the wilting bush is right in front of a sitting area, a tupperware full of homemade cookies in the shapes of trees on the table. a pitcher of iced tea, minty and fresh, made just for us on a small plot of land adjacent to the embarras river. it reminds me of my grandparents’ farm. the colorful set of wind chimes strumming chords into the air carries the same cadence of those hung from the trees around my grandmother’s vegetable garden.

this is someone’s backyard, someone’s home, but the greenery that makes this place so vibrant is dying because of herbicide drift. patsy hopper is one of many farmers living in the rural midwest. she’s angry about what she sees, yet approaches anyone who will listen with kindness and hospitality.

hopper’s story calls into question the experiences of people who make their way on small farms, like many of my family members, the many that aren’t aware of the dangers under their noses, and the corporations behind mass herbicide misuse. 

we see firsthand the damages of herbicide drift. the curling, dehydrated leaves are evidence of attempts to bolster crop output for higher profits. according to prairie rivers network, farmers and corporations in the row crop industry have oversaturated their fields with herbicides, often disregarding the scarcely enforced regulatory guidelines. 

in a six-year comprehensive study, prairie rivers network showed that herbicides are drifting more than a mile from the source, threatening human health, trees, crops, and pollinators, with ripple impacts through the ecosystem. this affects the environment and people, like hopper, their livelihoods, health, and quality of life.

hopper tells us that she used to use herbicides like most farmers in central illinois, but went organic after learning more about the dangers and seeing the effects firsthand. this puts her in a minority. only 1% of farms in the united states are certified organic. 

as a descendant of many generations of family farmers, on both my mother and father’s sides, i consider my ties to this damage. how much of my own family uses herbicides? misuses herbicides? have bushes like patsy’s, dying and brittle, in their backyards? 

if you know a farmer, you know what it means to them, to be in touch with the land. however, the nature of farming in illinois has changed dramatically over the years. according to the illinois department of agriculture, since 1959 the average farm size has more than doubled. more than 49% of illinois farmers hold other jobs, treating farming as their secondary occupation. large scale family farms and non-family farms account for the bulk of farm production. for most, farming alone is no longer a sustainable way to support a family.

yet these small farms, scattered between the sterilized sites of the larger industry, are personal. there are the rows of hay bales we would climb and run along as kids, the corn fields we would weave through in a game of hide and seek, the trees we learned to climb. there are the backyards where the tired farmer takes a breath after a long day amongst the corn, the vegetable garden that feeds a family. these places are under threat, and the threat is largely invisible, “hidden in plain sight,” as prairie rivers network says in their 2024 report. 

greenpeace international’s “4 myths about industrial agriculture” discusses how industrial agriculture pushes the idea of “feeding the people,” using the narratives of the actual farmers who earn their livelihood from the land. however, the reality of corn production in the u.s. tells a different story.

according to the usda, 45% of corn grown in the united states is used for ethanol. in illinois alone, the department of agriculture records that 274 million bushels of illinois corn are used each year to produce about 678 million gallons of ethanol– more than any other state.

beyond diverting crops from food production, ethanol contributes to environmental damage. the us energy information administration states that ethanol and ethanol-gasoline mixtures burn have higher evaporative emissions from fuel tanks, contributing to smog formation and air pollution. rather than feed the people, the crop industry is growing gasoline, and increasing pollution while they’re at it.

hopper tells us how heavy branches drop out of her trees on a windless day. the dull thud of a rotted life plucked from something once beautiful and full. she grieves the ghostly falling limbs, whole trees dying from the chemical infection. i consider this as we say goodbye to her. she insists we take tea and cookies for the road. hopper’s humanity stands in contrast to the detached systems of corporations, illustrating their distance from the individuals impacted. individuals, kind, good people, are affected. 

who is responsible for herbicide drift — the individual or the institution, the absentee land-owner farmer or the hired hand? many farmers may not even know the impact of herbicide drift. does my family? blame moves in circles — from the government to the corporation, to the individual, and back again — but proximity to the damage is often closer than we realize.

after all, patsy hopper, a dedicated and informed organic farmer, is the outlier. we need to heed the message, the warning, of the echo of limbs falling from trees on a still afternoon.