๐๐š๐ญ๐ข๐จ ๐๐จ๐ง๐๐ž๐ซ๐ข๐ง๐ : ๐ƒ๐ซ๐จ๐ง๐ž๐ฌ, ๐ƒ๐ซ๐ž๐š๐ฆ๐ฌ, ๐š๐ง๐ ๐ƒ๐ข๐ฌ๐š๐ฉ๐ฉ๐ž๐š๐ซ๐ข๐ง๐  ๐†๐ซ๐จ๐ฎ๐ง๐

Saturday morning, I attended a field day hosted by two young men launching a drone application company. Still in college, their entrepreneurial spirit was contagious. It was inspiring to see their excitement as they demonstrated their drone and explained how they hope to support area farmers.

But as I stood there watching, another thought tugged at me.

Less than two miles from that very field, prime Allen County farmland is being swallowed upโ€”not by the acre, but by the square mileโ€”for housing developments. Itโ€™s happening fast. The soil that once grew corn and beans is now being packed under streets and cul-de-sacs.

So I couldn't help but wonder: What is the future for these young men? Theyโ€™re building a business to serve farmers in a region thatโ€™s steadily losing farmland. How long will their own families be able to resist the temptation to cash in on their land? What will be left to support?

Itโ€™s a question I find myself asking more often these daysโ€”not just for them, but for agriculture in general.

We say we want young people in agriculture. We talk about creating opportunities. And yes, theyโ€™re still out there. But in some areas, those opportunities are shrinkingโ€”either paved over or swallowed by consolidation. The biggest keep getting bigger, and the middle is fading fast.

How do we reconcile the optimism of the next generation with the realities of what they're up against?

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๐๐š๐ญ๐ข๐จ ๐๐จ๐ง๐๐ž๐ซ๐ข๐ง๐ : ๐‹๐ž๐ญ ๐ญ๐ก๐ž ๐’๐ฎ๐ง๐ฌ๐ก๐ข๐ง๐ž ๐ˆ๐ง