back to the course, in which he’d received a C, he wished he’d paid better attention. So much of what he wrote about these days required a solid grounding in the economics of agriculture.
He stuck his nose through the Ag Hall auditorium doors—studentsfilled nearly every seat, and a professor stood on stage, pacing back and forth while the students stared at a PowerPoint presentation. The screen was filled with mathematical formulas. Josh remembered his college days, when his math professors wrote with chalk on a huge blackboard that stretched across the front of the big room. PowerPoint seemed an improvement. At least he could read the numbers.
He continued up the stairs to the third floor and found the offices of the Department of Agribusiness Studies, which had been called agricultural economics when he was in school. An administrative assistant directed him to the office of Dr. William Willard Evans, department chair. She gently knocked on the door.
“Come in.” Josh recognized the deep voice.
“Josh Wittmore, good to see you,” said the big man with bushy gray eyebrows and penetrating gray eyes.
“Thanks for taking time to talk with me,” Josh said.
“I always take time for a former student,” Evans responded. Josh wondered if he remembered him—part of him hoped that he didn’t. He had not been a prize economics student. “How can I help?”
“You’ve surely heard that Nathan West Industries has bought land in Ames County for a major hog operation.”
“I have,” said Evans. “Should be an economic boon to the area. That part of Wisconsin could use a boost. Lots of low-income folks there.”
“That’s true,” said Josh. “You may not know that I grew up in Ames County and recently moved back to Willow River, headquarters for our paper since 1868.”
“So how can I help?” asked Evans.
“What can you tell me about Nathan West, beyond what I read on the Internet?”
“Oh, I guess you could say that it’s one of those companies that represent the future of agriculture in this country. The people there seem to know what they’re doing and are doing it well.”
“Aren’t they responsible for driving a bunch of the little family farmers out of business?” Josh asked, trying to dig deeper for his story.
Professor Evans bristled a bit. “Most of the little family farmers drovethemselves out of business. Surely not the fault of Nathan West. The world of agribusiness has little room for small-time family farmers. These days, you either learn how to compete, which means getting bigger, or you get out. Simple as that.”
Josh scribbled notes on his pad, making sure to write down Evans’s comments as he heard them. He prided himself on accurate reporting.
“What can you tell me about the difference between contract farming and company-owned farming?” Josh asked.
“Company owned is just what the name implies—the company owns everything, from the land, hogs, and buildings to the feed supply, slaughter-house, and distribution system. Another word for it is vertical integration. I must say, from an economic perspective, it’s the way to go. The company is in control of all segments of the operation. It’s one way to maintain high quality.”
“Not as many risks as dealing with individual farmers who contract with them?” Josh offered.
“For sure,” said Evans. “Hard to control quality when you’re dealing with a bunch of farmers scattered all over the place. Some of them are good managers, many of them not so good.”
“I guess that makes sense. But when the company owns everything, where does it leave these farmers?”
“The good ones find jobs with the company—lots of employment opportunities on these big hog farms. The not-so-good ones, well, they find other work.”
Evans said it in a matter-of-fact way, as if it were a foregone conclusion that the independent family farmer, even one with a contract with a big company, might not have much of a