AI program that detect a head of grain in a milo field with satellite imagery. Digital tech will become useful on the farm in ways we haven’t seen yet, and I want to prepare my son to be able to make or repair as needed. That’s another area where income opportunity will be.”

Romine praises the extreme resiliency of U.S. producers and their ability to adapt in real-time. Speaking bluntly, he also believes the biggest positive of American farmers can be a hindrance: “The biggest pro is self-sufficiency and a humble nature. Guys keep their heads down and work their land. Why can that be a negative? Because sometimes that means a hesitancy to speak up or put yourself out there, and that’s when a farmer misses a chance. You miss seeing revenue opportunity beyond your own rows.”

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see:

Corn and Cocaine: Roger Reaves and the Most Incredible Farm Story Never Told

Cottonmouth Farmer: The Insane Tale of a Buck-Wild Scheme to Corner the Snake Venom Market

Priceless Pistol Found After Decades Lost in Farmhouse Attic

Understand How EPA's New Herbicide Strategy Will Impact Your Farm

Tue, 04 Feb 2025 19:42:32 GMT

As farmers gear up for the 2025 production season, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency (EPA) continues to refine its rules for herbicide use with regard to the Endangered Species Act (ESA).

“Farmers have already seen some examples of changes to the labels around Endangered Species Act obligations, and it’s going to change how they farm,” predicts Corey Lacey, environmental policy manager for the Illinois Soybean Association.

While herbicides are currently being evaluated – via EPA’s “Herbicide Strategy,” – a similar application framework for fungicides, insecticides and rodenticides won’t be far behind, Lacey noted earlier this week, during a discussion on AgricultureReporting.com on what farmers need to know in 2025 about herbicides and endangered species .

What Is A Herbicide Strategy?
The herbicide strategy is part of the EPA’s workplan to protect endangered species. It was created in response to multiple lawsuits filed against the EPA for the agency’s failure to comply with the ESA by not conducting mandatory consultations under the Federal Insecticide, Fungicide and Rodenticide Act (FIFRA).

The EPA will use a three-step decision framework to implement the strategy. Part of the process will involve determining a herbicide’s potential to have population-level impacts on endangered species as either not likely, low, medium or high.

The agency will also determine the level of mitigation needed to sufficiently reduce spray drift, runoff and erosion exposure to listed endangered species in an area.

Lacey says while he and his team conducted a series of five meetings with Illinois farmers on the herbicide strategy topic in late January, he is concerned the majority of farmers are not fully up-to-speed on the impact it will have on their respective operations.

Mitigation Points Will Be Used
As it implements the herbicide strategy, EPA will assign each herbicide a mitigation point requirement, a number between zero to nine.

“The idea is…on every field that you operate on, you’re going to have to look at that field and then decide, ‘How do I get to these points?’” Lacey says. “We’re expecting most herbicide products to require six points (for Illinois, specifically). Nine is the most mitigation points that you would need (for use of a specific herbicide), and that would be for a product especially concerning to the EPA,” Lacey said.

The EPA outlines a six-step process to determine which runoff and erosion mitigation measures to consider and implement before utilizing a pesticide product each year. These steps can be found on the Mitigation Menu .

The number of points assigned to products will depend on factors such as the crop, application parameters, and site-specific geographic conditions, according to Aaron Hager,
University of Illinois Extension weed scientist.

Hager has written an extensive article EPA’s Final Herbicide Strategy for ESA: What Could Change , offering farmers and applicators more details on EPA’s herbicide strategy, including the mitigation points.

New and updated herbicide labels and/or bulletins will also direct applicators to EPA’s Bulletins Live! Two website . This website will detail more restrictive mitigation requirements for specific geographic areas known to contain critical habitat, called Pesticide Use Limitation Areas (PULAs).

In addition, there are considerations for spray drift, and as such EPA requires a buffer distance based on application method (for example, aerial, ground, etc.).

First Product With A Herbicide Strategy
Lacey says Liberty Ultra is the first product to have a herbicide strategy component to its label.

The herbicide contains the active ingredient glufosinate-P and is available for use this season on glufosinate-enabled soybean, cotton, corn and canola acres.

Liberty Ultra isn’t a completely new herbicide, but rather a new iteration of Liberty herbicide developed by BASF Agricultural Solutions, explains Jordan Kampa, University of Wisconsin nutrient and pest management outreach specialist.

Because glufosinate-P is considered a new active ingredient, Liberty Ultra had to undergo the EPA registration process under the new ESA framework, which includes language to comply with the herbicide strategy, Kampa writes in his article, EPA Herbicide Strategy Implementation on Crops and Soils

“Please note,” Kampa adds, “Liberty Ultra is not the cause for the recent EPA changes, it’s the first product approved under the new ESA framework. While the language on the label will vary among products, the updated language on the Liberty Ultra herbicide label provides a sample of what should be expected on all labels moving forward.”

2,4-D, Glyphosate And Dicamba Are On The List
Indeed, Lacey says other herbicide active ingredients are not far behind on EPA’s list to address with its herbicide strategy.

“EPA has indicated that as part of their court settlement, they’re going to push things through rapidly,” Lacey says. “I know 2,4-D is on the list, as is glyphosate and dicamba. All these things we use on a regular basis in Illinois (and other states) are eventually going to come under the herbicide strategy label.”

With FIFRA re-registration timeframes, all active ingredients will go through the ESA assessment process in the next 15 years.

What to Expect This Year and In the Future
One positive is that the herbicide strategy will be implemented over time, instead of on a specific date.

“It’s not coming at (farmers) all at once, so as long as they’re learning about it now and starting to think about how to prepare themselves, there’s still plenty of time to get ready,” Lacey says

Lacey encourages farmers to not panic about the new herbicide strategy. He’s confident growers will be able to comply with EPA’s requirements.

“We can do this,” he says. “I want farmers to start looking at their fields now and be thinking about how (to get the mitigation points needed) and make a plan. We can find ways to comply but we have to plan for it.

“You need to find any problem fields now, so you can put things in place ahead of time,” Lacey adds. “You know, 2025 is probably not going to be a big issue for a lot of guys. But in 2026, 27, we’re going to see this become more complicated, so why not get started now.”

Your next read: 7 Key Details To Know: New Endangered Species Act Herbicide Standards

Tractor Terrorist: When a Farmer Attacked Washington with Fertilizer Bombs

Tue, 04 Feb 2025 13:24:18 GMT

On March 17, 2003, an American farmer threatened to blow up Washington, D.C. with fertilizer bombs. Just past noon, he entered the National Mall on a John Deere tractor, drove into the Constitution Gardens Pond, turned several doughnuts, and set the fuse on the wildest public spectacle in U.S. agriculture history.

As ATF, FBI, and park police forces surrounded the water, the nation’s capital shut down during a 47-hour standoff stretched over three days. Donning a U.S. Army medic helmet and hunkering in his cab for the duration, Dwight Ware Watson, 51, bull-horned a message of government corruption, pesticide coverups, and the end of agriculture.

National media dubbed Watson as Tractor Man, described him as a deranged madman and terrorist, and mocked his contentions as a judge handed down a six-year prison sentence and designated Watson a “one-man weapon of mass destruction.”

Yet, Watson’s purported organophosphate bombs proved to be household cans of Raid. His claims of explosives hidden across D.C. were a ruse. His weaponry amounted to a single fake grenade. His regrets are legion: “I truly wish I could wind the clock back and make different choices,” Watson says, “but I wasn’t crazy and I wasn’t a killer and I wasn’t a terrorist.”

“Maybe I’m not much different than any other farmer or patriot, but I got desperate and did really wrong. One thing I did right: I told the truth about agriculture, the tobacco industry, and our government.”

Almost forgotten by time, over two decades beyond his siege of Washington, Tractor Man tells his story.

No Way Out
Blessing or burden, legacies cling to farm families across generations. In 1946, roughly 80 miles east of Durham’s tobacco mecca, George Benedict Watson (1920-1993) established Watson Seed Farms in Nash County, North Carolina.

Dwight Watson in 1982: “When the government threatens a man’s family heritage, history, honor, money, land, and health, he gets lost in a dark place and it’s hard to find a way out.”

(Photo by Chris Bickers)

George steered the business—split between seed and commercial production—from strength to strength, expanding into barley, fescue, hybrid corn, oats, soybeans, and wheat, and promoting a steady business mantra: “Those who demand the best plant Watson seed.”

In 1953, George’s fourth and youngest child—Dwight Ware Watson—was born during the family’s ascent to the heights of North Carolina agriculture. George gained the ear of senators and governors and rubbed elbows with the shakers and movers of agribusiness, earning his stripes as a heavyweight in the agriculture industry, and cofounding the Tobacco Growers Association of North Carolina. In short time, his children joined the operation, with Dwight Ware Watson at the helm of the farming company.

Immersed in the nuances of the tobacco trade since childhood, Watson completed high school at Oak Ridge Military Academy (Greensboro, N.C.) and joined the military as a member of the 82nd Airborne, serving as a military policeman until honorable discharge in the mid-1970s.

As a sixth-generation farmer, Watson followed in his father’s footsteps, gaining position and credibility among the dignitaries of Carolina politics and agriculture, recognized as Farmer of the Year at the Southern Flue-Cured Tobacco Festival in 1982.

Photo courtesy of Braswell Memorial Library

(Photo courtesy of Braswell Memorial Library)

“Just like my daddy, I feared no man,” Watson says, every syllable heavily coated in a Carolina drawl. “My daddy would take on anybody, including Farm Bureau or any mainstream agriculture power. That’s why Senator Jesse Helms came after us.”

In the mid-1980s, Helms sought prosecution of the Watson family for selling seed to foreign buyers in violation of tobacco laws. “Canadian farmers would go down I-95 to Florida for vacation, and on the drive back, they’d stop by and buy seed from us,” Watson says.

As Helms pulled the strings, Watson insists, federal marshals arrived at Watson Seed Farms. “The government told my brother he was going to prison for 40 years for selling seed to a Canadian farmer. I can’t describe the turmoil my family went through. Jesse Helms refused to see us or our attorneys, but his daughter, Margaret, loved us and she begged her daddy to stop. We ended up with a $10,000 fine and the knowledge that the government can wreck your operation anytime it wants.”

Down the Rabbit Hole
The next decade sounded the death knell for Watson’s deep-rooted farming operation. The storybook was finished. The patriarch, George (decd. 1993), was gone. Tobacco’s glory days, stunted by historic settlements in the 1990s, were over. Watson’s 1,500-acre farm was reduced to a sliver of its former size. His brothers walked away from agriculture—he farmed on.

Dwight Watson was heralded as Farmer of the Year in 1982. From left, NC Gov. Jim Hunt, Watson, and Carlton Black at the NC Executive Mansion.

(Photo courtesy of Braswell Memorial Library)

“There’s nothing in this world so desperate as a farmer at the edge of losing it all,” Watson says. “When the government threatens a man’s family heritage, history, honor, money, land, and health, he gets lost in a dark place and it’s hard to find a way out.”

“I was a tobacco farmer that didn’t even want people to smoke because I knew the truth,” Watson continues. “I’ve always believed that pesticide residue and growth retardants—and not nicotine—are what cause cancer. I pushed to give farmers more financial resources so that we could reduce pesticide use and pick worms by hand. I grew up knowing the tobacco industry was the single biggest corrupt part of U.S. agriculture back then and I know it still is today.”

Watson visited USDA offices, wrote congressmen, and sent scientific studies to the FDA, advocating for “transparency and truth.” The headline tobacco litigation and settlements of the 1990s, according to Watson, were a political sham. “Does anyone really believe that tobacco is the most heavily related industry in the country, outside the medical field, because of health reasons? The big winner of all the tobacco settlements was the U.S. government. Why? The settlements made sure the politicians, cigarette companies, and attorneys kept their hand in the honeypot. The settlements were about money, not chemicals.”

In 1995, compounding Watson’s pesticide concerns, he picked up the November issue of Life magazine and devoured every word of the lead article, “The Tiny Victims of Desert Storm,” a feature detailing birth defects in the children of many Gulf War (1991-1992) veterans.

“Chemicals, biological agents, Sarin gas, and more: That’s what our soldiers were exposed to, and the government was deny, deny, deny. It was heartbreaking stuff and as a soldier, I wasn’t about to sit back and shut up. I sent reports to the government, spoke up at farmer meetings, attended congressional hearings and spoke out, but nobody listened.”

In 1999, echoing the Tractorcade protests of 1969 and 1979, Watson drove a tractor to Washington, D.C. to gain political and press attention. He gained minimal notice: “I had actually driven to D.C. several times to raise awareness, but it just seemed like the country didn’t care, but I wasn’t giving up.”

Watson ramped up advocacy efforts, but he couldn’t halt inevitable creep toward financial ruin on his Nash County farm. His tobacco quota had dwindled from 250,000 lb. to 80,000 lb., and Watson was drowning. Pressure. Inner demons. Weight. Expectations. Splintering legacy. Crippling debt.

The Watson operation in 1952.

(Photo courtesy of Braswell Memorial Library)

And at the height of Watson’s misfortune, almost on cue, the Iraq War loomed in 2003, with the U.S. government claiming Saddam Hussein possessed stockpiles of WMDs. Watson snapped. “The government lied about chemical use in the Gulf War. They lied about chemical use in tobacco. Now they were about to send our soldiers back for another dose and another war? For what?”

“My whole farm life was falling in around me, but I couldn’t stay silent,” Watson explains. “I saw a chance to get attention for my fellow farmers and military personnel. ‘Assist. Protect. Defend,’ is the military police motto and in my heart I believed my fellow soldiers needed help.”

According to the media narrative, the farmer was about to become a terrorist.

Caravan Departs
Watson’s race was on: Get to Washington, D.C. before the aerial bombardment of Iraq began.
First, Watson obtained a permit for static display of his tractor at the Washington Monument, i.e., he obtained a green light to pass out literature beside his tractor.

Dwight Watson from above: “There’s nothing in this world so desperate as a farmer at the edge of losing it all.”

(Photo public domain)

Next, he mailed out 50-plus UPS packages destined for every state attorney general (and several politicians) in the U.S. Each package contained an ounce of tobacco and a copy of tobacco seed laws.

Watson then readied a caravan, including a bucket-equipped John Deere 4WD 7810 wearing a patchwork of patriotic decals and stickers, with bold lettering on the panels—God Bless The Troops; 82nd Airborne; Salute To Veterans.

Behind the tractor, Watson hauled an M151A2 orange jeep decked in military police signage, along with a trailer carrying a yellow utility box as caboose. On Sunday, March 16, in blue jeans, black shirt, and helmet, Watson eased off Watson Seed Farms Road and onto Route 301 outside Whitakers, North Carolina—heading for the nation’s capital.

Roughly 24 hours later, Watson made history.

Day One: A Night in the Tractor Box
At 12:34 p.m., March 17, 2013, the U.S. Park Police (USPP) received a call from a civilian bystander: A subject was “doing doughnuts” in the Constitution Gardens Pond on the National Mall.

Despite threatening to level D.C., Watson’s headlines were swallowed by the Iraq War’s kickoff.

(Photo by Kevin Lamarque, Reuters)

“I drove all three vehicles into the pond and unhooked later,” Watson says.

Arriving on scene, police and detectives found Watson in the middle of the pond manning a bullhorn, wearing an Army helmet highlighted by a medic’s cross, and flying an upside down U.S. flag—symbol of distress. In Watson’s eyes, he was a farmer on a mission.

“I wanted to wake people up to what the government was doing. I went to Constitution Gardens because that is what the country is founded on. Plus, the Constitution Gardens has water in it and I knew it’d take longer to get me out, and that would give me more time to talk to the news media. I tried to send signals that I not there to hurt nobody by wearing the cross on my helmet. I was never a medic, but that was the message I wanted to send.”

“People have to understand I wasn’t in my right mind and I’d never do it again. I was at the bottom of a hole and I never intended for things to snowball and go crazy.”

Yet, Watson’s last stand was about to escalate, trigger the government, shut down the nation’s capital, and capture global news headlines.

Monitoring media reports via a cab radio, Watson gave multiple cell numbers to police and began to converse with officers regarding his intentions. According to the affidavit of USPP Detective Todd Reid, Watson announced possession of a fertilizer bomb in the trailer.

Reid: “Watson communicated with a USPP officer who responded to the scene and provided two cellular telephone numbers and his first name, Dwight. Watson advised the USPP officer that he didn’t want to hurt anyone but if he saw SWAT (Special Weapons and Tactics) personnel, he would take action. Watson claimed to have organic phosphates, a fertilizer that can be used as an explosive. Watson stated that the items he possessed would explode when mixed with water. Watson warned authorities that he would detonate the explosives in the tractor and on the trailer if anyone attempted to approach his vehicles. Watson expressed discontent with the United States Government’s treatment of Gulf War veterans and the United State’s (sic) Government’s tobacco policy toward farmers.”

Across the years: Dwight Watson.

(Photo public domain)

Watson contends the initial exchange was misinterpreted. “They started hollering at me about what was inside my trailer. I told them there was nothing in there except some organophosphate bug bombs, but they heard ‘bomb’ and everything went nuts. I admit from that point I could have reeled things in, but it worked to get media attention and I kept going. I’m sure not proud of what happened next, but I was stalling for time to get my message out.”

Police and ATF personnel immediately surrounded the pond and estimated a potential bomb blast radius of 700’. Roads inside D.C. were shut down and buildings along Constitution Avenue were evacuated. Detectives executed search warrants on Watson’s farm and contacted several North Carolina fertilizer dealers to gauge the veracity of Watson’s claim.

The Constitution Gardens vicinity became an instantaneous news magnet and Watson’s tractor cab was the supreme soapbox. He was prepared for an extended siege, with snacks, water, toiletries, radio, and tiny television inside the cab. In 3’-5’ of water, perched in the cab, he fielded media calls and conducted interviews with reporters.

As evening approached, Watson prepared for a night in the tractor box. “I figured nobody would bother me. I don’t really remember how much I slept, kind of slumped over the wheel. They had snipers trained on me, but I wasn’t scared. I’d been shot at during my military service, and I was at peace. I had no weapons, and I knew the Lord would protect me. By morning, it would be what it would be.”
Indeed. By morning, the standoff went nuclear.

Day Two: Easter Eggs
On March 18, the same day President George Bush addressed the nation and gave Saddam Hussein 48-hour notice before declaring war on Iraq, Watson announced possession of 82 lb. of explosives and demanded D.C. evacuation within 82 hours. He would “bring D.C. to its knees” and “leave a mark on the Mall never to be forgotten.” Compounding the threat at Constitution Gardens, Watson told negotiators he had planted explosives at separate locations in D.C.

“I was at the end of my rope and I didn’t think things could get any worse,” Watson recalls. “How about six years in the penitentiary?”

(Photo by Chris Bickers)

As described in Watson’s U.S. District Court Detention Memorandum, following his arrest: “the defendant stated that he left “Easter eggs” near the Philip Morris sign in Richmond, Columbia Island, and at the Navy/Marine Memorial in Virginia. He indicated that, if the “Easter eggs” were to get wet, they would explode. The Park Police believed that this was a reference to grenades.”

Watson triggered more alarm by telling negotiators about the packages mailed prior to his D.C. trip. Authorities assumed Watson sent biological agents in the post, as cited in the Detention Memo: “The defendant also stated that he sent mailings to the 50 state attorneys general offices. Specifically, the defendant said he sent the attorney general for the state of Washington a vial marked ‘GERM Test 1193.’ Its toxicity is pending an investigation.”

However, Watson’s packages contained tobacco seed—and no poisons. “I told them the truth,” he says. “It was ‘GERM’ as in seed germination, and not as in germ warfare.”

Buying time, he kept up the bomb ruse. Per the Detention Memo: “During the ‘standoff’ on March 18, 2003, Detective Reid observed the defendant taping a backpack to the side of the tractor, hanging a battery with exposed wires on the tractor, and shielding the interior view of the tractor with his clothing.”

Watson’s declarations to the press became increasingly pronounced. From a call to the Washington Post: “I’m going to get my message out or die trying. “I don’t give a damn no more. If this is the way America will be run, the hell with it. I’m out of here. I will not surrender. They can blow my ass out of the water. I’m ready to go to heaven.”

In late afternoon, Watson spotted police mounting large spotlights at the pond’s edge. At nightfall, he knew police would drown the cab in light—and he was ready. “On the jeep, I had a siren in case they came for me in the dark. As soon as they hit those spotlights, everything lit up like a football field and I made my move. I jumped out of the tractor, ran back to the jeep, and hit the siren switch. You can’t believe the noise. It was worse than the light. After that, they pretty much left me alone.”

“When the sun came up I was still in the cab, still trying to expose the government, but the tear gas came next.”

Day Three: River Over Rock
On the morning of March 19, 200 personnel from the USPP, FBI, ATF, Secret Service, Capitol Police, and the Metropolitan Police Department surrounded Watson, still hunkered in the cab.

When the officers directed tear gas to Watson’s proximity, he drove the tractor from the pond’s middle to the far end, holding out for several more hours. At 11:41 a.m., Watson threw in the towel. He drove to the south side of the pond, turned off the tractor, descended the ladder, raised his arms, and began walking toward a half-dozen agents slowly moving toward him.

Watson’s infamous siege.

(Photo public domain)

After 47 hours and two nights stretched over three days, Watson’s siege ended in minutes. He had single-handedly shut down rush hour traffic for three consecutive mornings, closed national monuments from the Lincoln Memorial extending to the Washington Monument, and shuttered numerous government buildings.

A USPP search revealed no weaponry: “There were no explosives in either the tractor, the trailer, or the Jeep. Inside the cab of the tractor, there was an inert hand grenade replica similar to those commonly available from military surplus stores. The authorities also did not find any explosives at the other locations…”

Yet, as quickly as Watson gained the national spotlight, his arrest was all but forgotten. On March 18, the same day Watson surrendered and exited his tractor, the air campaign began in the Iraq War. River over a rock, the news coverage of a purported farmer-terrorist faded to the back pages.

“I was at the end of my rope and I didn’t think things could get any worse,” Watson recalls. “How about six years in the penitentiary?”

Isaiah 54:17
Charged with making a false explosives threat and destroying government property, Watson refused a plea deal. “No way. I wanted Americans to know that growers would be thrown in jail if they grew low-nicotine tobacco, and pesticide use was a terrible danger, and our soldiers had been subjected to chemical exposure the government denied. No plea deal.”

Watson was found guilty by a jury in less than an hour on Sept. 26, 2003. At sentencing on June 23, 2004, 15 months after his initial arrest, he was broken: “My actions were totally uncalled for, totally unacceptable and totally wrong…It was not my intention to hurt anyone, but it looks like I was trying to hurt people. It was foolish.”

Federal guidelines suggested a penalty of less than two years, but Judge Thomas Jackson tacked on additional time. Jackson tagged Watson a “one-man weapon of mass destruction,” and handed down a six-year sentence: “Mr. Watson, I have concluded you are a nice guy and you had a legitimate grievance... which [you] chose to express in a horrendous fashion...The sentence I will hand down to you today is intended to deter the next nice guy who thinks he has a legitimate complaint.”

After a decade spent drawing attention to what he considered government malfeasance, Watson was inconsolable over the prospect of six years behind bars. “I went back to my cell and sat down on this metal bed along the wall,” he recalls. “My spirit collapsed inside me and I cried out to God. I said, ‘I can’t fight no more. I’ll go do my time, but you have to fight for me.”

Two days later, during a prison chapel service, Watson claims he received a providential message. “Several of my fellow inmates knew what I was going through and they prayed for me during church. They said the Lord gave them a scripture for me, Isaiah 54:17: “No weapon that is formed against you shall prosper…”

Roughly a week after sentencing, Watson was awoken in his cell by prison guards at 2 a.m. and told to prepare for court. “That was how it worked,” he says. “They’d start getting you processed, papers signed, escorted, and transported for court early that same morning. But I was finished with court and told them I wasn’t going. They gave me no choice and I started getting ready to go see the judge, even though I didn’t have a clue why.”

Unbeknownst to Watson, his surprise court date was due to the U.S. Supreme Court’s decision in Blakely v. Washington, decided June 24, one day after Watson’s sentencing. In a nutshell, Blakely v. Washington prevented judges from levying tougher sentences beyond the facts addressed by juries. Due to the SCOTUS ruling, Judge Thomas Jackson was forced to change Watson’s six-year term to the original sentencing guidelines of 16 months. However, Watson’s time served was already at 15-plus months. Bottom line: The prison doors opened.

“I walked into court and heard the judge say there was an error in my sentencing. The prosecutor jumped out of his chair like he was going to the moon, but they told me I was going home. I heard the word ‘home,’ with my ears, but my brain didn’t process none of it.”

“I was taken below the courthouse to this big room to process me out. That’s when my emotions broke down and all the years and struggles washed over me. I started crying like a baby, really letting it out from deep inside. While I was crying and shaking, this black inmate orderly came over and hugged me, and told me, ‘God loves you.’”

“My head was on his shoulder and I was weeping so much my chest was heaving. When I finished and got control of myself, I raised my head up to thank him, and my eyes dropped to the nametag on his uniform: His name was Isaiah. Isaiah. Just like the Bible verse I was given. I don’t care who believes otherwise, but that was no coincidence: God was right beside me the whole time and he was taking me home.”

The Terrorist Who Wasn’t
Twenty years after laying siege to Washington in a John Deere 7810, Dwight Ware Watson’s remorse has grown, as has his conviction of belief.

“I’m just a patriot that cares,” he says. “I’ll never be quiet about how farmers can’t grow low-nicotine tobacco, or how corrupt the tobacco industry is, or how our soldiers have suffered from chemical exposure.”

“I truly wish I could wind the clock back and make different choices,” Watson says.

(Photo by Chris Bickers)

Despite portrayal in the media and courts as a domestic terrorist and mentally ill menace, Watson was a farmer in a vise suffering from the loss of farmland, family, and legacy. “I lost so much so fast that it made me lose my common sense,” he says. “Every farmer I’ve ever known in my life has been under tremendous stress and extraordinary pressure at some point. I don’t think I’m different than anyone else, and I have no excuses, but I sure handled things terribly wrong.”

“I don’t care if people think I’m crazy; that has never bothered me,” he adds. “But I would like people to remember I had no weapons. I had no bombs. I wasn’t out to hurt a soul. I’m the farmer-terrorist who wasn’t.”

And how does Watson believe history will view the “Tractor Man” siege?

“Someday, sooner or later, the truth about tobacco and the government will come out,” he concludes. “My actions were all wrong; my words were true.”

Rest in Peace: Dwight Ware Watson, 72, passed away on Dec. 5, 2024.

For more from Chris Bennett (@ChrisBennettMS or cbennett@farmjournal.com or 662-592-1106), see the following stories:

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