Anyone driving toward this city in the center of the state between Champaign and Springfield is likely to see a sign proclaiming Decatur “Soybean Capital of the World.”
That’s a reminder that Illinois was the nation’s No. 2 producer of soybeans in 2000 and 2001 and that soybeans are the state’s No. 2 cash crop. Iowa was the largest producer. (Illinois’ ranking as a producer of soybeans as published has been corrected in this paragraph and in a subsequent reference in this text.)
Reading the sign also may trigger the question: What does a soybean plant look like? The answer is on either side of the road, in fields where 20-inch stalks carry tan, furry pods that are clearly neither corn nor wheat.
Another question is likely to follow. “What does a soybean taste like?”
A voice from deep within the memory bank may pronounce a single, mystical word: edamame (ed-ah-MOM-may).
Edamame, a Japanese word, are slightly immature soybeans, green and nutty tasting. Sold in the pod, usually frozen, in health-food stores and some supermarkets, they are a rare opportunity to consume soy in bean form.
Americans are much more likely to come upon soy as tofu, textured vegetable protein, soy milk and other dairy-free beverages, soy flour, vegetable oil and even vodka. Away from the food displays, it may appear transformed into a raft of products ranging from vitamins to ink.
But despite increasing awareness and appreciation of the species, the soybean remains a nerd among plants. Beautiful corn, brown-tasseled and dressed in a bright green robe, draws the attention of songwriters, photographers and hungry folks at clambakes and barbecues. In the background you may see some shy soy stalks (not vines) with their almost colorless pods of beans.
Still, the half-dozen farmers gathered at Tom’s Grill to dine on outsized pork chops and converse with a visitor during last season’s harvest consider the soybean a beautiful meal ticket.
Versatile powerhouse
This amazingly versatile legume has a seemingly great future in a world hungry for high-quality vegetable protein and eager for soy derivatives that are thought to counter health problems, including cancer and heart disease. Soybean meal provides vast quantities of animal feed. And soybeans may be a fuel of the future: “Biodiesel” doesn’t have the particulate problems that plague current petroleum formulas.
Nonetheless, Steve Wentworth, who entered the grill fresh from the farm, acknowledged that for all the time he had spent with soybeans, he had yet to taste soy milk or edamame. Neither had most of the others.
Emmett Sefton, also a veteran soybean grower, spoke up for isoflavones, another soy component he credits with lowering his cholesterol level. “There’s no way to prove it,” he said, “but something brought it down.”
“I don’t have any affection for soybeans,” said Bob Moore, one of the few Macon County farmers younger than 40. “I’ve always raised them. I don’t think much about it. I guess I take them for granted.”
According to Archer Daniels Midland executive John McClenathan, the Decatur-based firm that has been in the vanguard of soy research, product development and marketing, these legumes “are remarkably effective at converting nutrients in the soil to vegetable protein. This protein is the highest-quality vegetable protein and also costs less than other forms.” The soybean also contains the eight key amino acids not produced in the human body.
At the factory, the bean is hulled and rolled into flakes. The hulls are used to add fiber to breads, cereals and snacks. The oil is extracted from the flakes and, in turn, lecithin is extracted from the oil. The remaining solids, which contain more than 50 percent protein, become all sorts of products, from animal feed to soy flour for the baking industry, as well as the much-publicized soy isolates.
Last year, soybeans produced a generous if not bumper crop in the county, but a dip in worldwide demand led to painfully low prices. Spring rains delayed planting, and the 2002 harvest has just begun. The harvest occupies a farmer for one to two weeks. The prospect this year: an average or smaller crop that will sell for higher prices.
“Not high enough, though,” said Howard T. Lemons, vice president of the Bank of Niantic, a Macon County farm town. “And there will be no help from the government.” The most recent farm subsidy program enacted by Congress “looks better on paper than in practice,” he said.
Most farmers in the county, or at least the 650 the county Farm Bureau keeps track of, make their living from soy and corn. The pastoral farm of yore, where many species of animals and crops lived in harmony, is no more. This is an era of specialization. Hog farmers raise only hogs, dairy farmers concentrate on cows. There are very few organic farms in the county, in part because that form of farming is too labor-intensive to be economically viable.
But corn (the state’s No. 1 cash crop) and soybeans complement each other beautifully. Soybeans take nitrogen from the air and deliver it to the soil. In turn, the corn plant extracts this nitrogen to help its stalks become tall and green and to fill out its ears. They aren’t susceptible to the same pests and diseases. So Macon County farmers devote about half of their acreage (an average farm has 500 acres) to each crop, alternating the portions used for soybeans and corn yearly.
A tough sell
But economic pressures make small-scale family farming less and less viable, according to Lemons.
“There are fewer of us every year,” adds Mike Stacey, an easygoing farmer who is president of the Macon County Farm Bureau. He knows his way around the halls of Congress in Washington, D.C., as well as the 1,300 acres he and his brother cultivate. “Those who are left are getting bigger, but the future will belong to corporate farms.”
“The soybean lends itself very well to automation and requires minimum extra labor for harvesting,” Lemons added. “As margins narrow, it is necessary for operators to get bigger. But some smaller farmers with supplemental off-farm employment are doing very well.”
As is customary here, Stacey, 47, does not own the land he farms. “I own a house and I own two plots in the cemetery,” he joked, “and I’m not eager to move in there.”
More than 80 percent of the local farms have absentee owners or belong to a bank. The much-discussed government subsidy payments go to them, not to the person working the land.
“It’s a closed society on the production side,” said Randy Prince, the Farm Bureau’s executive vice president. “The amount of land is limited and there’s huge competition when some becomes available. But the capital investment is so large [about $3,000 an acre, Lemons said] that the money is all from outside. There’s no new local capital.”
Mike and his brother, Dennis, are the third-generation of Staceys to work this land. Mike has two grown sons, both in agriculture-related jobs. “They would like to come back here,” he said, “but the economics are not too attractive.”
He began farming in 1973, “right after high school. For most of us this is all we’ve ever done.”
An outsider would be in awe of Stacey’s bright red combine (red is the color of International Harvester equipment; John Deere paints its green). The 3-year-old machine, 15 feet tall and 25 feet long, lumbers along at 4 or 5 miles per hour cutting stalks, splitting pods and shaking them to remove the precious seeds while disposing of the chaff.
Such a machine might cost $150,000 new, plus $40,000 to $50,000 for corn harvesting gear. The 100 wedge-shaped, serrated knives that the farmer hopes will last a full season are $850. On a good day, Stacey said, the combine will bring in 17,000 bushels of corn or 5,000 bushels of soybeans at the cost of 90 to 95 gallons of fuel.
Life is less lonely for the farmer these days, though. Not only is the seat comfortable, there’s also air conditioning, a cell-phone and a CD player. One myth-shattering admission: The farmer does not go home for a big farmhouse lunch. His wife has a full-time job, so there’s no one to share it with.
Room for optimism
Stacey moved through a barn that houses a workshop and half-a-dozen tractors. He paused to pat the smallest of them, an antique, mulelike vehicle that looked like a child’s toy after the combine. In 1944 it had been the second-largest tractor that International Harvester made.
Overshadowed by the headlines about the shrinking farm population are two statistics that suggest farm communities may not become ghost towns. There has been an upturn in enrollment at agriculture schools and, while they are not tilling the land, there has been an increase of people living in these towns and farm belt cities who have agriculture-related jobs. More important, perhaps, is the increased sophistication of the farmers who are left, said banker Lemons, citing increased use of business tools such as the personal computer.
Nonetheless, Bob Moore, the young farmer, apparently spoke for a minority of his peers when he said, “I do this for the love of it. Every day is different. I’m my own boss, so I take a day off . . . every three or four months.”
Further conversation made it clear the farmers all strongly support research into genetically modified organisms such as “Round-up Ready” soy plants. These genetically modified beans are resistant to the toxic elements in the spray Round-up, an effective and relatively inexpensive killer of weeds and pests. That the European Union refuses to import beans from these plants, the farmers believe, is only a skirmish in a trade war and a barrier to technological development.
One need look no further than the giant commodities trading room at Archer Daniel Midland’s Decatur headquarters–where hundreds of brokers deal in commodities all day and year-round–to realize that what happens in the rest of the world affects central Illinois and vice versa.
ADM, which calls itself “supermarket to the world,” gobbles up soybeans and spits them out in food and chemical products. The firm’s appetite is large enough to consume all the soybeans grown each year within a 150-mile radius of Decatur.
It doesn’t happen that way, of course. There’s competition. But Macon farmers are loyal, in part because their proximity means less transportation cost for ADM, which, in turn, brings a premium for the grower. In a good year, Macon soybeans might bring an additional dime or quarter a bushel more at ADM than those harvested in Iowa. In the end, 70 percent of the annual U.S. soybean production is exported.
Therefore it isn’t a great surprise that these Downstate farmers are conversant with politics and prices and the weather in Latin America and China, the only two areas in the world with the potential of competing with the United States in soybean volume.
Mike Stacey is betting on the future of soybeans, but there is another reason he lives and works in Macon County.
“There’s a good feeling here,” he said. “We’re competitive, but the people in our community are supportive, too. We’re all farmers first and we come together to help each other out.”
