We're losing 10 acres of Tennessee farmland every hour of every day.

"In heaven one day, I want to face my dad and tell him I did right by him."

If we continue business-as-usual, without any restraint or wisdom, allowing sprawl to advance across this state, then we could lose more than one million acres of Tennessee farmland in the next 20 years.

"Paved over, fragmented or converted to uses that jeopardize agriculture," declares the American Farmland Trust's (AFT) Farms Under Threat report.

Locally, if business-as-usual continues, Hamilton County will lose nearly 19,000 acres of farmland.

"If real estate development and sprawl continue at the same rate as in recent years ... Hamilton County is looking to convert 18,700 acres of agricultural land," said Brooks Lamb, AFT's Land Protection and Access Specialist.

That's an area larger than four Red Banks.

It's also possible that business-as-usual escalates, as Tennessee continues to experience astounding move-here growth.

If sprawling development increases – it's projected this will occur on the county's best farmland soils, the AFT reports – then Hamilton County could lose five or six Red Banks of farmland by 2040.

"Farmland loss jumps to a projected 24,900 acres in Hamilton Co.," Lamb said.

According to Tennessee's 2024 Economic Report, our entire state comprises roughly 26.3 million acres.

From 1997 to 2017, 1.1 million acres of farmland was converted, or lost, to development. Most of this was residential.

This is equivalent to 55,601 acres per year.

Or 152 acres per day.

Or 6.3 acres an hour.

From 2017 to 2022, the rate of farmland-loss accelerated.

Equivalent to 86,588 acres lost per year.

Or 237 acres lost per day.

Or 9.8 acres lost per hour.

Tennessee is facing more threat of farmland loss than nearly all other US states.

"The fourth most threatened," the report states. "In the coming years, the conversion rate could maintain or increase again."

But with a change in policies and perspectives – AFT calls it "smart growth" – these numbers drop significantly.

"In our 'smart growth' projection, farmland conversion estimates drop to around 10,900 acres between 2016-2040," said Lamb.

Remember, business-as-usual was roughly 19,000 acres lost locally. Increased sprawl? Up to 25,000 acres lost, or six Red Banks.

But with wise and thoughtful policies, the figure drops to 11,000 acres.

"If we adjust our development patterns and prioritize maintaining agricultural land and rural communities, we'll still convert some farmland – and that's ok," Lamb said. "Our stance isn't that we should never ever touch another farm. It's that we need to be thoughtful and intentional if we do convert land. We also have to be realistic."

Two words on which so much could pivot.

Thoughtful.

Intentional.

• Low-density residential development – turning a 100-acre farm into 20 separate five-acre lots – is more threatening than urban sprawl or concentrated development. Sprawl is minimized when residential development is compact, dense and concentrated.

"That's not villainizing anyone who lives on a parcel of that size by any means, and it may not fully capture the incredible things some producers – like vegetable growers – can do with just a few acres of land. But it does speak to the impact of these growth patterns," Lamb said.

• Much farmland becomes developed – more on that word in a moment – when aging farmers sell or their family inherits. It's possible to create an efficient system of land transfers that encourages aging farmers or inheritors to sell land to younger generations of growers instead of developers. State lawmakers can boost funding and support for Tennessee FarmLink, which connects selling farmers with younger ones.
• Allow farmers to reduce or eliminate debt by designating farmland as agricultural for future generations.
• Protect farmland and with voluntary conservation easements. Support groups actively conserving Tennessee land.
• Ask questions. What is the true value of farmland? Why do farmers struggle so much economically? What types of farms are prized and elevated in our food system? Why, financially, is land worth more when it's paved over than when its growing food?

AFT promotes Better Built Cities, which includes strategic policies regarding zoning, lifetime farm transfers, agriculturally-friendly solar development and strategic impact fees, like Murfreesboro's Development Impact Fee, expected to raise $9 million annually.

"Officials could also raise local development-impact fees on land that is converted from agricultural to residential, commercial or industrial use," Lamb writes in his outstanding Love for the Land.

"Officials could set aside the new revenue from these fees exclusively to fund land-conservation assistance programs or to purchase development rights from wiling and qualifying farmers, accomplishing the dual purpose of allowing development and providing fiscal support to farmers and rural communities."

Regionally, many groups are working on conservation: Tennessee Farm Bureau, Tennessee River Gorge Trust, the Trust for Public Land and Thrive Regional Partnership, which has formed a partnership that serves 16 counties and 76 municipalities in Tennessee, Georgia and Alabama.

"Thrive seeks to build a regional agricultural network that supports the health of our people and economy, as well as the future of our heritage landscapes through best practices and data," its FarmConnect program states.

Most of all, we need farmer consciousness inside our lawmaking-bodies; policymakers need to be aware of farmland loss, thinking every day about the implications of what 1,000,000 paved-over acres would mean to Tennessee.

And 19,000 paved-over acres to Hamilton County.

As we walk the fields with local farmers, Sarah and I have been offering up a fictitious scenario: would you ever sell your land?

Every farmer says no.

"I was born and raised here," said one farmer. "Kids might sell it, but I wouldn’t."

Just down the road from him, farmland is selling for nearly $1 million.

"Everybody wants land. I don't blame the people," he said, shifting the fictitious scenario back on me.

"Your family’s got 50 acres. You're not going to make a living on 50 acres. Fruit and vegetables won't earn enough and you can't run enough cattle on 50 acres. You can't grow enough," he said.

(Another issue we'll report on soon: the enormous barrier of entry for young farmers. How much land and capital do young farmers need to start farming in 2024?)

So, do I sell these fictional 50 acres? Let's say I can't farm. Don't want to farm. I live five states away. And now a real estate developer is offering me ten times what my parents paid for this land?

You can't blame folks for selling.

But if everyone sells – and the whole game is greased so selling is the easiest option – then we've got nothing left.

And once you 'develop' – what a strange word to use – farmland, you don't get it back.

Develop. Even our language clouds up what's truly happening. Developing farmland actually means working the soil properly, caring for the creatures that dwell there, fixing nitrogen, increasing yields, feeding communities, paying close attention.

"An understanding of place this intimate requires time and commitment. It may arise through work on the land: dozens of drives through a field or a forest, hundreds of walks to feed livestock or mend fences, years – sometimes decades – of energy and effort spent tending a specific place on earth," Lamb writes in Love for the Land.

That's developing farmland.

Don't call it what it's not.

The other kind of development is ruination of farmland.

Not only is farmland loss an economic loss – Tennessee agricultural produced $5.2 billion in 2022 – it is also cultural and communal loss.

"I rode a horse to grammar school," Bill Mullins said.

We met Mullins at Smith-Perry Berries Farms in Ooltewah. Soon, the conversation turned to the Ooltewah of old and all that's being lost in the name of development.

"There wasn't all this violence," he said.

Violence takes many forms: breakdown of community, loss of integrity, declining work ethic, insular lives defined by consuming technology.

"I don't have an iPhone," Mullins offered.

Nostalgia or stubbornness aside, Mullins has a point:

The further we get from farmland, the more lost we are.

In the end, this is about perspective.

What is farmland worth?

What is the land worth to us?

One final story.

Ronnie Sedman grew up in Apison where he only wanted one thing: to farm.

For 35 years, he worked the second shift at a local factory in order to farm on his 189 acres, ultimately dying in the very home in which he was born.

"He worked whatever job he needed to work the land. You did whatever you had to do to take care of the farm," said his daughter, Lisa Meadows. "He would work second shift, go to bed at midnight, get up in morning to take care of the cows until it was time to go to second shift. He did that until he retired."

Growing up, Lisa heard two things from her father:

You did whatever you had to do to take care of the farm.

"That’s how you were raised," she said.

And?

"He told me that from the time I grew up. He did not want me to ever sell that farm," she said.

Years went by. Her mother got sick with Parkinson's. An ever-present caregiver, her father stopped farming and leased his land out. More years, more age and sickness. As her father's health declined, Lisa provided him at-home care; he never wanted to leave the land.

In 2020, Ron Sedman, 88, died in the house where he was born.

And Lisa, who was not a farmer, had a decision to make.

The land, once in a forgotten part of Ooltewah, was now prime real estate, appraising for $3 million.

Should she sell it?

Before he died, her father loved riding through the community, looking at other people's farms from the car window. One day, he drove by the nearby Osborn place, where Jim and Amy Jo were building their Chili Pepper Ranch.

He mentioned something to his care-giver: you know, I wouldn't mind somebody like that taking care of my farm.

So, as the inheritor of her father's farm, Lisa approached the Osborns. Would you be interested in buying this land and farming it?

In 2021, the Sedman farm became part of the Osborn farm.

"Yes, I took a loss," she said. "It appraised for $3 million ... I could have gotten that much money [with another buyer] but I would not have wanted to live with myself."

"It makes me happier for a farm to stay a farm than the money. Because the money goes."

She paused, thinking again about her father, his land and the future.

"In heaven one day," she said, "I want to face my dad and tell him I did right by him."

All photography by Sarah Unger (sarah@foodasaverb.com)

All design by Alex DeHart

All words by David Cook (david@foodasaverb.com)

Story ideas, questions, feedback? Interested in sponsorship or advertising opportunities? Email us: david@foodasaverb.com and sarah@foodasaverb.com

This story is 100% human generated; no AI chatbot was used in the creation of this content.