Queering the Family Farm: Meet the LGBTQ Midwest Farmers … – In These Times

Shannon and Eve Mingalone avow that their farmers market booth is verygay.

They hang strings of pride flags and sell rainbow stickers to help pay for gender-affirming care, like hormone replacement therapy, forEve.

Sometimes, when parents and their teenagers pass the booth, the adults glance, then speed ahead. The kids pause for asecond look. Shannon, 34, hopes it means something for them to see LGBTQ professionals out andsucceeding.

People often share stories. The middle-aged woman who confided that her daughter is transgender. The teen who stood in the middle of the Mingalones booth and said, This makes me feelsafe.

That means everything to me, Shannonsaid.

Now in their second season, she and Eve, 35, grow more than 45 varieties of vegetables at their business, Ramshackle Farm, in Harvard,Illinois.

Lettuces and Asian greens emerge on stacks of hydroponic troughs and spinach in awarm hoop house. Outside, Shannon and Eve tend to arugula, broccoli, peas and radishes using intensive planting and heavy rotation techniquesnever pesticides or syntheticfertilizer.

Their operation is an exception to the sprawling corn and bean fields that dominate the landscape. Shannon and Eve work to feed people, not livestock orcars.

Shannon wears her politics on her coveralls. Her favorite jean jacket includes patches that declare End monoculture and Save the Earth. Bankrupt acorporation.

The Mingalones are among amultitude of LGBTQ farmers who draw connections between their identities and agriculture, including their adoption of sustainablepractices.

Were not just raising food, Shannon said. We are creating safe spaces forpeople.

Like many, they used to have aspecific image of a typical farmer: white, male, heterosexual, Christian and conservative. Excluded from that visionor perhaps mythis aspace forthem.

So they are creatingone.

The presence of LGBTQ people in agriculture challenges stereotypes of who can, or should be, interested in farming. But the community is not amonolith, interviews with 16 Midwestern LGBTQ producers indicate. Some use restorative techniques in hopes of reducing environmental destruction and social inequity. Others run conventional operations, which industry representatives and policymakers say are key to feeding the worlds growingpopulation.

Nonetheless, as LGBTQ farmers navigate common hurdles, ranging from land inaccessibility to federal lending restrictions to social isolation, they rely on creativity and resilience to survive, much like they do in other arenas of theirlives.

Eve Mingalone is seen with their son Klein Mingalone, 3, in the hoop house at their business Ramshackle Farm in Harvard, Illinois, on Oct. 19, 2022. Coburn Dukehart

USDA doesnt count LGBTQ farmers

No definitive figures measure how many LGBTQ people farm in America. The U.S. Department of Agriculture asks respondents to identify their sex in its five-year censuses, not their sexual orientation or genderidentity.

But the department is considering adding those questions to the 2027 Census of Agriculture. It conducted apilot study in late 2021 to gauge whether their inclusion would affect responserates.

Responses decreased significantly when the questions were inserted, despite the surveys confidentiality. The study lacked possible explanations for thefindings.

But when word of the survey reached U.S. Sen. Josh Hawley, R-Mo., he accused the USDA and President Joe Biden of advancing a woke agenda. Hawley claimed in atweet that afarmer sent him acopy of the document. The lawmaker questioned, facetiously, the relevance of such important questions to the farmingprofession.

The National Young Farmers Coalition likewise encountered pushback from outside of the LGBTQ community to asurvey that included similar demographicquestions.

But afailure to acquire demographic information about LGBTQ people prevents improvements to services, said Katie Dentzman, arural sociology and public policy assistant professor at Iowa StateUniversity.

If youre completely unaware that these people are out there, then their issues are completely being ignored, she said. In away, that is perpetuating violence in asystem.

Dentzman jimmied astatistical workaround using the USDAs 2017 census, finding that 8,302 farms were overseen by men married to men and 3,550 by women married to women. That was about 1.2% of all dually run farmsnationwide.

Dentzman found that many same-sex couples farmed conventionally. But same-sex married men were more likely to have organic land and grow products intended for human consumption than farms run by men married to women. Likewise, women married to women more often engaged in alternative farming practices like intensive grazing and the production of value-addedproducts.

Might LGBTQ peoples unique vantage draw them to sustainablefarming?

Its possible, Dentzman said, but as other sociologists have proposed, the economic and social disadvantages queer people face also might funnel them into alternative agriculture. That is, they lack the expansive resources and capital necessary to farmconventionally.

Statistically, LGBTQ people experience higher rates of poverty and food insecurity compared to non-LGBTQ people. They also earn less dollar-for-dollar and disproportionately experiencehomelessness.

Then add the upfront costs offarming.

Land access remains atop obstacle to entering agriculture, and attempting to do so without the backing of family can be aHerculean task.

Fifty-nine percent of respondents to the 2022 National Young Farmer Survey said finding affordable farmland to purchase is very or extremely challenging, while 45% said the same of finding any farmland atall.

Meanwhile, the cost of cropland is risingnationwide.

Corbin Scholz, 27, operates Rainbow Roots, an organic farm rooted in queerness on 6acres of rented land north of Iowa City, Iowa. She does not come from afarm family and works two other jobs to supportherself.

Scholzs lease expires after the 2024 growing season and she doesnt know whether she will be able torenew.

Im not sure Ill be able to ever afford afarm, Scholz said, and moving everything Ive built to another one-to-five-year lease really limits my growthopportunity.

Family link keeps Iowan farming

No rainbow flags hang on the red barn at HoeflerDairy.

But its apparent the men who live there are hitched when one casually grabs the others butt as he strides past him in the milkingparlor.

Under the drone of equipment, Andy Ferguson walked down arow of cows to check that the milkers were running smoothly. His husband, John Hoefler, athird-generation dairy farmer, crouched to retrieve abucket of rags. Outside, dusty brown fieldsfreshly combined during the autumn harveststretched across the gentle hills surrounding New Vienna,Iowa.

John Hoefler and his husband, Andy Ferguson, milk cows at Hoefler Dairy in New Vienna, Iowa, on Oct. 23, 2022. Bennet Goldstein

Hoefler feels fortunate to own afarm. He milks 230 cows, occasionally with help from Ferguson, who is aschool administrator in nearbyDubuque.

Both 51-year-olds previously were married to women and fatheredchildren.

Marrying, having kids, it was the normal thing to do, said Hoefler, who spent nine years with hiswife.

I thought Icould just doit.

But he couldnt.

Hoeflers divorce upset his fathera good German Catholic. That his son was gay added to his distress. He tried to take Hoefler to the hospital after the secret cameout.

Because youre sick, his father told Hoefler. Youresick.

Hoefler feared his dad would kick him off the farm and sever ties permanently. Hoefler would miss the opportunity to purchase the familybusiness.

His motherintervened.

If you kick him out, Im going too, she told her husband and later relayed toHoefler.

Father and son didnt speak for three years. But they continued to milk side by side insilence.

Hoefler doubts he would be farming today had he lost his family link to thedairy.

Relationships, kinship matter

Intimate relationships and economic capital are bound together, said Isaac Leslie, an assistant professor at the University of Vermont Extension. Often, farmers turn to partners and family for on-farm labor, extra income and healthinsurance.

We see that in the process of accessing each of these key resources, queer farmers face barriers that cisgender and heterosexual farmers dont, said Leslie, who has studied farm viability and the experiences of LGBTQproducers.

Matters of the heart are tough for LGBTQ farmers to beginwith.

Locating apartner in rural America, where an estimated 2.9 million to 3.8 million LGBTQ people live, poses achallenge when there are fewer queer people and gathering spaces. Rural areas, especially where agriculture is an economic mainstay, trend religiously and politicallyconservative.

Moreover, two traditional avenues to land acquisitionmarriage and inheritancecan be tenuous routes for LGBTQ people. Wedding into ownership was not necessarily an option across the country until 2015 when the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that all states must issue marriage licenses to same-sex couples and recognize same-sex unions performed in other states. Inheriting afarm might be off the table for LGBTQ people whose familial relationships havefrayed.

Even the American Farm Bureau Federationthe countrys most powerful agriculture lobbying group and the self-described unified national voice of agriculturehas documented anti-LGBTQ beliefs that stress the connections between farming and the heterosexualfamily.

Its 2022 resolutions state that a family should be defined as persons who are related by blood, marriage between male and female or legal adoption. In asection titled family and moral responsibility, the federation expresses opposition to granting special privileges to those that participate in alternativelifestyles.

You have people who are going to say, Why on earth is it important to talk about queer farmers? Sexuality does not impact how Iplant my beans, said Michaela Hoffelmeyer, adoctoral candidate in sociology at The Pennsylvania StateUniversity.

I always come back to that by saying, Okay, thats true perhaps for aheterosexual person. Sexuality isnt, at least from their view, impacting how they farm, but it very muchis.

John Hoefler, left, and his husband, Andy Ferguson, stand in the free stall barn at Hoefler Dairy in New Vienna, Iowa, on Oct. 23, 2022. Bennet Goldstein

Most farm loans hinge on family status

The family makeup of afarm is acrucial factor for those seeking governmentsupport.

Many USDA loans, such as those allocated for beginning farmers and ranchers, require that the applicant operate a family farm. That means the majority of the business is owned by an operator and any individuals related to them by blood, marriage or adoptionadefinition that applies to about 98% of all U.S.farms.

Such restrictions can curtail the options of farmers who have faced or continue to experience biological and legal hurdles toward creating families. LGBTQ people who are unmarried or lack children might turn to non-family business partnerships for assistance. That would make them ineligible for the types of USDA loans that help the majority offarmers.

Theres avalue of the traditional family that overlooks other ways to be acommunity, to be in arelationship, that operates outside of blood and marriage ties, said Michaela Hoffelmeyer. The queer community has been doing this for along time.

Additionally, the USDA does not offer targeted grants to LGBTQ farmers, adepartment spokesperson said, and they are not considered a historically underserved population. That precludes their participation in loan, credit and insurance programs that are reserved for socially disadvantaged farmers and ranchers, unless they qualify under other programcriteria.

The USDA is working to ascertain the needs of LGBTQ farmers, the spokesperson said. The department held the first-ever LGBTQ farmer roundtable in June to learn how producers access department programs. The USDA also plans within the next year to hold listening sessions to better understand issues and barriers facing LGBTQfarmers.

Sometimes in the absence of traditional families, LGBTQ people have constructed chosen ones that encompass agamut of possible relationships. In farming, too, LGBTQ producers have conceived new kinds ofpartnerships.

Queer people have different perspectives on life, said Rufus Jupiter, 42, aflower farmer living in Viroqua, Wisconsin. Just the verb to queer is taking whatever is the status quo and seeing what different possibilitiesexist.

Finding family in community

Chef Fresh Roberson grew up poor but believed they lived in astate of plenitude. The feeling stemmed from the food growing aroundthem.

Roberson, who uses she and they pronouns interchangeably, was raised in Rocky Mount, North Carolina. It was asmall Southern town, she said, where the railroad tracks separated Black from whiteresidents.

Roberson and their mother visited nearby sweet potato fields to gather the still-edible tuberous roots that heavy machinery failed to collect on the first pass. Roberson filled milk crates and kept them to overwinter in the bottom of closets throughout herhome.

Roberson moved to Chicago in 2001 to study biomedical engineering at Northwestern University. One day, they decided to bake apecan pie but discovered they could not afford asmall bag of the shellednuts.

Back in Rocky Mount, Roberson had been able to locate the food she needed, whether from an aunts pecan tree or acousins grapevine.

I dont think Ireally thought about it in that perspective until something that was always abundant for me, Icouldnt afford, Robersonsaid.

Chef Fresh Roberson gathers herbs at the Fresher Together urban farm in South Chicago on Oct. 30, 2022. Bennet Goldstein

They later changed course. Roberson left Northwestern and went on to work on an organic, heirloom farm; attend culinary school; start acatering company; travel to California; work in the Silicon Valley kitchens of Google and Facebook; return to Chicago and manage amobile producemarket.

For Roberson, 40, gardening makes the world disappear for amoment.

Now they run Fresher Together. The business, located in Chicagos South Shore neighborhood, exists to improve community access to fresh food. It is framed by four pillars: build, grow, cook and heal. Each supports avision of creating an equitable food system that prioritizes communitysovereignty.

A team of staff, fellows and volunteers farms on 0.25acres at an incubator on city property and oversees anearby community hub and aggregation space, where they store, wash and packfood.

A lot of how we are building is through this lens of choosing our familychoosing our loved ones who we are taking care of, Robersonsaid.

Fresher Together partners with people and organizations with similar aims. Each week of the growing season, the team creates harvest bags filled with produce, herbs and value-added products from the urban farm and other businesses owned by people ofcolor.

The business has grown and is relocating to apermanent home in Beaverville, Illinois, near ahistorically Black farming town. Roberson will continue to sustain Fresher Together using diversified fundingstreams.

Other LGBTQ farmers have looked to unconventional financing models to launch theiroperations.

Hannah Breckbill, avegetable, pork and lamb farmer in Decorah, Iowa, said her local USDA Farm Service Agency classifies her 22-acre, organic operation as a home garden, which disqualifies her from utilizing some financial programs. She did not attempt to secure an FSA loan when she started farming because she lacked confidence the agency would take her efforts seriously. So, Breckbill, 35, purchased the land using donations and personalsavings.

In 2018, she organized her business as aworker-owned cooperative and created the Commonsacapital account that was funded by donations and constitutes 40% of the farms ownership. Nobody owns the Commons; it is ashared resource. When aworker buys into the farm, they pay into their own capital account. That investment is offset by the Commons, which also reduces the amount the farm must pay out when an ownerretires.

From left, Fresher Together finance specialist Shreya Long, founder Chef Fresh Roberson and farm manager Danie Roberson stand together at the Fresher Together urban farm in South Chicago on Oct. 30, 2022. Bennet Goldstein

Not all LGBTQ farmers link their identities tofarming.

Liz Graznak, an organic vegetable grower who lives outside of Columbia, Missouri, believed that she had to stay guarded when she moved to her rural community in2008.

I didnt want people to know that Iwas alesbian, said Graznak, 46. Not only was that afutile effort in asmall town, she said, it also mischaracterized residentsattitudes.

It is easy to stereotype rural communities as bastions of conservatism. While polls have measured less acceptance for issues like same-sex marriage and LGBTQ nondiscrimination protections compared to urban residents, amajority of rural residents nonetheless agree with suchpolicies.

In the country, at least from my experience, people are much more concerned about the kind of person that you are, Graznak said. Are you kind? Are you helpful? Will you stop and help somebody change their flat tire on the side of theroad?

Even when LGBTQ farmers arent making aconscious effort to enact change, their presence offers alternatives to familynorms.

Its not just aheterosexual man does this, awoman does this, children do that, said Jess Frankovich, 30. She and her wife Jessica Chamblin, 33, produce honey and raise poultry and rabbits on their 3-acre farm near Ellsworth,Wisconsin.

Chamblin, who also teaches, says puzzled students ask her who feeds the farms animals, who runs the chainsaw and who constructs the vegetablebeds.

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Queering the Family Farm: Meet the LGBTQ Midwest Farmers ... - In These Times