The post A Groundbreaking California Farming Collective Navigates the Loss of Federal Grants appeared first on Civil Eats.
]]>Lesley Swain spent most of her adult life teaching English to middle and high school students in Oakland and Hayward, California. The 51-year-old used to joke with herself that when she retired, she would become a farmer. Then, about two years ago, Swain decided she didn’t want to wait any longer. She quit her job and started looking for agricultural work. But with no farming on her resume, she struggled to find opportunities to gain experience.
Eventually she found Agroecology Commons, a small nonprofit farming collective based in nearby El Sobrante, where she signed up for Bay Area Farmer-to-Farmer Training (BAFFT), a nine-month program for beginning farmers. Swain is now an apprentice with Berkeley Basket, an urban backyard community-supported agriculture project, through a program that Agroecology Commons offered to BAFFT graduates.
“It’s given me a path that is so healthy,” Swain said. “This is what I want to do, and I didn’t know how I was going to do it.”
Agroecology Commons has helped aspiring farmers like Swain since its founding five years ago. But like many organizations, it must now do more with less.
It was among hundreds of programs whose grants have been canceled by the U.S. Department of Agriculture (USDA).
“We’re hoping that we’re successful in fundraising and campaigning to offset some of the losses,” said Jeneba Kilgore, one of four Agroecology Commons co-directors. “[But] I don’t think we’ll completely recuperate everything that was lost as a result of the federal cuts.”
Agroecology Commons co-director Brooke Porter admires the onions grown on the Agroecology Commons farm. (Photo credit: Riley Ramirez)
Agroecology Commons was formed in 2020 by an eclectic group of Bay Area farmers, educators, artists, and cooperative business owners who were passionate about the intersection of land and liberation. They have spent the last five years creating programs and providing spaces for farmer-to-farmer education and relationship-building for low-income and minority farmers.
The group grows a range of produce, including cherry tomatoes, onions, and beans, on three acres of land tucked into the hillside of a suburban neighborhood. They raise goats and harvest honey. And they run a center dedicated to educating farmers and community members about farming and land stewardship.
In August 2022, the USDA announced plans to allocate up to $300 million in funding to projects that enable underserved producers to access land and technical support. The funding was made available under the Increasing Land, Capital, and Market Access Program (ILCMA), which aimed to help those producers move from “surviving to thriving.”
“It’s a seismic blow, but at least we know and can start the next steps.”
In June 2023, Agroecology Commons was among 50 recipients the USDA selected from across the country. It was awarded a $2.5 million grant to find, buy, and develop land for up to 10 “BIPOC, LGBTQIA, and landless farmers” in the Bay Area. The same year, the Commons was awarded a three-year, $397,000 grant through the Community Food Projects Competitive Grant Program—a small program designed to address food and nutrition security in marginalized communities—also through the USDA.
“The ILCMA grant was revolutionary,” said Kilgore, who, with a background in cooperative business, is the “numbers” person on the team. The first program of its kind in the area, Agroecology Commons “was really going to support so many people that have been historically removed from the land in really harmful ways, and support their future generations.”
Not long after the Trump administration took office, however, the USDA froze the grants—first the Community Food Projects grant, then the ILCMA grant—making the money inaccessible for months.
At last, Agroecology Commons received a termination notice for the Community Food Projects grant on March 7, but has yet to receive an official termination notice for the ILCMA grant. However, Kilgore said the grant has been removed from their Automated Standard Application for Payments (ASAP) portal—the portal used by federal agencies to disburse funds to recipient organizations. In addition, although the organization wasn’t named, the USDA publicized that a $2.5 million grant for a Bay Area ILCMA project was canceled in a June press release.
Since the beginning of this year, the USDA has terminated a number of grants that had been offered to food and farming organizations across the county, canceling billions of dollars in funding. Some programs—such as one that provided funding for governments to purchase local food, and another that supported small farms and food businesses around the country—have been completely canceled. Others, like the Farmers Market Promotion, Community Food Projects Competitive Grant, and the ILCMA program, have not been ended altogether but have had individual contracts canceled.
About 35 percent of the Commons’ work is funded by the state, foundations, individual donors, and earned income. But the remaining 65 percent of the work was made possible by these federal grants.
“It’s a seismic blow, but at least we know and can start the next steps,” Leah Atwood, another Agroecology Commons’ co-director, told Civil Eats in June.
Co-director Leah Atwood feeds Agroecology Commons’ goats a special treat of vegetable scraps and plums. (Photo credit: Riley Ramirez)
Systemic barriers have historically made it harder for marginalized farmers to access the land and resources necessary to build lucrative businesses. Today, 95 percent of producers in the U.S. are white and 64 percent are male, according to the 2022 USDA Census of Agriculture.
“There are a lot of young farmers that don’t have access to land or inherited wealth and are not going to be able to disrupt that 95 percent ownership reality by just trying to go at it by themselves,” Atwood said.
The majority of the ILCMA grant was going to be used to purchase land to establish a commons—a collaborative system where land is owned and managed collectively, rather than by sole owner—for BIPOC, queer, and landless farmers. The grant was also going to fund 60 percent of Agroecology Commons’ staffing capacity for the next three years.
“I wish they would just say that they don’t want to support people of color, and they just want to support white men, because that is what they’re implying.”
The organization planned to purchase land in several counties across Northern California. They had already built a relationship with a real estate agent, Kilgore said, and had a list of sites that they were interested in purchasing, but before the team was able to move forward, the grant was frozen.
“When it came to the ILCMA grant, we were doing all the things that they said,” Kilgore said. “We’re supporting farmers; we’re supporting economic development; we’re supporting people to pull themselves up by their own bootstraps; we are giving people the opportunity to start their own business,” she said. “I wish they would just say that they don’t want to support people of color, and they just want to support white men,” she continued, “because that is what they’re implying.”
Brooke Porter (left) and volunteers Zoe Meraz (right) and Noelle Romero (center) inspect hive frames heavy with honey, making sure that the hives are healthy. (Photo credit: Riley Ramirez)
In addition to broadening land access, the Agroecology Commons seeks to pass on agricultural knowledge to those who may have trouble accessing it otherwise. It was using a second pot of federal money, the Community Foods Projects grant, to help fund training programs such as the BAFFT program Swain participated in.
The program not only gives participants the chance to learn, experiment, and practice land stewardship under the guidance of experienced mentors, but also enables them to take online courses from global partners on a range of topics, including social movements in agrarian reform, agroecology, and food sovereignty.
Once they complete the curriculum, new farmers can apprentice at Bay Area farms. Of the 40 BAFFT graduates so far, 17 are currently working as apprentices on 12 different farms, according to Brooke Porter, a co-director of the Commons. To alleviate socioeconomic conditions that might prevent new farmers from being able to gain experience, the Commons makes a point of paying both the apprentices and their mentors.
Oftentimes, opportunities for young farmers to gain essential on-farm skills require them to provide free time and labor, which requires a certain level of privilege, Porter said. Agroecology Commons’ program challenges that status quo, giving disadvantaged farmers the boost they need to get started.
“This is an opportunity to really change the dichotomy of how people typically get to learn on-farm skills,” Porter said.
“This is deeper than what I do for my career. This is ancestral work for me.”
The Berkeley Basket CSA program is currently hosting two of the Commons’ apprentices—Swain and Cielo Flores, 31. Flores, whose family from El Salvador has a deep history in agriculture, said he signed up for the farmer training program because he was interested in learning how to start his own farming project and cooperative. The program and apprenticeship provided him a template for how he could approach his own project.
“I wouldn’t be doing this without their support,” Flores said. “Agroecology Commons is trying to support me in my vision to become a farmer, to become a land steward. This is deeper than what I do for my career. This is ancestral work for me.”
Moretta “Mo” Browne, who joined Berkeley Basket CSA in 2019 and now owns it, is grateful that Agroecology Commons pays both hosts and participants in the apprenticeship program.
“I already wanted to be a part of it, but the fact that they were able to compensate folks really feels like they understand how exploitative this work can be,” they said. Additionally, getting paid to be a mentor only sweetens the deal. “Being able to live out your dream of being a farmer shouldn’t come at the cost of having a roof over your head or putting food on the table,” they said.
In addition to the apprenticeship opportunity, the Commons offers its El Sobrante incubator farm as a space where BAFFT program graduates can start their own farm projects and continue gaining hands-on training. The 3-acre plot has shared infrastructure, a tool-lending library, and tractors, helping eliminate the structural barriers to successful farming.
Among vegetables like tomatoes and onions, Agroecology Commons grows an array of native flowers on the farm. (Photo credit: Riley Ramirez)
In March, Secretary of Agriculture Brooke Rollins announced in a video on Instagram that the USDA had canceled the Agroecology Commons’ Community Food Projects grant. She stated that the termination was because the grant aimed “to educate queer, trans, and BIPOC urban farmers and consumers about food justice and values aligned markets.”
“We knew a lot of our language has the DEI buzzwords that they’re looking for and the climate focus that they have been targeting, so [the termination] didn’t come out of thin air,” Atwood said.
Only about $32,000 of the grant remains. As a result, the organization has had to pause some projects, such as the creation of financial literacy and cooperative business-planning workbooks. It also cut back on the number of apprenticeship hours it can offer. Last year, Porter said, the Commons offered apprentices the option to do 250- or 500-hour apprenticeships, but this year, it could only offer the lesser of the two.
“It is a much different learning experience, obviously,” she said.
As for the ILCMA grant, it wasn’t until June that Agroecology Commons became aware that it too was likely designated for cuts. A USDA press release announcing the cuts cited a $2.5 million grant “for expanding equitable access to land, capital, and market opportunities for underserved producers in the Bay Area” as an example of one of the terminated programs.
“Putting American Farmers First means cutting the millions of dollars that are being wasted on woke DEI propaganda,” Rollins said in the press release. “Under President Trump’s leadership, I am putting an end to the waste, fraud, and abuse that has diverted resources from American farmers and restoring sanity and fiscal stewardship to the U.S. Department of Agriculture.”
When asked in an email for further details regarding the grant cancellations, the USDA press office declined to comment.
While Agroecology Commons has yet to receive an official termination letter for the ILCMA grant, Kilgore said it is hard to move forward when they don’t know what might happen next. The organization has had to pause progress on its land commons project and shift its plans to bring on four more full-time employees to only two part-time staff.
Because of the financial constraints that have resulted from the grant terminations, the Commons has had to cut another program, Farmer Wellness Days, which has provided more than 145 farmers with acupuncture, massages, or chiropractic work.
“Try to imagine building something and choreographing planning on quicksand,” Atwood said. “It’s so much of an energy drain trying to figure out how to accommodate that.”
Former street dog Guistino, also known as “Goose,” spends his days adventuring around the Agroecology Commons. (Photo credit: Riley Ramirez)
Despite this, the organization has not given up. In June, Agroecology Commons joined five other groups to sue the USDA over the termination of the Community Food Projects grant. Their legal team later amended the complaint to add the ILCMA grant, after becoming aware of its likely cancellation.
The plaintiffs filed a motion for preliminary injunction on June 26, asking the court to stop the USDA’s behavior from continuing and for relief for the plaintiff grantees, according to FarmSTAND, a food-system-focused legal advocacy organization.
David Muraskin, managing director of litigation at FarmSTAND and one of the attorneys representing the case, said with the brief in support of the motion complete, the court can now issue an order. They hope a ruling will be made within a few weeks, he said, but it could also take months. And if the case moves to the appeals court, it could take a year at minimum.
While federal funding cuts have forced Agroecology Commons to scale down some of its initiatives, state funding has enabled the group to expand another one of its programs, which provides young farmers with financial resources to start their own farming operations.
The seed grant program—which addresses resource inequity among beginning farmers—has typically offered $1,000 to $5,000 grants to BAFFT graduates and the apprentice program’s hosts. This year, however, the organization will be able to offer eligible farmers up to $50,000 in seed grants after the California Department of Food and Agriculture (CDFA) awarded the program $784,000.
Prior to receiving the CDFA grant, 26 seed grants had been given out, totaling nearly $69,000, Porter said. This year $400,000 will be distributed to people in the Bay Area, who, like Lesley Swain, are pursuing their farming dreams.
Agroecology Commons may be able to help fewer new farmers, but they’re still offering a vital source of support, and they aren’t giving up.
“We’re not retracting any of our goals,” Atwood said. “We are continuing to be outspoken that we do believe that this type of work needs to center BIPOC, queer, and landless farmers.”
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]]>The post Farmworkers Heal Climate-Scarred Land With Native Seeds appeared first on Civil Eats.
]]>Irma Quiroz pulled her bandana over her face, lowered her hat, and flicked a switch. A towering seed-cleaning machine roared to life, sending a cloud of dust and residue into the air. Quiroz shoveled native grass seeds into the machine as her husband, Juan Gómez, held out a palm to inspect the stream of cleaned seeds, looking for any that were empty or underdeveloped, as they cascaded out of the machine into white sacks. They were now ready for restoration sites across California.
Quiroz and Gómez are seed-cleaning specialists and field workers at Hedgerow Farms, a native seed farm near the Central Valley town of Winters. Hedgerow’s collectors gather seeds from native plants in the wild, and field workers grow them out at the 300-acre farm to produce more seeds. This spring, neat rows of mugwort, purple needlegrass, and California poppies sprouted in the midst of neighboring almond orchards, tomatoes, and alfalfa.
Government agencies, tribes, and other land managers use the seeds to revegetate fire-ravaged areas, transform abandoned farmland, reestablish wetlands, and repair other damaged or altered lands, creating environments that support local ecosystems and biodiversity.
“We’re doing something for the planet,” Quiroz said in Spanish.
Recreational areas have benefited too: Hedgerow Farms’ silverbush lupine grows in the Golden Gate National Recreation Area, and its native grasses can be found in the Yolo Bypass Wildlife Area outside Sacramento. The farm also supplies native seeds to seed packet retailers, helping sow drought-resistant plants and establish pollinator habitat in urban environments.
Some projects, such as the ongoing restoration of the Klamath River Basin in Oregon and California, involve billions of seeds—from various suppliers, including Hedgerow—spread across thousands of acres. “Native vegetation is the foundation of a healthy ecosystem,” the Yurok Tribe said in a social media post showing wildflowers blooming this spring in the scar of a former reservoir. After four dams were removed from the Klamath River, the tribe began revegetating the riverbanks last year, planting species such as milkweed—a key food source for monarch butterflies—that once flourished in the watershed.
A crew at Hedgerow Farms hoes a Lupinus bicolor field in Winters, California. (Photo credit: Joshua Scoggin/Hedgerow Farms).
Research has shown that native plants play a powerful role in slowing climate change and restoring ecosystems. They create wildlife habitat, sequester carbon, limit dust and erosion by stabilizing soil, and deter future wildfires by preventing highly flammable invasive grasses from taking root.
“Having native seed ready and getting native plants back in the ground after these big fire events is critical,” said Justin Valliere, assistant professor of cooperative extension at the University of California, Davis, who studies native plant restoration.
Spanish clover, miniature lupine, and white yarrow are already growing at sites devastated this year by the Palisades and Eaton fires in Los Angeles. The seeds were supplied by Rancho De Las Flores, a native seed farm in Los Alamos, near Santa Barbara, which is owned by the same company as Hedgerow Farms. Las Flores and Hedgerow Farms coordinate production, each specializing in plants native to their regions.
“Having native seed ready and getting native plants back in the ground after these big fire events is critical.”
Hedgerow Farms has grown seeds for restoration projects on all fronts of the climate crisis. This spring, the farm’s collections experts left their homes before dawn to scout for irises and cinquefoils in the hilly pasture that runs along Gleason Beach, north of Bodega Bay on the Sonoma Coast, for a project restoring the first site in California where a highway was moved inland due to sea level rise.
Meanwhile, the farm has ramped up seed production for tarweed, phacelia, and saltbush, plants native to the San Joaquin Valley. As groundwater depletion threatens to dry up half a million acres of agriculture in the nation’s top-producing region, farmers and land managers have begun begun using native seeds to transition dairies and other farmland to desert scrub habitat.
“If fields are just abandoned, they can turn into sources of dust or weeds,” which can harm nearby farms and communities, Valliere said. The region, home to many of California’s farmworkers, already suffers from the worst air quality in the country.
As the climate crisis accelerates the need for ecological restoration, native seeds are in high demand. In 2020, for example, California Governor Gavin Newsom announced a plan to conserve 30 percent of the state’s lands by 2030 to mitigate climate change and protect biodiversity by preserving nature. The plan includes land stewardship, which requires native seeds for measures such as rehabilitating wetlands to enhance wildlife habitat, and calls for accelerating restoration projects.
But only a handful of California farms—Hedgerow, its partner farm Las Flores, and a few others—grow native seed, and there isn’t enough inventory or production to support the state’s conservation goals, according to a 2023 report by the California Native Plant Society. The native seed shortage is “one of the main bottlenecks” delaying restoration work, Valliere said. “It’s a nationwide—even a global—problem,” he added.
During the past few years, catalyzed by the California Native Plant Society’s report, government agencies, land managers, and native seed producers formed working groups to improve coordination, discussing which native plant species might soon be in demand. “We’re trying to really listen and keep our finger on the pulse of where restoration is going,” said Julia Michaels, restoration ecologist and designer at Hedgerow Farms, adding that the company has scaled up its production in recent years.
Hedgerow Farms is the longest operating native seed farm in California, and together with Las Flores, it is the largest. The farm’s biggest contracts, multi-year agreements that include seed collection and growing, are worth millions of dollars. For some species, Hedgerow Farms is the only supplier that can provide the quantity of seed—often delivered by the truckload—needed to reestablish huge swaths of native vegetation. All told, Hedgerow has enabled the restoration of hundreds of thousands of acres of California landscapes.
Michaels said the farm’s team of roughly a dozen farmworkers has been critical to that legacy. Their expertise in this unique field, she said, makes them some of the most important and irreplaceable people working to restore California’s ecosystems.
Founded in the 1980s by John Anderson, a local veterinary professor turned native plant guru, Hedgerow Farms has always hired farmworkers laboring in the surrounding fields and orchards for seasonal jobs. Some stayed on, developing expertise in the collection, growing, or processing of native seed.
“They’re the ones who hold all the knowledge,” Michaels said of long-serving employees who helped keep the farm running after Anderson’s death in 2020.
Not many people have applied farming techniques to native grasses and wildflowers, so Hedgerow Farms developed its own best practices, maximizing seed yields for 400 species through years of trial and error.
Like others at Hedgerow Farms, Alejandro García, one of the farm’s collections experts, grew up in an agricultural environment in Mexico, working with his family in corn fields in Michoacán. In California, García found work in orchards and vineyards, pruning and tending vines in Napa Valley before learning wildland seed collecting from some of the industry’s early leaders.
For the past two decades, García has scoured the state for native seeds. With permission from private landowners such as farmers and ranchers, or a permit to collect seeds on public land, he treks through marshes, grasslands, forests, and deserts.
“I learned to look at the flowers and see the differences,” García said in Spanish. He added that he can identify hundreds of species and subspecies, as well as their varying behavior, localized traits, and genetic diversity. He knows which seeds must be collected ripe and which can be gathered green and left to ripen off the plant.
With lupine, a native wildflower especially good at fixing nitrogen and restoring soil health after wildfires, “you can tell it’s ready when you see the veins” in the flower petals, García said.
Around 2010, he began teaching the intricacies of native seed collecting to Manolo Sánchez, who had been working in peach orchards near Yuba City. Both were hired as collections experts by Hedgerow Farms in 2017.
“They’re some of the best botanists in the state,” said Michaels, who has a doctorate in ecology and serves as vice president of scientific and public affairs at NativeSeed Group, which owns Hedgerow Farms and Las Flores. “What they do is really, really impressive.”
Hedgerow has enabled the restoration of hundreds of thousands of acres of California landscapes. The farm’s team of roughly a dozen farmworkers has been critical to that legacy.
Back at the farm, field workers grow out the wild seeds, turning handfuls into hundreds of pounds. Not many people have applied farming techniques to native grasses and wildflowers, so Hedgerow Farms has developed its own best practices, maximizing seed yields for 400 species through years of trial and error, said farm manager Jeff Quiter. When the crops are ready, a combine harvester moves through the fields, chopping up row upon row of wildflowers and separating out the seeds.
The seeds then go to the cleaning shed. Gómez, the seed-cleaning specialist, began working at Hedgerow Farms more than three decades ago after leaving Mexico to join his mother transplanting tomatoes near Winters. He modified equipment designed for corn and barley to clean grass and wildflower seeds, dialing the machine’s air flow up for one species, down for another. The process improves the seeds’ chances of germination, Gómez said in Spanish, and ultimately, the success of restoration projects. “You have to take it very seriously,” he added.
Quiroz, the farm’s other seed-cleaning specialist, initially preferred the exotic flowers she grew for garden centers while working at a nearby plant nursery. In comparison, she thought native plants “were ugly,” she said. But at Hedgerow Farms, where she has worked since 2021, Quiroz was soon preaching their virtues during farm tours, which are open to the public once a year. Unlike the flowers she had grown for sale at Lowe’s and Home Depot, which were bred to reproduce aesthetic qualities, native plants “are more resilient,” she said, having adapted to survive in their natural environment.
When Quiroz passes a cluster of lupine or poppies, and her children point out “her” flowers, she takes pride in her work—and the little ways she has changed the world around her. “If one can play a small part in a larger effort,” she said, “I think that’s beautiful.”
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]]>The post Trump Cuts Threaten Federal Bee Research appeared first on Civil Eats.
]]>Public support for pollinators is nearly ubiquitous. Surveys show that 95 percent of Americans want to protect the bees, butterflies, and other creatures that are essential to ecosystem health and boost crop production, adding billions of dollars in value to U.S. agriculture—especially at a time when pollinator populations are declining. However, the Trump administration is pushing cuts that would make bee research and pollinator conservation slower, more expensive, and far less effective, experts warn.
Through proposed layoffs and budget cuts, the administration has taken multiple actions that threaten an obscure division of the U.S. Geological Survey (USGS): the Ecosystems Mission Area, or EMA, which houses almost all federal biological research.
Eliminating the division was prescribed by the Heritage Foundation’s Project 2025 agenda, despite the amount of research EMA provides. The 1,200 biologists and staff who work there document contamination in private and public wells, study the effects of wildfire and drought, and track wildlife disease outbreaks, including avian influenza.
They perform long-term monitoring of native and invasive species from avocets to zebra mussels—enabling management agencies to, for example, set sustainable waterfowl hunting limits, manage livestock predators, and keep waterways healthy. They also inventory, track, or study every known native bee species in the country, along with other pollinators.
Efforts to dismantle federal biological research show “a fundamental misunderstanding of what ecology is and does,” said Lori Ann Burd, environmental health director at the nonprofit Center for Biological Diversity. “I don’t believe Americans voted for the end of being able to gather native blueberries, or for the end of wildflower meadows.”
“I don’t believe Americans voted for the end of being able to gather native blueberries, or for the end of wildflower meadows.”
The White House claims that getting rid of EMA would eliminate duplicative programs and stop federal work on “social agendas” like climate change, while trimming about $300 million from USGS’ $1.6 billion budget. Though unspoken, historical records show the proposal also fits a much older, far-right vision of upholding private property rights by eroding the awareness and protection of imperiled species.
But biologists and conservationists nationwide say these cuts would actually dismantle irreplaceable, largely uncontroversial programs and drive out experts whose work is key not only to the government’s ability to manage natural resources, but also to a broad swath of work led by states and nonprofits.
In 2015, the Obama administration announced measures to protect bees, as beekeepers like Steve Corniffe (above), pictured at the time in Homestead, Florida, grappled with colony declines. (Photo: Joe Raedle/Getty Images)
Importantly, dismantling EMA would mean the elimination of the USGS Bee Lab—a tiny, two-person office in Maryland that is a linchpin for the study and protection of all U.S. native bees. “Every bee researcher, possibly every pollinator researcher in the U.S. has at some point worked with the USGS Bee Lab,” said Rosemary Malfi, the conservation policy director at the nonprofit Xerces Society for Invertebrate Conservation.
With a vast collection of high-resolution photographs, more than 700,000 specimens, and the unrivaled expertise of the lab’s director, biologist Sam Droege, the lab is the only U.S. entity with the resources to identify the nation’s more than 4,000 native bee species. Distinguishing different bees can be exceptionally difficult—but is essential for understanding their health, distribution, and needs.
This makes their work as important for preventing needless endangered-species petitions for bees that are simply hard to find, as it is for protecting the genuinely at-risk ones, Droege told Civil Eats. A federal biologist since 1978, Droege has risked his job to speak in defense of EMA.
“There’s a lot of inappropriately analyzed data out there saying there’s a bee apocalypse, that all bees are declining, but it’s more nuanced than that,” he said. “Wouldn’t you want someone to point that out that has scientific credibility? That’s what we do.”
In recent weeks, Droege has drummed up vocal support for the lab, and hundreds of biologists, volunteers, and partners have written to Congress on their behalf. “But in general, scientists—we’re just doing our job. We’re a little invisible,” he said.
Outside the Bee Lab are many other EMA scientists who could also be fired: Experts like Tabitha Graves, a Montana ecologist whose assessments of the Western bumblebee have become the framework for that species’ recovery in the Pacific Northwest or Wayne Thogmartin, a Wisconsin ecologist whose research on monarch butterflies has been internationally important for understanding their decline.
State agencies, federal resource managers, and nonprofits all rely on EMA’s centralized, consistent, and freely accessible data and guidance, which they say minimizes collective costs and effort.
States aren’t well-equipped to study creatures like bees, which don’t heed their borders, nor to ensure their work harmonizes with that of other states. The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service, which manages protected species, isn’t funded to track all the other species—that’s EMA’s purview. Universities, though full of biologists exploring novel research questions, don’t usually do long-term monitoring. And there are few experts like Droege for any of these groups to hire if they need help.
So without the federal bee research division, “we cannot understand how pollinators are doing,” said Malfi at the Xerces Society—nor how to protect these creatures, without which North American ecosystems and crops (among them blueberries, tomatoes, and squash) would collapse.
Bees are essential to agriculture, including California’s almond industry (above). Researchers at Ecosystems Mission Area say they need to be monitored by the federal government, because pollinators migrate across state lines and international borders. (Getty Images)
In recent weeks, EMA and its research has faced at least five existential threats: two from the Supreme Court and several from congressional budget processes. If any one of them succeeds, EMA could disappear before the end of the year. Most imminently, President Donald Trump has asked the Supreme Court to allow mass layoffs without congressional approval, seeking to fire more than 100,000 federal workers, including reportedly up to 80 percent of EMA staff.
These reduction-in-force (RIF) layoffs have been paused since May by a District Court injunction, which a federal appeals court has so far upheld. Trump’s emergency appeal to the highest court put it on their “shadow docket,” so although justices are now in recess until October, they could rule on it at any time.
Last week, the Supreme Court did rule on a seemingly unrelated case that nonetheless posed a sideways threat to EMA: Federal workers feared that when the court decided to limit nationwide injunctions, it would also undo the RIF injunction that has so far protected their jobs. To their relief, a footnote in the ruling likely blocked its application to this case.
Trump has also asked Congress to drastically cut EMA funding from USGS appropriations, proposing just $29 million for unspecified EMA programs in his 2026 budget request. But appropriations bills require 60 votes to clear the Senate, and tie individual legislators to unpopular cuts. In Trump’s first term, Congress rejected his attempts to gut science agencies, but amid this year’s funding fights, many biologists fear that legislators will not prioritize natural resources.
Trump has also asked Congress to drastically cut EMA funding from USGS appropriations, proposing just $29 million for unspecified EMA programs.
A second threat in Congress may not require any votes at all: In a recent House briefing, Interior Secretary Doug Burgum indicated the administration will send a budget rescission request to Congress later this summer, asking them to claw back a portion of the Interior Department’s 2025 budget, which still has not formally been allocated.
A rescission only needs a simple Senate majority—but if the request comes within 45 days of the fiscal year end (the window legislators have to take up a proposal), Congress could effectively cancel funding without ever needing to vote, since the paused money wouldn’t roll into the new fiscal year. The legally untested move, called a pocket rescission, would free individuals from blame—though it would almost certainly face lawsuits.
One other threat to federal biologists and other workers has so far been neutralized. In June, senators added a provision to Trump’s “Big, Beautiful Bill” that would have given his administration the power to downsize the federal workforce “without obstruction” from Congress or the courts.
If included in this budget reconciliation bill, it would have allowed the administration to implement RIF layoffs without approval from the Supreme Court. But the Senate parliamentarian has ruled that this and numerous other provisions violated Senate rules, so struck them from the bill.
While federal biologists have survived these attempts so far, they underscore the precarity bee research is facing. Many fear the division’s demise is imminent, especially if Congress doesn’t decide its fate through the appropriations process. So while conservation groups and supporters rally behind these scientists, Droege has been gauging other ways to preserve the lab’s collections, which form the foundation of all U.S. bee taxonomy.
The Smithsonian would probably take the lab’s hundreds of thousands of identified specimens, he said, but likely couldn’t provide the hands-on support the lab does. They also wouldn’t take the up to 200,000 specimens that haven’t yet been identified. As a last resort, Droege said, he’d move these to his own home and establish a private lab; at 66, he had no plans to retire, anyway.
“My motivation is not saving my job,” he said. “My motivation is the bees.” With continued study and science-based protection, he added, “it’s not that difficult to keep them around.”
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]]>The post Could This Arizona Ranch Be a Model for Southwest Farmers? appeared first on Civil Eats.
]]>One mid-morning in May, the temperature at Oatman Flats Ranch, in southern Arizona’s Sonoran Desert, had already soared into the 90s. By 4 p.m., the thermometer peaked at 105 degrees—a withering spring heat, but still mild compared to the blistering summer months ahead.
“I joke that this farm is a little better than Death Valley, but I’m not really joking,” said Yadi Wang, the farm director, as he drove his pickup through this 665-acre ranch about a two-hour drive from Phoenix.
“If we’re going to hold on to farmland, we need a significant change in how we farm and what we farm.”
For Wang, every day at the ranch is different. During the winter, he spends his days preparing fields of heritage wheat, planting seeds, and laying pipes from irrigation ditches to the row crops edging the now-dry Gila River. Early summer is the busiest, with the farm team spending up to 10 straight days harvesting the desert-hardy wheat, barley, and other grains.
“These cash crops translate into the tangible,” Wang said. Yet much of his time is devoted to a longer-term, less noticeable project: restoring degraded land, often through practices that originated with the Indigenous peoples of this region.
Oatman Flats Ranch is attempting to create a sustainable, scalable model for regenerative farming in the Southwest, demonstrating what can and perhaps should be grown in an increasingly hot, dry, and water-limited region. In 2021, Oatman Flats Ranch became the region’s first-ever Regenerative Organic Certified farm, with practices build soil health and biodiversity, help sequester carbon, and reduce water consumption. Now it’s been designated as a Regenerative Organic Learning Center by the Regenerative Organic Alliance (ROC), welcoming other farmers interested in observing and talking about the practices there.
Those time-tested practices will become increasingly important as Arizona farmers grapple with the worst water crisis in the state’s history.
“If we’re going to hold on to farmland, we need a significant change in how we farm and what we farm,” said Dax Hansen, the ranch’s owner.
A combine harvests blue durum wheat on the south side of Oatman Flats Ranch in the summer. (Photo courtesy of Oatman Farms)
But it won’t be easy. Oatman Flats Ranch has undergone a dramatic transformation that required significant investments in training, research, equipment, and techniques, all of which took years to deliver a return. Although processes have been refined and problems worked out along the way, with insights that Hansen freely shares with other farmers, many practices are out of reach for the average farmer.
“It’s an experimental farm,” Wang said. “I have a lot of respect for [Hansen], willing to get all these cash assets to pour into this, to lose money. Not many people can or are willing to do that.”
Hansen, a successful financial technology lawyer who grew up in Mesa, Arizona, purchased the property from his aunt and uncle in late 2018. Oatman Flats Ranch has been in the family for four generations. His grandfather Ray Jud Hansen ran cattle in the 1950s before becoming one of Arizona’s first conventional cotton farmers.
The land was severely degraded when Hansen bought it, with compacted, salty, eroded fields caused by decades of conventional farming practices and 10 years of neglect. The soil was more than 55 percent clay. “It was pretty bleak,” Hansen said. “[The land] had basically been sterilized, with almost nothing growing on it.”
Hansen wanted to demonstrate the potential for regenerative farming in the arid Southwest, so he and his team redesigned the farm. They began by restoring the dilapidated infrastructure, repairing wells and pump equipment, excavating irrigation ditches, and purchasing the necessary farm equipment. They cleared hundreds of invasive trees, leveled the fields, fertilized them with manure, and planted cover crops to improve soil and water quality. In addition, Hansen commissioned an ethnobotany and archaeology study of the property to understand what crops had historically been planted at Oatman Flats Ranch.
Meanwhile, the neighboring farmers no longer grow food for people; their crops provide feed and fuel. Oatman Flats Ranch is surrounded by millions of acres of alfalfa for livestock and corn for ethanol, watered by one of the world’s fastest-draining aquifers.
Dax Hansen purchased the farm in 2018 with his wife, Leslie Hansen to create a model of regenerative farming in an increasingly hot and water-scarce Southwest. (Photo credit: Adam Riding)
“Climate change and a persistent megadrought are reducing the flow of rivers in the West, yet we have been unable to sufficiently reduce our dependence on these rivers to keep demands balanced with supplies,” said Brian Richter, president of Sustainable Waters, an organization focused on water scarcity issues. “The result is increasing depletion of rivers, lakes, and aquifers.”
The constraints led Hansen and his wife to explore water-conserving crops. His team planted drought-tolerant, and nutrient-dense White Sonora wheat and mesquite trees.
“We embraced the abundance of heirloom and native crops in the Sonoran Desert,” Hansen said. “We are looking at the land and asking it what we should grow, rather than asking the land to grow what we want.”
Hansen hired farm attendant Juan Carlos Gutierrez and Wang, who shared his vision of healing the land and were knowledgeable about water, soil, and biodiversity. Wang has a bachelor’s degree in chemical engineering and a Ph.D. in agriculture and life sciences. Gutierrez does a bit of everything at the farm, including planting and harvesting, maintaining farm equipment, managing cover crops, rotating animals, and milling wheat and mesquite into flour.
In five years, Oatman Flats Ranch’s regenerative practices saved over a billion gallons of water, doubled the amount of organic matter in the soil, and steadily transformed the once-beleaguered ecosystem, according to its May 2024 Regenerative Impact Report. The water savings are measured by tracking the flow rate of each well on the ranch to calculate the amount of water used per round of irrigation. The acre-feet of water used at Oatman Flats Ranch are then compared to the estimated acre-feet used in conventional wheat production. (One acre-foot is enough water to flood a football field 1 foot deep, or more than 325,000 gallons.)
“When we grow regenerative, we can use 2 or 3 acre-feet of water,” Hansen said. “Alfalfa and cotton will take like 9 or 10 acre-feet.”
To measure soil organic matter, Wang takes samples from the surface of the fields and sends them to the Motzz laboratory in Arizona and the Regen Ag Lab in Nebraska for analysis. Soil organic matter is the key indicator of soil health, influencing nutrient and water availability, biological diversity, and other factors critical in growing healthy crops. In some fields, soil organic matter has grown from 0.8 percent to 2.4 percent, according to the lab results. Yadi said 0.8 percent is about normal for the region, while 2.4 percent is very high, an outlier. “People think it’s impossible,” he said.
Southern Arizona’s rich agricultural history stretches back more than 5,000 years. By 600 CE, the Hohokam people were constructing North America’s largest and most elaborate irrigation systems along the Salt and Gila Rivers. The descendants of the Hohokam—the Pima and Tohono O’odham—continued to farm the land up to and after the arrival of the Spanish, who began to colonize southern Arizona in the 1600s. They continue to farm in Arizona today.
At the Tohono O’odham Indian Reservation, about two hours southeast of Oatman Flats, the San Xavier Co-op Farm uses historic land management practices and grows traditional crops that reflect their respect for the land, plants, animals, elders, and the sacredness of water.
San Xavier Farm Manager Duran Andrews and his team plant cover crops, rotate fields, and collect rainwater. “[Regenerative agriculture] is nothing new to us,” Andrews said. “We have been doing this for decades. Harmony between nature and people has been our approach all the time.” Rotating fields and cultivating multiple mutually beneficial species in the same fields improves water and soil quality and biodiversity in this harsh landscape.
“You’ve seen what the land looks like in five years; imagine it in 10. If we can do it here, we can do it anywhere.”
The co-op grows a variety of native crops that were developed in the region and cultivated for centuries or, in some cases, millennia, such as grains and beans, which they sell online. “We irrigate them till they sprout, then cut them off till the monsoon shows up,” Andrews said. “We try to keep crops in that hardy state through all the years and decades they have been here. We try not to get away from how things were done in the past.” They also grow White Sonora wheat, introduced to Arizona by Spanish Jesuit missionaries in the 1600s. “It was a gift from Father Kino that we have taken as our own,” Andrews said. “The [San Xavier] community was one of the first to grow this wheat.”
Following the Mexican-American War in the mid-1800s, the United States claimed parts of modern-day Arizona, New Mexico, California, Nevada, and Utah. The Anglo ranchers who moved into the area dug canals to irrigate agricultural fields, transforming the landscape. An 1852 watercolor by surveyor Jon Russell Bartlett depicts a verdant valley with cottonwoods and mesquite trees lining a flowing Gila River as it passes through Oatman Flats Ranch.
That landscape is unrecognizable today. The lower Gila has gone bone dry after years of upstream diversions, dams, water overuse, and climate change. In 2019, the Gila River earned the title of Most Endangered River by the nonprofit advocacy group American Rivers.
Standing on the sandy Gila riverbed, which divides the north and south farms of Oatman Flats Ranch, Wang pointed to the nearby invasive salt cedars. Healing the land involves rebuilding the water, nutrient, and carbon cycles from the ground up, “at the micro level,” he said. “On the macro level, it’s broken.”
The ranch team has poured resources into rebuilding soil health by planting hedgerows and 30-plus species of cover crops, at a cost of approximately $100,000. The hedgerows, mostly native trees, were planted along the edges of the fields to reduce erosion and provide habitat for beneficial species, including pollinators such as bees and hummingbirds.
The cover crops—millet, chickpeas, sunflowers, sorghum, sudan grass, broadleaves, and native grasses among them—are planted immediately after harvesting wheat, to provide “soil armor,” help conserve water, fix nitrogen in the soil, suppress weeds, attract beneficial insects, and sequester carbon. The once-barren land now supports life for more than 120 species of flora and fauna.
Farm manager Yadi Wang with a handful of mesquite pods picked from a tree near the farmhouse. The mesquite pods are dried and ground into a gluten-free, nutrient-dense flour. (Photo credit: Samuel Gilbert)
“When you take life away, it just doesn’t come back unless you provide the resources,” said Wang.
The varying heights of the cover crops make multi-storied microclimates, with vapor condensing near the cooler soil surface, creating dew. “I can make dew in the hottest part of July, when the ambient temperature is over 90 degrees by 9 a.m.,” Wang said.
Instead of tilling the cover crops into the fields at the end of their cycle and disturbing soil structure, the team uses a roller-crimper—a ridged cylindrical drum attached to a tractor—to cut stalks and lay the crops down “like a carpet” to protect topsoil, Hansen said. Switching to roller crimping saves money, too, since it costs one-third less than tilling.
The roots remain in the soil, reducing soil erosion and creating an extensive microbial network that cycles nutrients, builds soil organic matter, and increases water infiltration “like a sponge,” Wang said. All of this protects soil from high temperatures, too.
The fields slope ever so gradually to allow irrigation water to move down the rows. In the early years, water would race down the hard-packed dirt, spilling into the Gila drainage. Now, Wang has the opposite problem: When he irrigates, it takes days for water to spread three-quarters down the length of the field. In response, the ranch plans to switch to sprinklers to save water, expand cultivable land, and mimic natural rainfall. The sprinklers are expensive and cost about $1 million, most of that already paid by a water irrigation efficiency grant from the U.S. Department of Agriculture. This move away from flood irrigation is gaining traction in the parched Southwest.
In 2022, Oatman Flats Ranch introduced sheep, natural lawnmowers that prune back cover crops and weeds while fertilizing the soil. They are rotationally grazed from field to field to give plants in each area a chance to recuperate and strengthen their root systems.
Now, six years after regeneration efforts began, 90 animal species have returned to the area around the farm, including mountain lions, owls, and tiny blue dragonflies—”a sign of water,” Wang said—who weave in and out of rows of White Sonora wheat.
Although Wang and his team are introducing new crops, including native and heirloom melons, their signature crops are mesquite and White Sonora wheat.
Mesquite trees are superbly adapted desert plants. At the ranch, they’re planted in dense groves near the farmhouse. Their taproots can burrow 200 feet deep, and they can shed their small, waxy leaves—designed to conserve moisture—in extreme drought.
Sonora wheat, barley, and other desert-hardy crops stretch along the now-dry Lower Gila River valley at Oatman Flats Ranch. (Photo credit: AJ Ledford)
Their green-bean-like pods were a staple food for Indigenous people in this region, rich in fiber, protein, and calcium. When dried and ground into flour, they have a mildly smoky, nutty, molasses-like flavor. Wang’s wife adds the flour to her coffee, making a frothy, slightly sweet, nutrient-packed latte.
White Sonora wheat is a key part of Hansen’s vision for a regenerative grain economy. The wheat is sown in November or December and harvested in late spring or early summer.
Standing in a field of pale golden wheat stalks, Wang threshed the grain from the chaff by rubbing his palms together as if warming his hands on a cold day. The berries resemble tiny deer hooves, with a groove in each golden-colored grain.
“This is as clean as you can get,” Wang said. “No synthetic fertilizer. No chemicals. Drying on the stalk.” The ranch’s cold-stone milling process preserves the grain’s vitamins and minerals, and retains its naturally sweet, mild flavor.
Oatman Flats Ranch sells Regenerative Organic Certified (ROC) products such as stone-milled flour and mesquite flour, as well as bread, pancake, and waffle mixes, under the Oatman Farms brand. The flours and mixes are now used by numerous restaurants, including Arizona Wilderness Brewing Company.
“We are looking to partner with and help sustain farms like Oatman,” said Jonathan Buford, CEO and brewmaster at Arizona Wilderness, which sources sustainable ingredients from more than 50 local producers. “We need to look at a different currency than just capital. We must consider that Earth must profit, too, for the future of our planet.”
Hansen is sharing what he has learned. Oatman Flats is one of the country’s five Regenerative Organic Learning Centers, which other farmers can visit to observe regenerative solutions that they can potentially put to use on their own farms.
To better understand how the regenerative movement is evolving, Hansen routinely talks to other farmers, and he’s clear about what must happen for it to really take hold. “It is absolutely true that farmers don’t have the resources to do this on their own,” Hansen said. “Farmers need help from consumers, restaurants, and governments to pull off this regenerative effort. I believe we can make regenerative agriculture viable by explaining the plight of the land and the farmers and nature and boldly proclaiming the solution of regenerative agriculture.”
Six years after regeneration efforts began, 90 animal species have returned to the area around the farm, including mountain lions, owls, and tiny blue dragonflies.
The transition to a Regenerative Organic Certified (ROC) model can require a large investment, as it has for Hansen. And it takes three to five years to reap the benefits of regenerative practices, according to Elizabeth Whitlow, founder and senior advisor of the Regenerative Organic Alliance (ROA), which oversees the ROC framework and guidelines.
For most farmers, this is not an option. Margins are thin, and financial constraints often inhibit farmers from exploring regenerative practices. “The only option is to do the cheapest thing you can to survive,” Wang said. “[There is] no room to consider what they could do differently.”
The paybacks of regenerative organic farming can be significant, however. They include reduced costs of inputs such as fertilizers, pesticides, and water, as well as increased profits from high-value products. “I do see brands stepping in and up to provide long-term contracts with farmers while they transition into this new, unknown territory,” Whitlow said. “The premiums and long-term stability offered through this kind of contract agreement help the farmers.”
Besides Hansen’s own funds, Oatman Flats Ranch has also been supported by payments from the USDA’s Natural Resources Conservation Service for on-farm conservation programs, such as tree planting and conservation cover. As the Trump administration cuts climate-related programs, Hansen said Oatman Flats would be affected by “the elimination of Arizona statewide programs supporting local food systems.”
Hansen nonetheless believes that in time, a financially viable model for regenerative organic farming is possible, particularly as demand for ROC products grows. A 2022-2023 impact report from the ROA showed that ROC product sales grew 22 percent on average between 2022 and 2023, reaching nearly $40 million. But profitability, he said, will take “quite a while.”
With the growth of regenerative agriculture, Hansen sees the potential to preserve his family’s farm and a way of life he holds dear, especially as the climate changes.
“You’ve seen what the land looks like in five years; imagine it in 10,” Hansen said. “If we can do it here, we can do it anywhere.”
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]]>The post Agroforestry Projects Across US Now Stymied by Federal Cuts appeared first on Civil Eats.
]]>Austin Unruh is an advanced practitioner of patience. As the founder of Pennsylvania-based agroforestry business Trees for Graziers, he helps farmers plant saplings like honey locust, apple, and mulberry, which take years to reach their full potential.
While Trees for Graziers had been growing even before the Climate-Smart Commodities Program, 80 percent of the projects Unruh had planned for this spring were supported by those now-canceled funds.
“Everything just happens fairly slowly with agroforestry because of the nature of the beast—we’re working with trees,” he said.
Given enough time and care, Unruh continues, agroforestry—farming with trees—can become a keystone of resilient, profitable, and climate-conscious land management. In silvopasture systems like his, which bring trees onto pasture for livestock, cows can beat the summer heat under shade-giving honey locust trees while grazing on their seed pods. Besides keeping animals happier and lowering farmers’ feed costs, silvopastures can sequester carbon as the trees draw carbon dioxide from the air and, through their root systems, deliver it deep into the ground.
Other agroforestry practices such as windbreaks, hedgerows, riparian buffers, and alley cropping can help retain topsoil, prevent nutrient pollution, and provide wildlife habitat. According to the final installment of the United Nations’ Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC) Sixth Assessment Report in 2023, agroforestry is one of humanity’s most feasible options for reducing climate risks.
The USDA’s 2017 Census of Agriculture was the first to include a question about agroforestry. Over the next five years, the number of farms using agroforestry increased by 6 percent, even as the overall number of American farms fell by 7 percent. Practitioners formed a professional network, the Agroforestry Coalition, in 2022.
As Civil Eats has reported, the federal government gave agroforestry a major boost that same year through the USDA’s Partnerships for Climate-Smart Commodities program, awarding over $153 million to agroforestry work. Many of the organizations interviewed said the funds helped them hire staff, share knowledge, and implement agroforestry practices on thousands of farms.
An Appalachian Sustainable Development visit to a forest-farming site. (Photo courtesy of Appalachian Sustainable Development)
Unruh said that while Trees for Graziers had been growing even before the program, 80 percent of the projects he had planned for this spring were supported by Climate-Smart Commodities funds.
For nonprofits that support agroforestry, such as Virginia-based Appalachian Sustainable Development, the funding provided greater capacity for technical assistance and market development. Katie Commender, who directs the group’s agroforestry program, was working with one employee in 2020, trying to serve a backlog of hundreds of farmers who had requested site visits for agroforestry advice. Through Climate-Smart Commodities and other grants, she was able to hire four additional staffers and start whittling down the waitlist.
In January, when President Trump took office, that expansion began losing momentum. His administration froze already approved federal grant funding, including Climate-Smart Commodities grants. Farmers said they couldn’t pay for materials during the critical spring planting season, nonprofits began cutting the hours of their technical advisors, and experts were no longer able to attend events where they’d planned to share knowledge.
The administration received multiple court orders to lift the freeze; Secretary of Agriculture Brooke Rollins released $20 million for certain conservation initiatives in February, as well as an unspecified amount for rural energy work in March. Some USDA grant programs were fully unfrozen, while payments for others remain suspended.
An additional roadblock appeared earlier this month, when the USDA announced it would cancel the Climate-Smart Commodities program. While some projects may continue under a different name if they meet certain criteria, the program’s largest agroforestry grant—the $60 million Expanding Agroforestry Project (EAP), led by The Nature Conservancy—was decisively terminated. The future of other individual projects remains uncertain.
“The Partnerships for Climate-Smart Commodities initiative was largely built to advance the green new scam at the benefit of NGOs, not American farmers,” Secretary of Agriculture Brooke Rollins said in a press release announcing the cancellation.
An hour’s drive northwest from the White House, Sara Brown raises a herd of about 50 beef cattle on 200 acres in Lincoln, Virginia, that her family has owned since the early 1700s. This spring, as part of the EAP, she’d planned to start planting nearly 3,600 chestnuts and other trees across 30 acres of pasture. She hoped to add new forage options for her animals while retaining more water on her land, a concern given the area’s ongoing severe drought.
But after making arrangements to buy seedlings and prepare land, Brown learned in February that $225,000 in grant funding she’d been guaranteed was paused indefinitely. “I think I actually lost a couple of friendships that morning . . . people were in the crossfire of me being in a very bad mood,” Brown said with a rueful laugh.
Alley cropping at an agroforestry farm on the Wisconsin River. (Photo courtesy of the Savanna Institute)
She later learned that Trump’s newly established Department of Government Efficiency had canceled a contract with the Clark Group, a consultancy the USDA had hired to review her grant. And on April 14, The Nature Conservancy notified grantees that its agroforestry project had been terminated by the USDA.The money Brown had been counting on is now entirely off the table.
Brown said she’s still planning to plant some trees that she’d already acquired, but is unable to buy many more that had been scheduled to go in the ground this year. She’s paying out of pocket for deer fencing to protect those seedlings as well.
The funding uncertainty also upended technical assistance for farmers. Commender, with Appalachian Sustainable Development, said her team was working fewer hours, with 19 site visits currently on hold, to compensate for missing grant money; others at the nonprofit have been furloughed. Longer-term work to develop markets for high-value agroforestry products like elderberries, silvopasture-raised meat, and medicinal herbs is suspended indefinitely.
That kind of dedicated support is crucial for agroforestry because the practice is still relatively uncommon, said Keefe Keeley, executive director of the Savanna Institute, the Midwest’s leading agroforestry nonprofit. The organization has used federal money to scale up technical assistance staff in six Upper Midwestern states over the past several years, as well as develop demonstration farms.
Similar efforts were underway through over two dozen partners supported by the EAP grant alone. “Seeing a farm where something is happening and imagining how it could work on your own farm is really essential,” Keeley said. “The cancellation of these projects is undoubtedly a setback for farmers in our community who are getting ready to plant trees this spring. It means tens of millions of dollars in lost financial assistance for farmers who want to adopt agroforestry.”
Similar difficulties are occurring for agroforestry outside of the Climate-Smart Commodities program. San Carlos Apache Tribe member Stephanie Gutierrez, Ecotrust’s forests and Indigenous leadership program director, said Ecotrust was awarded over $2.5 million for that work.
The funds, from the American Rescue Plan Act in 2023, supported the Indigenous Agroforestry Network, which connects Native practitioners so they can share traditional and modern agroforestry techniques, including at an in-person meeting attended by many West Coast tribes last year. “The network brought them together to just share and listen and learn from each other,” she explains.
The grant was scheduled to cover work through 2027, and Gutierrez had been planning a new year of meetings and events when, in February, Ecotrust found itself unable to access federal reimbursement systems. Gutierrez said the organization was cut off from more than half of the money she’d been guaranteed. While Ecotrust briefly regained access the week of April 21, it was cut off again April 29. Federal officials haven’t shared any information about why the Indigenous Agroforestry Network has faced this inconsistency or when funding might be permanently restored.
Other agroforestry practitioners also say communicating with the USDA has been challenging, especially in light of the department’s recent staffing cuts. Keeley highlights layoffs at state-level Natural Resource Conservation Service offices, which have made it harder for farmers the Savanna Institute serves to access federal support. Some of those employees are returning after a court order reversed the layoffs of probationary workers, but the legal situation is unresolved.
The Agroforestry Coalition is particularly concerned about the USDA National Agroforestry Center and its 30 years of service. On April 2, the group delivered a petition to protect the center’s employees, signed by over 40 farmers and agroforestry organizations, to federal lawmakers from Nebraska, where the office is based.
“Seeing a farm where something is happening and imagining how it could work on your own farm is really essential.”
The USDA office represents the only dedicated voice for agroforestry in the federal government, said Cristel Zoebisch, who co-chairs the coalition’s policy working group. While the Trump administration hasn’t yet cut the center’s staffing, she said it’s a likely target for future layoffs.
“We wouldn’t have anyone within the USDA that’s focused on figuring out how agroforestry might fit under different federal programs, advocating for that, and providing that information to stakeholders,” Zoebisch said of what might happen if the center is shuttered.
Back in Pennsylvania, Unruh said he’s largely been able to pivot from the Trees for Graziers projects that had been supported by Climate-Smart Commodities, thanks in part to community connections and the local interest in agroforestry. “It wasn’t a surprise, and we had been functioning under the assumption that the money would not come back,” he says of the cancellation news.
Other practitioners may not be so fortunate. Unruh said many farmers taking their first chance on trees are facing significant bills, now with no chance of federal reimbursement. He’s not optimistic that the administration will adopt the long-term thinking needed to promote agroforestry; instead, he hopes that farming with trees will spread organically as the benefits continue to prove themselves.
“We’re here to support small farms, family farms, and that’s language that everyone can get behind. This isn’t just about climate change,” he said. “It’s about seeing more small farms thrive.”
This story has been updated to reflect the most recent information from Ecotrust regarding funding.
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]]>On a stormy spring day, Devon Peña stood atop a sagebrush-covered hill and looked down on Colorado’s San Luis Valley. Dark clouds had unleashed a deluge just a few hours earlier, but now they hovered over the mountains, veiling the summits above.
Below, rows of long, narrow fields extended from Culebra Creek toward a man-made channel, the main artery of the valley’s centuries-old “acequia” irrigation system. This was the “People’s Ditch,” a waterway holding the oldest continuous water right in Colorado. The channel carried water from tributaries of the Rio Grande, high in the Sangre de Cristo mountains, down to the fields below.
There, the flow was diverted into smaller ditches that irrigated fields of alfalfa, cabbage, and potatoes, the water seeping naturally through the earthen walls. In the San Luis Valley as a whole, 130 gravity-flow ditches irrigated 30,000 acres of farmland and 10,000 acres of wetlands.
“This is an incredibly productive, resilient, and sustainable system,” said Peña, founder of The Acequia Institute, a nonprofit that supports environmental and food justice in southern Colorado.
“[Water managers] are starting to appreciate us a lot more than they did 20 or 30 years ago when they thought we were backward, primitive, and inefficient.”
The acequia system was once dismissed by Western water managers. But as a changing climate brings increasing drought and aridification to the Southwest, time-tested solutions like this one could hold the key to mitigating the worst impacts of climate change, especially in rural communities.
“[Water managers] are starting to appreciate us a lot more than they did 20 or 30 years ago when they thought we were backward, primitive, and inefficient,” Peña said.
Water management in what is now New Mexico dates back to at least 800 A.D., to the Pueblo people, who used gravity-fed irrigation ditches for their crops. The acequia system, which arrived with Spanish colonizers in the 1600s, is not merely hydrological. It is political, even philosophical.
An illustration of how acequias work. (Illustration credit: Jerold Widdison for the Utton Center at the University of New Mexico)
The word acequia—from the Arabic word “as-saquiya,” which means “that which carries water”—was used to describe the irrigation ditches that evolved in the Middle East and were introduced to the Iberian Peninsula during the Islamic Golden Age. In New Mexico, these systems were often put in place even before a church was built.
Acequias operate under the principle of “shared scarcity,” rooted in Islamic law, whereby every living thing has a right to water, and to deny them water is a mortal sin. Water is thus treated as a communal resource to be shared, rather than divvied up and contested.
“They all share something in common, which is community governance,” Peña said. “It’s a water democracy.”
An acequia is both a physical canal system and a political structure, which includes an elected mayordomo, or ditch boss, along with commissioners who govern management and operations. Acequias are self-sufficient and collectively owned by members, each with water rights to the ditch and an equal vote regardless of property size.
The Spanish built acequias throughout the Southwest, but most in Arizona and California were abandoned or replaced by modern irrigation systems. In Texas, a few remain, including the San Antonio Mission Acequias.
“Our ancestors and predecessors created a cultural landscape and spread a broad ribbon of life that is an extension of the river,” said Paula Garcia, executive director of the grassroots New Mexico Acequia Association. “They have literally shaped the landscape.”
Acequias are central to the system’s resilience and adaptability, New Mexico State University hydrologist Sam Fernald said. “By having people on the ground, connected to every drop, they are able to adapt,” he said. “They have been adapting to changes in water and land for 400 years.”
Unlike conventional irrigation systems, the physical design of the acequias mimics natural hydrological and ecological functions, slowly distributing water throughout the landscape through unlined ditches that allow seepage. This “keeps surface and groundwater connected,” Fernald said, recharging the aquifer, reducing evaporation and aridification, enhancing biodiversity, and returning flows to the river.
Modern management of rivers for commercial agriculture has reduced this connectivity through channelization, levees, and dams. These have stopped streams and rivers from meandering into the floodplain, reducing aquifer recharge and late-season groundwater return.
But the modern system is under stress, as a changing climate reduces mountain snowpack, the main source of Western water. Snowpack acts as a water bank that holds frozen water in the mountains into the spring and releases it throughout the summer. Changing climate patterns also mean shifts in melt patterns, and all of this makes managing water flows through dams a challenge.
“They all share something in common, which is community governance. It’s a water democracy.”
Adding to the uncertainty, the Trump administration is making cuts to the Interior Department’s Bureau of Reclamation, which manages dams, and President Donald Trump has shown a willingness to demand water releases himself, as he did recently with two dams in California, to the consternation of farmers and water managers.
“The acequias and Rio Grande have given life, food, and shelter to people and wildlife, but they’re at risk if we don’t value and better adapt these systems and ecosystems for future conditions,” said Yasmeen Najmi, a planner for Middle Rio Grande Conservancy District, which helps manage irrigation in the valley, including the acequias.
Industrial agriculture exacerbates climate change through its use of synthetic fertilizers, whose production generates significant fossil-fuel emissions, and soil tillage, which disrupts soil’s ability to capture carbon. According to José Maria Martín Civantos, an expert in landscape archaeology at the University of Granada, in Spain, this kind of agriculture is “literally building the desert.”
By contrast, traditional irrigation systems like acequias enhance water quality, expand wildlife habitat, increase soil fertility, and—crucially—support highly productive food systems.
After New Mexico was ceded to the U.S. in 1848, Americans quickly recognized the productivity of acequia agriculture, said Sylvia Rodriguez, an anthropologist and author who grew up in an acequia community in Taos, New Mexico. “American takeover incorporated the acequia system into the state statutes because it was so efficient. Local management is hard to improve on,” she said.
The San Luis Valley, along with many other high desert communities, would look markedly different without its acequia. Nestled at the base of the San Juan and Sangre De Cristo mountains, this region is the driest in Colorado, receiving only seven inches of rain annually.
Youth interns from the Move Mountains Project harvesting corn in Colorado’s San Luis Valley. (Photo courtesy of the Move Mountains Project)
In an acequia community, land-based ecological knowledge is passed down through generations along with time-tested practices such as companion cropping, crop rotation, seed-saving, fire ecology, and agroforestry. “Literally all the tenets of regenerative agriculture that were here well before anyone was talking about it,” Peña said. Many of these practices originated with Indigenous farmers.
Sustainable acequia irrigation regenerates the soil horizon, bringing mineral and sediment-rich water from the mountains to the fields. While acequias remain the primary irrigator in northern and central New Mexico, small-scale farming has declined in the region through massive economic restructuring, depopulation of rural areas, and the move from diversified crops to monocultures.
Today, few farmers grow food in the region. “We’ve become an alfalfa monoculture and beef export colony,” said Peña. “We need to transform farming back to polyculture.”
For Peña, local water management improves soil and crops. But it also means self-determination when it comes to healthy food. On the Acequia Institute’s 181-acre farm, Peña and others are reviving traditional farming practices and crops such as heirloom corn, beans, and squash.
Heirloom varieties of corn grown as part of the acequia system. (Photo courtesy of the Move Mountains Project)
The institute also provides no-interest loans to acequia farmers who are paid by the acre instead of by yield. Farmers have access to youth interns through the Move Mountains Project, aimed at creating “the next generation of farmers,” Peña said.
In 2022, the Acequia Institute purchased R&R Market, the oldest grocery store in Colorado, which was going to close. The institute is converting the space into a worker-led community co-op, a place to distribute the bounty of the acequia system.
The market, now renamed The San Luis Peoples Market, will reopen in late April and include a grocer, deli, commercial kitchen, community center, and market featuring produce from acequia farmers in the valley. In the years to come, Peña plans to open a second commercial kitchen, a USDA-certified slaughterhouse, and a solar-powered greenhouse.
“I know we’re going to bring healthy food and nutrition to the community,” Peña said, as the storm clouds above Culebra Peak cleared. “The model is, we don’t want to go outside the valley.”
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]]>The post 10 Ways to Get Involved With Food Mutual Aid appeared first on Civil Eats.
]]>Environmental activist and author Robin Greenfield is known for his fully committed experiments in ecological living. His most recent book, Food Freedom: A Year of Growing and Foraging 100% of My Food, covers his efforts to live entirely independently from the industrial food system. Greenfield succeeded only by relying on others who guided him in his gardening, fishing, and foraging, and came to understand the profound power of community and how naturally that flows through food.
Here are Greenfield’s suggestions for strengthening your own food community:
1. Live communally! Thousands of intentional communities and ecovillages are waiting for you to join them. Check out the Foundation for Intentional Community, the Global Ecovillage Network, and the Cohousing Association of the United States to find a community near you. Or use their resources to start a co-living space or community of your own.
2. Plant public trees in your community in collaboration with others. Community Fruit Trees can support you on this path.
3. Source your seeds and plants from small-scale community seed growers, seed libraries, and seed banks that are breeding diversity and resilience. Seed Savers Exchange, Southern Exposure Seed Exchange, Ujamaa Seeds, and Truelove Seeds are a few high-integrity organizations that distribute nationwide.
4. Start a seed library or a community seed network yourself. Community Seed Network and Seed Library Network are excellent resources to help you get started.
5. Join a community compost initiative or start one if there’s a need. Cycle the compost back into small-scale ecological gardening and farming. Find an initiative or learn how to start your own through the Community Compost Program.
6. Harvest food that’s already growing, but not getting utilized, and get this nourishing, local produce to the people who need it the most. Concrete Jungle and ProduceGood are beautiful examples to follow.
7. Join or start a community garden or school garden in your community. Community Gardens of America and Edible Schoolyard Project can help with this.
8. Seek out or start a Food is Free chapter and share your garden bounties freely with your community members.
9. Join a community-led ecological food initiative. A few that have inspired me include Soul Fire Farm, The BIPOC Community Garden, Bartlett Park Community Garden, and the Fonticello Food Forest. Support the initiatives that are already taking place. They are doing the work and they need our support to continue.
10. Take part in land reparations for Indigenous and Black communities, so that they can achieve food sovereignty. Find communities to support via the Northeast Farmers of Color Land Trust. Learn about and take part in the LANDBACK movement to return land to Indigenous people so they can build food sovereignty while stewarding our global resources.
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]]>The post 17 Food and Ag Approaches to Tackling the Climate Crisis appeared first on Civil Eats.
]]>Although the food system generates one-third of global greenhouse gas emissions, it has largely been excluded from the climate agendas of most governments. Only last year did the food system become a major topic of international debate, during the 2023 United Nations Climate Change Conference.
But as Civil Eats’ reporting has shown, the food and agriculture system is full of examples of how farmers, ranchers, fishers, chefs, restaurants, grocery stores, and consumers are addressing climate change, with strategies that sequester carbon, slash emissions, save water, reduce plastics, and open new markets.
Farmers, for example, are experimenting with the wild seed relatives of domestic crops that may be able to withstand extreme weather. Researchers have also discovered that kelp growing alongside mussels and oysters can act like a sponge, soaking up excess nutrients while increasing critical oxygen levels in surrounding waters. And lawmakers and the U.S. Department of Agriculture are crafting policies that support local food systems and regenerative agriculture.
Here are some of the most important and promising climate solutions stories we published this year.
As Saltwater Encroaches on Farms, Solutions Emerge From the Marshes
In the Mid-Atlantic, sea level rise due to climate change is already changing what farmers can grow.
These State Lawmakers Are Collaborating on Policies that Support Regenerative Agriculture
Progressive state legislators often find themselves in a David-and-Goliath battle against the conventional ag industry. One organization is equipping them with resources to support producers using regenerative practices instead.
Investment Is Flowing to US Grass-fed Beef Again. Will It Scale Up?
Rupert Murdoch’s Montana ranch is at the center of an effort to get grass-fed beef into mainstream grocery stores; others are using investments to build new markets entirely.
At Climate Dinners Hosted by Chefs Sam Kass and Andrew Zimmern, The Meal Is The Message
To create awareness and inspire action, their carefully curated meals feature coffee, chocolate, and other foods that will become costlier and more difficult to produce due to climate change.
Micro Solar Leases: A New Income Stream for Black Farmers in the South?
EnerWealth Solutions wants to bring the benefits of renewable energy to Black farmers and landowners in the Carolinas.
Can Taller Cover Crops Help Clean the Water in Farm Country?
In Minnesota, a local water quality program might serve as a model for incentivizing the next steps in regenerative farming.
Regenerative Beef Gets a Boost from California Universities
The U.C. system is using its purchasing power to buy grass-fed meat from local ranchers for its 10 universities and five medical centers.
Fungi Are Helping Farmers Unlock the Secrets of Soil Carbon
By tapping into underground fungal networks, farmers are learning how to build lush, spongy soil that supports healthy plants and stores carbon underground.
Florida Banned Farmworker Heat Protections. A Groundbreaking Partnership Offers a Solution.
The Fair Food Program offers the strongest, legally binding protocols to keep people safe when politicians fall short.
Vineyards Are Laying the Groundwork for a Regenerative Farm Future
A new study finding that regenerative practices build more soil carbon in vineyards points to a path for the industry to create broader models for agriculture.
Seeds From Wild Crop Relatives Could Help Agriculture Weather Climate Change
The hardy wild cousins of domesticated crops can teach us how to adapt to a hotter, more unpredictable future.
New School Meal Standards Could Put More Local Food on Students’ Lunch Trays
USDA’s nutrition standards aim to support farmers by increasing the number of schools getting fresh fruits, vegetables, and meats from nearby farms.
Changing How We Farm Might Protect Wild Mammals—and Fight Climate Change
Nearly a quarter of U.S. mammal species are on the endangered species list. Researchers say farming with biodiversity in mind may help stave off further decline.
Climate Solutions for the Future of Coffee
Farmers, researchers, and coffee devotees are refocusing on agroforestry and developing hardier varieties and high-tech beanless brews to save our morning cup of Joe.
Can Seaweed Save American Shellfish?
Seaweed farms on both coasts are beginning to take hold, tapping into decades of painstaking science, and could help shellfish thrive in waters affected by climate change and pollution.
Zero-Waste Grocery Stores in Growth Mode as Consumers Seek to Ditch Plastic
Food packaging is a significant contributor to the plastic pollution crisis. These stores offer shoppers an alternative.
Rescuing Kelp Through Science
Breakthrough genetic research at a Massachusetts lab could save the world’s vanishing kelp forests—and support American kelp farming, too.
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]]>The post From Civil Rights to Food Justice, Jim Embry Reflects on a Life of Creative Resistance appeared first on Civil Eats.
]]>Jim Embry sees tending to land as a sacred and spiritual responsibility. The food systems advocate, land steward, and beekeeper came of age during the civil rights movement in Kentucky and has spent five decades working for social and racial justice.
In 1972, he founded the Good Foods Co-op in Lexington. Then, in 2001, at a pivotal point of his life, Embry moved to the heart of Detroit, assuming the role of director at the Boggs Center to Nurture Community Leadership, where he began integrating his work for social justice into the effort to bring nutritious food to underserved communities.
This move marked the culmination of 30 years of political collaboration with luminaries Jimmy and Grace Lee Boggs. Embry’s focus on urban agriculture and food justice in Detroit drew a global audience, where he hosted audiences include the British Parliament, the Nobel Peace Prize Committee, and distinguished personalities such as Danny Glover, David Korten, and Joanna Macy.
“I have developed a worldview that enlarged my concern for all the human and non-human people: the plant people, the animal people, the water people, the air people, the rock people, the fire people. These are all our relatives, and we are all children of the Earth.”
Embry returned to his home state of Kentucky in 2006, and founded the Sustainable Communities Network (SCN), a nonprofit that connects and supports a variety of entities in a larger effort to build justice in the local food system. SCN works with nonprofits and schools in the region to integrate farming and food production into their work and advocates for local policy that supports school gardens, urban farms, and community gardens and helps get fresh produce to food insecure residents. He is also part of the Ujamaa Cooperative Farming Alliance, a Black- and Indigenous-led organization with a focus on African and African American crops.
Since then, he has traveled and spoken extensively, including trips to the World Social Forum in Brazil and to Terra Madre, the International Slow Food Gathering in Italy. Embry now lives alongside his cousin in Richmond, Kentucky, on the 30-acre Ballew Farm, named after his great uncle Atrus, who died at age 100. In June 2023, Embry received a James Beard Leadership Award that recognized his many years of leadership within the justice food and food sovereignty movements.
Embry strives to balance community activism and writing with “soil activism,” embodying the essence of a life dedicated to weaving harmony between humanity and the natural world. His ethos extends beyond human boundaries; he sees himself as “stardust condensed in human form, collaborating with kindred spirits to foster beloved communities where every being, from human to water, air, rock, animal, and plant, is held in sacred regard.”
Civil Eats recently sat down with Embry to talk about his farm, his family’s agrarian history, and how he approaches his current role as an elder in the food system.
Drawing from your experiences as an activist, farmer, and social justice leader, how have historical events influenced and shaped your passion for the social justice movement?
I’ve been a participant in all the social justice movements for the past 65 years. In 1959, when I was a 10-year-old, I was a member of the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE). My mother was the local chapter president.
Those years of activism inspired me to develop a worldview that moves beyond 45, 90, and 180 degrees and approaches 360. My involvement in social justice movements encompasses all forms of oppression that humans are subject to. But I have also developed a worldview that enlarged my concern for all the human and non-human people: the plant people, the animal people, the water people, the air people, the rock people, the fire people. These are all our relatives, and we are all children of the Earth.
As a social justice activist and organizer, I have not only participated in historical events, but I have also helped to plan and organize historical events. One case in point is the 1964 March on Frankfort, Kentucky, led by Dr. King and Jackie Robinson. As a president of the state youth chapter for the NAACP, my role was to travel around Kentucky and organize other young folks to attend the march, which attracted 10,000 people. I have gone on in my life to help organize probably 30 or 40 large events, have helped found 30 to 40 organizations, and I have never felt like dropping out.
One very important historical moment that influenced my journey was attending Dr. King’s funeral in 1968. It was here that I met Ernie Greene, well known for his involvement in the Little Rock school integration effort. He invited me to spend the summer in New York City in 1968 working construction. It seemed like the whole world was in New York City. There were people there from all over the world, interacting together. It was there that I was exposed to questions around food justice, food apartheid, food access, and the racism within the food and agricultural system.
Can you share the driving force behind your commitment to activism and the social justice movement, particularly in the context of fostering a more socially and environmentally sustainable world?
I grew up with a closeness to the land because of my upbringing in Madison County, which sits at the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, is fed by the Kentucky River watershed, and is nourished by soil heavy mineralized in limestone rock.
My grandparents, uncles, aunts, and cousins were all small farmers. So, my family culture was a culture of people connected to the land. I call us agrarian intellectual activists. Everything I do has been influenced by my family legacy as small farmers.
How does your family history inform your understanding of the challenges faced by today’s small-scale farmers?
My family’s history provides me an understanding that conditions during the years of enslavement, during the period after the Civil War, are all connected to what is happening today. The conditions that we faced after the Civil War were not resolved towards justice and are thus still prevalent.
There were 180,000 Black men and women who fought . . . [and] brought about the Union victory, defeated the Confederacy, and reunified the country. Most all of those Black soldiers were listed as farmers for their occupation. So, it was Black farmers who saved the union. This is the history and legacy of Black farmers.
Are you still actively involved in farming?
Yes, I’m currently actively involved in farming, but in defined ways. I’m a beekeeper and I love all those momma bees that go out and gather pollen and nectar on our 15-acre pollinator conservation project as part of our 30-acre family farm. I currently [have] about 30 fruit trees with most every kind of fruit growing. And I have all kinds of berries and fig trees and a whole variety of medicinal and cooking herbs.
On our property we have two high tunnels where we’re growing an assortment of veggies. And we do host farm tours, women’s retreats, dinners, and other educational activities here. My cousin next door raises chickens and makes value-added products from elderberries, herbs, teas, and tinctures.
We have invested in mushroom logs, and we are replenishing native tree varieties while also intentionally planning additional medicinal herbs that are native to Kentucky forests. We have two ponds on the property, and they get used periodically by family members or friends to catch fish. We have adopted an organic agricultural transition plan and we are in the second year of that activity. But honestly, because of my speaking engagements, I’m away from home for about one-third of the year.
Leadership winners Ira Wallace, Savonala “Savi” Horne, Valerie Horn, and Jim Embry speak onstage at the 2023 James Beard Restaurant And Chef Awards at Lyric Opera Of Chicago on June 5, 2023 in Chicago, Illinois. (Photo by Jeff Schear/Getty Images for The James Beard Foundation)
For most of my life, I have not been involved in farming full-time. I moved to our family farm in 2012 to help look after our aunt and uncle who were both 90 years old at the time. They were like second parents to me, and so much that I do now in the food and agriculture system is based upon their teachings.
This property that I live on now goes back to the year 1800 or so, when our ancestors were brought across the Appalachian Mountains to live here in Madison County. So, we claim ancestral stewardship of this land. We purchased it in 1889 from those folks who stole the land from Indigenous peoples.
“Each decision we make around food is a political choice. It’s an economic choice. It’s a cultural choice. It’s a spiritual choice.”
Over the years I’ve developed extensive knowledge about every aspect of the food agriculture system and recognize my role. My role as an elder is to have this systems view, to create synergy, to speak to everyone and point out that everyone has to change since everyone eats. Everyone has to change in how we relate to the food and agriculture system in our daily practice and the food choices we make.
Each decision we make around food is a political choice. It’s an economic choice. It’s a cultural choice. It’s a spiritual choice. My dear friend, Wendell Berry, who I met as a student at the University of Kentucky back in 1968, says, “Eating is an agricultural act.” This means everyone is involved in the food agricultural system. Everybody has to change.
I have spoken to presidents, peasants, university professors, preschoolers, famous actors, and to kids who are doing hip-hop, beats, and rhymes and working in some of our urban garden projects. I’ve talked to members of the Nobel Committee and kids in FFA, governors, mayors, local schoolteachers, and military veterans with missing limbs who want to farm. These are a few of the people, organizations, and institutions that I’ve been blessed to work with over the years.
What are some notable best practices and challenges you believe exist in agriculture?
If we lift up one of Albert Einstein’s famous quotes, which is, “We can’t solve today’s problems with the same way of thinking we used when we created them,” then we have to deeply examine that way of thinking. [We have] created unsustainable farming practices, damaging practices, toxic practices, practices that create injustice, health disparities, economic inequalities, loss of biodiversity, and environmental pandemics. Oftentimes, the “best practices” that emerge over time become “worst practices” and create even more problems.
“Oftentimes, the ‘best practices’ that emerge over time become ‘worst practices’ and create even more problems.”
There are many different schools of thought or different methodologies that people embrace as we do our farm work, and I have borrowed from many, but my favorite is agroecology.
Agroecology is an integrated approach that combines ecological and social principles for sustainable agriculture and food systems. It emphasizes optimizing interactions among plants, animals, humans, and the environment while fostering equitable food systems where people have a say in their food choices and production. Agroecology has evolved to include ecological, sociocultural, technological, economic, and political aspects of food systems.
The key elements of agroecology involve empowering farmers, promoting local value addition, and supporting short value chains. It enables farmers to adapt to climate change and sustainably manage natural resources and biodiversity. Agroecology stresses local knowledge, biodiversity, synergy, knowledge sharing, and economic diversification. It also focuses on fairness, connectivity, land governance, participatory learning, circular economies, and polycentric governance, serving as a science, practice set, and social movement.
How do you envision agriculture’s role in shaping our future?
Agriculture has had the biggest role in shaping human culture for the past 15,000 years. Agriculture developed some 12,000 to 15,000 years ago and was a gift to our species by women.
Agri-culture—or the growing of food through the use of seeds—allowed us to move away from being primarily hunter-gatherers. This development (and domestication of animals) gave rise to what we call modern human civilization. In my view, it is within agriculture where we have the most profound need for change, and it is within agriculture where we have the most powerful fulcrum point for social transformation of all other human institutions.
“In my view, it is within agriculture where we have the most profound need for change, and it is within agriculture where we have the most powerful fulcrum point for social transformation of all other human institutions.”
After a sharp and comprehensive critique of our prevailing and dominant worldview of agriculture, we need to develop a farming philosophy, farming practices, farming research whose primary aim is the health of the people, health of the planet, health for all other species on the Earth, and the health of the economy.
Right now, the dominant food and farming systems are used to promote profit, plunder, and have a predatory relationship with the Earth. We need a huge paradigm shift in both the philosophy and the practices of farming. That will mean changes in every aspect of the food and agriculture system from seeds to planting to production to harvest to distribution to education to marketing to eating to disposal. In the face of climate change and environmental devastation, every sector will require lots of significant changes or shifts in how we go about the work in this area.
For us to enact changes we will need to develop an integrated systems approach. But we don’t have any choice if we want to become good ancestors and leave our great-great-grandchildren an Earth of abundance.
What is your philosophy on caring for and giving back to the planet?
George Washington Carver said any injustice to the soil is injustice to the farmer. Any injustice to the farmer is injustice to the soil.
Our human quest now is to have a much more expanded view of our responsibility not just to resolving the conflicts and contradictions within the human realm but it’s also to be stewards of Earth protectors or protagonists in maintaining the sacred Earthly balance.
What advice do you have for those looking to become more involved in advocating for their communities, land, and people striving to heal, reshape, and sustain our environment?
I encourage people reading this to contact me. I invite folks to, as Bill Withers would say, use me up. I’m in my last quadrant. I’ve done all kinds of things and recognize the importance of passing on these understandings to the next generations.
Secondly, get involved in organizations; they are critical to making change. Then form study groups to discuss ideas. Get out of the U.S.; travel internationally to see the cultures, the histories of other parts of the planet. Get engaged in your community. Become a voracious reader and read books like Farming While Black by Leah Penniman, We Are Each Other’s Harvest by Natalie Baszile, Freedom Farmers by Monica White, Collective Courage by Jessica Nembhard, and the great work of Thomas Berry and Wendell Berry.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
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]]>The post Wild Nuts Are Making a Comeback in Southern Appalachia appeared first on Civil Eats.
]]>As Justin Holt comes in for a handshake on a bright morning in early November, it’s hard not to notice the color of his palms. They’re the hue of fine wooden furniture, a warm, ruddy tone that is considerably darker than the wrists that peek out from the long sleeves of his broad-checked flannel shirt.
Holt smiles as he turns his hands outward. “They’re going to be brown like this through Christmas,” he says. The rich stain was a natural consequence of how Holt spent his fall: processing thousands of pounds of black walnuts through the Asheville Nuttery.
Black walnut trees are a common sight across Western North Carolina and much of Southern Appalachia. Their canopies spread tall and broad, with long, pointed leaves that turn a vibrant yellow in the fall. And they’re abundant producers of greenish-yellow fruit, each about the size of a tennis ball and containing a wrinkly brown nut.
Yet for many in the area, black walnuts are more problem than produce. Their hulls cling tenaciously to the nut and, as Holt’s hands attest, stain almost everything they touch. Their shells are harder and thicker than those of the English walnut, the most common commercially cultivated species, and are difficult to separate from the kernel within. Suburbanites with walnut trees often treat the nuts as trash, gathering them up only for disposal to maintain a clear lawn.
Holt and his partners at the Asheville Nuttery, Bill Whipple and Greg Mosser, are trying to shift that perception. Since 2017, the cooperative has been piloting new ways to collect, process, and market tree crops, with the goal of catalyzing a local nut-based economy.
Walnuts are just the beginning, says Holt, as he walks into the Nuttery’s storeroom. The converted garage is chockablock with green and black plastic bins, each holding a bevy of nuts being dried for the future.
“It’s a different feeling to inhabit the landscape in a way where you’re paying attention to what gifts are available right around any corner. It turns your life into an Easter egg hunt—it brings the landscape to life in a way that is pretty thrilling.”
Pin oak and black oak acorns can be pressed to extract a bright orange oil that tastes of caramelized butter. Mockernut and shagbark hickories, when pounded and simmered in water, yield a milk Holt describes as “liquid banana-nut bread.” The Nuttery works with at least a dozen different species, although walnuts are by far the most prevalent by weight.
By encouraging people to see the value in their native trees, the Nuttery hopes to inspire parallel efforts across the region. Creating outlets for community-scale nut crops, Holt suggests, could incentivize landowners to keep their existing trees or plant new ones, agroforestry practices that might help them mitigate and adapt to climate change.
Just as importantly, believes Holt, embracing wild nuts can transform how residents experience their environment. “It’s a very different kind of feeling to inhabit the landscape in a way where you’re paying attention to what gifts are available right around any corner,” he explains. “It feels kind of like it turns your life into an Easter egg hunt—it brings the landscape to life in a way that is pretty thrilling.”
Such a view of nut trees in the South was once much more widespread. The Cherokee people native to the region have historically gathered and eaten a wide variety of wild nuts, including the American chestnut, now all but gone from the forest due to a blight introduced in the late 1800s through imported Japanese chestnuts. European settlers also made use of wild tree crops, particularly black walnuts, and Holt says numerous companies processed and sold them through the middle of the 20th century.
Given their labor-intensive harvest and processing requirements, however, wild nuts largely fell out of favor as the country’s food system became more industrialized and commercial U.S. nut production became concentrated in California. One firm—the Stockton, Missouri-based Hammons Product Company, which still relies on hand-harvested wild black walnuts—is essentially all that’s left of the old nut economy.
Hammons used to collect black walnuts at a station in Western North Carolina, remove the hulls, and ship the nuts to Missouri for further processing. The company pulled out of Appalachia several years ago due to insufficient volumes, says Holt; the nearest of Hammons’ 200-plus collection stations is now in Spring City, Tennessee, well over a three hours’ drive away.
The Asheville Nuttery aims to process at least 20,000 pounds of black walnuts this year, along with thousands of pounds of other species. That scale would fill the gap between the national reach of Hammons, which expects to purchase over 15 million pounds of walnuts this year, and someone processing a few nuts from their backyard for a cake.
But without a model to follow or ready-made tools to purchase, trying to make that scale economical has meant a lot of trial and error. Holt, who also works as an independent permaculture consultant and a guide for the foraging tour company No Taste Like Home, says the cooperative’s members haven’t yet paid themselves from Nuttery activities.
Justin Holt shows off a handful of hickory nuts, which he says yield a milk similar to “liquid banana-nut bread.” (Photo credit: Daniel Walton)
The Nuttery recently invested in an optical sorter to speed up tasks like sifting caps and shell fragments away from cracked acorns. And it made a major leap forward in efficiency by developing its own commercial-scale walnut huller, supported by a $10,000 grant from a regional foundation. Holt says he chanced upon an expired 1958 patent by inventor Clovis Packwood, which provided the basic design, then tweaked and iterated with the help of local fabricator Dan Hettinger.
The resulting contraption consists of a big green metal drum, which is fed a constant stream of walnuts from a conveyer belt. “There’s a shaft that runs through the middle with chains welded on in a spiral pattern,” Holt explains. “The chains advance the nuts down the chamber, all the while kind of spanking the hulls off.”
Roughly 500 pounds of hulled walnuts emerge from the machine every hour at full capacity, nearly quadruple the rate of the Nuttery’s previous process. Holt hopes to further refine the design before making plans available to other community-scale groups or producing more hullers for sale, but he’s happy to share what he’s learned so far.
Zev Friedman, whose nonprofit Cooperate WNC served as the fiscal sponsor for the walnut huller grant, says the Nuttery’s efforts are laying critical groundwork for processors to come. “They’re creating new equipment, new processing methods and food types,” he says. “They’ve done a huge amount of research and development, most of which is open-source.”
As the Nuttery solves its processing challenges, it’s also working to restore the cultural perception of wild nuts as food—both among foragers who can harvest raw materials and customers who can buy finished products. There have been successes on each front.
Like Hammons, the Nuttery doesn’t gather its own nuts but buys them from anyone interested in collecting them. Foragers earn at least 20 cents per pound for black walnuts, with bonuses for higher volumes; the smaller and more finicky acorns can fetch up to $2 per pound. Holt says roughly 100 people from across the region are now contributing nuts, more than double the number of those involved at the project’s start.
One recent recruit is Mitzi Aoyagi, an Asheville-based massage therapist. Although she is a longtime forager of mushrooms and medicinal plants, she says she knew next to nothing about oaks until she started to gather acorns for the Nuttery this fall. She stuffed her pockets to bursting several times a day as she walked her dogs beneath her neighborhood trees.
“I didn’t even think of acorns as nuts before,” she says with a laugh. “Now, there are bowls of acorns all over my house!”
Instead of cash, Aoyagi is trading her acorns for the promise of cooking and baking supplies at the end of the season. She’s excited by the potential of wild nuts to yield locally sourced oil and high-protein flour. “For me, it’s like making treasure out of what other people consider trash, and I love that,” she says.
To help spread that excitement about new ingredients, the Nuttery has been turning to restaurateurs and bakeries. Nashville-based, James Beard award-winning chef Sean Brock has helped introduce many people to acorn and black walnut products, says Holt, as has Asheville’s OWL Bakery.
Once people get a taste, they’re eager to buy more: The Nuttery has sold about $8,000 in shares of its “TreeSA,” a community-supported agriculture program for nut products that it launched this fall, and Holt says it’s on pace to break $10,000 by year’s end.
Another strategy, as employed by Nuttery partner Whipple, is incorporating nuts into existing culinary products. He points to the pancake and cornbread mixes he’s producing with Virginia-based Deep Roots Milling, each of which contains about 20 percent foraged acorn flour.
While customers might not know how to cook with acorn flour alone, Whipple explains, the mixes give them an easy introduction to its flavor. Perhaps ironically, the mixes have sold best not in rural Virginia but at markets in Washington, D.C.
“They’re in the suburbs or in townhouses, and they need to take in some wildness,” he suggests of those customers. “Acorn is a wildness supplement—Vitamin W.”
If the Asheville Nuttery can establish an economically viable model for local nut processing, its partners imagine a network of similar facilities throughout Appalachia. Whipple has been evangelizing about that vision through his Acornucopia Project since before the Nuttery was even founded.
The yields of wild nuts can vary considerably between places and seasons, Whipple points out. Some years a region’s trees put out a bumper crop, a phenomenon known as mast seeding, while other years can see very little production. While weather and available nutrients are thought to play a role, scientists still don’t completely understand what triggers mast.
Justin Holt stands by the commercial-scale walnut huller the Asheville Nuttery developed with help from local fabricator Dan Hettinger. (Photo credit: Daniel Walton)
Processors located in different regions could help each other smooth out the vagaries of these cycles by trading nuts and products. “With how decentralized mast is, and it’s meant to be that way, it necessitates community,” Whipple says.
Robust processing capacity could also encourage those who own land to establish new orchards planted with under-appreciated species. The same team behind the Nuttery set up the Nutty Buddy Collective to coordinate and support new plantings, with landowners signing long-term leases in exchange for a share of the yields. Whipple suggests the model could be a good fit for land under conservation easements, offering owners an income stream that doesn’t require felling trees for timber or annual crop fields.
And in existing forests, the economic support created by a nut market could help shape more resilient management practices. The region’s woods have historically been dominated by oaks and hickories, Holt says, a legacy of careful Indigenous land management. But 20th century attitudes toward fire suppression led to greater competition from shade-tolerant, lower-value species.
Clearing those trees through controlled burns and other methods and replanting nut crops, he believes, would lead to a healthier landscape. Actively regenerating forests sequester more carbon and can help communities better resist large wildfires, which are likely to become more common throughout the Southeast as the climate changes. Like eating wild nuts itself, Holt says, such an approach to forestry would represent a return to older patterns of life.
“I think it’s important for us to get back to that place,” he says. “Not just from the perspective of what is morally or ethically correct, but in terms of what has worked to support human survival and thriving.”
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]]>The post Relocalizing the Food System to Fight a ‘Farm-Free Future’ appeared first on Civil Eats.
]]>Imagine a future where humans live entirely in cities in an attempt to minimize their impact on the natural world. Meat is made in factories and grazing is a thing of the past.
This is not a world Chris Smaje wants to live in. The writer, farmer, and social scientist doesn’t believe that humans need to take themselves out of the natural world to protect it, and he argues for agrarian localism over ecomodernism in his latest book, Saying No to a Farm-Free Future.
Ecomodernists believe that it is possible to protect nature and lessen the environmental impact of human development primarily through technological advances. This is achieved by shifting our development away from the natural world. Agrarian localists like Smaje argue that we can’t separate people from nature, and instead we should focus on reducing our impact by working more directly with our local environments: farming at a smaller scale, incorporating rewilding principles into our farming practices, and relying more on human power than internal combustion.
“Plenty of people are figuring out farming that works for them locally in most parts of the world; there’s an Indigenous tradition of land use that we can build on.”
The book is, at the core, a rebuttal to George Monbiot’s book, Regenesis: Feeding the World Without Devouring the Planet. But it’s also much more than that. After his public response to Monbiot’s book elicited a response from readers, Smaje saw an opportunity to write about the role of farming, grazing, and rural places in an increasingly unstable and unpredictable future.
Smaje is a passionate and wryly funny writer. About his initial reluctance to wade into the debate he writes, “There’s something to be said for not . . . ‘paddeling the douchecanoe’ by rising to the bait of ecomodernist provocations . . . Once the veil is removed, what’s left is . . . well, basically just shrill activism and hippy dreaming with a high-tech gloss.”
The book advocates for doing less and doing it more thoughtfully at a time when humanity’s biggest challenges are often being addressed using more tech, more capital, and more emphasis on the role of cities. Smaje champions a future where more people return to rural areas and emphasizes small farms’ role in supporting local economies, healthy environments, and stronger relationships between people and animals.
He writes: “Our societies must turn to low-energy, low-capital, low-carbon agroecological approaches geared to meeting local needs primarily from local land, air and water. . . . Agriculture at its best can do this.”
Civil Eats spoke with Smaje recently to discuss his book, the role of farms in the future, and his view of humans as a keystone species.
While reading your book, I had this image of you sitting down and reading George Monbiot’s book and then furiously typing into the night.
I connected with George in 2015 after the Ecomodernist Manifesto was published. I wrote a critique of it that he read and was very enthusiastic about. He wrote an article in The Guardian critiquing ecomodernism. He mentioned my article, so he gave a boost to my writing, which I appreciated at the time. But gradually, he’s drifted into a position indistinguishable from ecomodernism.
He has been pretty much the only journalist with a mainstream media platform who has been a radical, progressive, green voice, so it matters what he says. He hasn’t written much about food and farming in recent years; this was his big food book. And it’s very, very problematic. I wrote a review on my blog and got into a Twitter argument with him about it. My publisher picked up on that, and almost before I knew it, I had signed a book contract.
I want to move on to making a case for agrarian localism and not be Mr. Anti-George Monbiot, but one of the issues is his book emphasizes how much [his case for lab-cultured meat] is grounded in the science and the data and a lot of people who don’t have the background or the time tend to read a book like that and say, “Oh, look it’s got 500 references in the back, it must be true.” I wanted to write something well-referenced and make a counter-argument. I think there are a lot of problems with his arguments; the energetic aspects of single-cell protein-manufactured foods are quite problematic.
The ecomodernist position emphasizes big-picture, top-down solutions. You’re countering that with what we can do at a much smaller level, fighting against monoculture, advocating for small places, and finding community food solutions. It’s much more challenging to do that on a large scale. Where are people doing this well, and how do we replicate it?
It’s a tricky question. There are loads of people doing it right; the problem is the politics and economics around it that make it so difficult for people to access land and spend time producing food locally.
“We’re overproducing cheap arable grains because it’s so easy to make them extend into landscapes where we probably shouldn’t be farming.”
Plenty of people are figuring out farming that works for them locally in most parts of the world; there’s an Indigenous tradition of land use that we can build on.
Can you talk about agrarian localism?
One of the big debates here in the U.K. is the overproduction of sheep in the upland areas of Britain. That’s partly because the only thing you can produce in upland Britain that you can sell realistically in global markets is sheep, so we’re driven in that way. My argument is that we need the food sovereignty idea developed by Via Campesina: reclaiming food for local communities. Historically, I’ve been a veg grower, and historically, in most places, people would grow their own vegetables, or at least they would be grown locally because it was uneconomic to trot them around. Now, in rich countries, energy is cheap and labor is [expensive], so we import vegetables.
One part of the agrarian localism idea is that if we are moving towards a future of energy constraint, climate change, geopolitical disruption, and, to some extent, the global food system is causing many of those problems, we need to re-localize. Another part of my argument is ecological feedback. If you buy food commodities that come from God knows where, you don’t know the ecological or the social conditions of production, whereas if you’re producing them yourself, or they’re being produced within your community, you are getting ecological and social feedback about the conditions of their production. This is critical for reinhabiting our lived spaces ecologically, making our livelihoods, and knowing the consequences of making a livelihood.
By creating more sustainable and resilient systems that are meaningful to us locally, we can see what we’re doing and why we’re doing it. It’s also self-limiting; once you’ve produced enough food to eat, you stop. We’re overproducing cheap arable grains because it’s so easy to make them extend into landscapes where we probably shouldn’t be farming. With a more localist perspective, you wouldn’t be doing that.
You mention the idea of using less a few times in your book, which I love. What we’re doing now is just not sustainable. There is no magic bullet where people in the developed world can continue to lead their current lifestyle, while we save the planet and feed everybody.
This thinking is a characteristic of ecomodernism. That high-energy, high-capital magic bullet thinking draws a veil over the underlying politics, economic relationships, and inequalities that I think are problematic.
Could you talk about humans as a keystone species?
We get into this mindset where we see humans as gods. We think if we separate ourselves from nature as much as possible, if we all live in cities and let the wild things do their own thing, then we’ll be fine.
“Keystone species are disproportionately impactful species. Humans are clearly a keystone species.”
That’s not going to work at so many different levels. We have to make ourselves the ecological protagonists of our landscapes, which goes back to local traditional farming, wherein people have figured out those ecological relationships.
Humans are great at inventing symbolic systems that overrun the local ecology. Thinking of ourselves as a keystone species gets quite philosophical around human impact; we seem to be in this mass extinction, which is caused by humans.
It’s possible to go to the other extreme, which is part of the ecomodernist view that it’s wrong for us to impact nature in any way. That’s not realistic; we are all organisms that impact each other. Keystone species are disproportionately impactful species. Humans are clearly a keystone species.
We create mosaic landscapes in the same way herbivore-grazing regimes or fire regimes create a mix of open and pit forest habitats, creating niches for all sorts of organisms. Nowhere does it say that humans shouldn’t be part of this push and pull between different species, but we’re getting something badly wrong. We need to find a niche for ourselves to reimagine our relationship with the more-than-human world. How can we be a good keystone species instead of running around knocking over all the china in the shop?
Absolutely. A lot of problems come from trying to separate us from the world.
It’s good to be aware, build in checks and balances, and find a way within our human way of doing things to connect with local potential.
What role, if any, will cities play in your ideal future?
The degree of urbanization in the world has been driven by cheap, abundant fossil energy. Part of the answer to all these questions is about energy futures. If we carry on using fossil fuels, we’re going to torch the planet.
We will likely have to accustom ourselves to a lower energy situation. If we’re manufacturing things and selling them to each other, maybe urbanization is viable [if we are manufacturing food in cities], but I don’t think it’s a long-term, sustainable solution. We’re looking at deurbanization unless there’s some miraculous ecomodernist energy transition. I’d like to think there’s still a place for towns and cities and a mixed landscape of geographic levels. I’m not massively into big cities because, in terms of consumption, they [draw on a great deal of resources from the developing world]. We need to relocalize urbanism so that towns have a real economic and ecological relationship with the hinterland.
There’s a mythology of everyone going to the city to make their fortune. If you think about the history of people migrating to the U.S. and [benefiting from] generating a much bigger economy, then sure. But we’re now in a situation where that isn’t really what’s happening. Increasingly, we’re talking about people in economically precarious situations, a lot of slum dwelling with people in service industries that are very labor-intensive.
The reality of a lot of urban living now, globally, is not particularly positive. What are the implications if we’re talking about more industrial food production—higher yields and less land? Given that one or two billion people in the world are relying on agriculture for their livelihoods? What’s going to happen to those folks?
What do you want readers to take away from this book, outside of being a response to ecomodernists like Monbiot?
We face numerous interconnected problems that aren’t going to be solved top-down by new technologies. The best bet is to work on them bottom up and locally, while connecting positively with people in wider networks. Ultimately, this is going to involve developing new kinds of ecological culture.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
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]]>The post PFAS Shut Maine Farms Down. Now, Some Are Rebounding. appeared first on Civil Eats.
]]>Until a few years ago, Songbird Farm in Unity, Maine, grew wheat, rye, oats, and corn, as well as an array of vegetables in three high tunnel greenhouses, and supported a community-supported agriculture (CSA) program for over 100 customers. It was a successful farm, says Adam Nordell, that supported he and his wife Johanna Davis, their two children, and an employee.
“The business was working,” Nordell says. “We were hitting our stride.”
But at the end of 2020, the Maine Department of Environmental Protection tested their farm and found elevated levels of per- and polyfluoroalkyl substances, commonly called PFAS, PFOS, or forever chemicals—and found them in shockingly high numbers. Forever chemicals have been linked to a number of serious health problems including cancer, reproductive issues, and liver and kidney disease.
Consumption of crops or animals grown on PFAS-contaminated land puts humans at high risk of illness. To Nordell’s dismay, Songbird Farm’s well water tested 400 times the state’s safety threshold of 20 parts per trillion.
Maine had been spreading what is called sludge on its farmland and fields since the 1980s. The fittingly named sludge is a combination of wastewater and sewage, and its application on farms has been seen as a way to keep waste out of waterways and feed fields.
For years, application of sludge in Maine was regarded as safe, as it was in a number of other states; a 1994 booklet from the EPA claimed that the “beneficial application of biosolids to provide crop nutrients or to condition the soil is not only safe but good public policy.” The state later discovered, however, that the sludge contained harmful PFAS.
The sources of contamination were numerous. Once the Clean Water Act passed in 1972, many chemicals and toxins that had flowed freely from paper mills into Maine’s rivers started to be processed through sewage plants. Additionally, forever chemicals that appeared in cleaning chemicals, makeup, and nonstick pans made their way down household drains and ended up in local sewage plants.
The biosolids created as sewage breaks down can be used as fertilizer on farmland, a practice that the Environmental Protection Agency still touts as “beneficial,” even though spreading these highly toxic chemicals across farmland allows the compounds to leach into the groundwater, contaminate crops grown on the land, and affect grazing animals.
The spreading of sludge as fertilizer in Maine was documented thanks to licensing requirements to apply biosolids. In late 2021, the Maine DEP identified 60 sites where 10,000 cubic yards of biosolids were applied as fertilizer with homes within half an acre of the application, a practice the agency called “Tier 1” because it presented the highest risk to human health.
The state began testing soil and water samples from those sites, which included Songbird Farm, in the fall of 2021. In addition, it began to test more than a thousand sites with lower levels of contamination in 2023. While the affected sites are situated across the state, most are concentrated in agricultural areas.
By the spring of 2022, more than 50 farms in Tier 1 areas learned they had high levels of forever chemicals in their products, their fields, and their water. Some farms were able to stop production temporarily while they identified possible solutions. However, several farmers, including Nordell and Davis, were forced to close up shop permanently. Farmers were hurting, consumers were worried, and Maine’s food system looked to be in crisis.
“From an agriculture perspective, we want the soil to come out the other side usable and healthy. But in the meantime, we have adopted the truism that PFAs do not have to mean the end of a farm, and there may be alternative options.”
While the Environmental Working Group has estimated that over 2 million acres of farmland across the United States have been spread with sludge, only Maine and Michigan have done significant testing for chemical contamination of farmland. The spreading of sludge as fertilizer remains legal in all U.S. states aside from Maine, where it was outlawed in 2022.
Scientists are still piecing together what happened in the state, but it’s clear that some forever chemical contamination has also come from other waste materials, such as jet fuel and firefighting foam, particularly in Northern Maine, in and around the former home of the Loring Air Force Base.
Today, many of the Maine farms originally affected are operational again. While Songbird Farm is no longer commercially productive, Nordell now works for Defend Our Health, a local organization dedicated to removing toxins from the environment. A series of special fundraisers and an emergency relief fund helped to keep farms afloat in the aftermath of the discovery, and since then, some have changed what they grow or altered their crops. Others have been able to relieve the problem through water treatments and removal of affected hay and manure. And some are considering building solar arrays instead of farming.
“We are trying to be as optimistic as possible that there will be feasible scientific strategies in the future,” says Nancy McBrady, deputy commissioner of the Maine Department of Agriculture, Conservation, and Forestry (DACF). “From an agriculture perspective, we want the soil to come out the other side usable and healthy. But in the meantime, we have adopted the truism that PFAs do not have to mean the end of a farm, and there may be alternative options.”
In January of 2022, as the level of contamination became clear, the Maine Farmland Trust, which holds easements on many of the farms that were directly affected by contamination, organized with the DACF and the Maine Organic Farmers and Gardeners Association (MOFGA) to work with the farmers who were now without a livelihood, providing them with income replacement for lost crops.
Financial support from the PFAS Emergency Relief Fund assists with direct monetary assistance and covers to cost of biosolids testing, health coverage for affected farmers, and has also been used to invest in infrastructure for PFAS relief and remediation.
“We provide a continuum of support,” McBrady says DACF’s Brady of the collective effort. “First and foremost, we are on the ground doing scientific analysis of the source of the PFAS with comprehensive testing that we pay for. This gives a blueprint of the situation and provides an opportunity to consider mitigation strategies such as changing the rotation of livestock, cleaning up the water, or trying a different crop.”
In addition to soil and water testing, the emergency fund also covers continued product testing, allowing farmers to return their goods to store shelves with confidence. In an effort to embrace full transparency, some affected farms even post their PFAS test results on their websites. Testing, however, is only the first step towards regaining use of PFAS contaminated farmland.
“There isn’t that much great land for farming in Maine,” says Amy Fisher, President & CEO of the Maine Farmland Trust, referring to the state’s famously rocky soil. “So we cannot lose any of it to contamination. These farms have easements on them which permanently restrict development, so we have a long-term legal interest in returning these properties to agriculture.”
The trust also moved rapidly to learn more about the problem and potential solutions, reaching out to researchers and universities studying forever chemicals and the challenges of soil remediation.
“There are a lot of theories being tested. We are eagerly awaiting research breakthroughs that we can start implementing.”
Until Maine began its soil testing, there was little known about the extent of the chemicals’ impact on agriculture, and even less known about reversing those impacts. In July 2023, the Maine legislature passed a bipartisan bill to devote $60 million to a fund to address PFAS contamination. A portion of those funds was allocated to farm and soil research. Then MFT partnered with the University of Maine, Colby College, and Michigan State University to study the farmland impact of forever chemicals.
Michigan State University was already home to one of the premier PFAS research centers in the country. Maine was able to offer the researchers there access to a number of case studies of affected farm as well as areas of contaminated farmland on which to test remediation methods.
“There are a lot of theories being tested,” says Maine DACF’s PFAS director Meagan Hennessey. “We are eagerly awaiting research breakthroughs that we can start implementing.”
Researchers are testing various methods of remediation in the field, including using biochar, a form of charcoal, to bind to the dangerous chemicals so they then be extracted from the soil, and absorbing the dangerous chemicals with plants that can then be removed, processed, and burned at temperatures over 2,730 Fahrenheit with special incinerators.
The hope is to help farmers continue farming despite PFAS contamination. “One thing that we recognized as we went was just how specific every farm is,” explains Hennessey. “A lot of farms may have a hot area, but it is pretty rare that the land is contaminated through the whole farming property.”
Hennessey also notes there are high-risk and low-risk plants. Plants that bear fruit, as well as garlic and asparagus, have a low transfer rate, which means even when grown in contaminated soils they do not contain high levels of PFAS.
Leafy greens, such as lettuce, have a high transfer rate and can easily carry dangerous levels of forever chemicals as can hay and grasses usedfor animal forage. Hay provides a particular challenge because it is often sold and transported to other farms where it is fed to livestock who spread the chemicals through their manure.
For this reason, McBrady adds, some farms are being encouraged to switch to grains, which are less likely to absorb PFAS. “We can fund a farm to switch from hay to grain cultivation, which requires new equipment, new storage, and new drying facilities,” she added. “In doing so, they now have a robust alternative feed supply and their impacted fields are still being utilized. That’s an example of keeping a farm and acreage in production with an alternative crop.”
While farms around the state are adjusting to the new reality, in far Northern Maine in Aroostook County, a novel idea for soil remediation is in the experimental stages.
Upon the deactivation of the Loring Air Force Base in 1994, the state of Maine returned 800 acres to the Aroostook Band of the Mi’kmaq, a tribal community of approximately 1,500 people living in the remote Maine county. Because the area of the former air force base had been the site of firefighting foam testing and jet fuel spills, it was supposed to have been cleaned before being returned to the Mi’kmaq. But tests in 2020 showed levels of PFAS, PFOS, and heavy metals in the soil that were so high they have made the land unsuitable for farming, gardening, or human habitation.
Chelli Stanley and the organization she founded, Upland Grassroots, have been working with the Mi’kmaq people since 2019 to test fiber hemp as a crop that extracts PFAS from the soil as it grows. The organization, based in Limestone, Maine, is growing hemp on contaminated Mi’kmaq land with the assistance of tribal members.
“My initial interest was cleaning the environment in general,” Stanley explains. “Hemp is known for its soil-remediation abilities. We started working on PFAS, and just as the problem in Maine became evident, we were already looking for a solution.”
“We know that hemp is taking PFAS out of the soil,” says Stanley. “What we are working on now is the breakdown method.”
University of Virginia scientist Bryan Berger works with Stanley on the hemp project. “For the past two years, we’ve done greenhouse testing with hemp to see how much [PFAS] it can take up and how growth conditions affect it,” he says. “It is pretty remarkable how much PFAS you can put in hemp. It is levels that would melt our skin. It seems to have almost an unlimited capacity to absorb things out of the environment.”
The challenge facing the scientists now is the removal of the PFAS from the hemp plants once they’re harvested. “This year,” says Stanley, “We’re sending samples to the University of Minnesota to test breaking [the hemp] down and turning it into biofuels.”
Hemp as an option for soil remediation has been slow to catch on in the rest of the state. Further studies need to be done and the process of complete soil rehabilitation would likely take several years. But the Mi’kmaq tribe understands the need for a longer timeline.
“This is an area where the air force was spraying PFAs for over 50 years,” explains Stanley, “so it doesn’t make sense that you can pollute for that long and have a solution in a very short time. [Mi’kmaq] Chief Peter Paul said this land will be with us forever, so if it takes a generation or two to clean it, it will be worth it for the people in the future.”
The Maine DEP maintains a map of where the sludge was originally spread and continues testing farms where contamination is a concern. But for now, many of the experts we spoke to say they feel hopeful about what the future holds for PFAS remediation in the state.
“It’s important to realize we have over 76,000 farms in Maine, and the vast majority do not have PFAs concerns.”
“It’s important to realize we have over 76,000 farms in Maine, and the vast majority do not have PFAs concerns,” says McBrady of DACF.
Despite his own farm’s trajectory, Adam Nordell is proud of how Maine stepped up to support its farmers. “We embraced transparency,” he says. “Those who stayed in business won an incredible amount of trust, and several of them have actually grown their sales in the same year they had to stop sales—that’s an incredible success story coming out of a crisis.”
Nordell hopes other farmers, scientists, and NGOs can learn from what has transpired in Maine. “Other states are starting to test,” he says. “They need to be ready with a safety net when farmers discover they have contamination on their land, so people can stay in business.”
The organizations that originally banded together to handle the emergency response to the PFAS crisis have now shifted to searching for long-term solutions. And they remain optimistic that they’ll find them.
In late October, delegates from MFT and the three universities involved in researching farmland will gather in Michigan for the second annual symposium on the Current Knowledge and Application for Agricultural Production of PFAS, where they hope to encourage collaboration and present research on farmland remediation possibilities.
“Academics around the world want to work on this and solve these problems,” says Fisher MFT. “Connecting them to farmers is how we can contribute.”
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]]>The post Can Agroforestry Breathe New Life Into Carbon Markets? appeared first on Civil Eats.
]]>The Michael RiCharde of several years ago might be a little confused by the Michael RiCharde of today.
Before RiCharde and his wife, Anna, took over Good Wheel Farm outside of Asheville in 2019, he managed the livestock operations for another farm in Western North Carolina. He used a conventional approach: He diligently mowed his animals’ pastures to control weeds, added lime to make the soil less acidic, and applied fertilizer to boost productivity.
“I’m trying to figure out what it looks like to be wedded to a place with more of a conservation mindset while still producing food.”
“You can tell I just don’t care about that anymore,” RiCharde says with a laugh.
He’s still in the livestock business—cows, chickens, and goats all graze across Good Wheel’s 42 acres. But in mid-June, as RiCharde strolled the grounds with Charlie and Ingrid, two of his massive white sheepdogs, he tromped through tall grasses and chicory flowers instead of neatly maintained pasture.
And everywhere he looked, trees had leafed out. Mulberry and persimmon seedlings stood out from a low-lying field. American chinquapins, a native dwarf chestnut, dotted the hillside below the RiChardes’ farmhouse. A wetland was full of young willow cuttings.
“I’m trying to figure out what it looks like to be wedded to a place with more of a conservation mindset while still producing food. That’s where the tree projects felt natural, because the place wants to grow trees,” RiCharde says, gazing at the forested Appalachian foothills that surround the farm.
His vision has gotten a jump start through a partnership with Carbon Harvest. The Asheville-based initiative seeks to mitigate climate change by helping farmers establish, monitor, and verify carbon sequestration through tactics like agroforestry in the Southern Appalachians, in hopes of creating the country’s first regional carbon market.
As part of a $20 million project led by the Kentucky-based nonprofit Accelerating Appalachia, Carbon Harvest will receive roughly $200,000 over two years to conduct research on the potential for a regional offset market. “The point of this work is to investigate whether alternative markets can be developed with integrity at a different scale and based on updated values,” says Meredith Leigh, one of the initiative’s three partners.
Michael RiCharde herds sheep down a slope on Good Wheel Farm in North Carolina, part of the Carbon Harvest carbon market. (Photo courtesy of Good Wheel Farm)
In the meantime, the Carbon Harvest team—which consists of Mari Stuart and Laura Lengnick in addition to Leigh—has been helping farmers establish carbon-capturing practices on their properties, with the goal of setting them up to receive payments in the market once that opportunity comes online.
They have spent the past several years evangelizing about the benefits of agroforestry through workshops and presentations across the region. Trees, they say, can protect farm animals from wind and sun, prevent erosion, stabilize streambanks, and yield marketable products like fruit and nuts.
Earlier this year, the Carbon Harvest partners wrapped up an agroforestry pilot program that helped four local farms, including Good Wheel, integrate trees with their crops and livestock. With the initiative’s help, RiCharde and three other growers were able to map their properties and develop detailed conceptual plans for agroforestry.
The Carbon Harvest team also knows that, by drawing down carbon dioxide from the atmosphere into trees and soils, agroforestry can help address the effects of the climate crisis. In the future, they hope to see Appalachian farmers like RiCharde get paid for providing that service—in ways that avoid many of the problems they see with today’s markets for carbon removal.
The concept of compensating people for carbon removal isn’t new. Many companies and governments want to claim that their operations are emissions-free. But rather than reduce fossil fuel use directly in their supply chains, some choose to offset their pollution by buying “carbon credits” designed to reflect greenhouse gasses taken out of the air elsewhere.
It’s a potentially lucrative opportunity. The nonprofit Forest Trends estimated that the global market for voluntary carbon credits—those bought by organizations to meet their own climate pledges—was roughly $2 billion in 2021. By 2030, according to the consulting firm McKinsey, that market could exceed $50 billion.
But as Lengnick with Carbon Harvest points out, small farmers intensively stewarding their land are all but shut out of existing offset programs. For one, those markets are generally designed to reward new projects, rather than farms with regenerative practices already in place. They also cater to big companies that want to buy credits for millions of tons of emissions, and therefore focus on supporting industrial-scale projects.
In many offset programs, that means protecting or planting large tracts of forests; over 85 percent of the 1.5 million tons of offsets purchased by Microsoft in fiscal year 2021–22, for example, were tied to forestry initiatives. (A recent study found that carbon offsets are much less likely to reduce deforestation than they were originally thought to be.) Increasingly, it also means projects that work with very large farms to implement practices such as cover cropping and reduced tillage on tens of thousands of acres of Midwestern corn and soy.
“It’s a very specific kind of farming operation that is going to benefit from those big international carbon market programs,” Lengnick explains. “They’re going to be much larger-scale than the average farm, and they need to have very simple cropping systems.”
Such systems are relatively easy to manage, but their potential for capturing carbon is still in question. The U.S. Department of Agriculture’s COMET-Farm tool, which estimates the effects of agricultural practices on greenhouse gasses, projects that adding legume cover crops to annual crop fields sequesters about a ton of CO2 per acre per year, for instance. On the other hand, COMET shows that planting trees or shrubs in grazed pasture, like RiCharde is doing at Good Wheel, draws down more than four times as much carbon.
Meanwhile, buyers of carbon credits and the general public are becoming more wary of big projects due to questions about their impact. An analysis published this year by The Guardian found that over 90 percent of rainforest protection offsets approved by Verra, the largest certifier of carbon credits, didn’t actually reduce emissions. While the offsets were described as necessary to prevent deforestation, the journalists determined that many areas would likely have stayed forested without the offset projects.
Meanwhile, a 2019 ProPublica investigation found that other offsets in Brazil and Cambodia had failed to prevent trees from being cut.
Instead of a global market backed by questionable offsets, Carbon Harvest imagines a system where companies in the Southern Appalachians would buy their carbon credits from local farmers putting proven agroforestry techniques into practice. Beyond being more effective at capturing CO2, argues Stuart, these projects would also be more accountable.
“A ton of carbon in one place is not the same as a ton of carbon in another place,” Stuart says. “You could drive down the road to a farm to see [the practices] in action and eat fruit from those trees. That transparency, traceability, and relationality are really at the heart of what Carbon Harvest is.”
“The companies who are going to be your biggest customers for these carbon offsets are always going to be exerting pressure to get your prices down and your volumes up.”
While all carbon comes out of the same atmosphere, Stuart continues, offsets for agroforestry work would fund a bevy of other local ecosystem services. By reducing soil runoff and absorbing excess nutrients, trees on farms also improve water quality for everyone downstream. The habitat and food they can provide enriches bird biodiversity at the landscape scale.
And in many cases, agroforestry projects can build resilience to the climate impacts they’re meant to mitigate. RiCharde says his mulberry and persimmon grove was flooded with more than three feet of water during Tropical Storm Fred, an extreme weather event in 2021 that researchers say was made more intense by climate change. While other area farmers lost much of their crop, he says, the trees emerged unscathed.
The Carbon Harvest team isn’t aware of a local agricultural carbon credit market being developed anywhere else in the country. (The most similar effort, says Stuart, is the California-based Zero Foodprint, which awards grants to farms and ranches working to draw down carbon using donations from restaurants and other food businesses.) Their work through the Accelerating Appalachia grant, adds Lengnick, will provide the nation’s first region-specific estimates of potential carbon credit supply and demand.
The three Carbon Harvest partners acknowledge they’re still a ways off from selling their first offset, with no public timeline estimated for an initial offering. While their group has spoken with large local businesses eager to buy more meaningful carbon credits and invest in the region, none have made a purchasing commitment.
“There’s a matryoshka of questions that we’re unpacking at the rate we have capacity to address them,” says Leigh.
How they will structure the cost of the credits is one of those questions. Agroforestry projects are labor-intensive to establish and trees take years to mature; they capture carbon over long timescales, but carbon credits generally reflect emissions captured over one year.
For these reasons, the investment to catalyze agroforestry is heavily weighted on the front end. If the entire expense of planting trees along a streambank had to be covered by carbon credits in its first year, Leigh explains, they would have to cost as much as $500 per ton. But if the expense could be averaged over the project’s lifetime offset potential, the cost would go down to $13-$26 per ton. (Voluntary offsets on the global market currently average about $2-$11 per ton.)
Verification is another challenge. Tools like COMET can estimate the carbon benefits of a project, but they’re less accurate on small farms like Good Wheel, which have a mosaic of different soils and agricultural practices. Other tools measure carbon sequestration, but they come with their own costs. One 2021 estimate from the Environmental Defense Fund estimated carbon measurement at about $13 per acre, potentially adding more expense to Carbon Harvest’s credits.
Tying carbon sequestration to the marketplace at all, suggests Larry Lohmann, comes with its own problems, regardless of scale or the type of work being funded. He has studied carbon credits for over two decades as a co-director of The Corner House, a British environmental and social justice research group.
“The companies who are going to be your biggest customers for these carbon offsets are always going to be exerting pressure to get your prices down and your volumes up,” Lohmann says. “Once [farmers] enter into that kind of contract, they’re going to be vulnerable to this constant messing with their work.”
More importantly, Lohmann continues, offsets fail to address the root causes of climate change. He argues that any carbon credit, however well-intentioned, is essentially an accounting trick that legitimizes an unsustainable economy.
“Through neoliberal ingenuity, they offer a way to continue extracting and using fossil fuels,” he says of offsets. “The people who need them are the people who want to continue using fossil fuels because they’re cheap and energy-dense.”
Leigh says the Carbon Harvest team shares Lohmann’s concerns. “The direction of the market at present points to the fact that regenerative, nature-based credits are priced artificially low and that valuing mitigation projects based solely on their supposed carbon benefit is neither the proper vehicle to drive drawdown nor to finance better land management,” she acknowledges.
“There’s this concept of ‘carbon tunnel vision,’ where a laser focus on carbon alone leads you to lose sight of all else that matters, like the water cycle, biodiversity, air pollution, and the social and economic well-being of farmers.”
Yet Leigh and her colleagues still believe local offsets are worth exploring. Even as society pressures companies to eliminate their emissions at the source, she argues, some aspects of business will remain almost impossible to decarbonize; to address those residual emissions, she continues, “the smartest corporate leaders will be those who are investing from the ground up in high-integrity, smaller-scale projects.”
If some offsetting is inevitable, Carbon Harvest suggests, its proceeds should be harnessed to boost the growth of sustainable agriculture in places like Southern Appalachia. And agroforestry has broad ecological positives that aren’t necessarily reflected in the raw accounting of carbon offsets.
“There’s this concept of ‘carbon tunnel vision,’ where a laser focus on carbon alone leads you to lose sight of all else that matters, like the water cycle, biodiversity, air pollution, and the social and economic well-being of farmers,” said co-founder Stuart. “I would say all along while harvesting carbon, we have been harvesting all of these other benefits as well.”
The group won’t have to answer all its unresolved questions alone. The Accelerating Appalachia grant, of which Carbon Harvest is a part, is supported through the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s “Partnerships for Climate-Smart Commodities” program. The massive initiative was launched last year and has allocated more than $3 billion dollars to over 140 projects across the country in an effort to reduce emissions and sequester carbon. Grant recipients include many large agribusinesses, including the likes of the National Corn Growers Association, Cargill, and PepsiCo, as well as some smaller players. One of the larger grants is specifically designed to expand agroforestry, and a group of nonprofits in the eastern half of the U.S. will begin working with farmers on the effort in the coming years.
Agroforestry currently represents less than 1 percent of U.S. agriculture. The Nature Conservancy’s Expanding Agroforestry Production and Markets Program, funded by the USDA’s Climate-Smart Agriculture and Forestry Partnership Initiative, aims to create 30,000 acres of new agroforestry plantings over the next five years. (Courtesy of The Nature Conservancy)
One of the goals of the USDA’s investment, says Lengnick, “is to stimulate innovation in this space and figure out how we make carbon credits work for farmers, because for most farmers in the U.S., it doesn’t work.”
That’s currently true for RiCharde at Good Wheel Farm; he says he’d need a group like Carbon Harvest to work out the intricacies of calculating and monetizing the carbon he is drawing down. For now, he’s focused on telling the story of his work through meat sales at farmers’ markets and events on the farm.
As he waits for a local carbon market to come online, RiCharde is looking forward to the day when his trees bear fruit in the hope of future jams and wine. Moving into agroforestry, he says, has come with deep lessons in the value of patience.
“There’s a lot of talk in regenerative agriculture about how can we sequester as much carbon as possible now. I get the urgency, but also, that’s not how nature functions, to shove it down its throat,” RiCharde says. “We need to observe and pay attention and take our time. And that’s hard work in a capitalist world.”
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]]>This summer, the world experienced the hottest week on record, with seven consecutive days of off-the-charts temperatures, and many places are experiencing other extremes, including deadly floods, droughts, and wildfires. These severe conditions have a tremendous impact on our food system, affecting everything from crop yields to working conditions on farms.
While agriculture is a major contributor to climate change, it can also play a significant role in mitigating the impacts—and we at Civil Eats make a concerted effort to focus on solutions in our coverage. So far this year, we have shared numerous stories of creative thinkers across the food system pursuing efforts to reduce damage, increase resilience, and adapt to the new and ever-changing realities.
We have covered the incorporation of hedgerows to sequester carbon in soil, an ultracross seed-breeding project to create climate-adapted plant varieties, and the adoption of care-centered politics, among many other efforts. Below are some of our most important climate solutions stories from 2023.
Can This Beef Cooperative Become ‘the West’s Largest Climate-Smart Ranching Program’?
In an industry dominated by a handful of large meatpacking companies, member-owned Country Natural Beef has plans to document its ranchers’ practices and encourage a shift toward more regenerative practices.
Op-ed: Some Regenerative Farms Are Weathering California’s Unprecedented Rainfall
In the face of intensifying weather patterns like the series of storms pounding the West, regenerative organic farms are demonstrating that the key to resilience is working with nature.
Comic: Adapting Corn for Tortillas—and New Markets—in the Pacific Northwest
In this illustrated report, we explore how the Organic Seed Alliance is working with local farmers, scientists, and chefs to adapt crops to new environments—and the changing climate.
An Ancient Grain Made New Again: How Sorghum Could Help U.S. Farms Adapt to Climate Change
Sorghum—popular among young, BIPOC, and under-resourced farmers—has extra long roots that allow it to withstand drought and sequester greenhouse gasses.
The Edges Matter: Hedgerows Are Bringing Life Back to Farms
Researchers have found that planting hedgerows helps farmers sequester carbon in the soil, manage pests, and provide habitat for pollinators and other wildlife.
Perennial Crops Boost Biodiversity Both On and Off Farms. Researchers Explain How.
Above and belowground, perennial crops including wheat, grasses, trees, and more provide habitat and nutrition to creatures that help make ecosystems whole.
Farmers March for Urgent Climate Action in DC
In this week’s Field Report, scenes from the Rally for Resilience, a push for “Product of USA” labeling on meat, new glyphosate research, and more.
Scientists Scramble to Help Bay Scallops Survive Climate Change
Researchers begin selective breeding and other initiatives in hopes of saving the East Coast’s last wild bay scallop fisheries.
These Farmers Recharged Groundwater by Catching Atmospheric Rivers
After years of drought and dozens of recent atmospheric rivers, Central California farmers have revamped an old practice: intentionally flooding fields for deep irrigation and restoration of underground aquifers.
A Radical Seed-Breeding Project Could Help Southern Farmers Adapt to Climate Change
The Utopian Seed Project is growing dozens of types of okra in one North Carolina field, creating genetic collisions that build new, resilient varieties. The group is working to adapt more food crops to the changing climate.
Climate Change Is Walloping US Farms. Can This Farm Bill Create Real Solutions?
Although it seems like everyone in D.C. is buzzing about a “climate farm bill,” some of the most impactful changes, including crop diversification and shifting diets from meat toward plants, are barely on the negotiating table.
Shell or High Water: Rebuilding Oyster Reefs Is a Climate Solution
Oyster reefs clean water, repair ecosystems, and help prevent flooding. But a lack of shells is forcing restoration projects across the country to seek out alternative structures.
Can Farming With Trees Save the Food System?
Unprecedented funding is flowing into a broad range of agroforestry practices, which can pull carbon out of the atmosphere and build farm resilience as the climate changes.
Bringing Oats Back to American Farms
Adding oats to a farm’s rotation can improve soil health and reduce fossil fuels, but the crop has all but disappeared in the U.S. Now, a nascent movement fueled by oat milk’s popularity may help reverse the trend.
Some Farmers Are Skipping Tomatoes and Eggplants. Their Reasons May Surprise You.
From climate risks to better work-life balance, a small but growing contingent of farmers is giving up summer crops to reap winter’s harvest.
How Focusing on Care Can Change Our Relationship to Food
Robert Gottlieb, author of “Care-Centered Politics: From the Home to the Planet,” discusses how the care economy has the potential to create critical food systems change and mitigate the climate crisis.
The USDA Plan to Better Measure Agriculture’s Impact on the Climate Crisis
In this week’s Field Report, news on the agency’s latest effort to invest in soil science and correct discrimination, plus reports on global hunger and pesticides’ impacts on birds.
Comic: To Fight Climate Change, This Research Farm Is Pioneering Regenerative Practices
In this illustrated report, we explore how the Maine-based Wolfe’s Neck Center is breaking new ground in soil health, soil monitoring, and other climate-smart technologies.
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]]>This article was produced in partnership with Edible Communities; a version of this article will appear in future issues of local Edible magazines.
Fiddle Creek Dairy sits at the top of one of the endless rolling hills in Lancaster County, Pennsylvania. On the first day of spring, farmer Tim Crowhill Sauder looks from his sloped pastures out over the open fields that extend in every direction. A bright red barn interrupts the long horizon. An Amish farmer rides a plow behind a team of horses. It’s a bucolic picture that belies the landscape’s natural state.
“This was the great Eastern Woodlands,” says Sauder. “It wants to be a forest here.”
Centuries ago, Sauder’s Anabaptist ancestors arrived and, instead of learning from and alongside the Native peoples who had already developed techniques to farm within the forest, took the land and cleared the trees to grow crops and graze livestock. Now, Sauder sees its next chapter as both practical action and penance.
“I do it for the sake of my children’s future and for the sins of my ancestors,” he says, of the 3,500 young hybrid willow, honey locust, mulberry, chestnut, and persimmon trees that are now maturing slowly in neat rows across 30 acres of pastures.
Sauder’s system—where his cows will soon graze among trees instead of in fully open pastures—is called silvopasture. And it’s one of several practices that fall under a broader agricultural approach called agroforestry, or farming with trees.
Agroforestry includes planting trees and bushes in strips to prevent soil erosion and provide habitat for wildlife, along streams to stop nutrient pollution, or between rows of corn. These practices, long part of Indigenous farming, are taking root all across the country.
Farmers can plant trees and bushes in strips to prevent soil erosion and provide habitat for wildlife (windbreaks and hedgerows), along streams to stop nutrient pollution (riparian buffers), or between rows of corn (alley cropping). These practices are taking root all across the country.
In California, Rebekka and Nathanael Siemens graze sheep in their 2,000-tree almond orchard. On 18 acres in Wisconsin, the Midwest’s leading agroforestry nonprofit, the Savanna Institute, is growing chestnut, elderberry, black currant, and black walnut trees between rows of organic soybeans.
Whatever the approach, more abundant plant life that stays put year after year—i.e., perennials—lead to healthier ecosystems that support biodiversity and store carbon. Indigenous cultures around the world, including Native American tribes, have long practiced various forms of agroforestry. And, as researchers, policymakers, and governments look for effective ways to reduce greenhouse gas emissions and build climate resilience on farms to secure the food supply, agroforestry is approaching a renaissance.
Project Drawdown ranks silvopasture and alley cropping among its top 20 climate solutions. In the latest round of reports published by the U.N.’s Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change (IPCC), the world’s top climate experts concluded that practices that store carbon dioxide are now critical to meeting climate goals. They found that scaling up agroforestry could make a meaningful contribution to carbon removal while also helping farms adapt to climate risks.
“Farmers are stewards of photosynthesis, one of our oldest and best technologies for getting carbon out of the atmosphere,” Keefe Keeley told policymakers, government officials, and CEOs at the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s (USDA) biggest annual gathering this year.
Keeley, the executive director of the Savanna Institute, was invited to speak to highlight the USDA’s Climate-Smart Commodities program. The agency awarded $3.1 billion in two rounds of grants last fall, including $153 million to projects focused specifically on agroforestry. (Additional broader projects also include elements of agroforestry.)
The Savanna Institute is one of many organizations involved in a $60 million effort coordinated by The Nature Conservancy across 29 states. In the Southeast, Tuskegee University is leading two projects intended to help underserved farmers transition to agroforestry practices and to grow markets for their products. The Adirondack North Country Association will help women-owned farms measure the benefits of riparian buffers and cropland reforestation in New York, while Caribbean Regenerative Community Development will work with small coffee farms in Puerto Rico.
In recent months, the USDA started distributing funds from the Inflation Reduction Act designated for climate-smart agriculture—including agroforestry practices. Then, in late March, Congresswoman Chellie Pingree (D-Maine) and Senator Martin Heinrich (D-New Mexico) reintroduced the Agriculture Resilience Act. If included in the next farm bill, it would direct the USDA to establish three new regional agroforestry centers. As lawmakers prepare to write the 2023 Farm Bill, many are looking to continue to expand funding for climate-smart practices.
“When we did a pre-survey of farmers across the region, agroforestry was the No. 1 thing they were interested in doing. And the No. 1 practice they were interested in is silvopasture,” says Hannah Smith-Brubaker, executive director of Pasa Sustainable Agriculture, an organization that supports Mid-Atlantic farmers.
Pasa received a $50 million Climate-Smart Commodities grant to implement and expand agroforestry and other soil health practices on 2,000 small- and mid-size farms along the Eastern Seaboard, from Maine to South Carolina. Through a network of partner organizations, it will subsidize the cost of tree planting and offer technical support.
The Nature Conservancy’s project will tackle the same two challenges in additional regions. And covering the upfront cost is key, said Joe Fargione, the group’s North America science director. Fargione compared getting started in agroforestry to organic transition. Initially, farmers have to invest money and time into going organic, they often see lower yields as they work out the kinks, and it takes three years before they can charge more for their crops. With agroforestry, trees are expensive, other costs often arise in setting up the system, and farmers won’t see benefits to their bottom line until the trees mature, which takes a minimum of three years—and usually more like six to eight. “But one of the things that’s exciting about agroforestry is that . . . it’s profitable,” Fargione said.
At Fiddle Creek in Pennsylvania, Sauder is hoping the shade his trees provide will improve grass growth and reduce stress on his cows, which is not only good for their welfare but also for milk production. During the hottest months, when pastures dry up, honey locust trees will drop edible pods; Sauder can also use a technique called pollarding to drop branches from the willows, providing the cows with extra feed at no cost. That will all become even more helpful as temperatures continue to rise.
Still, on his own, Sauder didn’t have the cash to plant the trees until Austin Unruh made it possible.
“I would love to see every county have someone that can offer these kinds of technical services and consulting. It’s something that needs to be done locally.”
Unruh is the founder of Trees for Graziers, and he and his team have now completed about 20 silvopasture installations in Lancaster County, with more in the works. Key to his success has been access to public and private funds directed at reducing nutrient runoff into the Chesapeake Bay. (Pennsylvania is behind on its goals to reduce Chesapeake Bay pollution and is counting on 90 percent of future reductions to come from farms.) Unruh finds the funding for farms like Fiddle Creek and then brings his deep expertise to help farmers develop their systems.
“There’s a lot of experimentation, a lot of farmers comparing notes, but very few agroforestry technical support people out there advising farmers,” said Pasa’s Smith-Brubaker.
Unruh is the exception, and his knowledge of the local climate and landscape is crucial. He knows exactly how much shade is good for cool-weather grasses that thrive in the Mid-Atlantic, but that calculation would be very different if he were helping a farmer plant trees between rows of corn in Illinois. “I would love to see every county have someone that can offer these kinds of technical services and consulting,” he said. “It’s something that needs to be done locally.”
And while the Climate-Smart Commodities projects will train more experts and get a lot of farms planting trees, Unruh said agroforestry will only reach its potential if support for the approach is sustained over time. In his state, for example, silvopasture isn’t eligible for funding through existing conservation programs. But demonstrating and measuring the impacts over the next five years should help, he said.
Smith-Brubaker agrees. “Alley cropping wasn’t approved before, but we were able to do these demonstration sites and then have NRCS [PA’s Natural Resource Conservation Service] agents come out, and now NRCS does fund alley cropping. We’re hoping the same will happen with silvopasture,” she said.
On its own, the acreage that will be affected by this new funding won’t be enough to make a huge dent in agricultural emissions, but Fargione says it will provide important data and tools that could spur future investment and growth, allowing it to scale up. The Nature Conservancy project, for example, will be measuring carbon stored in trees and soil on the farms while also working to develop an affordable measurement method. He said giving farms the tools to implement agroforestry practices and document the impacts will then allow food companies with net-zero commitments to buy from them.
Either way, says Unruh, “it’s a drop in the bucket compared to how big agroforestry should be and what the opportunities are.” Beyond dairies like Fiddle Creek, there are also pastured poultry and hog farms that Unruh sees as having even more potential. Those have barely been considered.
For now, spring is in full effect. Robins are flitting between grasses and still-thin branches speckled with buds. In about three weeks, Sauder says, the pastures will be ready for the cows. For the first time since planting, a canopy will start to provide shade for the animals. While it will be far from a forest, the farm will inch closer to its roots—and toward a resilient future.
Illustrations by Nhatt Nichols.
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]]>From the time when the Italian naturalist Moises Bertoni first identified the potential sweetening properties of the ka’a he’^e plant in the subtropical rainforest of Paraguay in 1901 to its early commercialization in Japan in the late 1970s to its massive global rollout three decades later, there has been nothing preventing anyone from obtaining, transporting, researching, and exploiting the commercial potential of what the world now knows as stevia.
Steeped in tea, processed into granules, or cooked down into a paste, the stevia plant’s sweetening potency is derived not from a lab, like sucralose or aspartame, but from a leaf. The plant’s feathery leaves contain 200 times the sweetness of sugar without the calories. As recently as a decade ago, when food and beverage giants such as Pepsi, Coca-Cola, Nestlé, Cargill, and other companies began using stevia in dozens of products in what is now a $500-million-a-year market, they had no legal obligation to ensure that members of the Guarani tribe, on whose territory that leaf was first found, would benefit.
The Guarani, Latin America’s largest Indigenous tribe, with territory ranging from eastern Brazil to the sub-tropical mountain ranges of Paraguay, have long held stevia to be a sacred plant. They smear it on boys’ bodies during their ceremonial passage into manhood, and brew it into yerba mate and other traditional drinks to soften their bitterness.
In 2017, supported by the Swiss NGO Public Eye, the Guarani organized protests against the commercialization of their sacred drink, denouncing “the multinationals that make profits based on their knowledge and their biodiversity,” and asked that Coca-Cola and other companies agree to their demands to share in the financial benefits. Their demands were ignored.
Thirty-four percent of the lands with the highest rates of biodiversity on Earth are on Indigenous territory, according to a recent study in Science.
Now, five years later, neither the Guarani’s demands, nor the demands of other Indigenous peoples whose plant traditions have been extracted, have been met.
Starting this year, however, the era of untrammeled access to the world’s remaining genetic resources—that’s the term the UN uses for the Earth’s plants, animals, and micro-organisms—may be coming to an end. In one of the most significant developments at December’s global Convention on Biological Diversity (CBD) in Montreal, 196 countries agreed to create a new Access and Benefit Sharing Fund to ensure that moving forward, those who develop commercial products derived from genetic resources will be compelled to ensure a fair and equitable sharing of “monetary and non-monetary benefits from the utilization of genetic resources.”
In other words, the governments of the world agreed to create a system whereby local farming and Indigenous communities would receive “benefits” from the genetic resources that they have stewarded and conserved for millennia, as well as the traditional knowledge that has often helped point westerners to their multiple characteristics.
The U.S. is not a signatory to the treaty behind December’s convention—it was signed by President Bill Clinton in 1996, but never ratified by the Senate—but the U.S. did send an observer delegation to the Montreal conference, led by veteran State Department diplomat Monica Medina, who told a small gathering of journalists that she “wished” the U.S. was a member.
When it comes to food, these resources are becoming increasingly important as plants like stevia offer new flavors and textures, and, more broadly, scientists and farmers seek out more resilient seed varieties capable of withstanding extreme weather in the changing climate.
Global Impact of Equatorial Biodiversity
Ninety percent of the biodiversity on the planet is located on a band of land around the equator. And that geography of biodiversity aligns with the points of origin for many of the crops that are most popular in the Global North, the nations where the majority of the world’s financial resources are located. Thirty-four percent of the lands with the highest rates of biodiversity on Earth are on Indigenous territory, according to a recent study in Science.
The search for climate–resilient seeds and plants leads to these centers of origin, where the wild relatives of our domesticated food crops have evolved over thousands of years to adapt to varying conditions. All food crops have wild relatives, botanic cousins that contain important survival skills lost through the process of domestication.
For example, the wild relatives of much of the wheat planted across the American Midwest is indigenous to Syria, Lebanon, Palestine, and other areas of the Mideast, where they’ve evolved over thousands of years to adapt to high temperatures. Agronomists have increasingly been turning to these varieties, which are essentially wild grass cousins of wheat, for their ability to withstand the hessian fruit fly, a pest that has been following the heat into the Midwest and attacking wheat fields.
Meanwhile, the small, fist-sized, wild relatives of apples from Central Asia contain genes that are more resistant to the wild swings in weather—most notably the increasingly mild winters and periodic droughts in apple-growing regions across the U.S. The origin center of corn in southern Mexico has long been key to the characteristics of resistance to fungi and pests in the U.S. corn belt, and is now understood to possess uniquely deep root structures enabling it to survive both flooding and drought.
The potato, a staple food for hundreds of millions of people, originates in the distant high altitudes of the Andes mountains, home to the Quechua Indians in Peru. Dozens of different colors and shapes are common throughout the Andes, each containing genes conveying what a recent study in the scientific journal Food and Energy Security summarized as “tolerance to salinity, drought, and temperature extremes.”
And there are other crops—including cabbage, turnips, and bok choy—that have plant scientists reaching as far as Pakistan and Tajikistan to find the wild relatives that can help the commercial varieties withstand extreme weather.
These are the plants at the very beginning of a crop’s long journey from the field to our tables. “The history of agricultural domestication is a history of evolutionary winners and losers,” says Colin Khoury, senior director of science and conservation at the San Diego Botanic Garden. Khoury has been tracking the loss of such varieties and is part of an effort to preserve them under the umbrella of Botanic Gardens Conservation International. “Some of those ‘losers’ may not be tasty or even edible, but some of them are the key to resilience,” he added.
One of the U.N.’s motives is to slow the rate of extinction of these wild relative species and thousands of other species in what the U.N. and others have called a biodiversity crisis on par with the climate crisis.
Colonialism, Biopiracy, and Biodiversity
In many ways, the history of colonialism can be told from the history of plant extractions that became food or flavors for rich countries in the Global North—from vanilla (Madagascar) to nutmeg (Indonesia), potatoes (Peru), corn (Mexico), and chili peppers (Jamaica), the list goes on. For centuries, this process played out in colonial patterns of extraction. No one bothered asking for permission to explore, “discover,” dig, or leave with satchels of plant samples.
When UN negotiators met in 2010 in Nagoya, Japan, at the ninth conference of the parties to the Convention on Biological Diversity, they faced demands from developing countries to end what they termed rampant “biopiracy.” The Nagoya Protocol was the first official acknowledgment of the one-way trade in genetic resources; in response developed countries promised to find a way to provide financial compensation and/or other benefits to Indigenous people and local farming communities for the commercial exploitation of genetic resources, and even set up an Access and Benefits Sharing Fund to collect the money.
But it was not mandatory. Few companies paid in, and 12 years later it had collected and dispersed just $8 million, a fraction of the hundreds of millions of dollars the U.N. says is key to ensuring conservation and proper recognition of the origin.
Negotiators, including from the Democratic Republic of Congo (center), during the COP 15 talks in Montreal. (Photo CC-licensed by the United Nations)
Coming into Montreal, a coalition of high-biodiversity countries—led by Indonesia, Democratic Republic of the Congo, and Brazil—demanded that the UN add muscle, and money, to ensure that they would benefit from the treasure of abundant plant life growing within their national or tribal lands.
The rising interest by food and pharmaceutical companies in such resources has coincided with a marked increase in organizing by Indigenous communities globally, said Preston Hardison, chief negotiator at the convention for the International Indigenous Forum on Biodiversity—a global coalition of Indigenous NGOs, community leaders, and scholars. Hardison, a conservation biologist who worked for 20 years as a policy analyst for the Tulalip Tribes in northern Washington before his current position, has been to many CBD negotiating sessions over the past several decades.
“There have been major changes in the role of Indigenous communities at these and other UN negotiations,” he said. “In the ‘90s, on climate talks they’d be given a minute or two of intervention. But that has changed.”
The most notable change, he said, is the recognition, embedded in the new agreement, that Indigenous communities are often far more effective at preserving biodiversity, using traditional stewardship on lands they’ve lived in for centuries, than more top-down laws and policing have been.
The negotiations were, at times, fraught: The question of how to value genetic resources brings in a range of actors: governments, scientists, NGOs, and businesses. Scientists wanted to ensure that they could gain access to genetic resources even if they were not planning on developing them for commercial application. Business interests lobbied to keep payments as low as possible, but in general supported the initiative.
“Business would like clear rules,” said Daphne Yong D’Herve, director for knowledge solutions at the International Chamber of Commerce. “They don’t want to be accused of biopiracy.”
The African Union (A.U.) suggested that a surcharge of 1 percent of the retail value of any product made from genetic resources be charged at the point of sale. Pierre du Plessis, Namibia’s representative to the talks and a longtime negotiator for the A.U. on genetic resources, was adamant that this not be considered a “tax.” Instead, he said, “It would be a recompense for the centuries of colonial exploitation of African resources.”
Over two weeks of negotiations, no one got exactly what they wanted. But a key step was taken: For the first time, the UN agreed that access and benefit sharing was a fundamental goal essential to the “conservation and sustainable use of biodiversity”—the third goal among four that are the key ingredients of what’s now known as the Kunming-Montreal Global Biodiversity Framework. Working groups were created to determine how exactly the fund will work and, critically, what mechanisms will need to be put in place to make it enforceable. And it will all be presented and voted on at the next CBD convention in Turkey in 2024.
It’s not clear how much the companies will be expected to pay, how the money will be distributed, how the fund will manage plants that can be found in more than one place, or even what defines “commercial exploitation.”
Now the hard part begins: Communities that may view so-called “genetic resources” as vital and familiar parts of living systems must engage with international food companies that reduce living organisms to a set of commercially viable traits—sweet, salty, heat-resistant, or drought tolerant.
The two worlds are vastly different. “The Guarani don’t make the separations that we do: ‘This is land, this is animal, this is plant.’ They’re all related to them,” says Miguel Lovera, a scientific adviser to the tribe, who advocates for Indigenous rights in Paraguay from his post at the Catholic University in the nation’s capital of Asuncion. Indeed, even the very notion of them being “wild” relatives is a very Western concept, since the Guarani and many other tribes have long relied on plants that grow uncultivated in their territory.
Also at issue is the question of how this sea change will impact scientists, who are interested in accessing as wide an array of genes as possible in order to digitally sequence the genetic characteristics of food and tastes, like stevia.
The new Access and Benefit Sharing Fund could potentially channel hundreds of millions of dollars toward much-needed conservation in developing countries, where land is often cleared to produce ingredients for the same large food companies. Yet it’s not clear how much the companies will be expected to pay, how the money will be distributed, how the fund will manage plants that can be found in more than one place, or even what defines “commercial exploitation.”
At a closing press briefing on December 20, Inger Andersen, the Executive Secretary of the UN Environment Program, declared a mixture of hope and caution to a small group of journalists. “Let us pause but one second to embrace the history we have made in Montreal,” he said. “And now let us get down to the business of delivering . . . for people and the planet.”
This is the first article in a two-part series; the second article will be published later this month.
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]]>The post Once Scorned, Birds Are Returning to Farms appeared first on Civil Eats.
]]>For more than two decades, Wild Farm Alliance (WFA) has provided just that—an alliance—between farmers and wildlife advocates. Based in California, the group is focused on finding common ground between two groups that have often been at odds in an effort to address the biodiversity crisis while helping farms benefit from adding more wildlife to their operations.
Executive director Jo Ann Baumgartner has been with WFA since 2001, and she’s a passionate advocate for what she and WFA call “bringing nature back to the farm.” Baumgartner spoke with us about the one of the group’s core efforts in recent years: building awareness about the value of birds on farms.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Why focus on birds?
We have a goal of [adding] a million nest boxes and perches on 10 percent of farmland in the U.S. Our audience is mainly growers, and so we want to show them where they can see the benefits, but we also want to educate them about the need for nature to be supported. There are so many species in decline and so many ways that farmers can help, because agriculture comprises almost 60 percent of the landscape [in the U.S.] when you count all the grazing lands, and it’s a huge footprint. With farmers’ help, we can do a lot to reduce the biodiversity crisis, and they can benefit from it.
Some readers may be more familiar with how birds can eat farmers’ crops than the ways they can interact with farmlands positively. How are you working to shift the narrative?
Well, a few years ago, we published this booklet called Supporting Beneficial Birds and Managing Best Birds [that detailed ways farmers can reduce their pest-control costs by hosting more songbirds during their nesting season]. And before that, most of the growers I talked to—even growers that were finding lots of creative ways to support biodiversity—the first thing they wanted to tell me was about how birds had wrecked something on their farm. But I don’t hear that so much anymore. There are a lot more people we need to reach, but growers are starting to learn that there are so many beneficial things that birds do related to pest control, and different kinds of birds offer different kinds of pest control.
It’s just like some people think all insects are bad. But really there are beneficial insects, and there are insects that can be harmful, but most of them are good. And with birds, there a few that are bad for farms some of the time.
It seems like both need to be kept in balance, and when they get out of balance is when it’s a real problem for farms?
Yes! We’ve collected around 120 avian pest-control studies and broken it down into different crops in different temperate climates; 90 percent of the studies showed that birds were important. And, not all researchers did the exact same study. Some of them were asking, “Is habitat nearby important?” Yes, it is: The more habitat you have, the more pest control benefits you get. And some asked, “Is it important to have nesting boxes?” And yes—you get more pest control benefits with nesting boxes.
Five percent of the studies showed that while birds were helpful, they also were harmful. So, for instance, in the spring, blackbirds eat all kinds of [harmful] insects when they’re feeding. But later in the year, they may potentially harm, say, a sunflower crop because they’re flocking birds. It’s really the big flocks of birds that can be a problem and there are very few species that do that.
There’s some research that looked at monoculture strawberries and then strawberries that were growing in more diverse farmscapes, and the researchers found that a diversity [of crops] supported a diverse community of birds, and that’s when you have more pest control coming from that community and less damage or less food-safety issues.
And the food safety issues really are coming from birds that are associated with concentrated animal feeding operations (CAFOs), where we’ve created a mess and they get into it. Birds go looking for spilt grain and get into the manure and then it’s not good for them to come onto your farm.
When we talk about this to growers, they inevitably tell me stories about how they’ve seen birds help. For example, we just had an event in Livingston, California, in the heart of the Central Valley ag region, where we had helped an almond grower put in a hedgerow and he told me he has seen crows clean off the mummy nuts [almonds that stay on the trees after they’re shaken, and often can carry insects and diseases that impact the following year’s crop].
Growers are paying attention, and I’ve heard lots of stories like that. Farmers, especially the ones who are already managing for diversity, are really curious about birds, and some of them are putting in lots of nest boxes. There’s a grower at Spring Mountain Vineyards in Napa who has 800 nest boxes in their vineyards. Most growers don’t do that, but a lot of vineyards are putting in nest boxes, because there are some really great studies about how they increase bluebird presence in vineyards tenfold.
When the researcher put out experimental prey, bluebirds ate almost three times as many insects near nest boxes versus far away from the boxes. And it’s not just bluebirds that use these boxes, there are other really good insectivorous birds that use them—like tree swallows, which are aerial foragers, meaning they’re cruising around in the air and catching moths, flies, and flying insects. There’s chickadees, titmice, and ash-throated flycatchers, violet-green swallows, and a couple of different kinds of wrens and nuthatches.
I’ve read that the drought has greatly impacted migration, as many of the wetlands and bodies of water where migrating birds used to stop and refuel have been drying up in recent years. Are some birds looking to farms to fill that gap?
I’ve heard that, too, and those birds aren’t really helping with pest control on farms. Some farmers are working with conservationists to flood some of their lands when they can, but that tends to attract waterfowl and shorebirds and the raptors that eat them.
But water is important and lots of birds are stopping at farms. Maybe they’re just coming through and need some food and cover or maybe they are going to stop and nest. We created a chart and an assessment tool to help farmers (and others) find the best native plants to attract beneficial birds and identify other opportunities, like where you might put in hedgerows, change other management practices, or add flowers or pastures as habitat for birds.
You’ve talked about making the case for more birds on farms to growers. Are there other folks who you’re trying to convince, particularly at the policy level?
It’s super important for policy makers to understand that birds are in decline, and we need to do everything we can to support them. And while we’ve been talking about all of their benefits, they also have intrinsic value.
Rachel Carson talked about how if we’re not careful we might wake up to a silent spring. And years ago, when the Migratory Bird Treaty Act was implemented in 1918, there was a whole bunch of pushback from industry. But it turned out that the Supreme Court said, “Look, birds are really beneficial and we can’t ignore that fact. We have to support them.” And back in the 1880s, the U.S. Department of Agriculture created a Division of Economic Ornithology and Mammalogy.
So we have known how important birds are for pest control for all these years. And now there’s a resurgence. I see it in my own backyard, because over the years, I’ve put in lots of native habitat, and more and more birds show up and it’s just lovely to see them and know that you’re supporting them. Everybody can do this, not just farmers.
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]]>The post The Edges Matter: Hedgerows Are Bringing Life Back to Farms appeared first on Civil Eats.
]]>This article was produced as a radio story by our media partner Public News Service, reaching millions of listeners. Take a listen here.
More than 20 years ago, Craig McNamara started planting woody vegetation on his family’s farm, west of Sacramento, California. McNamara was an early organic pioneer in the region, and he prioritized weaving nature into the agricultural landscape at a time when it was far from popular. Native shrubs and trees lined a creek that ran through the walnut farm. Plants became boundaries between orchards and row crops—i.e., hedgerows—and it didn’t take long for the 450-acre organic farm to come “alive,” says Craig’s son, Sean McNamara, who joined the operation in 2014. Bees, owls, ladybugs, and many other creatures still routinely visit the farm. Just a few weeks ago, a bobcat strolled through the bushes along the creek.
These above-ground benefits to hedgerows are easy to spot. But a few years ago, McNamara watched as a soil scientist dug into the dirt surrounding them. She scooped up rich, dark, compacted soil, mycelial strands tangled within. “I think we were in the middle of summer and the soil, even the topsoil, was moist,” he recalls. It was a memorable sight in drought-riddled California.
Hedgerows are straightforward strips of shrubs or trees roughly 15 feet wide, but they highlight nature’s complex work.
That scientist, Jessica Chiartas, was studying the soil around hedgerows. She selected a couple dozen farms in the Sacramento Valley, an area with plenty of well-established hedgerows thanks to a campaign initiated more than 20 years ago that sought to bring native vegetation back to local farms.
Chiartas’ study, published in late 2022, found that no matter the soil type, be it loam or clay, the soil below hedgerows stored significantly more carbon than the soil in the adjacent agricultural fields. While most of that carbon remained on the surface layer, an increase in soil carbon was detected down to the depth of 1 meter—where it’s more likely to remain. In fact, the study concludes that installing hedgerows on 50 to 80 percent of California’s farmland would capture so much carbon, it would help the state to reach up to 12 percent of its ambitious greenhouse gas reduction goals.
California farmers, who are contending with drought, flooding, and a long list of pests that can ruin fruits, nuts, and vegetables haven’t fully embraced planting native vegetation adjacent to fields. But as the state encourages and incentivizes climate-friendly agriculture practices, they might just start.
Hedgerows are straightforward strips of shrubs or trees roughly 15 feet wide, but they highlight nature’s complex work, says Chiartas. At the surface of the soil around them, “you have a buildup of litter: leaves, stems, dead insects, feces, whatever organic materials are deposited,” she explains. When it rains, the organic matter dissolves and moves deeper into the soil profile. That “litter layer” also protects soil temperature and moisture, creating a stable, thriving soil food web that pulls organic materials deeper into the ground. “We’re not fighting biology,” she says. “It’s efficient.”
Recognizing that, the USDA’s Natural Resources Conservation Service (NRCS) offers a program to farmers nationwide that provides technical assistance and some funding for hedgerow planting, and Xerces Society for Invertebrate Conservation has also focused on the expansion of pollinator habitat, including hedgerows. Individual states including Minnesota and Iowa have also encouraged the planting of native vegetation in the form of prairie strips.
Chiartas jokes that she’d like to start a campaign to “re-hedge California.” With millions of agricultural acres, she sees potential in otherwise long stretches of empty perimeter. “All these field edges are bare right now,” Chiartas says, adding that because hedgerows stay in place, the carbon benefits would last well into the future. “It’s a proxy for the potential of agroforestry,” she says. “We need shade in California. Not just for carbon sequestration but for farm laborers.”
During her research, growers told Chiartas farmworkers often gravitate toward the rows of native plants, including California redbud, Manzanita, or Blue Elderberry trees for a break. And she, along with others who prioritize conservation, applaud a farm system that can expand its scope beyond merely growing food to creating space for all living things.
Hedgerows have been planted in farming and rural landscapes for thousands of years. According to Sam Earnshaw, a longtime sustainable farming advocate who helps growers establish hedgerows through NRCS, ancient hedgerows drew property lines, confined livestock, created windbreaks, and even provided food and medicine. The industrialization of farmland in Great Britain, though, led to the removal of about 200,000 miles of hedgerows between the late 1940s and early 1990s.
In the U.S., efforts to introduce natural vegetation to agricultural land took a “huge hit,” Earnshaw says, in 2006, the year a serious E. coli outbreak was linked to fresh spinach grown in California’s central coast region. The outbreak sickened more than 200 people and caused three deaths.
Karp’s research has found that smaller, more diverse operations tend to attract species of birds that are less likely to carry foodborne pathogens.
“Since then, there has been tons of pressure on growers to do everything they can to keep wildlife off of their fields,” explains Daniel Karp, an associate professor at U.C. Davis in the Department of Wildlife, Fish, and Conservation Biology. “So, that’s meant killing all kinds of wildlife—putting out snap traps and rodenticides along field edges to kill off rodents.” It also often meant removing hedgerows.
Although a USDA investigation wasn’t able to definitively determine how E. coli wound up in bags of baby spinach, the outbreak strain was linked to specific fields where river water, cattle feces, and wild-pig feces all contained the bacteria. A grass-fed cattle operation was located on the ranch, less than a mile from the spinach field.
In the five years following the outbreak, a study found that 13 percent of the plants and trees growing along rivers in one of California’s leading produce-growing regions were eliminated out of fear that they would provide habitat for wildlife carrying pathogens. And a few years later, Karp says, a survey of California produce growers found that 40 percent were still removing habitat even a decade later.
Karp says it’s an understandable, albeit misguided, practice. A 2015 study co-authored by Karp found that, contrary to popular assumptions, the clearing of vegetation has been associated with increased prevalence of foodborne pathogens over time. “Shrubs, grasses, and trees (are) a well-known filter for nutrients and pathogens,” says Karp. “So, you might be able to prevent [pathogens] from getting onto your farm field by having those buffers.”
Karp’s research has also found that smaller, more diverse operations tend to attract species of birds that are less likely to carry foodborne pathogens, unlike monoculture operations that are more likely to have flocking birds that can deposit potentially harmful bacteria on produce.
Karp says many growers he speaks with acknowledge the benefits of hedgerows or riparian habitat, but companies who buy fresh produce often won’t engage with growers who have incorporated plants and wildlife into their operations.
This, says Chiartas, has led to a “scorched earth” mentality for those who grow produce that’s consumed raw. Karp notes, however, that the Food Safety Modernization Act signed into law in 2011 does not advise removing habitat. “The leverage point is definitely going to be big industry buyers and their auditors, and to really convince these folks that the science doesn’t support this idea that habitat removal is effective,” says Karp.
About 30 years ago, Rachael Long, a farm advisor with the U.C. Agriculture and Natural Resources (ANR) began preaching the power of hedgerows to farmers in the Sacramento Valley. She eventually followed her own advice and planted a half-mile stretch of redbud, coyote brush, toyon, and other native California species at the edge of her tomato and wheat farm.
Years later, she delights in walking past the various flowering plants. Doves and white-tailed kites sing. Come fall, her coyote bush hums with bees, flies, and other insects. Research shows native vegetation attract critters that can help devour pests harmful to crops. For example, a recent study showed that walnut orchards with hedgerows or riparian edges had more avian predators, like the white-breasted nuthatch and woodpeckers, gobbling up harmful codling moths, than orchards with only weeds growing. The more natural, woody vegetation, the more moth consumption occurred.
Long’s research has found that once the habitat is established, the pollination and pest control that’s provided result in a return on investment that lasts between seven to 16 years.
Long says that while many farmers have resisted planting hedgerows on their land out of fear the trees and shrubs would only draw harmful pests, studies have shown the opposite to be true. Several years ago, she and other researchers collected bugs in hedgerows during growing seasons over two years and found that 78 percent of the insects were beneficial, while only 22 percent were considered pests. “Hedgerows do bring in more natural enemies like ladybugs and parasitoid wasps that do move into adjacent crops,” she says. Her research has also shown that farmers who have hedgerows don’t have to spray as many insecticides as those farmers who have no habitat around their farm.
Insect biodiversity can also encourage more effective pollination in orchards, Long says, because more wild bees throw honeybees off their vertical, methodical paths. “The honeybee will kind of forget what it’s doing, and it will cross over rows; you get better pollination that way.”
Though establishing hedgerows can cost thousands of dollars, and, at least in the first few years, requires a dedicated water source (a big deal in parched California), Long’s research has found that once the habitat is established, the pollination and pest control that’s provided result in a return on investment that lasts between seven to 16 years.
In an effort to encourage growers to plant native vegetation, ANR is leading a project that’s exploring the potential for a commercial market for elderberry plants as hedgerows. And the state’s Healthy Soils Program (HSP) offers grants to fund a variety of climate-friendly agricultural practices, including planting hedgerows. Over the last five years, compost application has proven to be the most popular, making up about 70 percent of the incentive grants, while only 16 percent of funding has gone to hedgerows.
Judith Redmond is one several founders of Full Belly Farm, 50 miles northwest of Sacramento; she and her co-founders have been using regenerative, organic farming practices for nearly 40 years. She’d like HSP to push hedgerows as a more attractive option, particularly in terms of carbon sequestration, even though planting them can be more labor intensive in the short-term than applying compost. “Compost has to be trucked around. It might not be as beneficial as hedgerows or cover crops,” she says.
Still, the HSP grants have enticed conventional and organic growers like Don Cameron, vice president and general manager of Terranova Ranch, a large, mostly conventional ag operation outside of Fresno that grows processing tomatoes, carrots, onions, nuts, and other crops, planted a half-mile hedgerow three years ago with an HSP grant.
Cameron has since noticed the presence of wild pollinators, as well as “hummingbirds all year,” he says, and around the hedgerows there’s stability in his otherwise sandy soil. “What we’ve found where we’ve done it is that we have no erosion,” he says. “There’s a lot of erosion without habitat established.”
Since receiving the grant, he’s worked with NRCS and other organizations to plant about two more miles of hedgerows. And he plans to put in another seven miles with funding help from the large companies he sells his produce to, including Nestlé. “We’re seeing major food companies wanting to promote increased sustainability on farms,” he says.
Cameron is well-known in California, particularly for his work around on-farm water recharge. He says that in a stretch of the San Joaquin Valley that is often dusty and void of natural vegetation, his hedgerows have gained attention. Other growers have taken notice and they’re curious about the more than 20 plant varieties that bloom around his crops.
If it works, this type of farmer-to-farmer education may help the state achieve Chiartas’ goal of re-hedging California and pulling more carbon into the soil at the same time. For now, though, Cameron can’t ignore the simple pleasure that comes from simply growing a wider array of plants. Hedgerows are “aesthetically pleasing,” he says. “I like that.”
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]]>The post Kristin Ohlson Wants Us to Reimagine Collaboration on the Land appeared first on Civil Eats.
]]>Much thinking about the natural world is shaped by neo-Darwinism, an assumed struggle for survival on a planet where humans prevail over other species. But what if humans are not simply the apex predator, selfishly driven to devour the environment, destroy habitats, and dominate other creatures? What if they are instead the ultimate cooperators, ensconced in a system of mutually beneficial relationships, wielders of a unique power to uplift the natural world?
In Sweet In Tooth And Claw, author Kristin Ohlson explores cooperative relationships found in nature, from the evolution of the multicellular creatures that form the building blocks of all life to relationships between co-evolving plants and insects and their intersection with humans.
Ohlson is an Oregon-based writer whose last book, The Soil Will Save Us, became a bestseller that popularized the notion of improved soil management as a climate solution. She later appeared in the similarly themed, award-winning documentary Kiss the Ground. With Sweet In Tooth and Claw, she challenges the notion that humans are meant to dominate and control their environmental, and invites readers to reimagine them as key collaborators instead.
With expansive thinking and in relatable prose, she tours mutualistic experiments like a Nevada rangeland reinvigorated by beavers and a Mexican coffee plantation shaded by bird habitat, explaining research that makes a case for more such invention. Civil Eats recently sat down with Ohlson to discuss the book, and what she learned is possible when people see themselves as integral parts of the ecosystems in which they live.
There’s a great passage in your book about humanity’s narrative of itself. It’s about how metaphors of constant struggle and greed have become a dark lens that cause people see humans as the apex predator of the planet, and life as “a zero-sum game in which a benefit for one is a loss for another.” Are we the apex predator?
We have the ability to be the apex predator. I was just reading another author the other day who made the point that other creatures, especially big fauna, exist because we let them. We could so easily wipe them out. But if we unleash that power—and we certainly do way too often—it leaves us with a world in which the biology around us just dies off bit by bit. We are biological creatures. We’re not something that came out of a box on a factory shelf. If we did survive in a world where all the rest of the biology was denuded, I don’t think it would be the world we want.
Your book posits that humans are part of mutualistic relationships that sustain species through cooperation. Can you explain what a mutualism is?
A mutualism is a mutually beneficial relationship among two or more species. One that most people encounter every day, at least the one that we’re aware of, is that between pollinators and plants. But mutualisms go on constantly in every ecosystem. Scientists will say probably every living thing on earth engages in a mutualism—they can’t say all because they haven’t tested every single one. But I think it’s probably fair to say that there is no organism that doesn’t have some kind of mutualism going.
“We have the ability to be the apex predator. We could so easily wipe [other creatures] out. But if we unleash that power—and we certainly do way too often—it leaves us with a world in which the biology around us just dies off bit by bit. . . . I don’t think it would be the world we want.”
We have thousands, millions, of mutualisms with all those things that live in us and on us. Everything around us is engaged with everything else constantly, both in ways that we’re aware of, like with bees and flowers, and in ways that we’re not aware of, like what’s happening underground with the roots of plants and how they interact with fungi and bacteria and protozoa and small animals in the ground. It’s going on constantly right underneath our feet.
Can you give some examples of mutualistic relationships that humans have?
Well, there’s everything that lives in our gut—bacteria. And also things that live on our skin. And—this is somewhat different—but humans also have mutualistic relationships with each other. That’s what a city is. A city is a vast expanse of people doing different things that help other people survive.
It makes a big difference if we carry this idea around in our heads that all life is competition and conflict instead of held together by cooperation from the basic cells up. All the cells that we are composed of, those single-celled organisms, came into existence about 3.8 billion years ago. They sort of floated around in this world until around 1.8 billion years ago, when a new kind of cell formed. Then one swallowed the other, and it created a more internally complex organism. It’s called a eukaryote.
All humans, all animals, all plants, all fungi are made of these eukaryotic cells. They have the internal complexity that form relationships with other cells. That act of cooperation and connection is at the basis of all multicellular life. I think that’s a big deal.
How long have scientists known about mutualisms?
The first one that I know of would be in 1886. That was the Dutch microbiologists Martinus Beijerinck. He found that on the roots of certain plants, nodules formed that bacteria live inside and they are fixing atmospheric nitrogen. Basically, they are turning it into fertilizer.
If we were to take what’s been learned about mutualisms and redevelop policy around it, how would agriculture be different?
I think things really are changing a lot. Some of the things that the Biden Administration is considering is exciting stuff. At least the ideas are floating around. But we really could take these ideas and go with them.
If we did, you would never drive down a highway and see miles and miles of bare soil that sits out there for six months a year waiting to be planned for spring. It damages the life in the soil. You would always see a winter cover crop over that.
And what some of the most innovative farmers are now doing is having a couple of crops in the same field or having a cover crop that is also a market crop. They’re using their animals in those fields. All of that would look so much different. Visually, it would be a completely different look.
I’m always fascinated when I’m flying someplace and look down and see the dramatic engineering of the landscape because of modern agriculture. When you see those circles, it’s because there’s an irrigation pivot in the middle. If farmers were using cover crops, they would need so much less water because they wouldn’t lose so much of it to evaporation. We wouldn’t see naked soil like that anymore.
Can you talk about an example of innovation that’s more mutualistic?
One coffee plantation and the farm in Costa Rica is an example of how incredible a place can be when maximizing production is not the only goal. The goal of that coffee plantation is both to raise coffee and also to have habitat that birds flourish in.
“What some of the most innovative farmers are now doing is having a couple of crops in the same field or having a cover crop that is also a market crop. They’re using their animals in those fields. All of that [makes agriculture] look so much different.”
Coffee is an understory plant. That’s how it was first discovered in Africa. For years and years, it was grown in the shade. Then, because of the threat of rust, which is a fungal pest, the U.S. and some of the big agricultural companies pushed coffee growers to grow coffee in a monoculture in the bright sun and lose the services of all those other plants. This way, they would lose the shading services and the services of insects that would live in more varied plantations. And instead, they would have to deploy a lot of chemicals and lot more water. But the idea was that they wouldn’t get rust as easily. I don’t think that has proven to be true.
On the plantation that I visited, scientists are documenting all the relationships among all the different insects and fungi and things that live in that varied plantation. There are not only many varieties of shade trees that coffee grow under and around, but all these other trees that owners planted there to try to feed birds. People who aren’t planting in that way have to take care of those pests some way. There, the birds are taking care of it. And the really intricate dynamics, even between different fungal species, also take care of pests.
Did you talk with producers and growers about the barriers to engaging in this type of system? What is it that stops people from farming this way?
There are a bunch of things that stop people from ranching or raising crops or having orchards in a regenerative way. One of the main things is one of the most surprising things: It’s what their neighbors think.
A regenerative farm looks “messy.” There’s all this stuff growing between market crop, and they’re not spraying their edges to kill off weeds. If they’re really smart—and they are really smart—they’re letting stands of wildflowers grow so that birds and insects come in. And it doesn’t have that neat-as-a-pin look.
In these small farming communities, not only do their neighbors talk, but their bankers talk, their landowners talk. An awful lot of farmers are renting land from landowners who live out of town or maybe live in town and don’t understand why their farm looks so messy. That’s really a big thing—the expectation of what it’s supposed to look like.
It’s very difficult, given our farm policy, for farmers to be creative and not just do the cookie-cutter approach to farming that suggests heavy tillage, heavy chemical use, and high-tech seed use. They’re all getting loans at the beginning of every farming season, and it’s hard to convince a banker to support you if you are doing something that’s different and creative. It’s hard to get crop insurance if you’re doing something different and creative. And bankers don’t want to give loans to people who aren’t getting crop insurance.
“It’s very difficult, given our farm policy, for farmers to be creative and not just do the cookie-cutter approach to farming that suggests heavy tillage, heavy chemical use, and high-tech seed use. . . . It’s hard to convince a banker to support you if you are doing something that’s different and creative.”
Also, most of our ag education system is following that industrial-ag paradigm of heavy tillage, heavy chemical use, and high-tech seed use. For farmers who want to do it differently, where is the lesson plan? Where are the examples? Examples proliferate in YouTube videos—it’s not that it doesn’t exist anywhere—but it pales in comparison. The teaching and support for people doing regenerative agriculture is just a fraction of the support and education of people doing it the industrial way.
Regenerative ag is not a concept that the USDA has always embraced. In fact, there was a period where they were kind of against it. Can you give us some background on that? And is it changing?
We can all be so hidebound. Nobody wants to change, especially when you’re part of a huge bureaucracy. And I think especially when big government agencies like the USDA have to answer to politicians who answer to big funders. There was a lot of foot-dragging in the USDA and there still is, I imagine, around such questions as GMOs and chemicals in farming.
But it really is changing. When my soil book first came out [in 2014], one of the first people I heard from was a guy who was in the media department for the Natural Resources Conservation Service. They had this whole movement around soil, a huge push. They were really trying to convince farmers around the country to stop tilling and to use cover crops. And I think they probably would have loved to have told them not to use chemicals or to use fewer of them, but that was a tougher thing to get away with given the bureaucracy.
Scientist Jonathan Lundgren was operating within that bureaucracy at that time, working with soy and corn. He is an entomologist so he is really interested in finding natural ways that farmers could fight against the pests that plague crops. A lot of his research was showing that these miracle chemicals that the chemical companies were trying to sell to farmers, that would take care of this pest and that pest, they weren’t really helping at all. That’s when he really had his difficulties with the USDA and left.
Can you talk a little more about Jonathan Lundgren’s efforts to support new ways of farming?
He’s doing a lot of science, a lot of study, comparing regenerative farms and conventional farms and seeing really who is doing better. That one paper that he published right as I was writing this book compared conventional farms to regenerative farms and looked to see who is doing better. And it was the regenerative farms.
Their yields were not as high, but they weren’t spending tons of money on chemicals. And they were able to stack enterprises. So they had crops going, and when those crops were done, their animals would come through and eat the residue. This meant they had meat to sell from the same piece of land that another farmer would only be able to sell his corn or his soy from.
What was your takeaway after learning all of this?
If we have this idea that everything is competition and conflict, and that’s our guiding metaphor for what life is like, then we’re really missing the bigger part of the story, which is that life has been formed and is held together by these cooperative relationships, these mutualisms.
So when we look at a city—I had my window broken out yesterday. If we have this view of the world that everything is competition and conflict, well there’s just another sign of it. But if we have the view that really cities are these vast cooperative structures, but then stuff screws up every now and then, it’s a different view. It’s more fixable; it’s more workable. We are less likely to throw up our hands in despair if we think of it as we’re one of the most cooperative species that’s ever been.
Israeli author Yuval Noah Harari is among those who’ve said that humans are massively cooperative, and that is why we’re so deadly. We can organize ourselves around great causes. And sometimes the great cause is a really terrible one, like the Nazis.
But on the other hand, we can make the case that we can organize this very cooperative species around another great cause, which is repairing our relationship with the rest of nature. What excites me is that when people do figure out how we have been causing damage, and how we can pull back that damage, the rest of nature responds so quickly. Things regenerate in really powerful and unexpected ways.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
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]]>Recent months have delivered a harvest of agroforestry funding news in the U.S., just as the season’s remaining crops ripened. The announcement of $60 million in support from the Department of Agriculture (USDA) in particular has stoked enthusiasm for this sustainable agriculture technique that also sequesters carbon and boosts biodiversity.
“This funding will catalyze significant private investments into the industry and increase farmers’ incomes while simultaneously expanding carbon sequestration, soil health, biodiversity, and water quality.”
“There is a windfall of federal money entering the agroforestry sector,” Meghan Giroux told Mongabay. The director of Vermont-based agroforestry consultancy Interlace Commons, she is currently implementing a program to boost regional training capacity toward helping farms implement this sustainable farming technique–which blends annual crops and livestock with perennial shrubs and trees in a carbon-sequestering system that’s also more resilient to droughts and floods–while keeping her eye on the sizable new opportunities coming from the federal government.
That federal funding comes as interest in agroforestry is growing rapidly in the U.S. alongside the need to rapidly adopt more climate-positive types of agriculture: Though Giroux’s current project is funded by a private foundation, people like her see a myriad of funding opportunities and even more enthusiasm among people seeking training and support to implement it.
Will U.S. commodity agriculture start looking more like this? Planting crops like corn and soybeans between alleys of trees or shrubs that produce fruits or nuts also increases carbon sequestration and resilience to heat, drought, and heavy rainfall. (Photo credit: NAC/CC BY 2.0)
Lindsay Allen of Buckland, Massachusetts, is a good example. Her Fern Hill Farm is one of many currently receiving support from Interlace Commons to implement an agroforestry system where annual crops will be grown among rows of closely planted nut and berry cultivars.
Lindsay Allen plans to implement an agroforestry system on her farm with support from Interlace Commons. (Photo credit: Erik Hoffner/Mongabay)
“I’ve been farming for 12 years, but it’s not been agroforestry-focused, so to have the advice of someone like Meghan is excellent,” Allen told Mongabay between helping customers at her busy farmer’s market booth in neighboring Ashfield.
Many other farmers like her stand to gain from the USDA’s mid-September unveiling of the Partnerships for Climate-Smart Commodities (CSC) program, investing up to $2.8 billion in 70 projects. One of these 70 is a $60 million project to advance agroforestry, and is administered by The Nature Conservancy (TNC), which will distribute funds to local and regional for-profit and nonprofit training and support partners–from Alabama to Maine, Minnesota to Hawaii and Texas–37 states in all.
One of the partners in their “Expanding Agroforestry Production and Markets” program to advance agroforestry systems for nut, fruit, and grass-fed beef production is Wisconsin-based Savanna Institute.
“We are honored and grateful to be among this incredible group of organizations and businesses who are committed to mitigating climate change,” said Keefe Keeley, director of the nonprofit which is a leading agroforestry training and research provider in the Midwest on techniques like alley cropping of hazelnuts.
Agroforestry sequesters two to five tons of carbon per acre per year, TNC estimates. TNC’s Joe Fargione adds that the level of adoption expected from this project would generate carbon sequestration of 1-2.5 percent of 2020 U.S. emissions from all sources, and over 20 years, the project could help farmers develop 80 million acres of high-density agroforestry, mitigating 3-6 percent of the country’s 2020 emissions.
For-profits including Propagate Ventures, which helps farms transition from conventional crops to agroforestry while turning a profit, are also part of the mix on the project.
“This funding will catalyze significant private investments into the industry and increase farmers’ incomes while simultaneously expanding carbon sequestration, soil health, biodiversity, and water quality,” said Audrey Epp Schmidt, Propagate’s director of strategic partnerships. And it comes at the same moment that the firm announced its own funding news: the successful raising of $10 million in private capital to support its work helping farms transition their acreage to agroforestry.
Only about 1.5 percent of U.S. agriculture is classified as agroforestry, according to a recent analysis by USDA’s National Agroforestry Center (NAC), so technical assistance and farmer outreach efforts like the TNC-administered project–which is forecast to bring 30,000 acres under that umbrella in the next five years–would boost its scaling up across the country.
“There are still many bottlenecks to overcome to advance temperate agroforestry in the Northeast, but as always, it’s the small farms that are leading the way.”
NAC has fresh leadership for that scaling effort, too. Anne Marsh was recently appointed as its new director.
“The National Agroforestry Center will continue to support USDA agencies that have technical and financial assistance programs for farmers. That support comes in the form of new research on benefits, costs, and implementation considerations that can be incorporated into programs to make connections to agroforestry opportunities more visible,” Marsh told Mongabay by email. “The Center will also develop new decision-making tools for technical support staff and farmers, and provide training to USDA staff and a growing number of non-federal partners to increase the delivery of agroforestry-related services.”
That emphasis on further training of USDA staff to train farmers will be welcomed by the agroforestry community, whose many adherents have generally not waited for government training or support to expand, but have instead plunged into it independently.
Nutwood Farm established a still-maturing 2-acre hazelnut alley cropping system on a 7-acre former Christmas tree farm in Cummington, Massachusetts–via a mixture of crowd-funding, a small Sustainable Agriculture Research and Education (SARE) grant, plus great personal effort–and is a good example.
“We’re small, but we want to show it’s possible,” Nutwood co-owner Seva Water told Mongabay during a recent harvest party, where volunteers working among the hazelnut alleys–between which sheep will eventually be grazed, making it a mixed alley cropping and silvopasture site–helped bring in 900 pounds of fresh nuts, which will yield about 200 pounds of kernels when dried.
Would training still be useful to growers like her? “Technical assistance is needed at all parts of the value chain, especially for the harvesting and processing of key perennial crops like hazelnuts,” Water said. “There are still many bottlenecks to overcome to advance temperate agroforestry in the Northeast, but as always, it’s the small farms that are leading the way.”
Biodiversity benefits from agroforestry systems too, from bats to bugs and birds, here a songbird nest is perched in one of the hazelnut bushes at Nutwood Farm. (Photo credit: Erik Hoffner/Mongabay)
Because local USDA office staffers generally don’t offer such technical agroforestry training, that gap is something that programs like Interlace Agroforestry aim to close. Until then, aspiring agroforesters can start their search at the NAC’s training resources page or the USDA’s Natural Resource Conservation Service (NRCS), which plays a role, too, by offering webinars for landowners, and several agroforestry practices are listed among the NRCS’s Climate-Smart Mitigation Activities for 2022.
While the millions in funding from the CSC is at the center of this current surge in interest, the recently passed Inflation Reduction Act also contains climate provisions that could provide indirect support for agroforestry, since its funding will likely support existing USDA programs that come under the climate-smart agriculture banner.
As technical assistance capacity continues to expand via these public and private programs, can aspiring growers gain the knowledge and support they need to get going, now? Interlace’s Megan Giroux thinks so.
Until technical assistance can provide harvesting equipment for agroforestry crops like hazelnuts, picking happens by hand at Nutwood Farm. Volunteers Alexandra Tinari and Finnegan Torrey join farm co-owner Kalyan Water (right) in bringing in the 2022 harvest. (Photo credit: Erik Hoffner/Mongabay)
“After 30-plus years of work on agroforestry in the United States, the sector’s moment has arrived. It’s a blessing and a curse because on the one hand, our sector has never seen this level of commitment to agroforestry,” Giroux said. “On the other, we are still woefully unprepared, without enough service providers appropriately equipped to train farmers in the modern forms of agroforestry.”
The coming months and years, then, will be crucial to harness this new commitment and enhance training to increase agroforestry’s implementation across the U.S., toward greater climate resilience of the nation’s agriculture.
This article originally appeared in Mongabay, and is reprinted with permission.
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