The Farm Wasn't the Problem

"D.C., it's you, hi, you're the problem, it's you."

There were a few months this past year when I wondered if I was the problem. Not out loud to my family or friends but in the quiet, middle-of-the-night way, staring at the ceiling, wondering what I missed and what I could’ve done differently. I thought that if I worked harder or got more creative, I could fix what was broken.

But farmers don't control trade policy. We don't set input prices. We don't have a say in which markets open or close or how much our crops sell for overseas.

I was raised to never be afraid of hard problems, and like my parents and my farmer friends and neighbors, I have a backbone made of steel.

At one point, I sat down at my desk and made six different spreadsheets. I mapped out different numbers of acres. I tried every crop mix I could think of. I even explored entirely new revenue streams just to keep the doors open. And still, none of it worked.

I kept running into the same wall: the numbers just didn’t pencil out. Not because I wasn’t trying hard enough, not because I didn’t do my homework, but because the game had changed—and no one told the people playing it.

There’s a particular kind of heartbreak in watching something you’ve built start to slip away, not because of your own choices but because of decisions made far above your head.

I'm not the problem. The problem is policy made by people who've never had to bet their future on a field or a harvest or a hometown.

And it’s not just me. Across the Delta, I hear it again and again—from farmers, small processors, food entrepreneurs, local truckers. People who’ve always figured it out, now feeling stuck in a system they can’t navigate.

This isn’t about complaining. It’s about calling it like it is. Our communities are resilient. We’re used to hard times. But we need leaders who understand that rural economies are not disposable.

I’m not walking away. We need a louder voice for the Delta. We need to show up in the rooms where the decisions are made and make sure our stories are heard—not just as statistics, but as people who matter.

If you’ve felt like you’re on the edge of giving up, you're not alone. But know there’s something stirring in our region, and I believe we’re just getting started. Keep showing up. Keep speaking up. I’ll be doing the same.