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Clearfield -- Time is conspiring against Renie Miya. That, the market, Utah's birthrate and his sciatic nerve.
Miya wants his family farm to have a spot on the Department of Agriculture's 100-year list. More than that, he wants to be the first Japanese-American farmer to pass the marker -- bragging rights usually reserved for Mormon pioneer clans.
He only needs a few more years. But like I said, he's running out of time.
"I might have to retire early," the 45-year-old says.
Miyas have been farming these acres at the intersection of Syracuse, Layton and Clearfield for more than 60 years. Renie's grandpa jumped off a boat in Seattle in 1906 and made his way to Davis County. At first, the Miyas
Now, after years of parceling off chunks to various uncles, just Renie and his 79-year-old father Yukio are still in the family business -- coaxing sweet corn, cantaloupes, watermelons, tomatoes, pumpkins and peppers out of 60 acres surrounded by homes. Decades after the family bought the land, they no longer own it -- Yukio sold a few years back to Weber Basin Water Conservancy District. Someday soon, water bosses plan to build a million-gallon storage tank on the spot -- no doubt to water all the Kentucky Blue Grass to come.
For now, they rent.
The sad thing is: Miya Farms' slow demise isn't particularly
It's the food paradox in this state: More and more people are demanding locally-grown, pesticide-free food. But the families who have been selling tomatoes and corn at roadside stands for generations are going out of business.
"The most fertile land in the valley is covered with tract houses, rather than fields and orchards," says Liberty Heights Fresh owner Steven Rosenberg, who has watched the pool of family farmers he buys from plunge over 15 years.
According to the U.S. Department of Agriculture, the number of Utah farms actually has increased, from 15,282 seven years ago, to 16,700 in 2007. And farm revenue grew from $1.1 billion in 2002 to $1.5 billion two years ago -- 70 percent of that revenue coming from large farms generating more than $500,000 a year in sales.
At the same time, generations of farmers are retiring and their fields are being covered with asphalt and concrete.
"The larger farms are staying strong and growing bigger. And we're finding far more smaller farmers," says Richard Kestle, director of Utah's agricultural statistics field office. But, "traditional family farms are disappearing."
Still, eating local is a growing ethic. And a new generation of small farms is cropping up to replace them. But they struggle to survive. Chad Midgley was a bit peeved last January when I featured Liberty Heights' Community Supported Agriculture co-op and not his.
"You have to think [with] how many youngsters are getting into the farming business, maybe it is really competitive in our little farming circle," says 30-year-old Midgley. "But that's just a circle. The customers and crowds at the farmers market shop from each and every grower there is, believing that each and every grower is really something unique."
And that's true. The best stuff is gone by 9:30 a.m.
Still, if small organic operations are to avoid the plight of medium-sized family farms, Rosenberg says we have to change the way we look at farming: Utah farmers, especially hobby farmers, have to stop undercutting their neighbors and charge more. And as customers, we should stop dickering over 25 cents and be willing to pay for extra flavor and nutrition.
The Miyas don't go to the farmers market anymore. Renie got tired of getting nickled and dimed for his corn. He actually makes more selling wholesale to Associated Foods grocery stores.
"We need to pull away the veil of romance off of all this. We don't respect people who work with their hands," Rosenberg says. "At the end of the day, it's damn hard work."
"People who grow authentic food are entitled to earn a basic living," he adds. "If we really do cherish these producers, we should pay what it's worth and not a penny less."
