It’s No Pizza Parlor, It’s the Family Farm, and It’s Going, Going . . .
In 1935 there were 6.8 million American farms. Today there are 2.2 million, but 1.2% of them generate 63.5% of net farm income.
By the year 2000 there may be as few as 1.2 million farms. But 50,000, a lot of them in California, may generate 75% of all production. The least likely to succeed, according to a recent congressional study, are “moderate-size farms” with annual sales of $100,000 to $199,000.
The authors of the study acknowledge the historic role of these farms as “the backbone of American agriculture.” But Iowans best know them as “the family farm.” Thomas Jefferson “placed a high value on independent farmers and landowners as a means of maintaining a democratic system of government,” the study notes. But “there has been a marked departure from the decentralized power structure ideal visualized by Jefferson.”
The question, as the authors see it, is whether farming is basically unique or should join the economic mainstream where new technologies are carrying it anyway. “Some people will interpret this trend as progress,” they concede. “Others will interpret it as a step backward.”
For the 98% of us who don’t farm but who eat and dress in natural fibers, farm questions in general can be as daunting as black holes, hostile takeovers and the infield-fly rule. But most of us can understand and learn something from the particular reality of Dan Black, 37, his wife, Minnette, 37, and their son, Brian, 2. After trying, and failing, since 1979 to make it pay, Dan and Minnette have decided to stop farming for a living.
“It’s hard, but not the hardest thing that I’ve done,” Minnette said. “If it were a pizza parlor, nobody would even talk about it,” Dan said. But he knows better than most that there is no Jeffersonian myth about pizza. A college graduate, job printer and commercial photographer, Dan returned to farming when his father retired. Starting from 280 acres, some of them in family hands since 1885, the operation had grown to 450 acres by 1985.
But by last year it was clear to Dan and Minnette, for reasons that they could do nothing much to change, that it was no longer worth the effort. This spring has been a season of transitions for the Blacks. In March, Dan’s father died--”a lifelong Johnson County farmer, active with the Johnson County Fair for 35 years,” as the obituary noted.
On May 19, Brian, an adopted Korean orphan with a little flag in his tiny fist, was naturalized in a Davenport federal courtroom. On June 2, Dan himself began a new life managing rental properties for the Iowa State Bank. Until now, the Iowa State has been his bank. But the bank has also watched his debt/asset ratio grow from near zero to 62%, and Dan has seen how his banker looks up at him over the tops of his glasses.
A desperate neighbor drew national attention last December when he shot his banker, wife, tenant and himself.
Dan appreciates the irony of his situation. In his own view his problem is a “reality sandwich.” He can increase his production scale, his gross and, of course, his costs. But he can’t increase his profits. Dan is acquainted with farmers who can earn a profit on corn selling at $1.75 a bushel. But the corn has to reach $2.57 before Dan’s earnings start. The current price is about $2.30, and the surplus production is rising to the sky.
Meanwhile, the value of Iowa farmland is down nearly 60% since 1980, real interest is at a secular high, and Minnette, as manager of the Iowa City Goodwill outlet, already brings home half the family bacon. Dan’s new job pays $20,000 for a year of 40-hour weeks. By comparison, the farm paid $14,000 last year on work weeks approaching infinity. Dan knows that he could take a chance on better times and larger scale, and borrow another $100,000. But that would risk his house and land. Backing off now costs only machines and livestock.
The family will still live in the same roomy Victorian farmhouse in Sharon Township, and Dan will still farm after hours on the 160 acres that he owns with his brother. In 1982 there were nearly 2 million small and part-time farms operating with annual sales of under $20,000. Only a million are expected to see the year 2000. But Dan’s will probably be among them. If he’s interested, Brian can help, too, Dan says. Like his father and grandfather before him, he can show a lamb or calf at the Johnson County 4-H Fair. He can even join the Future Farmers of America.
Farmers can still make money, Dan plans to tell him. They just have to remember to manage well, be lucky with world markets, be born in the right year and pick rich parents.
