Patio Pondering: Will the 2020s Be a Repeat of the 1980s?

I wrote this on a Sunday morning as the rain tapped around the patio, steady and soft, while my coffee steamed in the cool September air. I’ve been thinking about the American farmer’s place in today’s economy. Everywhere I turn—podcasts, meetings, articles, interviews—the message shifts, but the tone is the same: someone is always to blame.

National ag broadcasters often point at monopolistic suppliers and buyers. Non-farm groups sneer that “stupid farmers” keep planting too much corn and soybeans. Industry experts scold us for not throwing our weight behind new industrial uses. The old “burning food for fuel” argument is raising its ugly head again, with proponents insisting, “If we just had 15% ethanol in gasoline, life would be great.” And in non-ag media, the finger points at politics: “You voted for Trump, so it’s your fault. Go bankrupt. Don’t take government handouts to save your stupid butts.”

The blame lands everywhere: on the farmers, on the politicians, on the multinationals. Yet somehow, it’s the farmer left standing in the middle, catching it from all sides.

Damned If You Do, Damned If You Don’t

Last winter, the experts were unanimous: “Why would anybody plant soybeans? There’s no money in it. Plant corn instead.” Pundits, consultants, and economists showed chart after chart proving how much better the economics looked for planting corn over other crops. So farmers listened. Across the Midwest, fields were planted to corn.

But here’s the kicker: did we really plant as much corn as USDA says we did? Their estimate of 99 million acres has plenty of people inside agriculture waving the BS flag. Pair that with an astronomical yield projection of 186.7 bushels per acre, and you’ve got numbers that feel more like wishful thinking than boots-on-the-ground reality, especially with widespread Southern Rust issues in Iowa and the historic lack of rain across parts of Illinois and much of the Eastern Corn Belt.

Yet those are the numbers the markets react to. Those are the numbers we get judged against. And those numbers drive prices lower, regardless of what’s actually happening in the fields, until the “final” yield numbers are published later and, in many cases, adjusted years afterward when the truth is finally known. By then, the crop has already been priced and sold.

But there’s another reality weighing on corn demand: there are simply fewer mouths to feed. Hog and cattle numbers in the U.S. are down, which means the domestic feed market isn’t pulling corn the way it has in the past. Yes, we may need less corn, but the hard question is, how do we get there? Farmers can’t just flip a switch and walk away from ground they’ve invested in, and the markets don’t exactly reward restraint. After all, the market doesn’t care about your farm, but your banker and your checkbook do.

So not only are farmers chastised for planting corn, but now they’re being buried under estimates many in ag don’t even believe are true. The decisions made in good faith—based on advice, economics, and agronomy—get turned into a double bind.

The System Stacks the Deck

Farmers live in a marketplace where profit margins are razor thin and power is concentrated in a few hands. Input suppliers dictate seed, fertilizer, and equipment costs. Processors and exporters control what we’re paid. Farmers carry the risk, but others set the rules.

And when talk turns to government support, another wave of criticism rolls in. Non-farmers call it welfare. Ag insiders shake their heads, saying the money will only line the pockets of Deere, Bayer, or fertilizer manufacturers, not the farmers themselves. The irony is brutal: when help is offered, we’re told it either proves we’re dependent or proves we’re fools because it only benefits the companies “leeching” off our operations.

Now you start to hear another line: “You voted for this, deal with it.” What’s happening in the ag economy didn’t magically begin on November 5, 2024. The foundations for today’s financial straits started years ago. Many can point to the long fingers of the COVID-19 pandemic as part of the cause.

To add to the challenges, most American farmers followed university advice to specialize and excel. The vast diversity that existed one or two generations ago is gone. Today, you’re either a crop farmer or a cattle rancher, with very little crossover. Few are doing both crops and livestock anymore.

The Harshest Blows Come From Within

Oddly enough, the comments that cut the deepest don’t come from non-ag journalists or political pundits. They come from inside agriculture itself. The advice sounds so matter-of-fact: “Treat it like a business. Make real business decisions.”

That sounds good on paper. But I was taught at Purdue that when you’re in a low- or no-profit situation, the right choice is to plant if you can cover variable costs, and deal with fixed costs later. That’s not sloppy business—it’s survival.

And any banker would say the same thing if a farmer customer walked into the office and said: “Corn and beans don’t pencil this year, so I’m not planting. You’ll just have to wait on my loan payments.” That conversation would go over like a lead balloon.

Then come the suggestions from fellow farmers: build bins (not something you pull off a few weeks before harvest), buy puts and calls (a good idea, but they require cash—something scarce on many farms), or sell excess equipment (a tough sell when the used equipment market is following profitability down, down, down). Unfortunately, these well-meaning suggestions are often unachievable.

The reality is that farmers don’t get the luxury of sitting out a season, nor the ability to quickly implement strategies that require forethought and timely execution.

The Human Cost

Behind all the noise are real families staring down loan payments, shrinking equity, and headlines predicting another wave of farm bankruptcies. Rural America knows too well that financial strain doesn’t just threaten land and equipment—it threatens lives. Suicide rates among farmers remain some of the highest of any profession.

Empathy is scarce in a system where farmers already carry all the risk. Instead of support, they often face ridicule—branded as bad business owners, accused of being nostalgic, or scolded for not following market signals. The 1980s farm crisis is remembered today mostly through old John Mellencamp ballads, Farm Aid concerts, or movies like The River and Country. Fewer and fewer farmers actually lived it as business owners, experienced the hard meetings with bankers and suppliers, anguished over decisions about buying a neighbor’s land, or endured the sleepless nights that defined that sad chapter in U.S. agriculture. Many remember it, but they weren’t the ones making the hard decisions at the kitchen table or facing down their “friend” at the bank.

As an industry, we don’t have the muscle memory of the deaths, auctions, foreclosures, and family breakups that never healed. For many, they’re just stories. With the current financial state of agriculture, we may be on the edge of learning those lessons firsthand again. And when the dust settles, it’s usually the same story: the big just keep getting bigger, while the remaining farmers are left to wonder how long they can hold on.

The question is, how will the U.S. respond if we see a repeat of the 1980s—with bankruptcies, suicides, and heartache in the heartland once again?