HUMAN INTEREST

Our Regenerative Farming Practices are Science in Action

Fri, 15 May 2026 13:20:45 GMT

By David Statham: Moree, New South Wales, Australia

Our brand is called Good Earth Cotton because we’re good to the earth and it’s good to us. Good Earth Cotton means that we sequester more carbon in our farming practices than we emit.

But it’s not just a brand. It’s a way of doing business. We can do well and do good at the same time—and we can even make farming fashionable.

Here on our farm in Australia, we’re telling a carbon-positive story about agriculture. We’re meeting both the needs and expectations of consumers by supplying companies with raw material for clothes and doing it in a regenerative way that helps the environment.

My wife Danielle and I run Sundown Pastoral, a conglomerate of 15 properties aggregated together between 1984 and 1998, encompassing 64,500 acres, including 26,000 acres of irrigated cotton, 25,000 acres dryland farming, and 10,000 acres of cattle pastures in New South Wales, about 600 km north of Sydney. Our major product is cotton, and we also grow wheat, chickpeas, faba beans, and canola in rotation. The cattle graze on oats and Lab Lab. The cattle operation is a background operation. We don’t own the cattle. Instead, we’re paid by how much weight they gain while they’re in our pastures.

Our family has been at it ever since my father started buying farmland in the early 1980s, when I was just becoming an adult. I’ve devoted my working life to this project. Today, we’re well established and thriving. We are constantly adapting to circumstances, taking up new technologies, and seizing opportunities.

That’s why we founded Good Earth Cotton.

It started out of sheer economic necessity. We live in a dry area and must conserve water, which is our scarcest resource. Our constant goal is to grow more crop per drop.

This led us to regenerative practices that keep moisture locked in the soil, where crops can use it. Over the last two decades, we’ve moved from tilling our fields to a minimal and zero-till approach. This also happens to be good for biodiversity, keeping our soil healthy and nutritious for crops as well as birds, insects, worms, and other wildlife.

Along the way, we’ve kept careful records on everything from inputs to yield. This allows us to take a long view as we analyze our performance and improve our methods. We took a big step forward about six years ago, when we began to use Downforce technology, allowing us to measure carbon content by satellite, gaining information about every ten square meters of our farm every ten days while giving you records looking 7 years back.

The Downforce technology clearly shows that our change of practices has increased soil carbon over the whole property and can measure the year-on-year change, reflecting this information in our annual reports to our customers.

When I started farming, this would have felt like science fiction. Now it’s science in action.

One of the lessons we’ve learned lately is that if we farm the right way, we can sequester more carbon in the soil than we emit in greenhouse gases.

Farmers are often blamed for exacerbating climate change through carbon emissions. Our farm is proof that farmers are part of the solution—and that we can develop methods that make economic sense for our operation as well as environmental sense for everybody.

Consumers increasingly want to know that what they buy comes from sustainable sources. This means that brands want to work with farms like ours. We have the traceability of the product, using Fibretrace, to validate to them that net-zero production begins right here. Then we can become a part of their marketing strategy. A positive story about sustainability starts on our farm.

My wife Danielle deserves much of the credit. I know a lot about farming, but she’s the one with the fashion sense. Under her influence, Good Earth Cotton and the Fibertrace business lets consumers trace their clothes back to us, learning about how we work in harmony with nature.

I’m pleased to say that demand for our cotton now outstrips the supply.

And we’re still striving to do better. By this time next year, we expect to be fully self-sufficient in fuel and fertilizer. We’re working with a New Zealand-based company to transition to hydrogen fuel and producing our own anhydrous ammonia. This green-energy initiative is good for the climate. It will also make us more resilient at a time of tumultuous energy and nitrogen prices.

As we do good, Good Earth Cotton keeps doing better.

David and Danielle Statham are creating the world’s first carbon positive farm, in northern North South Wales, Australia.As co-founders of Sundowner Pastoral, Good Earth Cotton, and FiberTrace Technologies, they are at the forefront of technology, innovation and the application of regenerative farming as they produce cotton, cattle, wheat, canola, and pulse crops. David is a member of the Global Farmer Network. www.globalfarmernetwork.org

Chocolate Reclaims the Top Spot as America’s Favorite Ice Cream Flavor

Thu, 30 Apr 2026 19:14:45 GMT

Chocolate is back on top as America’s favorite ice cream flavor, according to the International Dairy Foods Association (IDFA) National Ice Cream & Frozen Novelty Trends Survey. After briefly ceding the No. 1 spot to vanilla in 2024, chocolate has reclaimed the lead in 2026. Butter pecan also continues its climb, moving ahead of vanilla among U.S. consumers.

The biannual survey reflects responses from more than 2,200 U.S. adults and tracks how Americans choose ice cream and frozen novelties, from flavors and formats to toppings and traditions.

IDFA’s latest results point to a mix of nostalgia and indulgence shaping consumer preference. Classic flavors remain strong, while richer, more decadent options continue gaining traction.

Top 5 flavors among U.S. consumers:

Chocolate
Butter Pecan
Vanilla
Cookies and Cream/Oreo
Caramel/Salted Caramel

Compared with previous years, the rankings show continued movement toward richer, mix-in driven flavors, while traditional staples still anchor the category.

“Americans’ love for ice cream is as strong as ever,” says Michael Dykes, D.V.M., president and CEO of IDFA. “From timeless favorites like chocolate and butter pecan to newer indulgent options, ice cream continues to bring people together and create moments of joy across the country. As we look ahead to National Ice Cream Month, it’s clear this remains a staple in American life.”

The Sweetest States: Where America Loves Ice Cream Most

Other findings from the survey show how consumers enjoy their ice cream:

Cone preference leads among formats, with 40% of Americans choosing cones, followed by sandwiches at 24% and mini cups at 14%.

(Source: 2026 IDFA National Ice Cream & Frozen Novelty Trends Survey)

Waffle cones or bowls remain the most popular vessel across generations, with Gen Z splitting more evenly between bowls and waffle bowls compared to older groups.

Hot fudge ranks as the top topping at 31%, followed by whipped cream at 27%, caramel sauce at 21%, and chocolate sauce at 18%. Flavor remains the primary purchase driver, with 70% of consumers saying it is very important, ahead of price and portion size.

When asked about iconic ice cream memories, respondents most often pointed to neighborhood ice cream trucks, followed by birthday ice cream cakes and visits to local scoop shops.

Who Was the Lady in Red? Farm Mystery Lingers Over Woman in Iron Coffin

Tue, 21 Apr 2026 11:54:52 GMT

Her corpse was impossibly preserved, as if merely sleeping. At the crack of a coffin’s seal, after over 100 years beneath the fertile soil of the Mississippi Delta, the Lady in Red emerged.

On a picturesque spring day in 1969, with heat rising and sun climbing over the low-lying flats of Egypt Plantation in Holmes County, Bob Hardeman and Willie Williams dared to peek inside an exquisite cast-iron coffin unearthed by chance, a stone’s throw from the languid flow of the Yazoo River. As a sickly-sweet scent of alcohol lingered, the pair stared in shock at the flawless face of a young woman dead since the mid-1800s.

Clad in the finery of a red dress, black-buckle shoes, and white gloves, with dark hair contrasted against pale skin, the woman’s immaculate condition—as if buried the day before—was a physical phenomenon. Arms crossed gracefully across her breasts, the Lady in Red, nestled inside a pharaonic coffin topped by a glass viewing window, was an absolute enigma.

A woman of means, interred in high style, yet with no headstone, marker, or memory. No trace of legend or lore. The once beautiful woman, pickled in alcohol, had been placed within an ornate iron maiden off the sloped banks of the Yazoo and forgotten, until 1969. A Mississippi mummy, encased in a sarcophagus, hidden on a farm.

Welcome to a profound mystery laced with ghosts and gothic. The Lady in Red still whispers.

A Velvet Woman in Liquid
Fifteen miles below Greenwood and 35 miles above Yazoo City, tucked on the eastern edge of the Delta, just off Highway 49E, several miles down a gravel straight, Egypt Plantation sits frozen in time. Flanked by the Yazoo River and fronted by endless rows bedded in cotton production, it’s hard to find a more Southern place on earth.

The Yazoo River, the likely means of transport for the Lady in Red, pictured directly behind Egypt Plantation.

(Photo by Chris Bennett)

Cypress and magnolia trees, several old homes, alongside farm buildings and machine sheds, all cluster around what once was Egypt’s hub—a namesake-bearing commissary building, now serving as the office of retired patriarch Jim Thomas. Across a career split between law and agriculture, Thomas farmed roughly 7,500 acres before hanging up his boots in 2024.

“This place was first settled and cleared starting in 1835,” explains Thomas, a repository of his family’s rich, layered agriculture history spanning generations. “My grandfather bought it in 1919, and it was a wonderful place to grow up for me as a boy.”

Raised onsite with two brothers, Thomas spent a childhood swimming the Yazoo and working summers in the rows of Egypt, never suspecting a mystery under his feet. Off to college in Oxford, Thomas received a bizarre phone call while at Ole Miss, in April 1969.

“That’s when they found her, about 100 yards from the river’s edge, or maybe even a little closer,” he recalls. “I got a call telling me my uncle, Bob Hardeman, dug up an iron coffin in the middle of our farm, a few feet below the ground directly beside the house where my grandparents had lived. Inside the coffin was a woman in liquid.”

Egypt Plantation’s bell once rang across Delta fields, summoning farmhands.

(Photo by Chris Bennett)

The Greenwood Commonwealth, in a 1969 article, offered a description: “She wore a red velvet dress, white gloves and had the face described as that of a young girl.”

“Her physical condition was unbelievable,” Thomas echoes. “Couldn’t have been and shouldn’t have been, but it was so. People got rattled. You have to understand: She was perfectly preserved.”

Macabre Marvel
April 24, 1969. On a clear Thursday morning with temps set to tap 80 F, Willie Williams was running a backhoe at Egypt Plantation. He was a master operator, highly adept with boom and bucket.

At roughly 10 a.m., Williams was on task, digging into a vegetable garden to install a line for a septic tank only feet from Hardeman’s home, the same dwelling previously occupied by Thomas’ grandparents. As Williams clawed dirt at a depth of 3-4’, the bucket lurched when steel teeth caught iron.

The exact spot where the Lady in Red was found, looking at the fields of Egypt Plantation.

(Photo by Chris Bennett)

Surprised and cautious, Williams shut down the machinery, looked into the hole, and saw exposed metal. “He was a very capable worker; very good at what he did. He caught the corner of the casket, and he knew that whatever he hit wasn’t supposed to be there,” Thomas explains.

Williams had unearthed an outrageously heavy coffin shaped to human form, just under 5’ in length, featuring an oval or octagonal glass window at head height—a viewing porthole. The ½”-thick glass had shattered on impact.

“He got a shovel and dug around the edges,” Thomas says. “At some point, whether or not he saw anything in the coffin, I don’t know, but he went to get help and my uncle, Bob Hardeman, came to see.”

Thomas’ narrative is bolstered by Hardeman’s recollection. Presumably, Hardeman was planting seed when Williams found the coffin. “I was in the field,” Hardeman told the Commonwealth in April 1995. “The straw boss, K.P. Rooks, who is now deceased, called me on the radio after Willie Williams hit the coffin. I called the sheriff. I got there within 30 minutes, I’d say. The body had not deteriorated; there was no odor.”

Jim Thomas kneels beside the location where a backhoe cracked the Lady in Red’s coffin, now beside a tennis court, just beyond the Yazoo’s banks.

(Photo by Chris Bennett)

Prior to the arrival of Holmes County Sheriff Carl Moore, Hardeman and Williams could see a body in the coffin via a gash in the metal box, according to Thomas. “The casket hadn’t broken open, but they could see the body by a big tear in the corner,” he says. “I don’t know if the glass was visible at that point. The casket had been filled with liquid, a preservative of some kind, and I’d guess it was alcohol, but it poured out.”

Again, Thomas’ narrative matches with Hardeman’s description, recounted to Leflore Illustrated in 2016: “It hit that thing and pulled the side off, just like a sardine can,” Hardeman noted. “It pulled the side off the coffin, and the body slipped out a little bit.”

“I did take a fair look at it, but you don’t want to look at something like that too long.”

April 1969 newspaper headlines on the Lady in Red.

(Photo public domain)

The scene was surreal. Black man and white man staring at the translucent cadaver of a woman in red velvet, all set against a canvas of mocha Delta soil. Her hair color would range in subsequent news reports as brown, black, and auburn.

Roughly an hour after Williams found the coffin, Sheriff Moore arrived. In the presence of Hardeman, Moore opened the coffin, confirming a macabre marvel—the Lady in Red, estimated in age from early 20s to early 30s.

Quoted the next day by the Commonwealth, Hardeman’s wife, Eleanor, recounted the moment: “I did not see the body myself, but my husband described her as a young, white girl with long brown hair, dressed in a red velvet dress. Her hands were crossed at her chest and she had on white gloves. She was amazingly well preserved.”

However, nature’s clock was ticking. For the first time in over 100 years, the Lady in Red was exposed to the elements.

Moore did not delay: “Frankly, the odor was so peculiar, I did not look for very long,” he told the Commonwealth. “We did notice a scent of alcohol and believe the possibility that the body was preserved in alcohol at the time of burial.”

A recent discovery of a Fisk burial coffin, similar to the Lady in Red’s casket.

(Photo public domain)

After only 90 minutes of exposure to mild heat, time caught up to the Lady in Red, per Hardeman: “Back out there, the body had deteriorated greatly in the hour and a half. She’d turned black, and the odor was awful.”

Bottom line, Moore decided on immediate reburial of the Lady in Red until official legal channels determined a correct interment course. Back into Egypt’s ground she went.

Planted at Odd Fellows
The Thomas family was shocked. A time machine buried in a vegetable garden?

“Where did she come from and who was she?” Thomas asks. “We had a farm cemetery, but it was half-a-mile away. My grandparents had lived in that house beside where she was found, but the structure dated back before the Civil War.”

A post-Civil War funeral business advertisement announcing arrival of Fisk coffins.

(Photo public domain)

“We started asking questions of anyone and everyone, and going through all the previous owners. We checked records going back to that section and title in 1835. Nothing. Not the smallest hint of who she was. It just made things all the stranger, because people were scared and shook up over it. When you’ve got no records to on, then start with the clothing she wore.”

Her garments spoke of money and position.

Her dress, as detailed by the Commonwealth: “The woman has been described as wearing red velvet with a cape covering and blanket of striped ticking.”

“The folds of the garment which gave the Lady in Red her name, were shreds, but at one time were a beautiful brocade, the type worn by an aristocratic woman of her day.”

The dress, according to Sheriff Moore, was covered by a “striped material, which had signs of water spots, or alcohol spots.”

Her black, square-toed shoes, dated from 1830-1880. Per the Commonwealth: “On her feet, which have been used to pinpoint her age, were tiny, low broad heel boots forming a slipper, the fabric of silk going almost to the midcalf.”

The Lady in Red during transport from Egypt Plantation to Lexington by Southern Funeral Home.

(Photo by Susie James, Greenwood Commonwealth, 1969)

Four months after discovery, the Lady in Red was exhumed, and by law, transported for reburial at the county seat in Lexington. Iron box into pine box.

“Billy Cochran, 61, of Durant was on the job when Southern Funeral Home went to pick up the remains of the Lady in Red in August 1969,” noted the Commonwealth. “He recalls an extraordinarily heavy casket, fitted together with a rubber gasket and screws against the glass, which they put in a wood box.”

The Fisk Coffin, complete with viewer-plate convenience for a last look into the face of a loved one, was a major funeral business hit.

(Photo public domain)

She was driven 20 miles from Egypt Plantation to Lexington and planted in the pauper section of Odd Fellows Cemetery. Thomas’ father, James Talbert ‘Tol’ Thomas, placed a granite headstone atop the grave: LADY IN RED; FOUND ON EGYPT PLANTATION; 1835-1969.

“Excluding her clothing,” Thomas says, “the other concrete clue was the coffin.”

Sincerely. The coffin told its own tale, with a peculiar genesis 90 miles northeast in Oxford.

Iron Toe-Tags
Thomas Holmes made a pile of coin during the Civil War. He turned a kitchen-sink mixture of arsenic, zinc, mercury, creosote, turpentine, and alcohol into an elixir of the dead— embalming fluid .

A field surgeon embalms a Union soldier for transport home during the Civil War.

(Photo Library of Congress)

Holmes popularized arterial embalming by successfully returning of hundreds of fallen Union soldiers to their families for burial. At $100 a head, Holmes embalmed roughly 4,000 bodies during the Blue-Gray bloodshed, and triggered an industry of copycat practitioners who followed armies in the field, waiting on a guaranteed supply of new customers—the next wave of fatalities.

Bookending the Civil War in April-May 1865, following his assassination, President Lincoln became the first commander in chief embalmed in U.S. history, enabling a railway funeral procession lasting 13-days and 1,600-miles through seven states and 400 cities, further raising regard for the Holmes’ preservative innovation.

Yet, prior to Holmes and the widespread adoption of embalming, and just before artificial refrigeration in railcars or morgues, cadaver preservation was a losing race against decomposition. During an era of increased rail and steamship travel, Americans often roamed far from a city or state of origin. An unexpected death could require prompt burial far from home, particularly for diseased cadavers.

A pristine Fisk Coffin made between 1848-1880.

(Photo courtesy of The Henry Ford Museum)

In 1844, 17 years prior to the Civil War, Almond Dunbar Fisk, 26, a New York stove maker, received word that his younger brother, William, had dropped dead 1,100 miles away, in Oxford, Mississippi.

William later was buried in Clinton County, New York, but the difficulties and extended time required to transport his body catalyzed Fisk to invent a new burial container. He turned a furnace into a hermetically-sealed sarcophagus. Airtight and durable, it was marketed as a “Fisk Coffin.” No microbes in or out.

The interior of a Fisk Coffin. “…if preferred, the coffin may be filled with any gas or fluid having the property of preventing putrefaction,” wrote Almond Fisk.

(Photo courtesy of The Henry Ford Museum)

As Fisk wrote in his 1848 patent application: “From a coffin of this description the air may be exhausted so completely as entirely to prevent the decay of the contained body on principles well understood; or, if preferred, the coffin may be filled with any gas or fluid having the property of preventing putrefaction.”

The Fisk Coffin, complete with viewer-plate convenience for a last look into the face of a loved one, was a major hit, with the family of Dolley Madison purchasing a Fisk at her death in 1849—the biggest funeral ever held in Washington, D.C. to that date. Likewise, in 1850, former president Zachary Taylor was encased in a Fisk Coffin .

Fisk manufactured 11 sizes of form-fitting caskets, from 2’4” to 6’6” in length. The base models could reach $25 in price—a sizable toe-tag considering pine coffins were as low as a dollar or could be crafted by hand. If a buyer desired ornamental flowers, crosses, and heavenly scenes in the metalwork, or a gleaming bronze finish, the price jumped.

Almond Fisk’s 1848 patent drawings.

(Photo public domain)

Fisk’s success motivated numerous knockoff companies to produce metallic coffins, but by roughly 1890, iron burial boxes faded out of widespread use. Tracing production dates and clothing style, the Lady in Red likely was sealed into her Fisk Coffin at some point between 1848-1880: “The method of preservation used for the Lady in Red was common prior to the Civil War, when custom-made caskets, shaped to the body, were ordered as one would order a dress,” noted the Commonwealth in August 1969. “The glass that sealed the coffin was placed over the body and alcohol poured inside until it was level full.”

Her iron casket, including body immersed in fluid, could have tipped the scales at 300-400 lb. Presumably, she was loaded onto a ship, bound for burial in parts unknown, either up or down the Yazoo River, which is birthed by the confluence of the Tallahatchie and Yalobusha rivers at Greenwood and runs to Vicksburg, spilling into the Mississippi River. Either way, the Lady in Red had to pass by Egypt Plantation and its landing—directly behind the future home of Jim Thomas.

Grasping at Straws
Via newspaper coverage and telephone chains, claims and rumors poured into Egypt Plantation, as tipsters shook family tree branches, certain of the Lady in Red’s identity. But whether in-state or out-of-state, each lead proved hollow. A blank. Nothing.

“My grandparents and parents were still alive when she was dug up, and they couldn’t find any hint of her identity,” Thomas notes. “We went through the records of the landowners before us because that was the logical place to look, but there wasn’t anything there to provide a single clue. There was no headstone or grave marker, but someone spent a lot of money on the coffin. That’s a contradiction that’s hard to wrap your mind around, considering all the effort to bury her in what would have been a very, very isolated place at the time. Maybe it suggests she was buried in a hurry.”

Despite the wide reach of the digital age and advent of the internet, Thomas received no answers. “There have been calls and emails over the years from people claiming to be her relative or know who she was, and I sincerely wished they were right, but in the end, we were grasping at straws.”

“How does someone like that get left behind or forgotten?” asks Jim Thomas.

(Photo by Chris Bennett)

“There are certain facts,” he continues. “Her clothing and casket point to the Civil War years, or at least somewhere very close in time. That means she had to arrive on a wagon overland or arrive by the river, because her death predates the automobile. She’s inside an iron coffin and covered in alcohol, so that means she didn’t get sick on the trip and die; she was already dead and going somewhere.”

“The first few years, I’d think about her almost every day, and wonder who she was. Time went by, but she still never slipped my mind. Sometimes I wondered if she had been transported by boat and fell off, and got buried here because there was a landing, and because no one knew what else to do, who she was, or how to get her home. Maybe it’s just that simple. Maybe not.”

Egypt Plantation, a stone’s throw from the Yazoo.

(Photo by Chris Bennett)

“She was here for over 100 years before anyone knew. Then again, some people thought she never left. They thought that out of fear. I never saw anything, but others claim they did—her ghost.”

Haunts and Haints
Thomas doesn’t play up the supernatural. Simply, he recounts a matter-of-fact narrative tied from the get-go to the afterlife.

Williams, the backhoe operator who first scraped against the forgotten coffin, was immediately distraught, Thomas explains. “He was very, very concerned and afraid the Lady in Red would haunt him, or ‘haint’ him, as he pronounced it. Yes, he was worried from the start, because he was the one that first disturbed her.”

“By no means was he the only one afraid. We had sincere stories from workers about seeing the Lady in Red walking down the road, or her coming up from behind. A lot of people had a ghost story at one point or another.”

May 1969 newspaper headlines on the Lady in Red.

(Photo public domain)

“One year, my brother had a friend over to spend the night, and that turned scary for them. They believed they saw her ghost,” Thomas recalls. “Take it for what you will, but when a preserved lady is dug up right where you live, things get shaky for some people.”

“Let me put it this way: Remember in biology class in high school when they bottled frogs in formaldehyde and you could see them? That’s how preserved the Lady in Red was. How does someone like that get left behind or forgotten?”

Immortal Beloved?
Almost 160 years past her death and 60 years beyond her discovery, the Lady in Red still hides her secrets inside an iron coffin.

“I wish we could find out who she was. I’ll always want to know her story,” Thomas concludes. “I still would love to know how she got here and where she might have been going.”

(Photo public domain)

“I wish we could find out who she was. I’ll always want to know her story,” Thomas concludes. “I still would love to know how she got here and where she might have been going.”

Beyond the possibility of familial DNA testing in the future, the Lady in Red remains a perpetual, puzzling ghost. Someone’s wife, daughter, mother, or sister. Someone’s beloved.

Someone who never made it home.

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

The World Needs More McArthurs

Mon, 06 Apr 2026 19:26:57 GMT

There’s a new song in country music that’s striking a chord with American farm families.

“McArthur,” sung by Hardy, Eric Church, Morgan Wallen and Tim McGraw, tells the story of a farm passed through four generations of the same family. Each verse introduces a new McArthur, carrying the land forward in his own time, shaped by different circumstances but tied to the same piece of ground.

That’s the same story many farmers are living today. And if you haven’t heard it yet, take a listen.

John McArthur

The song begins with John McArthur, a man working the land with a mule and a plow to provide for his family. As the first generation, John spends his days laying the foundation of the farm. He doesn’t know what the future holds for the operation, but he knows the work is worth it.

Every farm has this first generation: the person who gave the farm its start. Our grandparents or great-grandparents built the farm out of necessity without knowing what was ahead.

They planted the first crops, cleared the first fields and figured things out as they went. The decisions they made might not have seemed big at the time, but they laid the groundwork for the generations that followed. Even without a map, they knew the farm was something worth building and passing on.

Junior McArthur

Next comes Junior McArthur, the son who steps up to take over the farm but is sent off to war and never returns home.

He represents the second generation: the ones who take over a farm that’s already established but face challenges much different from what their parents experienced. Where John built the foundation, Junior inherits it and has to figure out how to keep it going.

Jones McArthur

After Junior comes Jones McArthur, the third generation to farm the same ground. By the time it’s his turn, the farm is running smoother, but the problems he’s dealing with aren’t the same ones his dad faced. He represents the generation trying to respect what was built while figuring out how to make it work in a more modern world.

In the song, Jones is also the one trying to pass along the lessons he learned growing up on the farm. He understands the value of the land and the work that went into building it, and he tries to teach his son the same thing.

But his son comes home from college seeing something different. Where Jones sees a family history, his son sees the dollar signs tied to the land.

Hunter McArthur

Finally, the song introduces Hunter McArthur. He’s the fourth generation, the one now standing in front of the decision many farms eventually face.

In the lyrics, Hunter is presented with a deal that would turn the farm into a neighborhood. It’s a tempting offer. After generations of hard work, the land is suddenly worth a lot of money.

Hunter represents the generation many farms are looking to today. The farm is established and the land has significant value, but the question becomes what to do with it next.

For many young farmers, this generation faces a different set of decisions from the ones before them. They have more opportunities off the farm and often more outside pressure pulling them in different directions. At the same time, they’re inheriting or buying into farms that have decades of work behind them.

A Familiar Tune

At the end of each generation’s part in the song, a line is sung: “When you pass on, what are you going to pass down?”

Farming has always been about passing things along. Each generation takes what the last one started and tries to make it better, but that chain only works if someone is willing to take the next link.

Today, the pressures on the next generation are real. Land values keep climbing, development keeps pushing farther into the countryside, and, for some families, the offer to sell the farm is hard to pass up. But most farms exist because someone in the previous generation chose to keep it going. They made improvements and worked through challenges with the idea that the farm would be there for the next generation to build on.

The world could use more farmers like the McArthurs. So, when it’s time to think about the next generation, ask yourself this: When you pass on, what are you going to pass down?

For more on succession planing, read:

Carving a New Path: How Wisconsin Native Transforms Cheddar into a Canvas for Dairy Advocacy

Thu, 26 Mar 2026 20:13:31 GMT

Most people look at a 40 lb. block of cheddar and see an ingredient. Vicki Janisch sees a canvas and a way to stay rooted in dairy, even after her family stepped away from milking cows.

In the last few years, the Wisconsin native has built a one‑of‑a‑kind career as a professional cheese carver. Her work has shown up at weddings, college sports announcements, major dairy events and even tied into the NFL Draft.

But if you ask her, it’s less about the spotlight and more about staying connected to the industry that shaped her.

The Day Carving Found Her

The idea first took shape during a normal day at the office. Janisch was working at Dairy Farmers of Wisconsin when Sarah Kaufmann, a skilled cheese carver from California, stopped in to carve for a project.

Curious about how it all worked, Janisch asked if she could come over and see the process for herself. Watching the carving up close stopped her in her tracks. Seeing the tools, the technique and the transformation from a simple block of cheese into a detailed sculpture lit a spark inside her that she couldn’t quite shake.

“I fan girled hard,” Janisch says with a laugh. “I was just in awe of what she could do and what she starts with. I thought, ‘This is the coolest thing ever! You get to carve cheese?’ I mean, cheese already tastes good, but now you get to put your artistic spin on it. That’s sounds like the best job in the world.”

Watching Kaufmann work, Janisch began asking all sorts of questions: What tools do you use? What cheese do you use? How do you turn this into a business?

After a steady stream of questions, Kaufmann smiled and offered a simple solution.

“[Sarah] goes, ‘Well, why don’t you come and carve with me tomorrow?’” Janisch recalls. “It was my birthday, and I had already taken the day off. So, I thought, ‘Yeah, why not? I’ll go.’”

The next day, Janisch spent several hours carving alongside Kaufmann and quickly realized how absorbing the craft could be.

“You can really lose track of time when you’re doing it,” Janisch says. “It’s such a fun medium to work with, and I loved just getting the chance to try it for myself.”

That night, she went home and ordered her own tools.

“I didn’t really tell anybody that I was doing it,” Janisch laughs. “I just wanted to carve for fun. I ordered some clay carving tools off Amazon and played around with some cheese I had in the fridge. I had no idea it was going to escalate as quickly as it did.”

(Photo Provided By Vicki Janisch)

A Carving Career Takes Shape

After that first experience, carving became something she kept returning to. Before long, friends and family started to hear about her new hobby. One of those conversations turned into an unexpected opportunity.

“A friend of mine came to me and said, ‘Hey, I know you’ve been doing this. Do you want to do my niece’s wedding? Would you be up for making a cheese wedding cake?’” Janisch remembers. “And I’m like, as my first project, this sounds awesome. But I have no idea what I’m doing.”

After saying yes, she sourced a 40 lb. block of cheddar and some wheels and built a tiered cheese “cake.” The display quickly became a major hit with guests and showed Janisch just how much excitement a carved cheese centerpiece could bring to an event.

(Vicki Janisch)

“As things kind of progressed and friends and families started hearing what I did, I started to get more requests,” Janisch says. “It was all through word of mouth, and the list of projects continued to grow.”

As more projects came her way, Janisch’s late-night hobby grew into something bigger, and with it came a larger time commitment. After a while, it became clear if Janisch wanted to keep carving, she would need to make some changes.

A Leap of Faith and an LLC

“Two years ago, I made a big leap of faith and decided I needed to change my routine,” Janisch says. “I have two really active kids who I wanted to spend more time with, and I was ready to create a new path for myself.”

After some reflection, Janisch left her 9-to-5 job to launch her own business, Janisch Creative, where she works as a creative and digital communications director. That change gave her the flexibility she needed while staying connected to communications, and her cheese carving business became the creative outlet that balanced everything else.

Originally, when she made the big jump, she promised her husband the cheese carving projects would stay small. But now, she jokes her definition of small has changed.

“I told him, ‘It won’t get out of hand.’ But I think our perspective of small keeps changing,” she laughs. “But it’s been so fun doing all of this as a family. Having my kids around to see what their mom can do has been pretty cool.”

(Vicki Janisch)

Respect for the Product

Janisch now runs her cheese carving business with a producer’s mindset: Respect the product, respect the people behind it and don’t waste what they’ve made.

“When you think about the craftsmanship that goes into cheese, it’s already so good on its own,” she says. “And then I’m blessed to be able to put my creative spin and artistic stamp on it.”

But it also means she has to carefully manage the product to keep the cheese fresh. That started with her first business purchase.

“My first business expense was a refrigerator,” she laughs. “Most Midwesterners have a beer fridge. We have a cheese fridge, and it’s stacked with insane amounts of cheese just waiting to be carved.”

While carving the cheese, she also had to figure out what to do with the scraps. It was her firm belief nothing should go to waste.

(Vicki Janisch)

“When I’m carving for an event, I’ll box up some of the scraps for people to eat on a charcuterie board or for the company to utilize,” she says. “But if I’m doing a living carving, those scraps can’t be eaten. So, I bring them back home and feed them to my chickens.”

Of course, mistakes still happen, and sometimes a piece of the sculpture doesn’t turn out as planned. Luckily, the cheese makes for a tasty medium to work with.

“If I mess up, we eat it,” she laughs. “There is no waste. We just have grilled cheese for a month.”

As her carving career continues to grow, Janisch has made a point to stay connected to the local cheese crafters who inspire part of her work.

“I’ve made it a really solid goal to work with cheese companies in Wisconsin,” she says. “I worked with over 20 cheese companies last year, and I’ve gotten to form personal relationships with those who are making the cheese.”

Those relationships have also helped her learn an important lesson. When it comes to carving, the type of cheese matters just as much as the design.

(Vicki Janisch)

Her Favorites

Even after years of experience, not every cheese behaves the same. Different textures and inclusions means Janisch has to adjust her approach.

“There are some cheeses that are more difficult to work with than others, but I just have to adjust how I handle it,” she says. “The tools I use are different for different cheeses. For some of the flavored cheeses, like pepper jack, where there’s items mixed in, you have to handle things differently.”

That’s where her relationships with Wisconsin cheese makers becomes critical. Texture, moisture and aging all influence whether a design holds its shape or begins to crumble.

“Cheese makers can make low moisture and aged cheeses. But if they’re aged too long, they don’t work as well for carving,” she explains. “I’ve found my sweet spot is usually a 90-day aged cheddar.”

Having conversations with cheese makers allows her to plan each project with the right product from the start.

“Because these cheese makers have it so dialed in, we can talk the science behind the cheese that I need. I’m not having to source just a random block of cheddar. I can go and find cheeses that I know are going to hold up for the project.”

Fortunately, Janisch has yet to meet a cheese she doesn’t like and is willing to give just about anything a try.

“Blue cheese is on my bucket list,” she laughs. “But I don’t think I’m ready to chase after it just yet.”

Over time, finding her favorites has become less about a single variety and more about matching the right cheese to the right project. Whatever the choice, she’s thinking about both the carver and the consumer.

(Vicki Janisch)

Connecting Farmers, Cheese and Consumers

While cheese carving has become a new adventure for Janisch, her connection to the dairy industry runs deep. She grew up on her family’s dairy farm in southern Wisconsin, participating in 4‑H and showing animals at local fairs. That hands‑on experience and dirty‑boot roots instilled in her a natural sense of advocacy and a pride in the industry that now helps her connect with consumers through her cheese carving.

“I love having the opportunity to tie it back to the farmers,” she says. “Growing up on a dairy farm, I understand that once you ship milk, it becomes products like cheese. But a lot of times, farmers don’t talk about what happens after that.”

For Janisch, that connection between the farm and the finished product is an important part of the story she hopes her work helps tell.

“Consumers want to know that they’re supporting dairy farmers, and they do that through the products those farmers help produce. I can talk to consumers about the farmers, the cheese and the cheese makers,” Janisch explains. “It’s one thing to be able to talk about cheese carving, but I’m able to tell more of the dairy story when I go to some of these events.

Her role, as she sees it, is to bridge the gap between the people who make the milk and the people who enjoy the finished product. And even though her family no longer milks cows every day, Janisch says cheese carving keeps her anchored to a larger purpose.

“This lets me be part of something bigger than myself,” she says. “When we were dairy farming, it wasn’t just about our farm, it was part of a larger story. Cheese carving helps me stay connected to that.”

(Photos Provided By Vicki Janisch)

Craft and Connection

Today, when Janisch picks up her carving tools, she’s doing more than shaping cheese — she’s celebrating the craftsmanship behind the product and the farmers who make it possible.

Her client list now reads like a seasoned professional’s portfolio rather than a hobbyist’s. Some of her standout creations include:

The Lombardi Trophy for the 2025 NFL Draft
The University of Wisconsin Men’s Basketball schedule
Musical notes for events at the Grammys
Showpieces for state food festivals
Custom carvings for major industry events

What began as curiosity has grown into a creative way to stay connected to the industry that shaped her.

“I never would have imagined that any of this was possible,” Janisch says. “But I leaned into the power of saying ‘yes.’ And it’s been the most amazing journey.”

And with every block of cheese she transforms into something special, Janisch knows she’s helping tell a story that starts long before the carving ever begins.

Don’t Push Pause: How a Near-Fatal Accident Made Our Farm Succession Plan Crystal Clear

Thu, 05 Mar 2026 14:57:36 GMT

The last Friday in February was supposed to be a victory lap for a winter well-spent. It was a rare 65°F gift from the Illinois sky. The kind of afternoon where the sun feels like a promise of the spring to come.

My husband, Scott, and our youngest son, Jacob, spent the afternoon moving cattle between sites. It’s a project that usually takes three or four hours, and as any farmer knows, the cattle rarely cooperate. But Jacob did. He was right there, shoulder-to-shoulder with his dad. Our oldest son, Tyler, was home from college for the weekend, helping on the dairy with cattle work. It was one of those perfect, productive days where everyone was basking in the sunshine, the rhythm of the farm moving in a steady, beautiful cadence.

When the clock hit 5:00 p.m., Scott was ready to call it a day. Our local high school boys’ basketball team had made it to regionals, and we wanted to be there to cheer them on. We climbed into our SUV, chatting about the chores we’d finished and enjoying the lingering warmth of the day.

We were only a mile from our farm when the world shattered.

It happened in a blink. A truck made a mad dash across the four-lane highway, blindsiding us. There was no time to swerve, no time to brake. The police report would later confirm what we already knew: there was nothing we could have done.

Everyone tells you that life can change in a split second, but until you are sitting in the wreckage of mangled steel, surrounded by a dozen deployed airbags and the smell of gunpowder and dust, you don’t truly understand it. As we hit, I felt the impact vibrate through my very bones. I immediately started to pray. “We will be okay. God, make us okay.”

Through the haze of smoke and shock, Scott’s voice was the only thing I could hear. He was a trooper, his own safety forgotten.

“Karen, are you okay?” he asked, over and over.

I wanted to scream that I was fine. I wanted to tell him I was right there. But the shock was a physical weight. My mouth opened, a moan escaped, but the words were trapped behind a wall of trauma. I couldn’t speak.

The rest of the evening was a blur of sirens, flashing lights and the sterile white walls of the ER. The ambulance took me away; the tow truck took what was left of our vehicle. We spent the night under fluorescent lights, but we walked away. We got to go home.

In the days that followed, a deep, heavy appreciation for life settled over our house. I am thankful to be writing this story, though I would give anything to have never lived it. But the most emotional moment didn’t happen at the crash site; it happened at our farm.

(Karen Bohnert)

Our children asked the question every farm kid fears: “What would happen if both of you had passed?”

I cried. But for the first time, I could answer them with certainty. I told them about the will. I told them it was all outlined, all documented. It took me losing both of my parents and my brother — and writing about other families’ succession plans gone wrong for years — before we finally sat down and finalized our own a decade ago.

I think back to my own parents. It took them losing their own son — my brother — in an automobile accident to finally lean forward and be brave enough to talk about their own will. They put a plan together soon after and revised it a few times over the years. When the time came that we eventually lost our parents, my sisters and I were so incredibly thankful we did not have to worry about the logistics during our grief. My parents had it all documented. They gave us that peace of mind.

Farmers, I am pleading with you: Don’t push pause.

Don’t wait for a sunny day to have the conversation. Or a rain day. The highway doesn’t care about your schedule. Don’t wait because it’s an uncomfortable conversation; it will never get easier. Don’t wait because you aren’t sure what is “fair” or what is “best.”

Start the conversation today. Meet with a lawyer. Get it documented. You can always change and revise it — we already have once since we started.

I am so incredibly thankful that today, my kids are out in the dirt helping on the farm instead of sitting in a lawyer’s office reading a will. I am thankful they didn’t lose their parents on an Illinois highway. But mostly, I am thankful that if the worst had happened, they wouldn’t have been left in the dark.

Don’t wait. Your legacy is too important to leave to chance.

Leading Through the Storm: How This Mother of Three Navigated a Dairy Transition Alone

Wed, 04 Mar 2026 14:49:22 GMT

In the quiet rolling hills of Franklin County, Pa., near the small town of Newburg, the hum of a dairy farm usually signals the steady rhythm of a dream realized. But a year and a half ago, that rhythm was shattered in an instant. For Kerri Weber, co-owner of Rustik Dairy LLC, a routine day of hoof trimming ended not with the satisfaction of a job well done, but with a frantic 911 call and a prognosis that offered almost no hope.

Her husband, Rob, had suffered a Grade 5 subarachnoid brain aneurysm — the most severe type of rupture possible. As the surgeon told Weber that first night: “All we can do is pray.” She made a silent, steely vow: she was bringing him home.

What followed is a story of perseverance that defines the modern woman in agriculture. It is a story of a first-generation farm built from scratch, a business transition finalized in an ICU waiting room, and a community that proved the dairy industry is less of a business and more of a family.

(Photos Provided By Rustik Dairy LLC)

From the Ground Up

Kerri and Rob Weber didn’t inherit their legacy — they rented it, one barn at a time. Both grew up with a passion for cows — meeting, fittingly, while showing cattle — but starting a dairy from scratch in the 21^st century is a feat many call impossible.

“You’re not going to start at the top,” Weber reflects.

For eight years, the couple operated as nomadic dairymen, renting tie-stall facilities and moving their growing herd as opportunities arose. They lived by a strict philosophy: You have to go through all four seasons before you make a judgment call. They crunched numbers on $16 milk and $20 milk, knowing their break-even points by heart.

Their break came when they returned to the farm where Rob had worked as a teenager. They entered a partnership with brothers Wayne and Brad Beidel. It was a phased transition — a lifeline for a young couple looking for a permanent home for their Holstein, Jersey and Brown Swiss cattle. By the time the first brother, Wayne, retired, Rustik Dairy LLC was formed. They were four years into the second phase of the transition when the world stopped turning.

107 Days of Uncertainty

The day of the injury was like any other until Rob walked into the barn office, spoke Weber’s name, and collapsed. While he lay in a coma for four weeks, Weber’s life became a grueling marathon. She was the mother of three young children at the time — twins who were only 18 months old and a five-year-old daughter.

For 107 days, Weber balanced the sterile silence of hospital hallways with the demanding noise of a 180-cow dairy. She stayed by Rob’s side for nearly every one of those days, yet she never let the farm slip. She did morning milkings when she could, managed the books from hospital chairs and coordinated a team of part-time help that stepped up to become full-time heroes.

“One day at a time” became her motto.

“One day was one more day that I kept Rob alive,” she says.

The Choice in the ICU

Perhaps the most defining moment of Weber’s strength occurred four weeks into Rob’s stay in the ICU. The second partner, Brad, was ready to finalize his retirement. Weber was faced with a choice that would break most people: sell the cows and walk away to focus on her family, or sign the papers to buy out the partnership and take over the entire operation alone.

She chose the farm.

“I was convinced he was coming home,” Weber says. “And I knew he couldn’t come home to an empty barn. He needed something to fight for. If the farm was gone, he wouldn’t have that fight anymore.”

A week after Rob finally returned home, Weber officially took over the management of the entire dairy. She became the sole decision-maker, the lead manager and the primary caregiver for both her husband and their children.

(Photos Provided By Rustik Dairy LLC)

A Miracle in the Barn

Today, Rustik Dairy is not just surviving; it is thriving. The herd of 180 cows is averaging 24,000 pounds of milk with 1,000 pounds of fat and 800 pounds of protein — a remarkable feat given that 40% of the herd consists of color breeds.

But the real success is measured in the small moments. Rob is a walking medical miracle. Though he faces mental challenges, fatigue and the need for ongoing surgeries, he is back on the farm. Weber has integrated technology to help him navigate his new reality. They installed the Topcon feed app, which uses color-coded scales and sounds to help Rob mix feed — a task he once did by memory but now performs with the help of digital eyes.

“Farmers don’t forget what they’re doing,” Weber notes. “It’s muscle memory. He can still drive a tractor better than I can.”

To make life more manageable, Weber moved the calf-raising operation. They built a new calf barn right outside the house so the children can play among the hutches while Weber and Rob work. It allows the family to stay together, fulfilling the dream they had before the accident: raising their children in the barn.

The Power of the Dairy Community

When Kerri reflects on the past year and half, she doesn’t just talk about the struggle; she talks about the silver linings. She speaks of the Amish and Mennonite neighbors who showed up to feed calves without being asked. She speaks of the dairy community that sent diapers, clothing and two meals a week for over a year.

“You don’t have that anywhere else. That love and support... you don’t see that outside of the dairy community,” she says, noting the incredible importance of their families who pitched in from Day 1 to help in anyway they could. “We couldn’t do what we do without the support of our families.”

Even the farm’s nutritionists and veterinarians became part of the inner circle, understanding the “Rustik story” so well that Weber didn’t have to explain her weaknesses — they simply jumped in to fill the gaps.

Looking Forward: One Day at a Time

As spring approaches, the family continues to focus on gratitude. Weber continues to manage the herd with a focus on component growth and efficiency, but her primary objective remains unchanged: keeping the family together.

The journey hasn’t been easy. There are setbacks, like Rob’s shunt revision surgery, and the difficult mentalities that a brain injury can sometimes leave behind. But Weber finds joy in the simple things: a walk through the freestyle barn, the sight of their daughters holding bottles for calves, and the fact Rob is there to see it.

“I look at life differently now,” Weber says. “You don’t realize how quickly life can be taken for granted until it’s nearly gone. I’m just thankful for what I have today, even when the circumstances aren’t what I expected them to be.”

Kerri Weber is more than a dairy farmer. She is a testament to the fact that a farm is held together not just by fences and gates, but by the determined spirit of the women who refuse to let the dream die. At Rustik Dairy, the cows are milking, the children are growing and the miracle is just beginning.

The Illinois Farm Family Who Inspired Lay’s ‘Last Harvest’ Super Bowl Commercial

Fri, 20 Feb 2026 19:51:34 GMT

It was a one-minute spot that captured hearts on Super Bowl Sunday. Lay’s “Last Harvest” commercial told the story of a farm family passing the torch from one generation to the next, rooted in memories, hard work and the bond between parent and child.

While the story in the Super Bowl ad was fictional, it was inspired by the real-life experiences of third-generation potato producer Tom Neumiller and his daughter Katie Floming, the fourth generation working alongside him at Neumiller Farms in Savanna, Ill.

A Story That Hits Home

Floming, operations manager at Neumiller Farms, recalls watching the commercial for the first time.

“I was so touched. It really hit home for me,” she says. “Growing up, if I wanted to see my parents, I had to go to the farm because they were always working. That’s where we spent our family time, quick meals, then back to work. I loved it. There are no complaints there. Being present at the farm was everything.”

The commercial’s depiction of a young girl chasing her parents through potato fields and learning the ropes mirrored Katie’s own childhood experiences. She laughs as she recalls one particular scene.

“When she came outside wearing white tennis shoes to work, that hit home. I remember showing up in sandals, and my dad would just shake his head. I had to go home and change,” Floming says..

For Neumiller, seeing their family’s life portrayed on such a massive stage was humbling.

“Farmers don’t usually end up in Super Bowl commercials, but this is very nice,” he says. “For that one-minute ad, they captured a farm family and our legacy all in one. It was just amazing.”

Floming adds that the story resonated with many viewers beyond their family.

“It’s very relatable. People would come up at the Super Bowl and say, ‘My grandfather was in that situation’ or ‘My family didn’t have the option to pass it on.’ It’s a story that connects with most people,” she says.

Farming in Northern Illinois: Unique Challenges

Neumiller Farms isn’t a typical potato operation. Neumiller explains growing potatoes in northern Illinois requires creativity, considering they are the lone family growing potatoes in northern Illinois.

“We’re the only ones in the area,” Neumiller says. “You need good water and light, sandy soil. Illinois has pockets of sand, so we’ve become a very mobile farm. We have one farm 150 miles away, another 30 miles south and another 15 miles north. It allows us to manage the light soils and adequate water we need.”

Floming now manages daily operations, but Neumiller remains deeply involved.

“I’m old school. I want to be involved in everything,” he says. “I talk to the managers every day. I get here early and stay around, maybe too long, but I stay involved in everything.”

The family works side by side, literally.

Floming says: “Our desks are right next to each other. We’re constantly feeding off each other, and we always know what’s going on.”

Neumiller smiles, adding: “My wife’s on the other side, and we’ve been married 54 years. She’s been involved in the business from way back.”

“He doesn’t get a break,” Floming quips.

Passing the Torch

Though Neumiller hopes for a few more harvests, Floming embraces the responsibility of continuing the family legacy.

“I’m very thankful to still be farming alongside my dad,” she says. “He’s grown the farm, but it’s my responsibility to keep it going, for our family, our employees and our community. I want to do the best I can to preserve our foundation while building for the future.”

A plaque on the wall of Neumiller Farms signifies seven decades of producing potatoes for Frito-Lay, a partnership that made their story perfect for Lay’s Super Bowl spotlight.

Neumiller reflects on the broader significance: “All of us farmers, we’re not usually in the spotlight. But it’s an honor to show the connection between soil, farming and the food we produce. Sustainability, passing on the farm, doing the job right — it all matters. Our story continues, and that’s what I hope to pass on.”

A Last Harvest That Connected Us All

As Lay’s “Last Harvest” reminded viewers on Super Bowl Sunday, the foods we enjoy come from real families working the land, generation after generation. For the Neumillers, that legacy is alive and thriving, one potato at a time, creating a story that connected us all.

If you thought the 60-second commercial was memorable, watch the full three-minute version on Lay’s YouTube page .

Three Honks to Say “I Love You”

Wed, 11 Feb 2026 14:44:11 GMT

It started during harvest season a few years ago. My husband, Brett, was driving the grain truck to the local co-op, and from our rented house not far off the main road, I would watch truck after truck roll by my office window to unload their grain for the season.

I knew which trucks belonged to us — the faded blue one with the busted radio, the red-and-white one sporting the newer logo and the red-and-black semi, my personal favorite. But while I watched our trucks roll by, I couldn’t always tell who was behind the wheel. Was it Brett? My father-in-law? My brother-in-law? I was nosy and wanted to keep tabs on who was driving what.

Finally, curiosity got the best of me. One night after a long day of combining and driving trucks, I asked my husband, “How many loads did you take in today?”

In-between bites of whatever late-night dinner I flung together, he gave me his answer, then asked, “Didn’t you see me?”

Nope, not from that distance. Even with 20/20 vision and a keen eye, there was no way to tell who was behind the wheel when they were flying past at 55 mph.

The next day, I watched the road again as the trucks made their rounds. First the blue one passed, then a while later the red. Finally, the semi came around the bend on its way to town with the first load of the day. This time, though, the driver honked three times, and I found myself wondering what that was about.

A little later, I got a text from Brett while he was waiting in the grain line: “Did you see me go by with the semi? I honked three times. I said I love you.”

Our Own Little Love Language

Our poor neighbors must have been sick of the trucks rolling by that fall, especially once the “three honks” tradition began. No matter which truck came down the road, I always knew when Brett was behind the wheel because a distinctive “Honk! Honk! HONKKKK!” would ring out across County Road R.

We’ve since moved to the farm, and our house is no longer on the path to the co-op. During our first fall at the new address, I mentioned how I missed hearing those three beeps go off throughout the day. Brett cracked a smile when I told him this, and mischievously said, “Challenge accepted.”

Now, I’ll hear those three blasts echo from a pickup, a tractor or whatever rig he’s driving that day, and I just smile. Those three honks have become our little ritual. It’s simple, it’s sweet and it’s probably annoying to everyone else in the area, but it’s ours. And it’s a reminder that love doesn’t always need words, sometimes it just needs a truck rolling down the road and three short honks.

Love on the Farm Means Managing Stress Together

Mon, 09 Feb 2026 21:10:29 GMT

On today’s farms and ranches, the toughest conversations don’t always happen in the farm office. They happen with your spouse at the kitchen table or in the last few minutes before turning in for the night. That stress of farm life is constant, and it can easily spill over into your relationship.

To help couples navigate these everyday pressures, Sean Brotherson, family science specialist with North Dakota State University, and Kale Monk, associate professor of human development and family science at the University of Missouri share practical strategies couples can use to manage that stress together so they can stay connected, handle the pressures of the season and keep both their farm and their partnership running smoothly.

Where Does Stress Show Up?

Stress can show up in all sorts of everyday situations on the farm, often in ways that feel routine but can add pressure to a relationship. Here are some common areas where couples on farms and ranches may feel that tension:

Planting, harvest and busy seasons often mean long days, leaving little time for meals together, errands or family activities.
Taking an off-farm job can shift responsibilities at home, creating different role expectations than maybe what was expected.
Weekend work or caring for children can make it hard to find time for meaningful moments to connect together like date nights or family meals.

As many know, these kinds of situations are a normal part of life on a farm. But catching stress early gives couples a chance to talk it out and deal with issues before they turn into bigger problems.

Tips for Staying Connected When Farm Life Gets Busy

When life on the farm gets hectic, it’s easy for stress to take over and for couples to drift apart without even realizing it. However, small everyday habits can help keep you connected even when life feels nonstop. Brotherson and Monk list 12 tips couples can use to stay connected and support each other while managing the demands of farm and family life.

Plan Together

“Set measurable goals together for a year from now, five years from now and your lifetime together,” Brotherson says. “Make decisions about time together in farming/ranching, other jobs or retirement. Then, focus on enjoying what you have decided to do.”

Planning together is a good first step, but keeping your connection strong takes daily check-ins and small ways of looking out for each other.
Check In Daily

“Look for and give attention to early indications of stress, such as a furrowed brow or a tense voice,” Brotherson says. “Respond with love and attention as needed.”
Express Appreciation

“Take time daily to state one item you appreciate about your partner,” Brotherson says.

Showing gratitude isn’t just about being polite. Taking the time to notice and acknowledge the little things your partner does can make both of you feel more connected, appreciated and supported.

“When your partner does something you appreciate, it’s vital to express gratitude,” Monk adds. “This makes partners feel valued and helps us see how we can keep pleasing each other.”
Use Clear Communication

“In talking, use ‘I’ statements more than ‘you’ statements,” Brotherson says. “Your partner will likely not change if you argue, ‘You’re always wanting to buy something else!’ Instead, try using an ‘I’ statement, like ‘I get worried and angry when I hear you wanting to buy a new piece of equipment. What I’d like is for the two of us to sit down and decide together which major purchases we can afford.’”
Listen Carefully

“Especially on serious matters, it is important to listen well and help your partner feel they have been heard and understood,” Brotherson notes. “Listen so that you can repeat back to your partner’s satisfaction what she or he says and feels. Focus on listening without being upset or defensive.”
Be Flexible With Roles

“Letting others do things you usually do and adjusting your expectations when necessary can reduce pressures,” Brotherson adds. “Share the responsibility of things such as family chores, cooking or kid care.”
Schedule Time to Talk

“When problems arise, schedule time for the two of you to brainstorm and discuss ideas,” Brotherson says. “Weigh the costs and benefits of each solution. Arrive at a plan that enables both of you to get something you want.”
Set Aside Time as a Couple

“To keep your marriage or partnership growing, take a break from the work, the children or other distractions. If it helps, make it a rule to talk about only yourselves as a couple and not about the farm or ranch operation.”

Taking that time together doesn’t have to be serious. Making it fun can make it even more meaningful.

“The more ridiculous or fun the activity, the better, in my opinion,” Monk adds. “Do something that makes both of you laugh and enjoy each other’s company.”
Use Social Media Sparingly
Social media can be a great way to stay connected with friends and family or share pride and appreciation for your partner. But it can also create stress, spark jealousy or make us compare our lives to the polished versions others post online.

“If we try to ‘keep up’, these artificially positive glimpses into other people’s lives can leave us feeling discouraged and resentful. Becoming consumed by social media and posting excessively can indicate growing insecurity in ourselves or our relationships.”
Laugh Together
On a farm, the days are long and there’s always something demanding your attention. Brotherson suggests taking a few minutes to laugh at a small mistake or a silly moment to lighten the mood and get through the day.

“Remember, always being serious is stressful while laughter reduces stress,” Brotherson says. “Watch a funny movie, share funny stories or find other ways to laugh.”
Celebrate Milestones

“Celebrate your anniversary, birthday, the arrival of a new foal or calf, getting the field planted before the rain and other milestones. Take joy in your lives together,” Brotherson says.
Don’t be Afraid to Ask for Help
Every relationship is unique, Monk says, and what works for one couple may not work for another. Partners have different needs and respond differently depending on their background, culture or experiences. If you ever feel unsure about handling challenges on your own, consider seeking therapy or counseling.

“Remember that therapy is not only for troubled relationships,” Monk adds. “Therapy can help preserve relationship happiness and prevent problems before significant conflicts arise.”

Build a Strong Partnership Over Time

Stress is a normal part of farm life. However, couples who practice daily communication, show appreciation and remain flexible often find they are better equipped to handle the pressures that come with farming or ranching.

By being intentional about their relationship, farm couples are better able to handle the busy seasons, the hard days and the everyday demands of agriculture while keeping their relationship just as much of a priority as the work.

Recognizing 2026 as the UN-Designated International Year of the Woman Farmer

Mon, 05 Jan 2026 23:09:11 GMT

By Ruramiso Mashumba: Marondera, Zimbabwe

I once lived in a shed.

When I started farming a dozen years ago, I didn’t have a proper home. I didn’t own any real agriculture equipment. There was no electricity. My access to the internet was limited. And I couldn’t get a loan from a bank.

A lot of people thought I’d fail as a farmer—and many of them thought I’d fail simply because I’m a woman.

There were times when I questioned everything, but my determination was stronger than my doubt—and I’m encouraged that the Food and Agricultural Organization of the United Nations has chosen to recognize 2026 as the International Year of the Woman Farmer .

It’s good to be noticed. Women are the hands behind the harvest as well as the minds shaping the future of agriculture.

Most consumers probably don’t care if their food comes from farms run by men or women or both. They just want healthy and delicious food.

What they may not realize is that without women farmers – especially in Africa – we would not eat. Women make up 43 percent of the global agricultural workforce. The rate is even higher here in Africa, where women are credited with producing 70 percent of our continent’s food, according to the World Economic Forum.

I’m proud to be one of these female food producers. On my farm in Zimbabwe, I’ve moved out of the shed and into a proper home. I’m running a successful operation, where I grow no-till maize and potatoes. I’m also adding legumes for crop rotation. I also grow eucalyptus trees , which isn’t food but is still a part of my agricultural business. The wood from these trees becomes material for building as well as fuel for burning.

It was a struggle to get started. Despite my humble beginnings, I’m now doing well—and I have big plans to do better. I also have big ambitions for African agriculture, which, today, trails the rest of the world in food productivity.

I want all farmers to flourish, both men and women. We face the same challenges: poverty, climate change, and access to technology, markets, and finance.

I also know that flourishing farms require strong women. And if African agriculture is ever going to meet its potential, we must seek specifically to empower its women farmers. We must invest in this half of humanity.

Our contributions are often invisible. Women work long hours in the fields, often engaged in hard labor with primitive tools such as hand hoes and ox-drawn plows. We sort, clean, and pack food. This makes us indispensable links in national and global food chains, but many of us marry at a young age and don’t pursue the advanced education that the best farming demands. These factors can hold us back.

Meanwhile, men tend to occupy leadership roles. They drive the conversations that turn into policy. And they usually own the land.

Fewer than 13 percent of African women under the age of 50 are the sole owners of land, compared with 36 percent of African men, according to the World Bank . Even with joint ownership, there’s a gender gap: Only 38 percent of African women report owning any land at all, compared with 51 percent of African men.

That’s one of the reasons why I started Mnandi Africa , an organization that seeks to encourage women in farming. We offer training to improve knowledge. We also provide access to tractors, planters, and other mechanized equipment.

We’ve aided thousands of women. One of them is Mbuya Rufandike.

“I always thought farming was meant to hurt my back,” she told us. “Here I am, 60 years old, and farming without feeling the pain of bending because we can now use tractors.”

Mbuya has dedicated her working life to food production, at great personal and physical cost. When we put tools and technology in the hands of farmers like her, however, agriculture is no longer a punishment. It’s an opportunity.

In the International Year of the Woman Farmer, let’s listen to what Mbuya is telling us.

Ruramiso Mashumba grows snap peas, maize, cabbage, whole brown rice, sorghum, millet, eucalyptus and gum trees in eastern Zimbabwe. She served as the National Youth Chairperson for the Zimbabwe Farmers Union and is a member of the Global Farmer Network. Ruramiso was recognized as the 2020 GFN Kleckner Global Farm Leader Award recipient and currently serves the GFN as Regional Lead:Africa. www.globalfarmernetwork.org

From Bethlehem to Rural America: Biblical Relics Find a Rare Home in Western Ohio

Wed, 24 Dec 2025 16:46:42 GMT

Each Christmas season, thousands of people from around the world travel to Bethlehem in the Holy Land, drawn by the desire to stand where Christians believe Jesus Christ was born. They come seeking a deeper connection to the story of a baby laid in a manger.

But for many believers, you don’t have to travel halfway around the world to encounter that history.

Tucked into the rolling farmland of western Ohio, the farming community of Maria Stein is home to a church that safeguards pieces of biblical history — relics that span from Christ’s birth to His crucifixion, preserved quietly among fields, livestock and rural life.

Beyond the Tannenbaum, the bows and wrapping paper, the gift exchanges, parties and baked treats lies what Christians call the reason for the season. A baby born in a stable surrounded by animals and placed in a manger.

Pieces of that manger — carried across centuries and thousands of miles — have found their way here.

How do such important artifacts end up in the middle of farm country? That’s a good question and one that draws quite the story.

A Journey Rooted in Faith and Farming

The story begins not in Ohio, but in Rome.

In the early 1800s, the Catholic Bishop of Cincinnati petitioned the Vatican to send German-speaking clergy to the American Midwest. Immigration was rising, and German-speaking Catholics were settling across Ohio farmland, looking for spiritual leadership and community.

In 1843, Father Francis De Sales Brunner arrived in Ohio. Soon after, three Sisters of the Precious Blood followed. By 1846, a convent was built in Maria Stein, and their ministry began to take hold.

“It was a self-sustaining property,” explains Caleb Gaier, ministry coordinator. “They were out in the fields. They were taking care of farm animals. Besides sustaining the needs for themselves, they were looking to assist the community too. There was a lot of teaching.”

At the same time, Europe was being torn apart by unrest and war. Churches were being closed, ransacked — or worse. Sacred objects that had been venerated for centuries were suddenly at risk.

In order to protect their precious treasures, or relics, as they’re called, many were sent to the U.S.

“They wanted to protect them, to keep their purpose of helping people grow in their prayer,” Gaier says. “They’d send them away with those whom they could trust and help them to serve their purpose — like Father Brunner.”

Relics With Rules — and Purpose

Official relics don’t travel lightly. Each one comes with documentation and strict rules, vouching for authenticity and outlining how to care for the relic.

“These relics are a connection to these past men and women who’ve lived throughout history and have given their life to the Lord, Gaier says.

Inside the small chapel in Maria Stein are more than 1,200 relics, carefully displayed and preserved. Among them are ornately decorated reliquaries containing what believers hold as fragments of Jesus’ manger.

“If we look above, on the left-hand side of the main altar, at the top window in that center panel on the stand — kind of with the crystals going down from it — that reliquary holds a piece of the manger,” Gaier says.

Nearby are ashes believed to be from the bones of the Three Wise Men.

“Those would have come from the cathedral in Cologne, Germany,” he notes.

The collection also includes relics associated with the massacre of innocent children ordered by King Herod.

“He had all the children, I believe, two and under killed,” Gaier says. “What’s more precious than a child? And believing they are also in heaven.”

At the center of the shrine, splinters believed to be from the old rugged cross are flanked by angels — connecting Christ’s birth in the manger to His death on the cross.

A Place to Pause

For generations, pilgrims traveled to Maria Stein, filling the chapel with long lines and quiet prayer. While the crowds are smaller today, the mission remains unchanged.

“Sometimes it’s easy to get distracted by other tasks throughout the day,” Gaier says. “But when you go back and have a moment of silence — just sitting in the presence of some of the Lord’s relics and the relics of the saints — the shock of it comes back.”

In the busyness of the Christmas season, Maria Stein offers something rare: stillness. A place where pieces of the Christmas story stand quietly, telling their tale not from marble halls or distant lands — but from frozen fields and farm country in western Ohio.

A "Disneyesque" Christmas: A Charming Small Town in Rural Arkansas Comes to Life in December

Wed, 24 Dec 2025 15:25:09 GMT

Driving through the Arkansas Delta this time of year, the view feels timeless. Cotton fields that once resembled freshly fallen snow now sit compressed into bright white bales, stacked neatly along quiet two-lane roads. It’s the same harvest scene farmers and families in this region have known for generations — one rooted in the land and shaped by the Mississippi River.

But just 45 miles north of Memphis, the road will take you on an unexpected turn. That’s where you’ll stumble upon Wilson, Ark. Home to about 800 people, its aesthetics look like a European village, and its roots date back to a family who founded the town in 1886.

“It’s a fascinating story of how Wilson was founded,” says Jeff Kmiec, CEO of Wilson. “The Wilson family literally started by timbering the area. Once they drained all the water and cleared the timber, Mr. Wilson decided there may be an opportunity to start farming. The soil is incredibly rich from the Mississippi River, and that’s what launched the city that still survives today.”

That agricultural foundation continues to define Wilson today. Fields of cotton, corn and soybeans stretch beyond the town limits, and farming remains the backbone of the surrounding economy. While the population remains small, the connection to the land remains strong, and it’s now a destination for those around the country, as it’s charm is a draw for many.

An Unexpected Look in the Delta

While Wilson’s roots are firmly planted in agriculture, its appearance often surprises first-time visitors. The town’s architecture feels out of place in the Delta — and that’s entirely by design.

“As it relates to the architecture, we’re blessed in that one of the Wilson children got married and was sent to England for their honeymoon,” Kmiec explains. “They became enamored and fell in love with English Tudor architecture. When they returned, they promptly remade the town in that style. It’s surprising to hear visitors say, ‘How is this here? I feel like I’m in a different country.’ But that’s what happened, and the Wilson family helped create a legacy we still enjoy today.”

The Tudor-style buildings, along with the town square, don’t exist as a novelty. They remain part of everyday life in a rural community that continues to evolve while honoring its past.

A Town Changes Hands — and Holds On

After more than 125 years under the Wilson family, the town entered a new chapter in 2010. That’s when the Wilson family decided to sell not just the buildings they owned in town, but their farmland as well.

“The farmland was the prize,” says Becton Bell, a local farmer and the mayor of Wilson. “It’s about 30,000 acres of fertile farmland that surrounds this town.”

When the town went up for sale, it brought uncertainty for the residents. The land might be valuable, but the unique town held memories, history and identity for those who called Wilson home.

“I think the first thought everybody had was, ‘Well, there goes the town,’” Bell says. “Everybody wanted the farm, but nobody’s going to want to keep the town up like the Wilson family. It actually turned into the opposite.”

Galen Lawrence and his family purchased the surrounding farmland, along with the town itself. A farmer and businessman, he first saw the value in the farmland. But it’s his wife who fell in love with the town.

A Farming Mindset Still Guides Wilson

Rather than fading, Wilson began to take on renewed purpose — guided by an owner who understands agriculture and the long view that comes with it.

“When they first purchased [the town], they decided they had to do something special here. Mr. Lawrence is a world traveler, and he decided to do something hospitality-wise.” Kmiec says.

From reopening the local restaurant and making it farm-to-table experience to creating a museum, it’s the little touches that make a big difference. One of the biggest attractions making Wilson a destination is the unique hotel that boasts hospitality.

The Lawrence family built The Louis, a boutique hotel that allows visitors to escape the hustle of everyday life in a memorable way. The rich history of the Arkansas Delta is sprinkled throughout the hotel and rooms. But what makes it so memorable is the fact this unique hotel offers charm and hospitality that rivals any major resort, with comfortable rooms and complimentary snacks and drinks, which might be why the hotel boasts exceptionally high guest ratings, especially for such a small town.

Lawrence might be a successful businessman and investor today whose vision is what you see within the hotel and many other areas of the town, but he understands the value of a rural area as he remains rooted in farming.

“He’s a farmer first and foremost,” Kmiec says. “He has a lot of other business interests, but he likes to set people up for success. When he’s farming, it’s always about planting seeds in fertile soil. That mindset continues today, where he wants to put people in positions where they can excel and be successful.”

That philosophy shows up today in restored buildings, local jobs and a downtown that feels cared for rather than commercialized, which pairs nicely with the architecture.

Wilson Lights Up Bringing the Magic of Christmas to Life

Those values become especially visible during the holiday season when the town of Wilson transforms into a gathering place for families. That’s when Wilson lights up, truly bringing the magic of Christmas to life.

“It’s important for me to do something that’s a legacy event for families,” Kmiec says. “My favorite time growing up was Christmas, spending it with my parents. With the Lawrence family’s blessing, we invest pretty substantially in a light show that’s almost Disneyesque. It’s choreographed to music, just under a million lights and snow-making machines, and every Friday and Saturday from Thanksgiving to New Year’s, Santa and Mrs. Claus arrive to greet children.”

The lights draw visitors, but the heart of the event remains community. From the beginning, the decision was made to keep the Christmas celebration free and accessible. There aren’t any entrance fees, it’s a display open for all to see.

For families who farm nearby or live in neighboring towns, the event offers something simple but meaningful: time together, shared tradition and memories that last long after the lights fade.

Why Wilson Is Magical Year-Round

For Kmiec, the draw of Wilson is something that can’t be manufactured. It’s unique to this rural Arkansas community, and one that’s only becoming more charming each year.

“If you’ve seen any Hallmark Christmas movie, or if you’re a fan of Americana and what makes this country great, that essence still lives here,” he says. “It’s special for us to be able to showcase that and tell people this is what makes the country great and why Wilson is as special as it is.”

Wilson calls itself “America’s Village.” In this Delta farm town, agriculture, community and tradition continue to define everyday life — shining especially bright during the Christmas season.

The Future of Agriculture: A Partnership Between a Farmer’s Experience and AI’s Intelligence

Fri, 12 Dec 2025 17:35:46 GMT

By Malwinder Singh Malhi: Ludhiana, Punjab, India
A student recently asked me two powerful questions that capture the future of farming and artificial intelligence: “Sir, can AI help us grow rice with less water? If yes, then why should we fear the future?”
I appreciate his optimism—and he is right. His questions reflect the wisdom we need today.
If AI can help us grow rice with less water—and it certainly can—then AI should make us excited about the future, not fearful of it.
Yet this perspective is not widespread. Globally, people are more anxious than enthusiastic about AI. A Pew Research Center survey across 25 countries found people were roughly twice as likely to express concerns about AI than excitement. Ironically, some of the strongest concerns come from the United States, the very country leading much of then AI innovation.
In India however the conversation feels different. Especially In rural areas, we don’t fear that AI will take our jobs. Instead, we see AI as a support system, a tool that augments our work, not replace it. AI is more likely to create new roles – in data collection, machine operation, crop monitoring, digital advisory services, and precision agriculture.
In short, we see AI as an assistant, not a threat.
I’m already using AI on my 25-acre family farm in Punjab. We recently finished our rice season and are now growing wheat for food, producing high-quality potato seed for other farmers, and cultivating corn for silage.
In our rice paddies, AI-powered sensors guide irrigation, helping us conserve water. In our potato fields, AI-connected sprinkler systems analyze real-time data to optimize irrigation and fertilizer application.
In both crops, AI has given us clear benefits:we grow more using fewer resources.And this is just the beginning. AI-enabled tools and small robotic implements will soon support farmers in spraying, weeding, and scouting for pests and diseases. They will provide timely information about prices and markets and help us navigate labor shortages.
What AI will not change is the farmer’s fundamental role. We will always plant seeds, care for crops, and harvest food. Our traditional knowledge will remain vital. But AI will increasingly enhance our decision-making and efficiency.

I often say the farmers of the future won’t just operate machines. We will also operate data. And AI will help us convert that data into practical knowledge and insights.
For example, a simple image taken with a smart phone can now detect nutrient deficiencies, pests, and plant diseases.. A young farmer recently told me: “We used to lose precious days waiting for experts to visit. Now AI tells me the problem and solution in minutes.”
As Global Farmer Network colleague V. Ravichandran says it perfectly: “ I have a plant doctor in my pocket .
With AI, Indian agriculture can achieve higher and more stable yields, reduced chemical usage, healthier soils, climate-resilient cropping patterns, and overall improved sustainability. Most importantly, it strengthens food security for the world’s most populous nation, home to roughly 1.5 billion people.
AI is not a robot replacing farmers. It’s a decision-support tool.Jobs will evolve, not disappear. We will still need farmers to collect data, operate machines, monitor fields and convert AI insights into real-world improvements.
This potential is already drawing young people toward agriculture. During a recent AI-training program at a rural school, I saw tremendous enthusiasm, especially among the girls.They were confident, curious, and ready to embrace this new era.
Our future farmers are teaching us something important:The partnership between human intuition and machine intelligence is not something to fear. It is something to welcome with confidence and hope.
Dr. Malwinder Singh Malhi is a 3^rd generation farmer in Ludhiana, Punjab, India where he grows rice, wheat, potatoes, peas, along with fodder crops of oats, rye grass and mustard.Malhi has over 30 years of experience working with farmers on the transfer of agricultural technologies to increase productivity. Malwinder Malhi is a member of the Global Farmer Network. www.globalfarmernetwork.org

Standing Up for Whole Milk by Sharing the Whole Story

Fri, 12 Dec 2025 15:12:25 GMT

Every now and then, amidst the never-ending lists of tasks and chores, you hear something that reminds you why you do it. Often finding herself surrounded by kindergarteners, Magdalene Gerst frequently hears comments like, “Oh, this is the dark brown chocolate milk. This is the really good stuff!”

It’s a cute quote, and it was fun to hear. It may have even been one of those “why we do it” moments, but it’s also part of a story that proves something has to change.

Gerst is a seventh-generation farmer from Richmond Farms Dairy, a 200-cow dairy in North Collins, New York. As a past dairy princess and mom of three, she has a knack for connecting with young kids about what she does and where their milk comes from.

During her visits to schools, Gerst has noticed an unfortunate trend. “Kids won’t even touch the one percent,” she says. “They can only get non-fat for lunch, and if a five-year-old can notice, it really says something.” At home, many kids are drinking two percent or whole milk. And when the milk at school tastes different, the kids don’t drink it, and they miss out on the nutrients dairy provides.

(Magdalene Gerst)

Seeing this part of the story play out time and again has given Gerst the motivation and message she needs to speak with the legislators who can help make a change. “We had our congressman out to the farm when he first got elected,” she recalls. “We talked to him about things that are important to us and just let him see what’s going on.”

More recently, Gerst traveled with the National Young Cooperators to Washington, DC. “We talked to our representatives about the key things, one being ‘Whole Milk for Healthy Kids,’” Gerst says. “That was an easy thing to talk about from being in the schools.”

(Magdalene Gerst)

From those experiences, Gerst has learned what works – and what doesn’t. “In the past, we’ve written letters,” she says. “I’m sure they get them but there’s no follow-through. But when we physically made an appointment and we’re sitting in their office, follow that up with a thank-you card and they’re gonna remember that connection.”

Since hosting the congressman on the farm, communication has opened up both ways. “You’ve got to set up that first connection. I like to keep the door open so they’re welcome to visit anytime,” Gerst says. “I’ll show them around and answer any of their questions.”

Gerst wears many hats on the farm, and she pulls from all of her experiences to make sure she has a good story to share with anyone she meets. On any given day, she could be managing embryo transfers, payroll, or working with the vet – and all with a toddler in tow.

(Magdalene Gerst)

For both legislators and kindergarteners, she says those real-life stories are key: “Letting them know what the day-to-day looks like, and letting them feel included,” she says. “Especially for the kids, they want to see pictures, or they want something physical they can touch. So I take a calf into the school. I take feed and let them make a trail mix – as we call it – but then teach them what that is.”

Several months after her visits to her kids’ schools, Gerst is still hearing those reaffirming comments like, “Did you bring chocolate milk today?” or “Are you gonna bring a calf again?”

Gerst feels strongly about bridging those gaps right from the beginning, instead of trying to correct misinformation. She loves seeing their faces light up and knowing she’s showing them something they will remember and share at home. “I love kids, so that makes it even more fun. We have a great story to tell, and if we don’t tell it, someone else is going to make up their own story to tell on us.”

Frontier Justice: Cowboy Posse Corners Deer Poacher in Buck-Wild Bust

Tue, 02 Dec 2025 12:48:05 GMT

When a hairy ape jumped out of a bush and scrambled over a rocky outcrop before disappearing into a canyon with a dog and three cowboys in hot pursuit, Dee Scherich witnessed the opening act to one of the wildest escapades in agriculture and outdoor history.

What followed? A story straight out of the Wild West. Outlaws, cowboy posse, legendary ranchers, yucca hideout, cake feeder truck, honey in a hotel hookup, X marks the spot, and a head-knocking duo of old-school lawmen low on patience.

“I’ve seen crazy things in my life on the ranch, and dealt with poachers my whole career, but who expects to see a damn ape-man hightailing across their land?” Scherich remarks. “Didn’t matter how long it took, we’d catch him.”

Tough as Boot Leather
Rewind the clock to 2002.

“I hope all your f***ing hogs die.” Such were the profane, final words of Kansas game warden Tracy Galvin to a brazen Oklahoma desperado. Maybe not poetic; certainly plain and punctuated.

In the heart of southwest Kansas’ monster buck universe, Comanche County was plagued by outlaws intent on trespass, slaughter, and theft of magnificent antlers worthy of display at Bass Pro or Cabela’s.

Comanche County features open country, few people, and big horns—arguably nowhere more evident than the rugged and raw Merrill Ranch , a slice of Jayhawk heaven. Laced west to east by the sandy Salt Fork of the Arkansas River, the 17,500-acre operation (including 2,000 acres of row crops) was once part of the Comanche Pool —the largest livestock spread in Kansas history. Merrill Ranch’s topography, echoing a Hollywood movie set, is characterized by flat mesas, buttes, deep canyons, gypsum hills, brick-red shale or sandstone formations, deep caves, prickly pear, and yucca. (Adjacent to Merrill, in Barber County, sits the 42,479-acre Z Bar Ranch, owned by Ted Turner.)

Cowboys of the Comanche pool.

(Photo public domain)

In 2002, Merrill was helmed by Dee and Phyllis Scherich , a duo fit for central casting or a Western novel. (A neutral observer would be forgiven for assuming the couple stepped out of a time capsule from the 1800s.) Living legends later inducted into the Kansas Cowboy Hall of Fame , the wedded pair herded cattle, mended fencelines, and managed the outfit for 40 years.

Tough as boot leather, Dee was raised on the Merrill, riding the range in the shadow of his father, Virgil, who first worked the land in the 1940s and later became manager. Like father, like son.

Warm, kindhearted, and remarkably humble, the Scherichs never met a stranger. They also held a special wrath for outlaws, and on the Merrill, tucked in the back of beyond, right was right, and wrong was wrong.

“Damn poachers,” says Dee, 85. “We had a big population of white-tailed deer—really fine bucks. Some evenings, we’d drive out, lights off, watching for vehicles. Sometimes we could catch people, even with their headlights out if it was a moonlit night. Most of the time, we’d race after them and they’d escape at a higher rate of speed than we wanted to chase, but it got the message out that we were always watching.”

“Poach at your own risk.”

Call the Law
On the crisp morning of Nov. 13, 2002, before the opening of deer firearms season, with temps in the 30s set to reach the 50s, Scherich spotted a truck cruising his neighbor’s land—a white, flatbed pickup.

Decked in spurs, boots, cowboy hat, chaps, and Wranglers, Scherich was moving cattle in a pasture on the north end of Merrill Ranch, alongside two hired cowboys, Chris Lawless and Jim Sheets. Finishing herding duties by 11 a.m., the threesome trailered their mounts, leaving saddles and bridles in place, and began driving south across the vast property toward another roundup. Bouncing in the truck bed, Scherich’s two dogs scanned the horizon: Tedrow, a German Shorthair-Weimaraner-Border Collie mix, and Brandy, a chocolate Lab.

Dee and Phyllis Scherich, living legends, managed Merrill Ranch for 40 years.

(Photo courtesy of Phyllis Scherich)

Four miles later, easing along a dirt road with a hint of gravel, the quintet pulled over at a corner where crops met canyon, pausing to decide what part of the ranch to work next.

“We parked close to our crop fields,” Scherich describes. “We’d recently drilled 1,200 acres of wheat and it was prime for deer depredation. At night, the deer exited the canyon and fed on the wheat.”

As Scherich, Lawless, and Sheetz sat in the cab sorting priorities, Tedrow froze stiff as a statue, gazing out of the bed toward a yucca plant growing on the edge of the canyon roughly 75’ east. In a flash, Tedrow bailed from the truck.

A critter? “I thought Tedrow was going to chase a rabbit,” Scherich recalls. “Brandy, not nearly as aggressive, jumped out after him, following Tedrow.”

On a beeline, Tedrow closed on the dagger-leafed yucca, Brandy in his dust.

The yucca shifted. Literally.

“All of a sudden, a fuzzy and hairy man with a rifle stood up behind the yucca and took off running. He looked like an ape-man in camo, and he assumed he was about to get eaten alive. Of course, Tedrow and Brandy were no attack dogs, but he didn’t know that.”

The “ape-man” was a poacher garbed in a ghillie camo. In that instant, Scherich’s ranch roundup target changed from bovine to human.

“All we really knew was there was a guy in a ghillie suit on foot, hiding in some cedars in a canyon. It already sounded damn crazy,” Galvin recalls. Photo courtesy of USAF, Master Sgt. Scott T. Sturkol

(USAF)

The poacher retreated toward the canyon and skirted the rim, desperate to find enough slope to descend. Locating a traversable spot, he dropped over the lip into a gash roughly 100’ deep, 100’ wide extending to several hundred yards, and 1 mile long with multiple forks and a cedar thicket running along the bottom.

In tandem, Scherich and his hired men scrambled for their horses. Scherich had already made the connection: The poacher climbing down the canyon wall belonged to the flatbed pickup spotted earlier in the morning.

Pulling a two-way radio, Scherich barked a message: Another damn poacher. Call the law.

Twelve miles away, at Merrill headquarters, Phyllis was ready to pull the levers: “I called the sheriff immediately, and he promised to also alert the game wardens. Just so happened, everyone was far away or out of the county, but we had time on our side until they arrived.”

Next, Phyllis called neighbor Dave Brass and asked him to check on the odd pickup truck seen earlier. She knew the truck had to be the poacher’s only ride off the Merrill. Brass had also seen the pickup hours before, but he assumed it was the Scherich’s vehicle, because they drove a nearly identical setup.

Above the canyon, Scherich and his men road the rim, peering down for any sign of the outlaw. They had a rifle in the work truck, but carried no sidearms. “Looking into a canyon for an armed man, and not knowing if he’ll fire up at you is about as serious as things get,” Scherich emphasizes. “We wanted to keep him penned and be certain he didn’t escape.”

Scherich suspected the poacher was holed up somewhere in the bottom cedars. Brandy confirmed his suspicions. While Tedrow stayed alongside Scherich, Brandy frequently dropped into the canyon, tail wagging, and disappeared into the thicket. She knew.

“It turned into one of those days,” Phyllis describes. “You know? One of those days you never forget.”

Calls to law enforcement completed, Phyllis hopped in a Chevy S-10 and raced to the canyon. The waiting game was on.

Lust and Liaison
Bats out of hell. Kansas game wardens Tracy Galvin and B.J. Thurman, .45 caliber Glock 21’s on their hips, roared down US 400 from Dodge City, bound for Merrill Ranch roughly an hour-and-a-quarter distant. “At that point, all we really knew was there was a guy in a ghillie suit on foot, hiding in some cedars in a canyon. It already sounded damn crazy,” Galvin recalls.

Tracy Galvin, left, pictured with a cougar taken by a landowner in 2007, alongside B.J. Thurman.

(Photos by KDWP)

Straight-shooting, plain-talking conservation veterans, the bulldog duo had physical presence. Galvin backed by a 300 lb. frame and Thurman solidly stacked over 6’1”, decked in boots and cowboy hat.

Fifteen miles outside Merrill, Galvin’s cellphone buzzed. A local deputy was on the scene and had located the curious white truck seen hours earlier on the periphery of the Merrill . “Tracy, you might want to stop here first. Something’s off. The driver is from Oklahoma and things seem really weird.”

Minutes later, kicking up a cloud of dust, Galvin and Thurman pulled alongside the deputy and walked up to the white flatbed with Oklahoma plates. The vehicle had a cake feeder on the bed, ostensibly a pellet-box to feed cows—or a potential means of antler concealment.

Inside the cab, the evidence was telltale. A roadmap of Kansas, an empty rifle scabbard, and a hunting magazine open to a feature on Kansas monster deer, with hand-drawn scrawls circled around Comanche County. X marks the spot. Bull’s-eye. Almost too farcical for reality.

Thirty-something Howard Storment out of Sweetwater, Oklahoma, was behind the wheel. However, the vehicle was registered to Billy Palmer.

Galvin laid the trap.

“Son, what in the hell are you doing out here?”

“Me and my buddy are looking to buy used farm equipment.”

“How do you find the equipment?”

“We drive around till we spot it.”

Galvin spooled out more line. “You come to the least populated county in the state and you roam around in the middle of nowhere until you find an old tractor in a field? Then you contact the landowner to buy it? That’s the story you’re going with?”

“Yessir.

Galvin tightened the screws. “The gun case. That belong to your buddy, Billy Palmer?”

“Yessir.”

“Well, where in the hell is he?”

Without skipping a beat, Storment claimed lust and liaison. “We’re staying in Medicine Lodge (40 miles east) and he got lucky with some Kansas woman last night. I ain’t seen him since he ran off with her.”

Part of a 2009 seizure of poached bucks by Thurman (second row, yellow shirt, cowboy hat) and Galvin (standing on Thurman’s right). “Don’t come to Kansas to poach,” Galvin said. “Stay the hell away.”

(Photo courtesy of B.J. Thurman)

“And I suppose he took his rifle with him when he hooked up with the woman?”

Stumped, Storment paused, unsure of what rabbit trail to go down.

Galvin seized the pregnant moment. “Son, you should know we have a guy penned up the road in a canyon. You think that might just be your good buddy, Billy?”

“Lord, I hope not.”

“Let’s go,” Galvin added. “You’re coming with us.”

Lyin’ Eyes
The scene around the canyon conjured the ghost of John Wayne. A mounted posse of cattlemen, lariats at the ready, searching for an outlaw.

“I’ve never, never seen anything like it in my life,” Thurman exclaims. “We drove up to a group of cowboys looking like they were about to string somebody up, cow dogs running around, and a sunuvabitch cornered.”

Maintaining watch at various points around the lip of the canyon were Dee Scherich, Phyllis Scherich, Chris Lawless, Jim Sheets, Marti Sheets, Dave Brass, along with the county sheriff and his young deputy.

Phyllis chuckles at the memory. “Of all the places to poach and of all the plentiful spaces to hide in our part of the state, this guy, Palmer, picked the wrong spot. We owed it all to Tedrow. We’d have never known a thing and Palmer would have killed a monster. Instead, Palmer picked a yucca right where Dee stopped, and then got chased by Tedrow into the canyon—a trap. We were all congregated, waiting on the law, and there was no way he was escaping.”

“I remember the sheriff and deputy being nervous,” Phyllis continues, “but Tracy and B.J. weren’t even a little bit hesitant.”

Galvin and Thurman were integral to multiple poaching busts, including this massive 2009 seizure.

(Photo by KDWP)

Galvin and Thurman peered over the rim. “We watched one of the posse’s dogs go down into the thicket, tail wagging,” Thurman notes. “Clearly, Billy Palmer was in there.”

Thurman leaned over the canyon edge and bellowed: “Billlllly. Billlllly. Billlllly Palmer. We’ve got your buddy, Howard. Bring your ass out, now.”

The jig was up. Within minutes, Palmer emerged without a rifle and began climbing up the canyon. Galvin and Thurman moved down a slight slope to intercept.

As Palmer neared, Galvin snapped out a clear order, “Stop and show your hands.”

Palmer kept walking. Galvin repeated the order. Palmer walked on.

“We had no idea if he had a pistol, knife, or other weapon hid on him,” Galvin describes. “When he refused to stop, we had no choice. B.J. tackled him and laid him out, and I screwed a pistol into his ear.”

Palmer didn’t flinch.

“Whoahhh,” Galvin recalls. “That’s when we knew this wasn’t his first rodeo with law enforcement. He had no reaction to the handgun. Just another day for him. Of course, we found out later they had done this before in Iowa: Shoot a big deer, come back later, cut off the head, hide it in the cake feeder, and drive away. By all appearances, just a couple of honest farm workers hard at work.”

Thurman seized Palmer’s cell phone. Despite no reception, the cell told the canyon tale. “Palmer was taking a risk by poaching out where cell service is poor, but when he went in the canyon, his spotty service went to absolute zero,” Thurman says. “He was trying to communicate with Howard, but he couldn’t get a signal. When we got his phone, there were too many calls out—all unsuccessful—to count. When he entered the canyon, it was over.”

Standing in the midst of the posse and law enforcement, Palmer denied possession of a rifle. Who ya gonna believe? Me or your lyin’ eyes?

Scherich was incensed. “He lied about not having a rifle and was calling us liars for saying otherwise. This guy was wearing camo, hiding on a ranch with big deer, and then daring to claim he had no gun. It’s a low breed of a man who steals your time, tries to poach your deer, and then calls you a liar.”

Scherich hit the trail, rode into the canyon, and found the rifle. “Turns out, he’d hid it in some other trees before easing into the cedar thicket.

For Scherich and Phyllis, the cat-and-mouse game was over. They’d lost almost a whole day of ranch work to Palmer and Storment. It was time to go the barn and undress the horses.

“It was a done deal for us,” Phyllis says. “We have so many stories from our decades on the ranch, but that’s one of the wildest. Apparently, it wasn’t over for the game wardens.”

Time for a jailhouse confession?

Saccharine Grin
Judge Loren Cronin didn’t take kindly to poachers. Palmer and Storment were each hit with $10,000 cash bail. Several days later, growing restless behind bars, Palmer summoned Galvin, begging for a way out of lockup.

From left: Tracy Galvin, left, and B.J. Thurman, after a wild pig hunt.

(Photo courtesy of KDWP)

“He said he needed to go home really bad because he had a hog farm and he needed to feed the hogs. He said his wife was having to do all the work,” Galvin remembers.

Galvin threw Palmer a bone: Tell the whole truth and I’ll help kick you loose.

Palmer agreed. Camera equipment in tow to record the confession, Galvin visited the jailhouse the same night. However, just prior to Galvin’s arrival, Palmer received word that his wife was enroute with $10,000.

Galvin walked into the interrogation room, set up the audio equipment, and pressed record. “Okay, Billy, tell us how it all started and who was involved.”

“You tell me,” Palmer answered, wearing a saccharine grin. “You seem to know it all.”

Galvin shook his head in disgust and threw in the towel. “I’m done. Take your ass back to the cell.”

As Palmer exited the room, Galvin delivered a parting shot: “I hope all your f***ing hogs die.”

A Final Message
All told, Palmer and Storment each received $1,800 in fines for the 2002 poaching violation. Case closed. Almost.

Over a decade later, beyond Galvin’s retirement from the Kansas Department of Wildlife & Parks in 2009, he got a phone call from a conservation officer in northwest Arkansas.

“After all those years, my game warden friend close to Bentonville called me and said he’d caught Billy doing the same kind of poaching business. He just wanted me to know he was in custody.”

Before hanging up, Galvin asked his Arkansas counterpart to deliver a message.

“Tell Billy, the game warden in Kansas still hopes all his f***ing hogs die.”

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

These Colorful Corn Sacks Are Preserving a Piece of Rural History

Thu, 27 Nov 2025 17:40:01 GMT

Growing up in the 1940s, Ron Kelsey was a farm kid who eagerly awaited one special trip each year—the Minnesota State Fair. His father showed corn there for more than five decades, racking up over 30 champion titles. For Ron, those trips planted a lifelong fascination with corn and the vivid bags that once carried seed.

“My dad showed corn at the state fair for 54 years,” Kelsey recalls. “He had championed like 30-some times, and I would go with him.”Those early visits sparked his interest not only in corn, but in the artwork that adorned seed sacks of the era. Long before plain paper bags became the standard, seed companies packaged corn in brightly colored cloth sacks boasting ornate logos, scenes and town names—each one a walking advertisement for both the seed and the farmer who grew it.

“The sacks had not only the name of the grain on them, but they often had the name of the town you’re from and your name,” he says.

A Lifetime of Teaching and Collecting

Kelsey went on to become a high school agriculture teacher and FFA advisor in Lamberton, Minnesota. In his spare time, he began collecting these vintage cloth sacks, eventually amassing an astonishing 1,400 of them.

He takes roughly 400 sacks to the Minnesota State Fair each year, offering visitors a glimpse into farming’s visual past.

“I have fourteen hundred of ’em, so I can’t take ’em all,” he laughs. “I take about four hundred of ’em there.”

More Than Fabric: The Art and Science Behind the Sacks

Many of the old sacks survived only because they were reused around the home. But unlike the floral-patterned flour sacks often turned into clothing, grain sacks were printed with dyes that weren’t intended to last.

“The grain sack is what I call a temporary dye,” Kelsey explains. “You can take the color out overnight with boiling water. My mother made her underwear out of them also. It was a little bit scratchy, but we got by.”Because the dyes fade with light exposure, Kelsey can’t keep them on permanent display. Still, he makes special efforts to show visitors—and this collection—what corn meant to rural America.

Some sacks feature college mascots, regional icons or whimsical illustrations.

“These are colleges—the Big Ten,” he says, pointing to one display. “Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, Nebraska… Husker sacks, rabbit ears made of corn—just all kinds of designs.”

Corn in the Blood

Corn has been woven into nearly every chapter of Kelsey’s life. His children even gifted him a corn-themed item for his 75th birthday—something he accepted with humor and pride.

“I was a corn person and I carry it with me,” he says. “My kids gave me this for my seventy-fifth birthday, and I thought if I get it when I’m 75 years old and I don’t like it, I’m not gonna live that long.”Though corn may be a commodity, the cloth sacks from the 1930s and ’40s are anything but ordinary. They’re bright, bold snapshots of farm life and the communities that grew around it. And through collectors like Kelsey, they continue telling those stories today.

Traveling the countryside, in Lamberton, Minnesota — I’m Andrew McCrea.

Where Hope Takes Root: The Grit That Saved a 90-Year-Old Family Farm

Wed, 26 Nov 2025 22:21:31 GMT

In the rolling hills of Napa Valley’s Los Carneros region, the scene often looks idyllic. Morning fog drapes the vineyards, and the quiet hum of farm life feels timeless. But behind the postcard-perfect setting stands a family that has survived nearly 90 years of grit, risk and reinvention — and a fourth-generation farmer who refused to let 2024 be the end of their story.

“I am the fourth generation carrying on this family legacy,” says grape grower Jennifer Thomson, walking the same ground her great-grandmother once chose with remarkable instinct.

A Legacy Born From the Dust Bowl

Long before Napa Valley became synonymous with world-class wine, the Thomson family put down roots here in 1938. Thomson’s great-grandmother, Jenny Ophelia Barnum Thomson — a descendant of the famed Barnum circus family — had the courage to pursue opportunity when most would have turned back.

“It was the Great Dust Bowl and the Great Depression driving many families west for new opportunity,” Thomson says. “As migration was happening toward the West Coast for better economic opportunities, they moved here and were able to purchase this land.”

What she bought wasn’t just acreage. It was a vibrant Carneros hub complete with orchards, worker housing and a blacksmith shop. Women couldn’t legally own land at the time, but the deed was placed in her name for only a day, a testament to the trailblazer she was. Then, the land deed was moved into her husband’s name. But the vision, Thomson says, was her great-grandmother’s.

“For her to have that foresight to take that risk and purchase land here — you think about that today,” Thomson says. “She was doing what any family does: contributing to the family. There was water in the Carneros Creek, there were prunes, pears and apples already planted, and they had the ingenuity and engineering to successfully farm. Sometimes you just have to lead with your intuition, and I think that’s what she was doing.”

A Daughter Returns Home — and a New Fight Begins

Four generations later, that same intuition runs deep. In 2009, Thomson left her job in San Francisco and came home to take over the ranch from her father, George.

“Did I ever think Jen would be the one to take over?” George says with a small laugh. “No. I am surprised. I am thankful.”

When she arrived, the wine industry was in the middle of the 2008–2009 recession.

“When I took over in 2009, my father says to me, ‘You picked the absolute worst time to get into farming,’” Thomson recalls. “And then 2024 and 2025 happened. Farmers ask one another, ‘Is this as bad as 2008 or 2009? Is it better? Worse? Did we just forget?’ Because I took over so young, I already was prepared more than my peers.”

But today’s pressures, she says, feel heavier.

“There are not as many channels for sales, not as many stable partners to work with. If I’m a betting woman, I do think 2025 and going into 2026 will be more of a struggle than ever before for the California wine industry.”

Read More: Grape Growers Desperately Need You to Drink More Wine as They Grapple With a Glut of Uncontracted Grapes

So, why is it so challenging for grape growers today? It’s complex. Not only has demand dwindled, with a Gallup poll showing alcohol consumption is at a 90-year low, but an abundant supply the past few years has suffocated the grape growing region. As more vineyards take vines out, that will help the supply situation, but it’s coming at a cost. The other issue is the sellers, like Thomson, and buyers, as in wineries, haven’t always come to the table to find a solution. Cheap imports have flooded the market, and it’s at a much cheaper price than what it costs to grow grapes in California.

Thomson’s father agrees with her, saying the California grape and wine industry is facing one of its most challenging chapters yet.

“It is very challenging,” George says. “The market is sort of against us. Tastes are changing. There are more government regulations on what you can do with your property to make a living.”

Still, he keeps believing.

“Do I think we’ll get out of this? I have my fingers crossed. With people like Jennifer, I believe they’ll keep working at it. They won’t give in easily,” George says.

The Year the Grapes Had No Home

But nothing prepared the family for what came in 2024.

“This home ranch produces a little over 300 tons of grapes annually,” Jennifer says. “And in 2024, nearly all of those 300 tons are dropped on the ground and go unharvested.”

All of them?

“All of them,” she says quietly.

Demand had plummeted. Oversupply strangled the region. And for the first time in the ranch’s nine-decade history, not a single cluster had a home.

It was a moment when most growers would consider walking away. But Jennifer didn’t.

Refusal to Quit

But this is where the story gets good, and where you’re reminded you can’t underestimate the determination of a family farmer, especially Thomson. After all, grit is woven into this family’s DNA. And she leaned on every ounce of it.

“In 2025, I make a true farmer with good ingenuity,” she says. “I make sure I shake hands. I talk with previous clients. I source new clients. I put a lot of hustle into exploring new relationships and cultivating the ones we already have. And we are fortunate this year to sell all of our grapes.”

Her father says the same drive is what transformed the ranch the moment she took over 15 years ago.

“We were able to make a living at it, at least pay the taxes,” George says. “But the property really never makes money until Jennifer says, ‘I think I can do that.’ I hand her the keys and the checkbook.”

George says he always had an off-farm job, but for this first time in his memory, Thomson’s keen business sense and intuition turned the family vineyard into one that could finally support itself.

“Jennifer turns it around for the first time in my life that the property actually supports itself,” he says, emotion thick in his voice. “How proud am I? Extremely proud. She has the foresight, the hunger, the passion. The intelligence. She had all the parts. She has them now.”

One of the Last Family Farmers Standing

In a region rapidly shifting toward corporate ownership, Jennifer is part of a shrinking group — farmers who still drive their own tractors, repair their own equipment and deliver their own fruit.

“I feel more of a pull to the land than I ever predicted when I first took over,” she says. “I took over to help my family and retain this ranch for future generations. But working alongside our crew for 15 years, working with winery partners who value our family legacy and this 90-year-old ranch — I certainly feel much more drawn to the land than I ever think I would.”

Some estimates point to less than 25% of the growers left in the region are true family farmers, a dwindling group that is fighting to remain rooted here.

Gratitude Amid the Hardship

Despite the hardships, Thomson carries deep gratitude — especially this Thanksgiving season.

“I’m really grateful my great-grandmother has the foresight in 1938 to buy a wonderful piece of land with wonderful water availability,” she says. “I have a great-grandfather and grandfather who worked with the Federal Soil Conservation Department and built an on-stream reservoir. It allows us to irrigate our crops and keeps our vines healthier.”

She is thankful for her community, too.

“I’m thankful for that core group of family farmers. We band together. We support one another. We share our successes and we share our failures. That camaraderie can’t be duplicated.”

A Story Still Being Written

The Thomsons’ story, once born out of Dust Bowl desperation, endures because each generation chooses resilience over retreat. And in 2024 — after a year when every grape fell to the ground — it was Jennifer’s resolve that carried the legacy forward.

Every grape has a home again in 2025. And because of her, the family’s story isn’t just continuing, it’s growing stronger.

Adam Sanders Brings Hog-Wild Energy on Stage in CBS Series “The Road”

Wed, 26 Nov 2025 14:09:39 GMT

What does pig farming have to do with the new CBS series featuring Keith Urban and Blake Shelton? More than you might think.

The Road is an exciting new show that features 12 emerging artists who are competing for a $250,000 prize package and recording opportunities. Each participant also earns the opportunity to open for Urban during his national tour.

Six artists remain, and one of the featured artists is Adam Sanders, a Nashville singer and songwriter originally from Florida. He’s also a good friend of Missouri pig farmer Jesse Heimer. Not only has he performed at Heimer’s farm multiple times, but the pair has also written two songs together, including “Do What We Do.”

The tour bus rolls into Tulsa for a concert at the iconic Cain’s Ballroom. In place of Blake Shelton, award-winning country artist Dustin Lynch sits in with Keith Urban. For the first time, the seven musicians are divided up to perform two group covers before performing their originals, on THE ROAD, Sunday, Nov. 23 (9:00-10:00 PM, ET/PT). Pictured: Adam Sanders. Photo: ©2025 CBS Broadcasting Inc. All Rights Reserved. Highest quality screengrab.

(CBS/CBS )

“I think what folks see on the screen is someone who’s had just enough experience on stage in front of a crowd, and the feelings of all of it, to know that he really wants it,” Heimer says. “This isn’t Adam’s first time to town – he opened for Carrie Underwood at a sold-out Iowa State Fair. He understands the stage, the audience, and the emotions people have as they listen to an entertainer.”

It’s been an incredible experience to watch Sanders shine on The Road, Heimer adds.

“He really took this opportunity to heart – to be on screen in front of millions to tell his story and put his talent on display,” Heimer says. “Adam is a high energy guy all the time and that’s what you see on stage. But he’s also one of the most genuine, down-to-earth friends I’ve ever had. The Adam you see on screen is the Adam you’ll see on the street.”

That’s Why We Do What We Do

Heimer first met Sanders in 2019. They were introduced by a mutual friend after Heimer created a series of videos to highlight the benefits of showing livestock. His goal was to help people outside of agriculture see that showing livestock was about more than just the animal and the ribbon. Their mutual friend encouraged Heimer to produce a music video which eventually led him to meet Sanders, a talented songwriter.

Adam Sanders (l) and Jesse Heimer (r) on the farm in Taylor, Mo.

(Legacy Livestock Images/Heidi Anderson)

“I had to learn more about his industry, so I could have enough knowledge about his side of the fence,” Sanders says. “I think we spent months really talking about the idea of this. One day, it really just registered with me and it clicked. I remember writing down in my phone: ‘that’s why we do what we do.’”

Sanders called on his friend Brice Long, a fellow songwriter to help write “Do What We Do.”

“I wanted the song to be broad enough that it could appeal across facets of agriculture,” Heimer says. “I knew if we made it just about the show ring, we were only going to attract those that already believe the same things as me.”

The project started as an anthem for stock show kids and although that goal never changed, the video went down a different path than Heimer first expected. He wanted to create a music video that everybody in agriculture could see themselves in. Regardless of what your role in agriculture is, Heimer believes this song speaks to the feelings of many about why they do what they do.

“I couldn’t be prouder of how the song turned out, and how it all came together,” Sanders says. “It was just a natural fit. It took some time to make it happen, but God had a plan in all of this and how it shaped out.”

Sanders adds that the stats show the song resonates with people. Through organic promotion only, the song has now been streamed nearly 600,000 times and appears on 39 playlists. It’s received 873,000 views on TikTok, too. Beyond traditional streams, the song has been very popular with TikTok users who are increasingly using it in their content.

But You’d Get It If You Did It

Three years after Sanders released this song, Heimer had an “epiphany” at the 2024 Missouri State Fair.

“I realized I was watching my kids doing, saying and loving all of the same things I did at the state fair when I was a kid,” Heimer says. “It felt like déjà vu. I talked to Adam during the fair and told him we should write a song about it – to piggyback off ‘Do What We Do.’”

Not long after, the song ‘ Get It If You Did It ’ was born.

“From the outside looking in, it’s hard to understand why we raise pigs, why we go to shows, why we commit so many resources for our kids to find success in the show ring,” Heimer

But you’d get it if you did it
I bet you wouldn’t knock it
If you dug your boots down in it
You’d know why we can’t stop it
You can’t replace the dreams we chase
Naw ain’t no way we can quit it
Might not love it like we love it
Or live it like we live it
But you’d get it if you did it.

- Get It If You Did It

points out. “This song is a continuation of the original story. The writing is broad enough, though, that it fits anyone’s hobby or passion from hunting to sports to rodeo. I hope it gets a spot on The Road.”

The chorus is easy for people in agriculture to relate to, Heimer says.

“The show pig community has been incredibly supportive of me as an artist for several years, going back to the introduction of ‘Do What We Do’ – and even before,” Sanders says. “It seems like no matter where I’m playing, people from this industry are in the crowd.”

Live from Oklahoma Ranch

Show pig industry leader Blake Kennedy, owner of Kennedy Ventures, was fortunate to be in the audience during the taping of The Road in Oklahoma City.

“It was a really cool experience to be selected as a cast member,” Kennedy says. “When we got there, they checked us in and took our phones and belongings. Because no one had the distraction of a phone, everyone was very present and engaged.”

The atmosphere inside Oklahoma Ranch was very exciting, he adds. Sanders performed his original, “Burning Roses” and Jo Dee Messina’s hit song “Heads Carolina, Tails California.”

Although the contestants only get a few minutes of time in the TV show, Kennedy says their live performances were about 10 minutes and allowed the audience the opportunity to get to know each performer a little more.

“It was awesome to see someone like Adam be successful in his world who also enjoys seeing us achieve success in our world, too,” Kennedy says.

Tune in Sunday

Don’t miss the next episode performed at The Hall in Little Rock, Ark., airing on CBS on Nov. 30 at 8 p.m. CT. https://www.cbs.com/shows/the-road/

Read the ‘Do What We Do’ story here:
Nashville Singer and Pig Farmer Release Anthem for Ag

A Brazilian Sustainable Coffee Success Story: And the Journey Continues

Mon, 17 Nov 2025 23:13:40 GMT

By Luiz and Flávia Saldanha: Jacarezinho, Parana, Brazil

Sustainability isn’t just a marketing tool for our coffee farm—it’s our management philosophy. As we grow the beans for your favorite morning beverage, every decision we make is guided by the idea that soil, water, people, and coffee are part of one living system.

We are humbled to say that last year we received an important recognition for our efforts: Globo Rural magazine named us one of the five most sustainable large farms in Brazil, recognized for our strong commitment to sustainability, innovation, and social responsibility.

That’s a high honor in a nation with a lot of big and professional farms.

We aspire to grow the best coffee at California Coffee Estates , where we enjoy ideal conditions for Arabica beans. Here in the Parana region of Brazil, our plants thrive with a perfect combination of a high latitude (23^o S) with an average elevation of about 600 meters, where they benefit from volcanic soil, balanced rainfall, and mild temperatures.

Yet we’re doing so much more than producing coffee beans. We’re combining tradition, science, and responsible cultivation as we seek to become a benchmark for the next generation of regenerative and sustainable agriculture.

But the farm wasn’t like this in a near past.

In 2004, we heritage a farm with many problems, and the opportunity of our lives. Only 20 percent of the farm back then was devoted to coffee. It suffered from dense planting, soil compaction, erosion, a lack of mechanization, and low productivity. The rest of the farm was leased for sugarcane cultivation, and it, too, was badly degraded.

We knew that we had to bring this farm back to life. And that’s what we did through a transformative journey of specific actions that are now a part of our standard operations in sustainability.

Soil is at the foundation of agriculture. We keep it healthy by planting cover crops between coffee rows. This prevents erosion, fixes nitrogen, encourages aeration, maintains moisture, and attracts pollinators. We also compost all the organic residues from coffee processing—the husks, the pulp and the water—and use it as natural fertilizer. This has allowed us to cut back on chemical fertilizers and to restore soil health naturally.

Water management is essential. In the field, our drip-irrigation system relies on moisture sensors to apply water only when the coffee plants truly need it. In our wet mills, where we turn the cherries we’ve picked from coffee plants into dry beans ready for roasting, we have a closed-loop system that allows us to reuse and recycle water throughout the processing.

We turn to technology whenever it makes sense. Satellites help us monitor plant health. Solar panels and biomass lower our energy costs and reduce our carbon emissions. Even trees are tools, as we plant native species to reduce runoff, protect aquatic life, and provide microclimate enhancement.

We also take care of our people. Workers have formal contracts, access to training, and opportunities for advancement. More women are in leadership positions.

We’ve seen excellent results. Over the past decade, the organic material in our soil has improved by 30 percent. Our water consumption has declined by 40 percent. Best of all, we’re more profitable. Our input costs are down and the quality of our coffee is up.

Sustainability has a price tag. At Fazenda California, however, sustainability is not a cost but an investment in permanence, profitability, and excellence. It requires investments in technology, know-how and training. But it pays off. Up-front costs turn into long-term profitability and a resilient business model.

The American moviemaker Woody Allen once joked that 80 percent of success is just showing up. Our sustainability recognition, however, wasn’t simply a matter of filling out forms and getting lucky. It’s the result of years of consistent, documented work measuring our environmental management, social responsibility, and economic sustainability.

It’s also going to make us better. Through the required self-assessment, the evaluation forced us to measure, document and challenge our own practices. It has helped us identify areas where we think we can do better.

We’ve learned that sustainability is not a destination but a journey. We’re always seeking to improve. Soon, for example, we expect artificial intelligence to forecast disease outbreaks and optimize our water efficiency. We’re also planning to experiment with crop rotation systems and microbiome manipulation to increase soil fertility, reduce pests, enhance biodiversity, decrease chemical inputs and increase coffee quality and plants adaptation to extreme weather conditions.

Ultimately, we hope to create a legacy. We want to leave behind a farm that’s better than the one we inherited—one that regenerates, inspires, and serves as a model for producers in Brazil and beyond. As we say: “In our soil we cultivate the future.”

Luiz and Flavia Saldanha are Agronomical Engineers and produce high-quality Arabica coffee on Fazenda California (California Coffee Estates) in the Norte Pioneiro do Parana region of Brazil.Recognized as one of the leading examples of environmentally and socially conscious agribusiness in Brazil.Luiz Roberto Saldanha is a member of the Global Farmer Network. www.globalfarmernetwork.org

Water Witch Keeps Dowsing Tradition Alive on Nebraska Farmland

Wed, 12 Nov 2025 12:38:41 GMT

Last of the water witches? At 33 years young, Scott Hemmer walks Nebraska farmland, waiting on the soft twitch of brass rods held in his hands.

“Right here,” he says, pointing to the ground. “About a 450’ down and 1,000 gallons per minute. Drill here.”

The ancient art of water dowsing still lives in Cornhusker country. Hemmer claims the gift—an ability to sense and feel the pull of water in the bowels of the earth.

“All the old settlers who built this country and all the farmers without modern technology believed in witching, and they depended on it to survive.”

Wells, water lines, septic tanks, and forgotten graves, Hemmer witches them all. X marks the spot.

“It’s entirely real,” he contends. “Come see for yourself.”

Damn Near Spot-On
Since the first light of recorded history, dowsing has been the go-to location tool across continents and cultures. Whether using a y-shaped stick, pendulum, metal rods, wires, or a variety of other devices, dowsers have sought the underground location of liquids, minerals, dead bodies, lost valuables, and far more.

In Hemmer’s case, he uses L-shaped 1/8” brass rods—12” long with 4” handles. “From steel to copper to willow branches, people use all different kinds of dowsing rods. When I’ve had nothing else to rely on, I’ve even ripped the flag off utility markers and used the wires.”

On a clear November day in east-central Nebraska’s Platte County, Hemmer dowses a small tract of farmland in search of a replacement spot for a collapsed irrigation well that pumped 550 gallons per minute. He grips a rod in each hand, held like a pair of pistols.

“I’m not special and this is not magic,” Hemmer says. “I think most people could do it if they … tap into whatever connectivity is going on.”

(Photo by Hemmer Dowsing & Water Witching)

Mop of brown hair under a boonie hat, clad in t-shirt, canvas pants, and steel-toe Timberlands, he crosses to the far side of the field as the rods repeatedly move inward. No big show. No dramatic gestures. No performance. Just the gentle crossing of the rods—the telltale sign of water in proximity.

Hemmer confidently informs the farmer: “This spot will pump 1,000-1,200 gallons per minute.”

“Impossible. I was only getting 500-plus on the other side.”

“It’s here,” Hemmer responds. “Bout 265’ down.”

Banking on Hemmer’s reading, the farmer prepares to drill.

Days later, Hemmer’s phone rings: “You’re damn near spot-on. We hit water at 270’, pumping around 1,250 gallons per minute.”

Blind luck? Power of suggestion? Science? The unseen hand? Untapped senses?

How did a Nebraska dowser, with no family background in witching, find the gift?

No Harm, No Foul
In 2015, riding shotgun across endless Nebraska flats in a Dodge Ram 5500 service truck, Hemmer was a willing hostage to conversation. Behind the wheel, 81-year-old Gilbert Preister, Hemmer’s co-worker and founder of Preister Well & Backhoe, rattled off tales of the trade, each story layered with rabbit trails.

Hemmer, 33, dowsing in Platte County.

(Photo by Hemmer Dowsing & Water Witching)

“Gilbert would tell me stories about drilling on farms and hitting nothing and having to get a water witch instead. He had wells that were drilled strictly on the word of witcher Ervin Dohmen, and Gilbert believed in it, but he couldn’t explain it. I’d heard of witching before Gilbert, but knew nothing about it. Sounded like nonsense to me, but riding in the cab made me wonder if there might be anything to it.”

“I’d talk to our customers and they’d tell me that prior to drilling their wells back in the 1980s or 1990s, those wells had first been witched. I kept thinking about it.”

Intrigue sparked, 25-year-old Hemmer dove into dowsing research after hours. No family, friends, or fellow dowsers for help. Alone, he fashioned rods and walked sites around his rural home spots already confirmed to hold water. The rods spoke.

At work, Hemmer’s successful back yard experiments blossomed. “One day we were looking for a waterline, and the customer said, ‘It’s right here.’ But the customer turned out to be wrong and we dug for an hour looking for the line.”

Curiosity building, Hemmer grabbed two flags from the service truck, shaped them into makeshift rods, and began dowsing the property. The wire rods crossed and Hemmer made his mark. “We dug right there. At 6’ down, I was within a couple inches left and right of the waterline. I started realizing I had genuine ability. This was real.”

Hemmer Dowsing & Water Witching provides services in Nebraska and beyond.

(Photo by Hemmer Dowsing & Water Witching)

Next step? On the job, he witched spots during drilling to see if dowsing matched actual results in the field. No harm, no foul.

“We were going to drill in those places no matter what. I started witching beforehand, making my predictions each time, with no damage to anyone. Kind of a trial to see if I could dial in.”

The result? Gangbusters. A Nebraska witcher was born. Success after success, he says.

Uncanny. But what is the link between water, rods, and mind? How does Hemmer explain the mystery of dowsing?

Hitting the Bull’s-Eye
“I claim no scientific proof, but this has worked for centuries, and everyone has a different explanation. What I’ve slowly learned is that it’s not the tools or type of rod. It’s a mental state. Everything around us gives off some kind of frequency, almost like a radio wave.”

“I set my mind to whatever I’m looking for—water, sewer line, or grave—and my mind knows the frequency. Do it over and over, and confidence builds. You become more attuned to the things around you.”

In 2020, he started Hemmer Dowsing & Water Witching as a side business, offering dowsing services in Nebraska and beyond. As his reputation built, the service call volume grew in tandem: wells, septic tanks, water lines, and settler graves.

A dowser searching for water in 1942.

(Photo public domain)

On a witching call, no special environmental conditions are required. No solitude needed. “I like to be with the customer when I’m doing it. We talk the whole time I’m working, and that keeps me from overthinking. I’m going strictly off my mind-rod connection, and noise doesn’t bother me at all.”

“The rods are my visual indicator coming off what my mind and body are picking up. It’s amazing when you get that strong pull, and you know there’s water below.”

With skeptics in abundant supply, reputation is everything. In addition to pinpointing the location of significant water, Hemmer differentiates between seepage well and deep water well. Translated: Hemmer must stay tight in the bull’s-eye.

“When I get a call from a customer four hours away, and I go on their land and witch a spot for a residential well—that means money on the line for them. It’s as serious as it gets when someone pays $10,000 to drill a hole based on my recommendation. That’s how confident I am in what I do. At the end of the day, I’ve got to come in the ballpark of 95% correct.”

The Water Prophet
The hat of a dowser casts a long shadow. As in, most practitioners are up in age. The art of dowsing may by dying, but Hemmer is the exception, still in his early thirties.

“People are welcome to ask me anything about witching and believe what they will. I’ll let the results in the field speak for themselves. Doubters really don’t bother me, because those same people don’t realize that whether they live in Nebraska or Texas or Pennsylvania, their forefathers all believed in witching. Whenever old settlers wanted to dig a well, somebody with dowsing skills was used. Those were major undertakings and huge decisions because the well had to be dug by hand.”

Hemmer claims the dowsing gift—an ability to sense and feel the pull of water in the bowels of the earth.

(Photo by Hemmer Dowsing & Water Witching)

Can anyone dowse? Maybe, Hemmer says. “I’m not special and this is not magic. I think most people could do it if they could get around a mental block and know how to tap into whatever connectivity is going on.”

Eight years into a remarkable dowsing career, Hemmer is hitting stride. Rods in hand, the young water prophet is on the hunt.

“It’s pretty simple,” he concludes. “If it’s in the ground, I’ll find it.”

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

Amplifying the Authentic Voice of the World’s Farmers By Choice

Mon, 10 Nov 2025 14:50:38 GMT

By Bill Horan: Rockwell City, Iowa USA

Every radio host and newspaper reporter around the world wakes up to the same question: What am I going to cover today?

Farmers can supply the answer because we are content providers who have great stories to tell.

We can give updates on how the growing or the harvest season is going. We can discuss food prices. We can describe what we’re doing to keep the soil healthy, the air clean, and the grocery stores full.

It turns out that lots of listeners and readers want to know.

Here’s the trick to getting their attention: We don’t have to wait like wallflowers for journalists to contact us. It may be more effective for us to contact them, offering insights and ideas from a unique perspective.

I used to carry around a laminated card in my billfold. It listed the phone numbers of local radio stations and newspapers in Iowa. As I traveled around the state, I made a habit of reaching out and making myself available for interviews.

Many times, it worked. I got on airwaves and pages to discuss what was on my mind as a farmer.

Back then, I was president of the Iowa Corn Growers Association. Our group usually had a message we wanted people to hear. I gave those laminated cards to every board member and told them that when they visited any part of the state on corn growers’ business, they had to contact the local media.

Success doesn’t require special training. You don’t have to be a communications professional. And unless you’re going on television or a video call, you don’t even need to comb your hair or put on a clean shirt.

The farmer’s secret weapon is authenticity. Your expertise is your personal experience. Nobody is a better advocate for agriculture than the men and women who work the land.

Farmers are among the most trusted people in the United States. Farming and agriculture in fact topped Gallup’s latest survey on the reputations of various business sectors. Six in ten Americans held a positive view of ours. The computer and restaurant industries followed, and they were the only other two to receive positive marks from a majority.

The poll examined views of 25 sectors and industries. The results, released in September, revealed an average positive score of only 38 percent. Nothing beats agriculture.

This means that when farmers speak, people listen with open minds. And it gives us an amazing opportunity to amplify our voices and spread our views.

The issue of the day can be tariffs, taxes, climate change, crop protection, or technology choices from biotech to precision ag to conservation tillage. It can also be the latest heat wave or hailstorm. We have a special authority and credibility to discuss who we are, what we do and why we make the choices we do.

We should be agents, not objects: It’s much better when we talk about ourselves, as opposed to letting non-farmers talk about us.

Sometimes the best thing we can do is simply introduce the public to the groups we represent. My main purpose in asking my fellow Iowa corn growers to contact the local media was to leave the audience with a good impression of our organization while providing important, authentic information from the field, literally.

The media has changed a lot over the last decade. People consume news and information in all sorts of ways.

Radio remains the world’s largest form of mass media. Every week in the United States, it reaches 87 percent of adults. It’s hard to beat local, live, and free. Globally, especially in the global south, radio is the main information provider for the majority of the population.

Printed newspapers have lost influence in the last generation, though I still subscribe to the Des Moines Register and the Fort Dodge Messenger . Readers are more likely to trust local outlets than national publications, according to a recent survey from the Pew Research Center.

The old forms of media still deliver value and are worth it. So are the new ones. Podcasts are essentially on-demand radio. Digital news sources, including social media, have many readers.

Farmers should work with people in every kind of media: radio and podcast hosts, news reporters, and social-media influencers.

Let them know who you are and what you can offer. Give them what they need every day, in a world where content is king and farmers always have stories.

Bill Horan grows corn, soybeans and other grains with his brother on a family farm based in North Central Iowa.Bill is a Global Farmer Network member and one of the original GFN Founding Farmers from Iowa. www.globalfarmernetwork.org

Delayed Planting of Genetically Modified Crops in Kenya is Costly

Sun, 02 Nov 2025 12:00:00 GMT

By Gilbert arap Bor: Kapseret (Uasin Gishu County), Kenya

Kenyan farmers like me are losing money every day and food security for all is challenged because we have not been allowed to plant biotech crops. Recent studies and legal decisions indicate that delays and uncertainty surrounding the adoption of genetically modified (GM) crops are impacting farmer income and food security. While the government has expressed support for the technology, ongoing litigation and public opposition have created bottlenecks.

According to the report from the Breakthrough Institute, and several other groups, including the African Agricultural Technology Foundation, all these have resulted in the total cost to the nation in excess of Ksh.20 billion— close to $157 million USD—over the last three years.

“This staggering loss has denied the country vital opportunities to boost food security, farmer incomes, and environmental health, and is exacerbated by persistent misinformation campaigns that hinder science-based progress,” says the Kenya News Agency .

It’s all because farmers are denied access to two biotech crops that the Government of Kenya already has approved: an insect-resistant maize, and a disease-resistant potato. Only one GM crop has been available for planting by Kenyan farmers since 2019 – Bt Cotton.

We can’t get the seeds because activist groups that despise modern agriculture have sued to block their distribution. Everything is tangled up in the courts.

Kenyan farmers suffer because we could be growing more and earning more. Kenyan consumers suffer because the country’s food prices are higher than they should be. The Kenyan environment suffers because we’re using pesticides that biotechnology has rendered obsolete.

It doesn’t have to be this way.

Three years ago, the Kenyan government lifted its longtime ban on the importation and cultivation of GM crops, in a move that promised to let Kenyan farmers enjoy the technologies that farmers in the United States, Brazil, Argentina, and elsewhere take for granted. The idea was to bring Kenyan agriculture into the 21st century.

“This is the kind of change we need,” I wrote in a column , shortly after the announcement. “It’s time for Kenya to catch up—and now we will.”

Except that we haven’t—and now it’s starting to seem like we won’t.

In fact, it feels like the old ban is back in place. Or, perhaps more accurately, it feels like the ban never was lifted. Nothing has changed. Kenyan agriculture remains locked in its primitive and inefficient ways, while much of the rest of the world pushes forward with bigger yields and increased food security. Yet the country boasts some of the best agricultural researchers in the world, who have done their bit!

Our president, William Samoei Ruto , remains an advocate of biotech crops. Several months ago, his government reiterated its commitment to improve food production through biotechnology. A regulatory framework for the commercialization of GM crops remains in place.

Yet the lawsuits have halted Kenya’s progress.

“The government’s commitment to facilitate the adoption of new technologies and innovations to transform low agricultural productivity in the country is being derailed by unending litigation,” complained Mutahi Kagwe , the Cabinet Secretary for Agriculture and Livestock Development.

I’d love to plant biotech crops. My family has farmed 25 acres for the last four decades. We always grow maize (corn), and this year we planted 10 acres. Most of it will become feed for our dairy herd, but two acres will turn into ugali , a cornmeal that is the staple food of my country.

Access to biotech crops would make us more resilient farmers. We’d grow more food at a lower cost, boosting our profits and saving consumers money. In a fully flourishing system of modern agriculture, we would enjoy improved ways to defend our crops against insects, weeds, disease, drought, and more.

The longer the Kenyan courts allow litigations to stand in the way of Kenyans to access these excellent crops, the higher the losses will climb. We’ll continue to throw away the economic opportunity to generate hundreds of millions of shillings through honest work and innovation, all due to organizations motivated by an anti-scientific ideology. Their members don’t know much about growing food, but they know a lot about how to manipulate Kenyans’ minds, and the courts to serve a backward agenda.

To overcome this challenge, the government must focus on transparent public engagement that builds trust and continue to offer evidence that GM crops are safe .

It also will take farmers like me. We can’t fight in the court of law, but we can make our voices heard in the court of public opinion.

We must speak out and let our fellow Kenyans know that the sooner Kenyan farmers can access these amazing crops, the better off every one of us will be. We all pay a price for delay.

Gilbert arap Bor grows maize (corn), vegetables and dairy cows on a small-scale farm of 25 acres in Kapseret, near Eldoret, Kenya and has now added coffee and avocados. Dr Bor is also a lecturer of marketing and management at the Catholic University of Eastern Africa, Eldoret campus ( www.cuea.edu ). He is a member of the Global Farmer Network www.globalfarmernetwork.org , and is a member of its Advisory Board.

Milk’s Got Game: Powering Athletes from the Fridge to the Field

Wed, 29 Oct 2025 15:34:33 GMT

In the world of sports, there’s a magic ingredient behind the scenes that’s been fueling athletes long before the stadium lights shine at game time — real dairy milk. The Dairy Alliance, a nonprofit group supported by dairy farm families in the Southeast, is once again championing this powerhouse through their “Milk’s Got Game” campaign. This year, they’re featuring SEC football stars Gunner Stockton and Talyn Taylor of Georgia, and Jake Merklinger of Tennessee, along with their all-important teammates — their moms.

Revolutionizing Milk as a Sports Drink
Joanne Engelhardt-Risko, vice president of Strategic Marketing at The Dairy Alliance, highlights the benefits and growing impact of real dairy milk in sports nutrition, positioning it as a powerful and reliable choice for athletic performance and recovery.

“Real dairy milk fueled these athletes while they were growing up, and it continues to power their routines today,” she explains. The campaign not only spotlights dairy milk’s continuing evolution but also celebrates the significant role moms play — the original champions who made sure milk was always a part of their children’s nutrition.

A Family Connection from Farm to Field
With heartfelt testimonials from athletes like Gunner Stockton and their moms, the campaign captures the authentic bond between family, nutrition and athletic performance. Stockton reflects on how his mom, Sherrie, always included milk in his diet — fueling both his practice sessions and game days. Jake Merklinger of Tennessee mirrors this sentiment, acknowledging how his mother recognized the importance of real dairy milk early on.

Samantha Craun and Jennifer Glover, two dairy farmers from Tennessee and Georgia, respectively, stress the intrinsic connection between their farms and families nationwide.

“From our farms to your family, milk has always delivered the nutrition and strength to fuel athletes on the field and at home,” they share, underscoring milk’s unwavering legacy.

Engelhardt-Risko says moms play a special role for nutrition with the family.

“When you really think about it, moms were the first coaches,” she says. “Milk was always there when you connected with your children, and pairing mom with their SEC athletes made it very authentic — very powerful. Most of all, it made it very, very personal, and we made that connection with our consumers.”

The Campaign’s Impact and Reach
Launched in September, the “Milk’s Got Game” campaign is already making waves, boasting millions of impressions and expanding its influence to celebrities across different sports. The robust presence across platforms, from social media to press interviews, underlines its success and widespread resonance.

“Were over 97 million impressions to date,” Engelhardt-Risko shares, noting the goal is getting to more than 200 million total impressions.

Celebrating Community and Authenticity
At its core, the campaign transcends beyond the star-studded athlete line-up. It’s a celebration of family and community. It honors the dairy farmers whose dedication fuels this initiative, keeping milk’s powerful and nutritious story alive for future generations.

“We’re honoring the people who really make this happen, and that’s our dairy farmers in the Southeast,” Engelhardt-Risko says. “It’s their farms, their families, that allow us to do this. And that really is the basis for this whole campaign. It highlights how milk really continues to be powerful and nutritious, and it’s still and will continue to fuel our families now and into the future.”

From the quiet moments at the breakfast table to the roaring crowds in the stadium, milk’s role is as timeless as it is vital. The “Milk’s Got Game” campaign reminds us all that the cornerstone of an active lifestyle, athletic performance and family connection begins with a glass of milk — and the loving hands that pour it.

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From Crisis to Calling: How Maddie Hokanson Found Strength in the Pork Industry

Tue, 28 Oct 2025 20:01:53 GMT

In June 2020, in the midst of the COVID-19 pandemic, Maddie Hokanson headed out for a routine doctor’s appointment. At 34 weeks pregnant, she admittedly wasn’t feeling great, but as a first-time mom, what’s normal?

She was sent to labor and delivery as a precautionary measure. Not long after, she was in a helicopter being airlifted to the Mayo Clinic in Rochester, Minn. She and her husband, Eric, welcomed their first child, Brent, by c-section later that day.

“Brent was born with hydrops,” Hokanson explains. “He was born at 10.5 lb. He had so much fluid around his organs and it was putting pressure on his brain, liver, kidneys and lungs. He almost didn’t make it.”

After a couple rough months in the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU), the Hokansons learned a lot fast.

“I remember a friend sending me this reminder: If not, he is still good,” she says. “Sometimes things don’t go how we want, and even if that’s the case, I believe God works all things for his good.”

Because of the pandemic, nobody was able to meet Brent until he came home from the hospital. Hokanson remembers being surrounded by so many people who wanted to help and offer support. She says it was a surreal experience.

“I remember my naivety thinking that we made it home – we had made it through the hard part and now he was going to flourish,” she adds. “That definitely was not the case for the first couple of years.”

Diagnosis after diagnosis, the Hokansons struggled to take it all in: epilepsy, visual impairment, heart condition, liver failure, autism and cerebral palsy.

“The mantra, ‘this too shall pass,’ kept playing in my head, but when? When will it pass?” Hokanson says.

Perhaps it never will pass, she explains, but what they have been able to do is find joy in all that their family has instead of the comparison of what they don’t.

A Lifeline

For Hokanson, a seventh-generation farmer with Schafer Farms, the farm has served as a lifeline during these early years of adjusting to parenting a child with serious health challenges.

“The farm was my reminder that whether it’s a good day or bad day, I’m still Maddie Hokanson. I still have a purpose in the world beyond being a mother,” Hokanson says. “Coming into the farm office, talking to my parents, grandparents or employees really held me up. I needed work in order to be able to continue handling myself as a mother.”

Schafer Farms was established in 1886. Today they raise pigs, cattle, crops and operate a transportation and trucking business as well. They have two sow farms where they raise genetics for Topigs Norsvin. Getting to work with her husband, her parents, Brandon and Monica, her grandparents, Pat and Lowell, and her brother, Max, and his wife, Hollie, has been a lifelong dream for Hokanson.

“I loved being involved in the farm from a young age,” she says. “From about second grade on, it was expected that we spend our weekends with dad on the farm, breeding and farrowing sows. Although I wasn’t like some farm kids who learned how to drive a tractor when they were 8, I sure knew how to breed a sow and collected a boar by that age.”

Living Out Her ‘Why’

As she became more involved in 4-H and FFA, she started doing livestock judging and participating in communication contests. She began to see the agriculture industry was much bigger than her own farm.

“In ninth grade, we took a careers class in high school that was required as part of graduation,” Hokanson says. “I explored ag communications and learned about promoting our product. That’s when I realized I was fascinated by talking to consumers about what we do on our farms.”

She connected with a Minnesota Pork Board program, Oink Outings. Through that program, she learned how to connect with consumers and advocate for the pork industry. This eventually led her to pursue a degree in ag communications at South Dakota State University, where was she named the commencement speaker in 2019.

“I spoke about a book by Simon Sinek, ‘Start with Why,’” Hokanson says. “It’s all about finding your why in life. I tried to focus on the fact that when you think about your ‘why’ and your ‘why’ resonates with every part of your life, then it doesn’t matter so much what you are doing if you are pursuing your ‘why.’”

She says her “why” since college continues to be to ensure a successful, thriving future for the generations she will never meet.

Eric, Scott, Brent and Maddie Hokanson

(LAURA KNOPIK )

“Whether I’m home with our boys, instilling values of faith, family and farming; at the farm office working on finances as the CFO; helping in the barn; or lobbying on behalf of the pork industry in D.C., my ‘why’ is the same,” Hokanson says. “All of those things help me fulfill my ‘why.’”

Hokanson’s son Brent is now 5, and Scott is 2. She hopes they will have the opportunity to be the eighth generation of farmers in her family. That’s why she devotes so much of her life to focusing on her ‘why’.

“Sometimes, what is best for the industry doesn’t have a short-term financial or other gain for your own individual farm,” she explains. “But it does benefit the industry in the long run – whether it’s with health, markets, traceability – being willing to do things that seem mundane or complex even when you don’t see any short-term gain individually is important. At the end of the day, a rising tide lifts all boats, and it is our responsibility to ensure that the rising tide comes in.”

Hokanson shares more about farm transition, parenthood and connecting with consumers on The PORK Podcast. You can watch it here on YouTube or listen anywhere podcasts are found.

Watch more episodes here.

Discovery of Giant Bottle Dump Reveals Courage of Young Farmer

Tue, 28 Oct 2025 12:11:44 GMT

How did a stolen bottle and the discovery of an 1800s-era treasure dump reveal the courage of a young farmer?

Ask Keith Loris, the boy explorer. “I’d never seen anything like it or since. Glass everywhere; all colors and shapes. Hand-blown. Embossed. I’m not talking about hundreds of bottles. I can only describe it as tons.”

With rabbit trails crisscrossing Ellis Island, the Trail of Tears, and Hanging Judge Isaac Parker, Loris’ lost-and-found story is an American tale for all, he says. “Even now, you can still find treasures because farm properties, and even back yards in old city homes, are filled with buried secrets. If you take the time to listen, they’ll speak to you.”

Treasure Hunter’s Justice
When a small family tractor bucked and broke down, fair-skinned Keith Loris listened while his dark-complected father, Gene, muttered in frustration, resigned to a shop haul and inevitable repair bill. As Gene walked away in disgust, Keith, still in elementary school, dove into the bowels of the machine.

It was 1960 and Keith’s ninth birthday, celebrated with a bag of rusty hand tools and an exceptional tractor repair. Bolts. Grease. Engines. The kid was a prodigy.

If you take the time to learn your past, you’ll deeply appreciate the present, and that’ll give you hope for the future.”

(Photo courtesy of Keith Loris)

His mother, Barbara, recognized innate ability. Reaching into her purse, Barbara pulled a $20-bill, handed the money to Gene, and uttered words that spurred her son’s career in mechanics: “Why don’t we take Keith to Sears and let him pick out a Craftsman tool set for his birthday? He’s got something special.”

Indeed. Loris, 74, spent a lifetime in automotive teaching, engine rebuilds, body work, and hauling. Remarkable, particularly considering the gearhead was born into a family of cooks and restaurateurs. “I guess the difference is even more ironic because it all began with farming,” Loris notes.

Growing up on what was then the edge of Fort Smith, Arkansas, Loris could taste the past. As a jumping-off point for westward settlement in the 1800s—in the vein of St. Louis, Kansas City, Omaha, or Council Bluffs—Fort Smith was a bastion of history: supply depot, mail hub, military outpost, settler magnet, end of the line railroad terminus, and neck-snapping domain of Hanging Judge Isaac Parker .

“Pretty much my entire childhood was spent playing outdoors,” Loris recalls. “The people beside us had an overgrown pasture behind their house. The whole place would have once been on the very edge of Fort Smith settlement. The pasture lot, maybe 2 or 3 acres in size, was partly grown in timber.”

Gene and Barbara Loris; Fort Smith, Arkansas

(Photo courtesy of Keith Loris)

On a spring afternoon in 1963, 12-year-old Loris was playing with a friend when the pair veered into adjacent timber. “The first thing that caught my eye was several rusty cans and containers, so old they were almost disintegrated. Walking closer, I could see colored glass on the ground, between the scattered leaves. Everywhere.”

The boys cut sticks and began digging, picking through the shards of a second layer, where Loris cut his fingers multiple times. He walked home, grabbed gloves and a shovel, and returned to the site, digging into a third level—where the fragments turned to intact bottles.

“It was an unreal quantity. There were pretty bottles of all shapes, colors, and sizes. We were standing on and in glass, but I don’t know how deep this went into the ground. I know for certain it went back to the 1800s, but I can only guess at the volume of glass. I’d estimate there were tons of bottles.”

Sticking several specimens in his pockets and cradling the rest, Loris went home with 12 bottles, his favorite an embossed “Dr. J. Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters,” dating to the second half of the Nineteenth century.

“My buddy who was with me, Frankie, didn’t care anything about bottles and went home. I put all 12 on my back porch and started cleaning them. It felt kind of like magic. Like I had discovered a secret nobody else in the world knew about.”

Roughly one hour later, Loris recalls, a familiar face peered around the back porch—Frankie’s father. “He says, ‘My boy says you found some bottles.’ I answered, ‘Yessir,’ and pointed to the dozen. He picked up the Hostetter’s bottle, held it up to the light, and said, ‘I’m taking it. This bottle has part of my last name on it. You’ve got enough bottles left and you owe us this one.’ Then he walked away.”

A Hostetter’s bottle: “It felt kind of like magic. Like I had discovered a secret nobody else in the world knew about.”

(Photo public domain)

Loris was crestfallen. Afraid to challenge an adult, the 12-year-old sat on the back steps and fought back tears.

“In that moment, all I knew was that man stole my magical feeling and my favorite bottle of the find. It was wrong and a mean thing to do to a kid.”

But what Loris didn’t know? His dad, Gene, was about to deliver treasure hunter’s justice.

Under Cover of Darkness
Minutes later, Gene arrived home. Black hair, dark eyes, and olive skin, Gene carried paternal Greek and maternal Cherokee blood. He found his light-skinned, blue-eyed boy, who inherited Barbara’s Irish stock, on the back porch, wiping away a teardrop.

“What’s wrong, son?”

Loris recounted the find and seizure of the Hostetter’s bottle.

Gene was furious, but kept his powder dry. “Keith, don’t say a thing to momma. When she goes to sleep tonight, me and you are going back. Don’t you worry. We’ll find you that exact bottle. Where there’s one, there’s two.”

Swamp Fever Tonic
Flashlight throwing beam, father and son crossed into the back pasture at roughly 11 p.m. and felt the crunch of shifting glass underfoot. Inserting a pitchfork into the ground, Gene began turning glass. “He’d pull a bottle and smile at me, and then keep going to the next one,” Loris recalls.

“I didn’t know it right then, but I’d find out later that we were in the middle of an old hobo dump and likely a farm dump before that. It contained an unusual amount of liquor bottles, and I attribute that to the hobos. Fort Smith was a major railroad hub, and this pasture once was a spot where transients stayed for weeks. No question, it would have taken decades for that many bottles to accumulate in one spot.”

“The bottles speak to me about my father who felt his son’s pain and a grandfather who farmed in Greece and found his American dream,” says Loris.

(Photo public domain)

Fifty bottles later—including two Hostetter’s, Gene stopped digging. The duo walked home and cleaned up—all with a wink and nod: You have plenty of bottles now, son. Never bother Momma with where you got them. Never go back there and take anymore.

“I look back now and realize that pasture wasn’t our property, even though the old couple that owned it never went back there. My daddy was more concerned about how I’d been treated by an adult, and he made it right, in his own way, without causing an explosion or a property issue.”

Six decades later, Loris still has all 61 bottles: medicine, soda, whiskey, and wine. “One is a soft drink bottle with a rounded bottom and stopper top. Another is a ‘Schaap’s Swamp Chill and Fever Tonic.’ Another is an 1800s-era wine bottle from St. Louis. I keep them safely packed in boxes.”

“They’re not just bottles,” adds Loris, who serves as a volunteer historian at the Fort Smith National Historic Site . “They’re also books. They tell a story about a farm in Greece and one of the bravest men you’ll ever hear about.”

Greeks and Cherokees
In 1900, 16-year-old Demetrius Loris walked away from his farm in coastal Greece and caught passage on a ship bound for the United States.

Arriving at Ellis Island, alone, with family and friends 5,000 miles away, Demetrius changed his first name to “Jim” and dove headfirst into America: work, scrap, survive. He rode the rails west inside a caboose and learned the trade of a cook. At 25, via the Kansas City Southern, Jim stepped off the train in Fort Smith and never climbed back on, starting a restaurant in the railroad terminal.

The Fort Smith train station where a Greek farmer’s Arkansas story began.

(Photo public domain)

“My grandfather was a farmer in Greece with nine siblings who believed he could make it in America. His family had no money, and his siblings didn’t want to leave, so he begged his parents to send him. They saved up for the fare and he came over in the bottom of a freighter. One-way ticket, of course.”

Along a parallel timeline, Hattie Bell Murry, of Cherokee descent, worked at a Fort Smith laundry. “Her family had been pushed out of Tennessee on the Trail of Tears decades before, but her parents had died and she ended up working on a farm and finally working in Fort Smith,” Loris notes.

The stars aligned when Jim hauled his cooking aprons to the laundry for cleaning, and spotted Hattie Bell.

“The Greek married the Cherokee Indian, and our American family is the result of their determination to provide for their children and succeed. My grandfather started another restaurant on Rogers Avenue, and the rest is wonderful history. What a journey, what a life.”

A Chain in Time
Why are bottles preserved on old house sites and farms?

Before plastic, glassware was the ubiquitous catchall for medicine, hygiene, beverages, and more. Homeowners and landowners discarded the glass on-site, in holes, burn pits, outhouses, and wells. Covered by time, the spots were forgotten. Unintentional time capsules.

Lover of history: Loris serving at the Fort Smith Trolley Museum, flanked by the famous Birney Car.

(Photo courtesy of Keith Loris)

“Rural properties and old city house lots still have these treasures under the ground,” Loris says. “If you look for the telltale signs—sometimes just depression—you can find things that make you appreciate your life today. Something as simple as an ornate bottle, still holding the marks of elegant craftsmanship, makes you ask questions about how much it cost; who bought it; who drank from it; and who was the last person to hold it.”

Did Loris ever return to the most mammoth bottle dump of his lifetime? “No. I never took another bottle. I was tempted, but I wasn’t a little kid anymore and it wasn’t my property. I discovered it, but it didn’t belong to me.”

“In the end, I kept the bottles after all these years because they preserved a chain in time related to my father and grandfather,” Loris explains. “The bottles speak to me about my father who felt his son’s pain and a grandfather who farmed in Greece and found his American dream. Maybe it’s just that simple.”

Every family has its stories, Loris concludes.

“Maybe your stories are lost right now, but they’re out there all the same, just waiting to be uncovered, kind of like the bottles. If you take the time to learn your past, you’ll deeply appreciate the present, and that’ll give you hope for the future.”

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

The 2025 Kleckner Global Farm Leader: Sharing Knowledge That Makes Agriculture Better

Sun, 26 Oct 2025 11:00:00 GMT

By Bill Couser: Nevada, Iowa USA

Dean Kleckner once gave me an award. Its purpose was to recognize a promising young farmer here in Iowa. I was grateful to receive it at the time and remain so today.

Now I’m an older man, and I’m humbled to be recognized with a new award. Dean is gone, but the award is named after him: the Kleckner Global Farm Leader Award , presented by the Global Farmer Network each year around World Food Day.

This is one of the great honors of my life.

Dean was one of my farming mentors. He was an outstanding farmer, but he was even better as a farm leader, serving as the head of state and national organizations.

He didn’t teach me about the methods of farming as much as he taught me about the responsibilities of farmers—and how we should open our farms to guests, so that we can exchange information, transfer knowledge, and promote the best agricultural practices.

Like so many farmers, I’ve always enjoyed trying new techniques and technologies. My latest experiment involves beehives : The Couser Cattle Company now makes natural prairie honey. For me, this is more of a retirement hobby than an actual business, but I can’t stop myself from taking up new activities in food production.

Dean urged me to share my farming experiences with others and showed me how to do it the right way. He’d bring groups to my farm, often from foreign countries. He knew how to engage them with questions and conversation as they checked out the equipment in my barns and the biotech crops in my fields.

One of the most important projects involved bringing cattle farms into the 21st century and its commitments to conservation and sustainability. The state of Iowa told us that we had a decade to clean up our feed lots. The goal was to reduce the amount of runoff that could ultimately drain into the watershed. The challenge for farmers was to commit to the future without going broke.

Our strategy went by the broad name of “alternative tech.” Our goal was to meet the new standards through cost-effective tiling, settling basins, and more. Our success showed that modest investments can have big payoffs.