Reading Time: 4 minutes

The toxic plant that killed Socrates thousands of years ago is becoming more prevalent in the Midwest. 

Poison hemlock is an invasive biennial plant that has tall, smooth stems with fern-like leaves and clustered small white flowers. It can grow up to eight feet tall. 

Meaghan Anderson, an Iowa State University Extension and Outreach field agronomist, said the plant is becoming more widespread due to several factors.

Those factors include unintentional movement of seeds from one place to another by floods, mowing equipment and animals. Hikers inadvertently transport seeds on their shoes or clothing.

Changing ecology could also be contributing to spread. For example, Anderson said tree loss in parts of eastern Iowa from the 2020 derecho made room for the plant. Cedar Rapids estimates it lost about 65% of the overall tree canopy that existed before the derecho flattened trees with hurricane-force winds.

“The loss of so many trees and opening of canopies has likely allowed for many weedy species to gain a foothold in areas they were not in the past,” Anderson said.

Since the plant was first introduced to the U.S. in the 1800s, hemlock has made its way into every state, except Hawaii. 

Scott Marsh, an agricultural weeds and seed specialist with the Kansas Department of Agriculture, said though the plant is widespread across the country, it’s generally more common in central parts of the United States. He said it is slightly less abundant in the southeast and northeast parts of the country.

Mark Leoschke, a botanist with the Iowa Department of Natural Resources’ Wildlife Bureau, said poison hemlock likes moist soils and benefits from “disturbed areas,” like roadside ditches, flood plains, and creeks or rivers, where running water can carry seeds downstream.

“It just benefits from periodic disturbance, and it is the way it can grow and maintain itself,” Leoschke said.

Anderson said the plant also favors areas along fences and margins between fields and woodlands.

Generally, the plant isn’t a threat to lawns and residential yards, Leoschke said, because lawns are typically mowed regularly, which keeps the plant from maturing.

A ‘highly toxic’ plant

Poison hemlock — which is known by its scientific name conium maculatum and is native to Europe and Western Asia — starts growing in the springtime and is a dangerous plant. 

“The most serious risk with poison hemlock is ingesting it,” Anderson said. “The plant is highly toxic and could be fatal to humans and livestock if consumed.”

According to the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s Agricultural Research Service, every part of the plant — from its stem to its leaves, as well as the fruit and root — is poisonous.

The leaves are especially potent in the spring, up to the time the plant flowers.

The toxic compounds found in the plant can cause respiratory failure and disrupt the body’s nervous and cardiovascular systems.

Anderson said it is possible for the toxins in poison hemlock to be absorbed through the skin, too.

“Some of the population could also experience dermatitis from coming in contact with the plant, so covering your skin and wearing eye protection when removing the plant is important,” she said.

Poison hemlock can also be fatal if consumed by livestock. 

According to USDA, cattle that eat between 300 and 500 grams or sheep that ingest between 100 and 500 grams of hemlock – less than a can of beans – can be poisoned. Though animals tend to stay away from poison hemlock, they may eat it if other forage is scarce or if it gets into hay. Animals that ingest it can die from respiratory paralysis in two to three hours. 

Jean Wiedenheft, director of land stewardship for the Indian Creek Nature Center in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, said no one should eat anything from the wild unless they know exactly what they are ingesting.

The carrot family of plants, including poison hemlock, can be particularly treacherous. Water hemlock, a relative of the poison hemlock native to the U.S., is also toxic. Giant hogweed, another member of the carrot family, can grow up to 15 feet tall with leaves that span two to three feet. Marsh said that if humans get sap from the plant on their skin and then go into the sun, it can cause third-degree burns. Wild carrot, another invasive also known as Queen Anne’s Lace, is generally considered safe or mildly toxic.  

Managing the plant

Poison hemlock is a biennial plant, which means it takes two years to complete its life cycle. 

Removal strategies vary depending on where in the life cycle the plants are, where the plants are located, how abundant they are, what time of year it is and the ability of the person trying to manage the plant.

For example, Anderson said flowering plants generally need to be cut out and disposed of as trash. However, Anderson said that using herbicides on the hemlock when the plant is growing close to the ground in its first year is often more efficient and more effective in eradicating the plant.

In some situations, mowing can be an effective option to manage isolated infestations of poison hemlock as well, she said.

“Since (they’re) a biennial species, if we remove plants prior to producing seed, we can eliminate the possibility of new plants or increasing populations of these plants,” Anderson said. “Any location with poison hemlock will need to be monitored for several years.” 

Successful hemlock management comes back to prevention.

“We often talk about the species this time of year because the white flowers atop the tall stems are very obvious on the landscape, but the species exists for the rest of the year as a relatively unassuming rosette of leaves on the ground that people don’t think of until they see the flowers, when it is too late for most effective management strategies,” Anderson  said. “Every time a plant is allowed to produce seed, it adds to the soil seed bank and creates more future management challenges.”

This story is a product of the Mississippi River Basin Ag & Water Desk, an independent reporting network based at the University of Missouri in partnership with Report for America, with major funding from the Walton Family Foundation.

Wisconsin Watch is a member of the Ag & Water Desk network. Sign up for our newsletters to get our news straight to your inbox.

‘Highly toxic’ hemlock widespread in Midwest — and spreading is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 6 minutes

A few years ago, Holly Jones started studying the micro-climate and the topography on her family farm in Crawfordsville, Iowa, about 40 miles south of Iowa City. Jones said learning more about the landscape of her fifth generation flower farm helped her recognize some of the ways weather and climate change could affect her operation.   

“There are some areas of our land that are a little higher than others,” Jones said. “That’s going to impact, for example, when we’re looking out for frost advisories or frost concerns really early in the season or the end.”   

Around this time, the U.S. Department of Agriculture updated its plant hardiness zones map, which divides the United States into 13 zones based on average annual minimum temperatures in a given time period. 

Todd Einhorn, an associate professor in the Department of Horticulture at Michigan State University, said simply put plant hardiness zones help gardeners and farmers determine which plants are most likely to survive winters in a specific location. 

Jones’ farm, called Evergreen Hill, is currently in zone 5b. The USDA found that for her area the temperature had increased by 1 degree Fahrenheit between 2012 and 2023 – a trend experts say will continue in the Upper Midwest.

In response to the changing climate and her deeper understanding of her land, Jones created “crossover plans” for the farm, planting flower varieties with overlapping bloom times. If one species is late to flower or runs its course early, she has other plants that can fill in as the farm’s “focal flower” at any given time. 

Jones works to be transparent with customers about whether they can have certain flowers by a specific date when she takes orders.

She said she and her team have learned that they must be flexible when it comes to farming in a changing climate since she does not have control over growing conditions.  

“We can prepare as much as we want, but there’s so much variability now in growing, especially in the ways that we grow that you just have to be prepared to pivot and adapt,” Jones said.

Jones won’t be the only one adapting. 

Plant hardiness zones are shifting northward nationwide as the country continues to warm, affecting farmers, gardeners and producers across the country. The biggest changes in the coming decades are predicted to be in the Upper Midwest. The Midwest produces 27% of the nation’s agricultural goods.

What are plant hardiness zones?  

The USDA Plant Hardiness Zone map has 13 zones, which serve as guidelines for growers on what kind of plants will grow well in their area. 

“Hardiness zones are meant to at least delineate which species or cultivars of species could be planted based on their survival,” said Einhorn, who specializes in plant hardiness science, particularly with fruit tree species.  

Each zone covers about 10 degrees — for example, Iowa lies primarily in zone 5, which means its coldest temperatures range from -20 degrees to -10 degrees Fahrenheit on average. Each zone is further divided into 5 degree half zones — the northern half of Iowa is in 5a, the southern half in 5b. 

Madelynn Wuestenberg, an agricultural climatology extension specialist with Iowa State University, said that plant hardiness zones are defined by their average coldest temperatures. The averages are calculated over 30 years.   

In 2023, using new averages, the USDA updated the map, moving about half of the country up by half a plant zone, meaning average minimum temperatures rose by zero to 5 degrees in the affected places.

Why are the zones shifting north?  

Climate Central, a nonprofit researching climate change and how it affects people, analyzed 243 locations around the United States and found that about 67% of the locations studied based on National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration data have already shifted to warmer planting zones from the mid-1900s to present.

The researchers found that the Northwest and the Southwest, along with Alaska, have been the most affected to date. 

With unabated climate change about 90% of locations examined will likely shift to warmer planting zones by the middle of this century. The Upper Midwest is predicted to be affected most.  

Wuestenberg said winter temperatures in the Midwest are becoming warmer on average, compared to decades past.  

“What we saw from the 1981 to 2010 climatology versus the 1991 to 2020 climatology is we’re really starting to see warming across the U.S.,” Wuestenberg said. “And this has been observed for a long time, and really it’s a pretty consistent overall warming, but the specific amount of warming varies region to region across the U.S.”   

Of the cities with the highest predicted temperature change between now and mid-century, a majority of the top 25 are in the Mississippi River Basin. 

Madison, Wisconsin, for example, is projected to switch from zone 5b to 6a as the average coldest temperature is expected to increase by 8.4 degrees Fahrenheit.

Jefferson City, Missouri, will likely change from zone 6b to zone 7b as the area’s average cold temperatures are projected to increase by 8.3 degrees Fahrenheit.

In Dubuque, Iowa, the average coldest temperatures are expected to rise by 8.3 degrees Fahrenheit, and producers will go from zone 5a to 6a.

Average cold temperatures in Cedar Rapids, Iowa, are on course to warm by 8.2 degrees Fahrenheit, and the region is expected to jump an entire planting zone to 6a. 

The shift in plant hardiness zones could force some growers across the country to select plants that are adapted to a wider and warmer range of temperatures to survive warmer winters and earlier frosts and thaws.  

In some cases, that could mean new opportunities. 

Dean Colony runs Colony Acres Family Farm in North Liberty, Iowa. On his 200-acre farm, he grows pumpkins, corn, soybeans and zinnias. 

His farm is currently in plant hardiness zone five, but Colony said it could be a matter of time before Iowa is able to produce peaches like Missouri and Kentucky can. 

“How many more years is it going to be? I mean, we could grow peaches in Iowa, but it seems like they grow them way better down there,” Colony said. “So is it a matter of time before that comes here?” 

Wuestenberg said one challenge with the shifting zones is that they are based on climatological averages and do not take atypical and significant frost or freeze events into account, which can be challenging for producers. 

Who will be most affected?  

Wuestenberg said gardeners and fruit tree producers will likely be more concerned about the shifting zones, rather than row crop producers. 

Fruit trees and vines need a certain number of chilling hours, which is the minimum period of cold weather a fruit tree needs to blossom. 

For example, Einhorn said most apple trees require about a thousand chilling hours in the winter to break their dormancy period and bloom in the spring.  

But with winters warming, even by a few degrees, apple trees will want to break dormancy earlier.

“Instead of being at 30 degrees Fahrenheit in the winter, maybe now the days are at 34 (degrees Fahrenheit) and that little bit of warming actually has a humongous effect on a tree,” Einhorn said.  

The apple trees could start flowering in late February or early March.

“Unfortunately, what can happen is overall, winter may have been warmer, but we still might get a March, April frost. And once that happens, those buds, those flowers, are exposed to that cold temperature, and then it kills them,” Wuestenberg said.   

This could lead to reduced fruit yields later in the season.  

But Einhorn said there are ways that producers can work within the unpredictable conditions.  

For example, there are various methods for raising temperatures for trees during a freeze, including using fans to pull warm air out of the atmosphere and running water over plants. There are also research efforts underway breeding new plants that have either delayed blooms or can withstand the new conditions.   

Meanwhile, farmers will continue to adapt. Jones, the flower farmer, has noticed strong winds and storms coming through the eastern Iowa region. She’s planted sunflowers in windier areas of the farm because they can withstand stronger gusts. More delicate flowers go near trees for natural protection. She also uses netting to help stabilize flowers from winds, rains and storms. 

 “At the end of the season, we’re at the mercy of our climate and the weather,” Jones said. “And that can greatly impact what we have in any given season.”  

This story is a product of the Mississippi River Basin Ag & Water Desk, an independent reporting network based at the University of Missouri in partnership with Report for America, with major funding from the Walton Family Foundation.

Wisconsin Watch is a member of the Ag & Water Desk network. Sign up for our newsletters to get our news straight to your inbox.

A warming climate is changing growing conditions, shifting planting zones northward is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 12 minutes

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• Jess D’Souza, a small-time pig farmer in Klevenville, is challenged to sustain her livelihood in the wake of a sudden federal funding cut.

• After years of taking no salary, she had hoped 2025 would be the first year she turned a profit, aided by Wisconsin’s participation in the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s Local Food Purchase Assistance program, designed to support underserved farmers and bolster local food systems. But the Trump administration abruptly rescinded the program, upending Jess’ plans.

• As she contends with the government’s broken promise and weighs whether to raise or sell her newest piglets, Jess seeks to build a more resilient food system independent from political whims.

Two piglets jostled in the barnyard as Jess D’Souza stepped outside. Neither youngster seemed to be winning their morning game of tug-of-war over an empty feed bag.

Jess approached the chicken coop. She swung open the weathered door. The flood of fowl scampered up a hill to a cluster of empty food bowls.

Groans resembling bassoons and didgeridoos leaked from the hog house as groggy pigs stirred. Jess often greets them in a singsong as she completes chores.

Hi Mama! Hi babies! 

She asks if she can get them some hay. Or perhaps something to drink? The swine respond with raspy snorts and spine-rattling squeals.

Jess unfurled the hose from the water pump as pigs trudged outdoors into their muddy pen.

“Is everybody thirsty? Are you all thirsty? Is that what’s going on?”

That morning, Jess slipped a Wisconsin Farmers Union beanie over her dark brown hair and stepped into comfy gray Dovetail overalls — “Workwear for Women by Women.” The spring wind was still crisp. Bare tree branches swayed across the 80-acre farm.

She filled a plastic bucket, then heaved the water over a board fence into a trough.

Growing up, the Chicago native never imagined a career rearing dozens of Gloucestershire Old Spots pigs in Klevenville, Wisconsin — an agricultural enclave surrounded by creeping neighborhoods of the state’s capital and surrounding communities.

She can watch the precociously curious creatures from her bedroom window much of the year. Their skin is pale, dotted with splotchy ink stains. Floppy ears shade their eyes from the sun like an old-time bank teller’s visor.

Jess spends her days tending to the swine, hoisting 40-pound organic feed bags across her shoulder and under an arm. Some pigs lumber after her, seeking scratches, belly rubs and lunch. Juveniles dart through gaps in the electric netting she uses to cordon off the barnyard, woods and pastures up a nearby hill.

She knows she shouldn’t view her pigs like pet dogs, but she coos at them when she works. Right until the last minute.

Jess hadn’t anticipated politics would so dramatically affect her farm.

Last year, Jess doubled the size of her pig herd, believing the government’s agriculture department, the USDA, would honor a $5.5 million grant it awarded to Wisconsin. 

Under the Biden administration, the agency gave states money for two years to run the Local Food Purchase Assistance program, or LFPA, which helped underserved farmers invest in local food systems and grow their businesses.

In Wisconsin, the state, Indigenous tribes and several farming groups developed a host of projects that enabled producers to deliver goods like plump tomatoes and crisp emerald spinach to food pantries, schools and community organizations across all 72 counties.

The Trump administration gutted the program in March, just as farmers started placing seed orders. For her part, Jess must anticipate the size of her pork harvests 18 months in advance. She banked on program funding as guaranteed income.

This was supposed to be the year Jess, 40, broke a profit after a decade of toiling. She has never paid herself.

Jess chuckles as she admits she worries too much. She’s an optimist at heart but mulls over questions that lack ready-made answers: How will she support herself following her recent divorce? How are her son and daughter faring during their tumultuous teens? How will she keep the piglets from being squished by the adults?

Now, if she can’t find buyers for the four tons of pork she expects to produce, will she even be able to keep farming?

The world, she thinks, feels like it’s on fire. 

***

In childhood, Jess, the elder sibling, strove to meet her parents’ expectations. School was her top priority. Academic achievement would lead to a good job, material comfort and happiness. She realized only as an adult that her rejection of this progression reflected a difference in values, not a personal deficiency.

She almost taught high school mathematics after college, but didn’t like forcing lukewarm students to learn.

Jess moved in 2005 to Verona, Wisconsin, where she planted fruit trees and vegetable gardens in her suburban yards. But a yard can only produce so much. She wanted chickens and ducks and perennial produce.

Jess can’t pinpoint a precise moment when she decided to farm pigs.

She attended workshops where farmers raved about Gloucestershires. The mamas attentively care for their offspring. Jess wouldn’t have to fret that the docile creatures would eat her own kids. Pigs also are the source of her favorite meats, and the breed tastes delicious. Her housemate wanted to harvest one.

It took almost 3 ½ years to name the farm after Jess and her then-husband located and purchased the property in 2016. 

She hiked it during a showing and discovered a creek and giant pile of sand in the woods that for her children could become the best sandbox ever.

What did the place encapsulate, she mused.

She chronicled life on “Yet to be Named Community Farm” across social media: Photographs of piglets wrestling in straw piles next to lip-smacking pork entrees.

Also, lessons learned.

“I like to tell people I’m a recovering perfectionist, and farming is playing a large part in that recovery,” Jess posted to Facebook. She can’t develop the perfect plan in the face of unpredictability. Farmers must embrace risk. Maybe predators will infiltrate the hen house, the ends of a fence don’t quite align or a mama will crush her litter. 

On the farm, life and death meet.

Some days, Jess can only keep the dust out of her eyes and her wounds bandaged.

Years later, the creatures living on the land still insist she take a moment to pause.

Jess once encountered a transparent monarch chrysalis. She inspected the incubating butterfly’s wings, noticing each tiny gold dot.

The farm instills a sense of wonderment.

When the idea for a name emerged, she knew.

Wonderfarm.

***

In March, a thunderstorm crashed overhead, and Jess couldn’t sleep. Clicking through her inbox at 5 a.m., she had more than five times her usual emails to sift through.

The daily stream of news from Washington grew unbearable. Murmurings that LFPA might be cancelled had been building.

President Donald Trump’s administration wasted no time throttling the civil service since he took office in January. Billionaire Elon Musk headed a newly created Department of Government Efficiency that scoured offices and grants purportedly seeking to unearth waste and fraud.

The executive branch froze payments, dissolved contracts and shuttered programs. Supporters cheered a Republican president who promised to finally drain the swamp. Detractors saw democracy and the rule of law cracking under hammer blows.

But agriculture generally gleans support from both sides of the aisle, Jess thought. Although lawmakers disagree over who may claim to be a “real” farmer versus a mere hobbyist, surely the feds wouldn’t can the program.

Like the lightning overhead, the news shocked.

LFPA “no longer effectuates agency priorities,” government officials declared in terse letters sent to states and tribes.

Its termination left Jess and hundreds of producers and recipients in a lurch. The cut coincided with ballooning demand at food banks and pantries while congressional Republicans pushed legislation to shrink food assistance programs.

LFPA is a relic of a bygone era, Agriculture Secretary Brooke Rollins said in May.

She smiled as she touted the administration’s achievements and defended agency reductions before congressional appropriations subcommittees.

Sen. Tammy Baldwin, D-Wis., pressed the secretary, asking if the department will reinstate “critical” food assistance programs. One in five Wisconsin children and one in 10 adults — often elderly, disabled or employed but struggling — are unable to or uncertain how they will obtain enough nutritious food.

“Those were COVID-era programs,” Rollins said, shaking her head. “They were never meant to go forever and ever.”

But LFPA also strengthened local food infrastructure, which withered on the vine as a few giant companies — reaching from fields to grocery aisles — came to dominate America’s agricultural sector.

The pandemic illustrated what happens when the country’s food system grinds to a halt. Who knows when the next wave will strike?

***

Nearly 300 Wisconsin producers participated in LFPA over two years. A buyer told Jess their organization could purchase up to $12,000 of pork each month — almost as much as Jess previously earned in a year.

Wisconsin’s $8 million award was among the tiniest of drops in the USDA’s billion-dollar budget. The agency’s decision seemed illogically punitive.

Only a few months earlier, Biden’s agriculture department encouraged marginalized farmers and fishers to participate so underserved communities could obtain healthy and “culturally relevant” foods like okra, bok choy and Thai chilis.

Then the Trump administration cast diversity, equity and inclusion programs as “woke” poison.

Cutting LFPA also clashes with Health Secretary Robert F. Kennedy Jr.’s Make America Healthy Again initiative and his calls to ban ultra-processed foods. Farmers and distributors wondered what goods pantries would use to stock shelves instead of fresh produce. Boxed macaroni?

The aftershocks of the canceled award spread through Wisconsin’s local food distribution networks. Trucks had been rented, staff hired and hub-and-spoke routes mapped in preparation for three more years of government-backed deliveries.

For a president who touts the art of the deal, pulling the plug on an investment that neared self-sufficiency is just bad business, said Tara Turner-Roberts, manager of the Wisconsin Food Hub Cooperative.

Democratic Gov. Tony Evers accused the Trump administration of abandoning farmers, and Attorney General Josh Kaul recently joined 20 others suing to block grant rescissions.

Meanwhile, participants asked the agriculture department and Congress to reinstate the program. Should that fail, they implored Wisconsin legislators to fill the gap and continue to seek local solutions.

Jess is too.

***

Jess alternately texted on her cellphone and scanned a swarm of protesters who gathered across the Wisconsin State Capitol’s lawn.

She had agreed to speak before hundreds, potentially thousands, of people and was searching for an organizer.

Madison’s “Hands off!” rally reflected national unrest that ignited during the first 75 days of Trump’s term. In early April, a coalition of advocates and civil rights groups organized more than 1,300 events across every state.

Jess pulled out a USDA-branded reusable sandwich bag, which she had loaded with boiled potatoes to snack on. She and her new girlfriend joined the masses and advanced down State Street to the University of Wisconsin-Madison campus.

A hoarse woman wearing a T-shirt covered in peace patches and a tie-dye bandana directed the marchers. She led them in a menagerie of greatest protest hits during the 30-minute walk past shops, restaurants and mixed-use high-rises.

“Money for jobs and education, not for war and corporations!” her metallic voice crackled through a megaphone. 

Trump’s administration had maligned so many communities, creating a coherent rallying cry seemed impossible. The chant leader hurriedly checked her cellphone for the next jingle in a dizzying display of outrage.

“The people, united, will never be defeated!”

“Say it loud! Say it clear! Immigrants are welcome here!”

Jess leaned into her girlfriend, linking arms as they walked. 

They ran into a friend with violet hair. Jess grinned sheepishly, trying not to think about the speech.

“You’ll be fine,” her friend said.

The chant captain bellowed. 

“Hands off everything!”

A black police cruiser flashed its emergency lights as the walk continued under overcast skies.

An hour later, Jess stood atop a cement terrace, awed by the sea of chatter, laughter and shouts that swamped the plaza.

A friend took her photo. Jess swayed to the chant of “Defund ICE!” A protester walked past, carrying a sign bearing the silhouette of Trump locking lips with Russian President Vladmir Putin.

Someone passed Jess a microphone. The crowd shouted to the heavens that “trans lives matter!” A cowbell clanged.

She grinned.

“I don’t want to slow us down,” Jess began.

She described her dilemma as the crowd listened politely. The government broke its commitments. She struggles to pay bills between unpredictable sales. Some farm chores require four working hands. 

Jess only has two.

“LFPA kind of gave me hope that I’d be able to keep doing the thing that I love,” she said.

Bystanders booed as she recounted the night of the fateful email. Jess chuckled and rocked on her foot, glad to see friends in the audience.

“The structures around us are crumbling,” she said, shrugging. “So let’s stop leaning on them. Let’s stop feeding them. Let’s grow a resilient community.”

The crowd whooped.

 ***

It’s hard for Jess to stomach meat on harvest days.

Naming an animal and later slaughtering it necessitates learning how to grieve. Jess had years to practice.

The meat processor’s truck rumbled up the farm driveway at 7 a.m. in late April.

Jess spent the previous week sorting her herd, selecting the six largest non-breeding swine. She ushered them to either side of a fence that bisected the barnyard.

It took roughly 30 minutes for the two butchers to transform a pig into pork on Jess’ farm. The transfiguration occurred somewhere between the barnyard, the metal cutting table and the cooler where the halved carcasses dangle from hooks inside the mobile slaughter unit.

The butchers unpacked their gear in the gentle morning glow. Jess carried a plastic tray of eggs, squash shavings and mango peels to the pen.

The snack helps lure anxious pigs during the harvest. It’s also a final gift for the one they are about to give.

The butchers employed an electrical stunner that resembles a pair of barbecue tongs. A coiled cord connects the contraption to a battery that releases an electric current.

When pressed to a pig’s head, the animal seizes and passes out. The butchers cut its chest before it awakens.

An hour into the harvest, Jess guided more swine from a trailer, where a cluster slept the previous night, along with a seventh little pig that wasn’t headed to the block.

A male began to urinate atop a dead female — possibly mating behavior. Jess smacked his butt to shoo him away. She regretted it. 

He bolted across the yard, grunting and sidestepping whenever Jess approached.

“Just leave him for the next round,” one of the butchers said.

Jess remembers her first on-farm slaughter years ago when a female spooked and tore through the woods. Jess kept her as a breeder.

The agitated male disappeared behind the red barn. He sniffed the air as he peeked around the corner.

The standoff lasted another hour. One of the butchers returned with a 20-gauge shotgun. He unslung it from his shoulder, then walked behind the building.

Jess turned away. She covered her ears. A rooster crowed.

The crack split the air.

The other worker hauled the pig across the barnyard, leaving a glossy wake in the dirt.

Jess crossed the pen, shoulders deflated, and stepped over the dividing fence to feed the others.

A 6-month-old trotted over to her. Jess squatted on her haunches and extended a gloved hand. 

“Are you playing?” she asked. “Is that what is happening?”

***

The May harvest never happened.

Nearly all the females were pregnant, even though they aren’t designated breeders. Jess will postpone the slaughter day for now.

She needs to decide whether to raise her spring piglets or sell them. It all depends on how quickly she can move product, but she’s leaning toward keeping them.

The pork from April’s butchering is on ice as she works her way down a list of potential buyers. She still serves people in need by selling a portion to a Madison nonprofit that distributes Farms to Families “resilience boxes.”

Jess marks the days she collects her meat from the processor. She defrosts, say, a pack of brats and heats them up for dinner. 

She celebrates her pigs.

Jess and her farming peers are planning for a world with less federal assistance.

One idea: They would staff shifts at the still-under-construction Madison Public Market, where fresh food would remain on site 40 hours a week. No more schlepping meat from cold storage to a pop-up vendor stand.

She dreams of a wholesale market where buyers place large orders. One day maybe. No government whims or purse strings.

Like seeds that sprout after a prairie burn, some institutions will survive the flames, she thinks. Perhaps it doesn’t have to be the ones in Washington. 

Those that remain will grow anew.

This story is part of a partnership with the Mississippi River Basin Ag & Water Desk, an editorially independent reporting network based at the University of Missouri School of Journalism in partnership with Report for America and funded by the Walton Family Foundation.

Wisconsin Watch is a member of the Ag & Water Desk network. Sign up for our newsletters to get our news straight to your inbox.

Wisconsin pig farmer holds on at Wonderfarm as Washington breaks a promise is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Reading Time: 6 minutes

For Pepper Roberts, running a successful farm comes down to managing risk and planning for potential challenges.

While other farmers sold their crops last fall, Roberts used grain bins to store half of his corn harvest, betting that he’d get a better price once corn supplies grew scarce. 

In January, Roberts sold the corn at an inflated rate, which helped cover bills left over from last year. The funds also provided a financial buffer for the current growing season.

“The Good Lord blessed me,” said Roberts, who grows soybeans, cotton, corn and other grains on a 6,250-acre farm in Belzoni, Mississippi. “There’s opportunities out there for (every farm) — it doesn’t matter what size.”

Like many other farmers, Roberts is now preparing for a year of uncertainty and tight margins. Since returning to the White House, President Donald Trump has enacted sweeping tariffs on imported goods, igniting trade disputes and disrupting global markets. Farmers were already facing high input costs and falling crop prices entering 2025, and many relied on government aid to offset losses last year.

Despite these headwinds, however, Roberts steadfastly supports the tariffs.

“In the long run, it’s going to be the best thing that ever happened,” he said, predicting that the levies will pressure trade partners like China to negotiate new purchasing agreements with the U.S.

Roberts is not alone. Though there’s been plenty of backlash from the agricultural sector, Trump’s tariffs have also drawn support from a subset of farmers, who see them as a means of regaining an edge in an increasingly competitive global economy.

A May survey of 400 U.S. producers found that 70% believe the tariffs will strengthen their industry in the long term. The same poll found that just 43% of respondents think the levies will hurt their earnings this year, down from 56% a month earlier. Respondents were based around the country and ran operations that grossed above $500,000 annually, according to the survey authors.

Much of this support reflects the belief that the tariffs will lead to better trade deals for American farmers. China is a top destination for U.S. agricultural exports like soybeans, and getting it to buy a set amount of crops each year would guarantee a market for producers without the threat of competition, one economist explained. That certainty, in turn, would stabilize commodity crop prices.

A new trade deal with China “locks in a source of demand” for U.S. farm products, said Will Maples, a professor at Mississippi State University’s Department of Agricultural Economics.

That guaranteed demand is essential for the 10 states bordering the Mississippi River, where agriculture exports collectively surpassed $57 billion in 2023. Though some Mississippi farmers worried the tariffs could backfire and worsen market conditions, others said they would be willing to weather a difficult year or two for increased trade opportunities down the road.

“Coming into all of this, we were already facing a downturn in the ag economy,” Maples said. “(If) you think about … Trump’s base, most of these guys probably voted for him. So it seems like they are willing to give him (the) benefit of the doubt in the short term.”

A high-stakes gamble

Trump’s trade war has proven divisive for American farmers — a group that overwhelmingly backed the president during last year’s election, according to a county-level analysis by Investigate Midwest.

When the White House imposed tariffs on most foreign imports earlier this year — including a staggering 145% tax on Chinese goods — many farmers and trade groups sounded the alarm, warning that the levies would raise supply costs domestically and threaten U.S. crop sales overseas. China retaliated with its own tariffs throughout the spring, though both countries have since scaled back their steepest duties.

In May, a federal court declared many of the president’s tariffs illegal. A separate court allowed them to remain in place while the administration appeals the decision.

As of June 11, the U.S. and China have reportedly reached a tentative accord to deescalate their trade dispute without inking a significant deal. According to the New York Times, some tariffs will remain in place on both sides.   

As the administration continues to adjust the size and scope of its levies, the agricultural sector has already sustained losses. China has canceled mass shipments of American farm products, and industry groups warn that a lengthy trade dispute could further reduce demand for U.S. exports.

China has been steadily developing agricultural markets in other parts of the world, primarily Brazil, explained Mike McCormick, president of the Mississippi Farm Bureau Federation. 

“They’re developing a lot of farmland there, and (China is) buying a lot of their products,” McCormick said. 

Of particular concern to McCormick is China’s growing reliance on Brazilian soybeans, which are used as livestock feed. Soybeans remain the United States’ largest agricultural export to China, and they’re mostly grown around the Mississippi River Basin, with Illinois, Iowa and Minnesota accounting for nearly 40% of the nation’s total production in 2022. But Brazil has dominated China’s soybean import market for more than a decade.

Should Chinese demand for soybeans increase amid a prolonged trade standoff with the U.S., experts say Brazil is uniquely positioned to fill that void.

“Brazil could convert an additional 70 million acres of pasture land into crop production without knocking down a single acre of forest,” said Joe Janzen, an agricultural economist at the University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign. That’s over 80% of the total soybean acreage grown in the U.S. last year.

Proponents of Trump’s trade policies hope the tariffs will bring China back to the negotiating table, culminating in a trade deal similar to the one announced during the president’s first term.

In January 2020, Trump and China inked an agreement that called for China to purchase $80 billion in U.S. agricultural products through 2022. Crop prices soared in the next two years, though Maples at MSU stressed that market forces beyond the agreement — namely higher global spending in the latter stages of the pandemic — contributed to the increases.

The problem with Trump’s more expansive and erratic tariff strategy this time is that it risks alienating trade partners and further destabilizing markets, which in turn would drive down crop prices, Maples explained. Farmers base yearly planting decisions on what they can reasonably expect to earn for each crop, and the president’s on-again, off-again tariffs have made these projections significantly more tenuous.

“You can’t plan well when there’s so much uncertainty,” said Maples. “As long as we keep dealing with this, it’s going to be hard for prices to recover.”

Planning for pain

Roberts plans on sticking to his usual crop rotation this year despite the tariff-fueled uncertainty. The rotation has “paid for itself” in past years, he said, and he’s hoping to squeeze enough profit out of this year’s cycle to balance out expenses. He also has some savings from past years to fall back on if things go south.

“You can’t hit a grand slam every year,” Roberts said. “We all want the biggest profit we can ever make, but when I cross (the) break-even point, I’m ready to lock something in.”

Other farmers are more bearish about their prospects this season. In Clarksdale, Mississippi, Cliff Heaton has struggled to keep up with ballooning production costs on his 15,000-acre farm, where he grows cotton, corn, soybeans and other grains. Consecutive years of falling crop prices on top of high input costs created a perfect storm for Heaton, who suffered record losses in 2024. “I lost more money last year than I’ve lost in my entire life put together,” he said. “And it looks like this year’s heading in the same direction.”

Heaton said he supports the goal of securing better trade deals for U.S. producers, but he worries farmers may not survive the tariffs and their financial fallout without ample government assistance. He says recent market conditions have forced some of his friends to give up farming, and he’s considering a 40% reduction in operations if conditions don’t improve by harvest time.

“Inflation is taking its toll on us in our industry, and we’re not seeing (improvements) on our sales side,” said Heaton. He says particularly for products without a significant domestic market, like cotton, “as long as we’re dependent on selling into a world market … we need help.”

On March 18, U.S. Department of Agriculture Secretary Brooke Rollins announced that her agency would distribute up to $10 billion in subsidies to help farmers bounce back from 2024. The funds, authorized by Congress at the end of last year, have helped Mississippi farmers reduce outstanding debts and secure crop loans for the current growing season, according to McCormick.

As Trump fights to preserve his tariffs in court, McCormick said his members may be willing to “stand a little bit of pain” if the trade dispute leads to new markets. “We just gotta hope that we can get better deals and … a quick resolution,” he said.

Maples worries that pain could prove too great for some local producers, especially those who are new to the industry and lack the capital to withstand an extended tariff onslaught. The trade dispute could fast-track retirement plans for some older farmers in the state, he added.

These farm closures would have ripple effects across entire communities, affecting people and companies that rely on their business, Maples concluded.

“A bad farm economy hurts rural America at the end of the day,” he said.

Nick Judin contributed reporting.

This story is a product of the Mississippi River Basin Ag & Water Desk, an independent reporting network based at the University of Missouri in partnership with Report for America, with major funding from the Walton Family Foundation.

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Trump’s tariffs are hurting US agriculture. Some farmers support them anyway. is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.