The Return of the Farm Crisis — And What Washington (and Salem) Don’t Get
By Ken Polehn
The farm crisis of the 1980s never really ended—it just got quieter. Now, in 2025, it’s back with a vengeance.
According to Bloomberg Law, family farm bankruptcies rose 55% in 2024, and filings are climbing fast in 2025. The first quarter alone saw 82 Chapter 12 bankruptcies, nearly double last year’s pace. Iowa leads the nation in filings, not in crop production, but in collapse.
What’s driving it? A toxic mix of high input costs, weak commodity prices, and unstable policies. Federal program freezes, rising interest rates, immigration overhauls, and erratic tariffs have put enormous pressure on growers trying to stay afloat.
But Washington isn’t alone in fueling the fire—Salem’s decisions matter, too. From labor mandates to water regulations and complex environmental compliance, Oregon family farms are being squeezed from both ends.
As a grower in The Dalles, I’ve lived through this once already. I remember neighbors losing their farms, auctioning off tractors, crying at kitchen tables. I was young then, but I never forgot. And I never thought I’d see it again.
This time, it’s not just individual families at risk. It’s our entire local food system. And it’s being shaped by choices made far from the land.
For decades now, federal and state policy has leaned toward consolidation. Big operations with lawyers and compliance teams thrive. Small and midsize family farms are left to weather the storm alone. The “get big or get out” mentality of the past never really went away.
What’s missing is an understanding of what’s truly at stake. When a family farm goes bankrupt, it’s not just acreage lost—it’s community. It’s generational knowledge. It’s the 4-H kids without a county fair. The school has fewer students. The church was filled with fewer pews.
Out here, we don’t ask for bailouts. But we do need common sense and consistency in tax policy, labor rules, trade, and water access. And we need legislators in Salem to actually listen to rural voices, not just lobbyists in the marble halls.
Because once these farms are gone, they’re not coming back. And when that happens, we don’t just lose our food independence—we lose a way of life.
About the author:
I was born in 1961 into a second-generation farm family in The Dalles. I grew up on a tractor seat, moving irrigation pipe with my sisters before school, and spent my summers picking cherries alongside the children of migrant families who returned year after year. My wife, children, and parents have all worked the same land. I’ve served as county Farm Bureau president, sat on the county fair board, and continue to support 4-H and FFA. I’ve seen firsthand what happens when farmers are squeezed out—not just of business, but of the conversation.
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