In my line of work, I spend a lot of time in the numbers of the U.S. ag sector. One data point I keep coming back to is that nearly 20% of net farm income in 2025 was estimated to be federal government payments and is forecasted to be more than a quarter of farm income in 2026.
In fact, direct farm program government payments are estimated to have increased more than 200% from 2024 to 2025, with another 45% hike expected this year. I had to triple-check the data when I realized this. Because when that much of the producer’s bottom line is policy-dependent, it changes the conversation. But with more farm aid in the works, I don’t think it's being discussed nearly enough. How resilient is our food system if it takes billions of dollars from the government each year to keep American farmers farming?
To be clear, I’m in full support of keeping American farmers and ranchers in business. I’ve been involved in this industry for more than six years now, and I’m part of an organization whose mission is to keep Rural America thriving through the best and worst of times. I also have skin in the game. I’m a first-generation farmer here in Florida, and I married into a fourth-generation farm family. I’ve visited operations, met with producers, sat down with industry experts, attended farm conferences, and seen firsthand what it takes to keep the American family farm alive. Like so many families, we’re hopeful we’ll be able to pass the torch to our children someday, if that’s the path they choose.
That’s why I feel so strongly when I say that federal farm policy was designed to be a safety net for producers—not a long-term operating strategy. Yet somewhere along the way, we created a system where too many producers have had to rely on it as one.
The goal has never been to farm with one eye on Washington just to make a living. The cornerstones of farming have always been about sovereignty, stewardship, legacy, and resilience. These are the values that bring young people like me to this industry despite the risk. But the encroaching role of farm policy is changing the game, and not for the better.
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For farmers, the only thing arguably more uncertain (and volatile) than the weather is policy. Government shutdowns, temporary funding measures, and reactive disaster packages are becoming the norm rather than the exception.
For producers trying to plan multiple seasons ahead, that uncertainty isn’t just frustrating. It’s financially destabilizing, especially for younger producers and those who don’t own the land they farm. When margins are thin and capital is expensive, delayed payments or shifting program rules can be the difference between reinvesting and retrenching, between surviving and exiting.
Taking that into account, I’m going to say what many of us might be reluctant to hear: Adaptation in this environment is no longer optional. It’s essential.
For decades, doing things “the way they’ve always been done” worked because costs were manageable, credit was accessible, and land values steadily rose. That world no longer exists. As we head deeper into 2026, the cost of borrowing is higher, restrictions are tighter, and margins are thinner. The old playbook isn't playing out the way it used to.
At its core, adaptation is about being willing to challenge assumptions and look at decisions that once felt automatic through a different lens. It could mean diversifying revenue streams, reconsidering equipment ownership models, experimenting with new farming practices, or adding vertical or horizontal expansion into the mix.
None of these are silver bullets. Value-added products won’t work everywhere. Diversification isn’t a fit for every farm. But if the accumulation of modest changes can reduce exposure to the whims of federal policy, isn’t it worth it?
It’s not about chasing trends. A willingness to adapt is about opening your mind to what successful operations are doing, taking an honest look at where yours might be vulnerable, then working towards offsetting that risk rather than leaving it to fate. The goal is not to predict every shock but to stay liquid and limber enough to adjust without overcorrecting.
If you want your farm to outlast you, adaptation becomes especially urgent when it comes to your succession plan. Too often, aspiring young producers are asked to shoulder operational responsibility without a clear pathway to ownership. They manage labor, make production decisions, and take on debt, yet remain structurally vulnerable because they don’t own the asset that ultimately determines financial security—the land.
Succession planning isn’t about rushing retirement or handing over the reins overnight. It’s about creating a deliberate, phased path to ownership that rewards contribution, protects the farm, and gives younger producers a real stake in the future they’re being asked to build.
That means building owners, not just operators. It means giving successors visibility into financials, capital strategy, and risk management decisions. And it means recognizing that sweat equity alone is rarely enough in today’s capital-intensive ag economy.
None of what I'm saying is easy. It requires uncomfortable conversations, long-term thinking, and sometimes breaking with tradition. But isn't it better than waiting on a politician’s fix?
Farm policy will always matter. It will continue to play a role in managing risk in moments of crisis. But it cannot substitute sound financial strategy, intentional succession planning, or the courage to adapt.
Five years from now, the farms still standing won’t be the ones waiting on policy. They’ll be the ones that were willing to adapt not because they wanted to, but because they understood what was at stake.
Adaptation doesn’t mean abandoning tradition. It means protecting it.
Shelby Bass is senior communications manager at AgAmerica and a first-generation farmer.