By Grace Hussain for Sentient.
Broadcast version by Mike Moen for Minnesota News Connection reporting for the Sentient-Public News Service Collaboration

Paula Boles says her husband, Dale, didn't want to be a farmer, but when his father passed away he found himself in possession of the family farm. Growing up, he helped raise cattle, rice and tobacco. But together the couple decided to transition the farm into something new - a chicken farm - and that's when their problems began.

It's a story common to the contract chicken farming business. The Boles were told by Tyson that raising broiler chickens would allow the couple to make easy money in retirement. Instead, they found themselves spiraling into debt, struggling to stay afloat while Tyson continued to profit. "I considered ourselves indentured servants 'cause that's...the way we were treated," says Paula Boles.

Boles says she and her husband didn't just suffer financially. Raising broilers for Tyson jeopardized their mental health and strained their marriage. For the Boles, the path out of that crisis was to become one of the few early adopters to transition out of raising livestock - converting their chicken houses to greenhouses.

They aren't alone. Though the movement is still small, it is growing, thanks in part to efforts by projects like Transfarmation and Rowdy Girl Sanctuary. For the Boles, transitioning away from raising meat for corporations has helped reduce their stress and provide freedom that they hadn't enjoyed during their years of raising chickens.

In part that's because contrary to what they were told by Tyson, the business of raising chickens for the poultry conglomerate controlled their lives. Paula recalls having to get up at 3 AM to check on the birds and the sheds anytime an alarm would go off, alerting them to something amiss. The demand was so great that Dale Boles even missed their son's college graduation, as he was unable to leave the farm.

Factory Farming Linked to Stress

In 2018, the CDC identified farmers as the occupation with the highest rate of suicide. While that specific finding was retracted due to an inaccurate interpretation of the data, mental health struggles remain a challenge in the agriculture industry.

As a therapist focused on serving farmers in rural Minnesota, Ted Matthews has firsthand experience with the mental health crisis in farming. One of the major stressors Matthews points to is the increasing size of farm operations. "Not that long ago if you had 100 or 200 cows you were a big dairy," he says. But today some dairies have tens of thousands of cows. As competitors grow in size, it's becoming harder and harder to compete, driving smaller-scale farmers into predatory contracts with conglomerates like Tyson and Smithfield.

Once they've signed a contract, the farmer loses all control over how animals are raised and, as was the case for the Boles, they don't even own the livestock they're housing.

That lack of control over everything from stocking density to feed represents a major stressor for farmers, says Tyler Whitley based upon his meetings with dozens of them. Whitley spearheads Transfarmation, one of the projects focused on helping farmers transition out of livestock, like the Boles.

Trapped in a contract with Tyson, Paula watched as thousands of chicks were dumped unceremoniously into their chicken sheds, with no regard for the condition of the animals. "You can tell within 24 hours whether you're screwed or not," says Boles, as some of the flocks were from hatcheries that produced "better birds."

As the flock got older, she would walk through the sheds filled "wall to wall and door to door" with chickens. Sometimes while making the trek she'd see a bird stiffen and fall back, a sure sign of a heart attack. "It was just really inhumane," she says.

If the dead weren't removed daily, the other birds would start pecking at the carcasses. Cleaning up the expired chickens was no easy task. "Out of that many birds, you're going to have some die everyday," she says. And as they grew heavier, several trips were required to haul their dead bodies out.

She recalls feeling especially distraught when, just a few short weeks later, they would be caught, placed into cages and loaded onto the trucks. It wasn't uncommon for birds to die during loading or on the trip to the slaughterhouse. For Boles, the animal suffering was compounded by the fact that every dead bird represented money lost and more debt.

From Chicken Barns to Growing Greens

Eventually, they were able to leverage their retirement savings and Dale's construction experience to transition their chicken sheds to greenhouses for growing greens. Now ,they help guide other farmers looking to do the same.

Even though they now have greenhouses instead of chicken houses, the Boles are still dealing with the fallout of running a broiler farm. In 2020, Dale had a heart attack that the first responders didn't think he would survive. The cause: stress-induced heart damage that Paula believes was from their time running the chicken farm. His survival was thanks to "the grace of God," she says.

While the Boles are by no means alone in their concern for the welfare of their animals, Matthews points out that many farmers view it as simply "part of the job." Some situations, however, are so horrible that basically everyone is impacted.

He points to hog farmers during COVID-19. Due to slaughterhouse shutdowns, farmers "had to euthanize pigs [who] were totally healthy." The farmers' job during that time basically became killing pigs and dumping the bodies. They have "nightmares about those kinds of things," says Matthews.

In Whitley's experience, even if poor animal welfare is considered just part of being a livestock farmer, it often contributes to why the farmers he works with want to transition their farms. "They'll name living next to a barn of screaming pigs or chickens [or] picking up dead chickens" as quality of life issues associated with being a farmer, says Whitley.

Compounding the issue is a reluctance to talk about their mental health. Farmers "don't look at it like mental health," says Matthews. "They look at it like mental illness," which makes them reluctant to seek help.

For Paula Boles, their experience has led to a better future, enabling her to help others struggling in her community. She spends her days growing flowers and produce in her chicken sheds turned greenhouses. Of the converted structures she says: "the same greenhouse I used to cry over at night [allows us] to grow...microgreens and bless people."


Grace Hussain wrote this article for Sentient.


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By Lauren Kobley for Cronkite News.
Broadcast version by Alex Gonzalez for Arizona News Connection reporting for the Solutions Journalism Network-Public News Service Collaboration

Jesse Garcia was first introduced to farming in his grandmother’s garden. As a child, he recalls not quite understanding the true purpose of growing and how important it is.

It was in high school that he first started taking an interest in farming and agriculture. After graduating, he had a number of jobs, but he did not feel passionate about any of them. It was then that he found the Ajo Center for Sustainable Agriculture.

Arizona farmers are aging. With a hope to sustain farming practices in the state, particularly within Indigenous communities, the co-executive directors of Ajo CSA, Sterling Johnson and Nina Sajovec, are training the next generation of growers through their beginning farmer apprenticeship program.

As of the 2017 Census of Agriculture from the U.S. Department of Agriculture, 59% of farmers in Arizona were Indigenous, more than any other state. The vast majority of farmers in the U.S. are over the age of 35, with an average age 57.5. With the average age of farmers increasing, advocates say it is important to train the next generation of farmers to maintain the state’s agriculture industry.

“Arizona did things backwards. We became a state. We created a job force. But, we didn’t include farming,” Johnson said. “The wrong assumption was that farming was going to stay within the family, but things have changed. The ways of thinking have changed, the way we do things have changed and there’s no one else to take over.”

The Ajo CSA program trains three to five aspiring farmers like Garcia each cycle in Ajo and on the Tohono O’odham Nation. The eight- to 11-month program allows apprentices to visit local farms, establish their own growing space and attend workshops to learn about local sustainable farming techniques.

The apprentices practice growing and harvesting different varieties of crops each season, including lettuce, tomatoes, chiles, squash, beans and corn. Because the farm is a teaching farm, the produce is not sold, but the organization saves the seeds to distribute throughout the community and use for later growing periods.

Johnson was born and raised on the Tohono O’odham Nation in a ranching and rodeo family. He has overseen more than 40 apprentices and youth interns, 70% of whom are Tohono O’odham.

“I’m very excited that we get to teach them (the apprentices) our ways, and we get to promote our ways. Not just to the outside, but to our people. They should be proud of who they are and where they come from,” Johnson said.

On the Tohono O’odham Nation, the apprentices practice climate-smart agriculture and dryland farming. The three main objectives of climate-smart agriculture are to sustainably increase productivity, adapt to climate change and reduce greenhouse gas emissions. Dryland farming is the practice of producing sustainably by using the soil’s own moisture and limited irrigation to plant and grow.

“The soils are the key factor in order to have a good nutritious crop. If you overtax those soils, you lose all the nutrients and all the natural things that are in the soils that would be healthy for us as people,” said Michael Kotutwa Johnson, a Hopi farmer and professor at the University of Arizona.

Indigenous farmers have developed and practiced these sustainable farming techniques for generations and they were almost lost, he said. One of the reasons they are successful is because of the adaptation seeds have undergone through the years to grow in desert-like climates.

“Our seeds are like us. They are human beings to the same extent that they also need to be out and adapt to these different environmental conditions. You have organizations … and they’re just holding on to those seeds. They’re also not raising them in the places where they’re from, so they’re losing their chance to adapt,” UArizona’s Johnson said.

Opportunities like the Ajo CSA apprenticeship program give young farmers the chance to get hands-on experience to develop climate-smart agricultural skills and get in touch with Indigenous culture.

“Farming’s a tradition, just like Grandma’s recipe. You don’t want Grandma’s recipe to die out and go away. You got to pass it on,” Gilbert Villegas Jr., an Ajo CSA apprentice, said.

Not only does the apprenticeship build their skills, it prepares them to farm their own land and grow on a larger scale.
Since finding Ajo CSA seven years ago, Garcia said he has learned invaluable information about farming that he has been able to apply to his own farm on the Tohono O’odham Nation.

“Working with Ajo kind of gives you the whole insight of how to run the business: How to apply for grants, how to get partners, how to use those partners, how to organize events – anything that can kind of help your business grow,” he said.

He said building his roots in farming has been a challenge, but he has had incredible mentors like Sterling Johnson that have helped guide him along the way. Garcia now comes back to Ajo CSA as a volunteer and mentor. He hopes to have an impact on those who are in the program now.

“It starts with you as a person. You have to want to change and try to bring everything (the farming techniques) back. If you don’t see the big picture then what’s the point of you trying to spread it?” Garcia asked. “There’s always somebody out there you can go and keep passing it on … hopefully somebody hears.”

Looking toward the future of the program, Sterling Johnson hopes that Native American traditional agricultural practices are given their proper recognition, acknowledgement and respect.

“This is our way of keeping our traditions alive. … We pray for those who are on the ground and those who are on top guiding in this modern world as we need agriculture to have a future for all of us,” Johnson said.


Lauren Kobley wrote this article for Cronkite News.


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By Lena Beck for Modern Farmer.
Broadcast version by Eric Tegethoff for Washington News Service reporting for the Modern Farmer-Public News Service Collaboration.

Walking through the fields of Viva Farms in Washington State's Skagit Valley, the smell of strawberries is strong in the air. The rain that came down hard the week earlier spells the end of strawberry season, says farmer Francisco Farias, but he still has raspberries, one of his favorite crops to grow.

Farias explains all this in Spanish, while Viva Farms farm viability director Anna Chotzen translates.

Farias has farmed a parcel of land here at Viva Farms since 2017-as do dozens of other farmers. Viva Farms is a farm business incubator and training program. It educates beginning farmers on sustainable practices, and provides them with land to start their business. Farias completed the program in 2016, and together with his brothers started Farias Farm in 2017.

In recent years, Viva Farms realized it needed to expand its land access work to help more mature businesses launch beyond Viva Farms. Not only is land access a critical barrier to new farmers, it's also something that has been exacerbated by patterns of discrimination by the USDA and agricultural lenders. Access to land is an even higher barrier for communities that are statistically underserved or denied loans.

"We see that the system is not working for farmers, and we're really committed to pushing the envelope so that it can [work]," says Chotzen.

Farias, who now operates his farm in partnership with his wife, wanted to pursue this goal as well. And this summer, that dream became a reality.

Working with Viva Farms and Dirt Capital Partners, an agricultural investment company, Farias now has locked in a financing deal that puts him on track to own a parcel of land a few miles away from Viva Farms, within just a few years. He has a 10-year lease and is hoping and planning to purchase it sooner than that.

"It's always been a dream and a goal of ours to find a place that we could really grow our business, and that can be a stable place where we know we can stay," says Farias.

Incubating a dream

Farias grew up farming in Mexico, and worked for a short time on a conventional farm there. When he came to the US in 1996, he worked for an organic farm in Washington state.

When he connected with Viva Farms and began its Practicum in Sustainable Agriculture, it gave him the tools to start his own business.

After his brothers completed the practicum as well, the three of them began farming together on land from Viva Farms. Farias Farm grows broccoli, cauliflower, strawberries, blueberries, carrots, and other vegetables, all organic.

"In organic production, I feel free," says Farias. "I can just be out in the field and know that everything is really healthy. I have kids, and they can come out and they can eat food off the farm, and I don't have any worries."

As they grew, they had success. They established themselves at regional farmers markets, and sold produce through Viva Farms. Farias's brothers left to pursue other careers, and his wife Lorena joined him as co-owner. They expanded from just half an acre to having 10 acres at Viva Farms and 10 acres on a nearby piece of land.

And then that nearby land went up for sale.

The final piece

The number of farms in the US decreased by 6.9 percent between 2017 and 2022, according to US Census of Agriculture Data. Washington State sees this pattern mirrored in agricultural areas such as the Skagit Valley-the state lost 3,717 farms between 2017 and 2022.

This speaks to the trend of consolidation-a rapid squeeze on small farmers across the country that shows no signs of letting up. While established farmers get forced out, new farmers struggle to take their place due to a smattering of high barriers, principle among them access to land.

Viva Farms has been operating since 2009, and provides new farmers with the tools to incubate their farm business, including capital, marketing, bilingual education, and more. One of the most important things it provides is land: Viva Farms operates more than 100 acres, and members of its incubator program can access certified organic parcels to farm.

But Viva Farms' land is not intended to be the forever home for any of the farms it incubates. "In recent years, it's become really clear that for us to be committed to farmers' success, we have to help them with this final piece," says Chotzen. "It sounds nice on paper to just say you build your business for a few years at Viva and then launch off-site, but the reality of finding a long-term home for your farm is much more challenging."

Land ownership provides individual farmers with stability and security-it gives them more freedom to make decisions about their operations and to plan long-term. Broadly, a system of diversified farms is more resilient to pests and climate shocks than monoculture operations.

And so Viva Farms worked with Farias and Dirt Capital Partners to set up terms that could result in a pathway to ownership for Farias. The model they used allows farmers to get a secure lease, with the option to purchase at a later date. This permits them to get on land right away without the requirement of an immediate down payment, and with a 10-year runway to figure out their financing.

It's a good first step, says Chotzen, and she believes it is replicable for other investment firms. Dirt Capital Partners is a leader in the space among venture capital and impact investment firms, she says, and she hopes the process evolves to further reduce interest rates and the final amount farmers owe.

"I just think that if we as the farmer support community, whether that's us at Viva or the finance space, if we really want to support the farmers who've been historically excluded, and build the food system we want using the ecological practices that we all think are essential, we have to be willing to be flexible on what we are expecting in terms of financial return," says Chotzen. "The risk can't land with the farmer all the time."

In the last two years, Viva Farms has received $6 million from the USDA to support this work. More regulatory mandates to fund this work would help, such as in the Farm Bill.

A farm stand

Having his own place to farm opens up new opportunities for Farias, and makes space for new goals. Washingtonians can find Farias Farm at regional farmers markets; he hopes to open a farm stand on the property next year. He's doing other future planning, too: He hopes to build his own cooler, so they don't have to depend on Viva Farms' refrigeration capacity anymore. There's also a house on the land they will own, and they'll be moving in soon, so they can live where they farm.

Walking back to the parking lot from the fields, Farias talks about getting to plant more blueberries now. When you rent land, you have to think short-term. Season to season. Broccoli, carrots, and other things that don't require multi-year tending. But now that he has his own land, he has the stability of getting to plan for the future.

"There are a lot of opportunities, and I'm hoping to achieve them," says Farias. "Just being able to plan for the long term is a big one."


Lena Beck wrote this article for Modern Farmer.


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Minnesota has had a dry start to the fall but saw record rain this past spring.

One farmer said changes to his land made it easier for the crop fields to survive, an encouraging sign in a more industrialized farming era. High rainfall amounts from April through June contributed to flooding in some parts of the state.

Adam Griebie, a Hutchinson-area farmer, no longer sees huge ponding and gullying in his fields after a heavy rain. The solution is a series of water retention basins funded by federal conservation programs. He said it is a big sigh of relief to the soil on his property.

"I like to say it slows the water down," Griebie explained. "The slower the water moves, the less that it erodes and gathers nutrients and pollutants."

Not only does it mean his crops are in solid shape for the fall harvest, local waterways are not exposed to harmful runoff. Griebie estimated eight surrounding farms also embrace the approach.

He pointed out it is harder for smaller operations like his to compete at a time when factory farms proliferate across the U.S. and despite the popularity of conservation incentives, he said there are still barriers to accessing them.

Over the past few years, the USDA has announced funding to improve access to these programs, often for selected projects involving historically disadvantaged farmers.

Even with the challenges in applying for cost-sharing aid, Griebie noted initiatives like the Environmental Quality Incentives Program help to ensure independent farms will not disappear, potentially giving them an edge as the nation rethinks how food is produced under the threat of climate change.

"It really gives us small to mid-sized farmers that opportunity to do the right thing," Griebie emphasized.

He has also tapped into incentives to improve prairie habitat. According to the Institute for Agriculture and Trade Policy, only 26% of Environmental Quality Incentives Program applicants in Minnesota were awarded contracts. The Land Stewardship Project found hundreds of millions of dollars in funds have been spent on projects to support factory-farm operations, providing little environmental benefit.


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