For 150 years, my family farmed in the Arkansas Delta. The Shoffners came to Arkansas in the late 1800s, and I am the sixth generation to farm and carry the family name. My parents poured three decades of their lives into keeping it running, and for the past ten years, I did the same. Farming wasn’t just our livelihood—it was our identity, our history, and our commitment to feeding families across the country. But now, after generations of hard work, our farm is closing its gates for good.
This is not a story I ever imagined telling. Like so many family farmers, I grew up knowing that the work was never easy. I watched my parents endure droughts and floods, market crashes, and endless uncertainty, yet they always found a way forward. Farming wasn’t just a business to them; it was a way of life that demanded everything but gave back in the form of purpose, resilience, and community.
And I loved it. My best memories are on the farm with my parents. As a little kid, I would ride with my dad in on Sunday mornings, scouting cotton fields. My mom always said, "Go with your dad or go to church." That was an easy decision for a kid, but my grandma was never happy about it! Dad and I would pick up McDonald’s breakfast and then spend the morning scouting hundreds of acres. I came home with so many treasures - rocks, arrowheads, wildflowers...
Farming wasn’t just about work—it was about learning, growing, and being together. As I got older, I performed research trials with my mom, packaging seed, planting test plots, making herbicide applications, and collecting data together. She taught me the science of agriculture, and when I returned to the farm, I worked shoulder to shoulder with both of them. They trained me until I was ready to take over on my own.
When I took over the farm, I carried those same values with me. I knew the challenges, but I also believed in the promise of agriculture and the strength of rural Arkansas. I poured my energy into making the farm work, adapting to changing times, and investing in the land that had sustained generations before me. But over the years, the weight of economic pressures, failing policies, and a system that increasingly favors large agribusiness over family farms became too much to bear.
The reality is that family farms like mine are disappearing at an alarming rate. While the name on the deed may be ours, the forces controlling the industry are far beyond our reach. Input costs have skyrocketed, while commodity prices remain stagnant. The cost of equipment, seed, fertilizer, and fuel has outpaced any increase in the value of the crops we produce. And in the halls of government, decisions are made that too often ignore the needs of small and mid-sized farmers who form the backbone of rural communities.
As I face the closure of my farm, I do so with both heartbreak and determination. This loss is personal, but it is also a symptom of a much larger problem—one that threatens not just individual farms, but the future of rural America. This is why I’m speaking out, sharing my story, and fighting for change. We cannot afford to lose more family farms, to let rural communities wither, or to allow agriculture to become the exclusive domain of massive corporations.
While this chapter of my family’s farming legacy is ending, my work is far from over. Through Delta Harvest, I will continue advocating for specialty production, new market opportunities, and real solutions for farmers facing the same struggles I did. The fight for the future of agriculture is just beginning, and I won’t stop until family farms have a real shot at survival again.
Our story is one of resilience, but it shouldn’t have to be one of loss. It’s time to ask ourselves: What kind of future do we want for rural America? And what are we willing to do to save it?
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