Conservation service has offered vital support to Kansas farmers and ranchers. Cuts imperil it all.
A farmer bales a crop on an irrigated field in southwest Kansas. (Kevin Hardy/Stateline)
My family has ranched in the Flint Hills for more than 100 years, and the Natural Resource Conservation Service has always been a part of my life. Hearing that 1,200 NRCS employees have been eliminated nationwide is heartbreaking.
On our ranch, we worked closely with NRCS advisers, and I was honored to join the service to assist ranchers after graduating from Kansas State University. In a post-9/11 world, I felt like I was serving my country, and the work was profoundly meaningful during my husband's deployments. I believe strongly in creation care and that conservation is an act of patriotism.
NRCS is not a political organization, and as an employee I signed a form to basically keep my politics private. As I am no longer employed by the organization, I am free to speak my mind. I hope to convey why this is so distressing for us all.
NRCS employees are technical experts: rangeland management specialists, civil engineers, wildlife specialists, soil conservationists and scientists. I can't speak to the requirements for each position, but as a rangeland management specialist, I had to have 21 credit hours of range management coursework along with soils and soil genesis. This is difficult. While the classes aren't easy, they are also not offered at most universities. Even K-State had the classes staggered, so the process of getting them took three years, even if you transferred in as a junior.
In short, it is a tricky field to enter, and you must be dedicated to study it in the first place.
Beyond this come the necessary people skills. NRCS's goal was 'Helping people help the land.' Applicants undergo background checks, reference checks and interviews to find the right people others would trust on their land. A great scientist isn't always a people person, so the service carefully searches for those who can do both. Staffing has long been an issue.
After college, there's so much more to learn. To be more well-rounded, a new hire begins training with experts in their own and related fields. I trained with range management folks, wildlife people, engineers on pond building and with an adored soil scientist everyone called 'professor.' I learned a ton and saw a lot of different issues.
If this generation of mentors retire without passing on knowledge to new recruits, this hard-won knowledge will be lost. Not only were these experts incredibly knowledgeable, but they were good, kind people — the kind you'd feel comfortable having on your ranch to share the best and worst of your operation. There's a huge amount of trust involved.
The Soil Conservation Service, as NRCS was first known, was formed in the midst of the Dust Bowl. Founders studied ancient civilizations and effects of long-term loss of productive lands, such as salinization — salts building up in soils from irrigation, such as in Egypt and the Nile delta. These remain global concerns, leading to food insecurity and civil unrest in places such as sub-Saharan Africa, where residents face desertification — overgrazing to the point that plants can't hold soil and water, turning once-lush lands into deserts.
Soil conservation was seen as essential to success of American civilization FDR wrote: 'The nation that destroys its soil destroys itself.'
Accordingly, since 1935, the U.S. has depended on this crucial private-public partnership: dedicated, government-sponsored NRCS scientists and advisers working with farmers and ranchers to maintain soil quality, water quality, other natural resources and agricultural production.
The results have been astounding. As a kid, my chest would swell with pride driving past road signs reading 'A Kansas farmer feeds 125 people AND YOU!' I knew that my dad's work was so important to so many people, and that families would gather and grill burgers from this rocky, rocky land and celebrate good fortune with a steak. All while not thinking that conservationists and ranchers were also protecting water in the glass right by their plate, and not thinking that our peace and prosperity as a nation depended on strong trade relations from our abundant commodities.
The numbers on those signs increased over my childhood, and the current count is 155 fed per Kansas farmer.
NRCS works to prevents the complex problems resulting from degradation of natural resources. One ranch overgrazing might not seem like a big deal, until you consider that soil loss can be quick but take centuries to rebuild. Long term the land will be less productive, and water running off will be contaminated by sedimentation. Sedimentation is expensive for municipalities to filter, and it often settles into lakes. It decreases lakes' capacity as a water source and their holding capacity during flooding, which shortens the lifespan of the lake and is insanely expensive to dredge.
There are major financial implications to these ecological problems, not to mention our loss of standing in the world as an agricultural powerhouse. We, as a nation and internationally, are all affected by how land is managed here in Kansas.
I have always found it sweet that our native grasses do so much good. Yes, they are great feed for cattle. They also increase our soil carbon, which makes land more productive and pulls carbon from the atmosphere, while providing habitat to countless beloved wild species.
However, this beloved prairie is under constant threat from invasive species such as eastern red cedars. A mature cedar tree can produce up to 1.5 million seeds annually, and this problem's growth has been exponential. My concern is not only the lost agricultural production, but the creation of drought-like conditions as they change the hydrology of land. According to research from K-State, half of the rainfall on a cedar tree is intercepted by its branches, never reaching the ground. The top 4 inches of soil under cedar trees is 20% dryer than rangeland.
Having watched Los Angeles burn recently, I can't help but think how the mess of cedars south of Manhattan, a single careless smoker and the prevailing winds would rain down embers on K- State and the community, causing immense tragedy and loss — as well as skyrocketing everybody's insurance. There are many homes and communities at risk across the state. We need to push back hard against these problems, not holding back and giving them ground!
The invasive species sericea lespedeza and old world bluestems have no grazing value and threaten to overtake our native prairie. They are also increasing exponentially and require knowledge and action and money, sooner rather than later.
I do not know the next step. NRCS by no means has the monopoly on dedicated public employees within the USDA, and there have been a number of decisions lately with horrific consequences for American agriculture. A guiding quote to many in conservation and environmental education comes from Senegalese environmentalist Baba Dioum: 'In the end we will conserve only what we love. We will love only what we understand. We will understand only what we are taught.'
I share this in the spirit of the public servants who served a noble and patriotic goal, and a government agency guided by a spirit of benevolence and foresight. I hope we can all understand and mourn this loss and to stand our ground in the future in every sense.
Katie (Wilson) Hancock grew up on Flint Hills ranches and graduated from Kansas State University with her degree in range management. Through its opinion section, Kansas Reflector works to amplify the voices of people who are affected by public policies or excluded from public debate. Find information, including how to submit your own commentary, here.
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After one surgery, she developed an infection and had to visit her Columbia doctor daily — $30 roundtrip — because her case was so critical. Knowing she couldn't afford the appointments, her doctor stopped charging her at follow-ups. Servants for Sight, a faith-based nonprofit that helps South Carolinians in poverty pay for vision care, offers to pay for surgeries, treatments and Uber rides to eye care appointments. Rideshares have helped people 'not only start their care, but complete their care,' said Amy Evette, executive director of Servants for Sight. The group also runs a mobile vision screening unit that visits communities across northwestern South Carolina. Volunteers and staff screen for signs of diseases such as glaucoma and diabetic retinopathy inside the white-and-green van, and connect patients to ophthalmologists for further care. The van is equipped with retinal imaging equipment and rows of free sunglasses. On the outside are logos of various eye care centers and nonprofits who volunteer to help. 'If people don't have insurance or are not able to afford an eye exam once a year, it's very difficult for them to detect any kind of eye disease,' said Sandra Torres, an ophthalmic technician of 17 years. The group works with homeless shelters, and she says many people end up on the streets because they lose their sight, and then their jobs. The vehicle saw a busy recent Thursday morning in Spartanburg, a city of about 38,000 people roughly 30 miles southeast of Greenville. Stationed in the parking lot behind a free medical clinic, staff prepared for nearly three dozen patients scheduled that day. Multiple residents filed into the van throughout the morning, many with thick contact casts wrapped around their calves and feet, used to heal and protect diabetic ulcers. Diabetes, which increases the risk of glaucoma, disproportionately affects people with lower incomes and communities of color, amid structural barriers to affordable health care and healthier food. Angela Garrett, a local pastor, has been grappling with blurred vision and diabetes. Uninsured, she came to the unit to get her eye pressure and vision checked. Garrett, 55, is also recovering from a recent open-heart surgery. A caregiver for older adults, she said she'll apply for Medicaid as soon as she's recovered and can go back to work. In South Carolina, the income limit for a single person who is blind or living with a disability is $15,650. She's passionate about caregiving, a pursuit 'from the heart,' even though her job is 'the bottom of pay in medical,' she said. Despite her modest income, she may not qualify for Medicaid. Often, patients don't know help is available, or they stop coming to their appointments because they can't drive and lack transportation, or they're unable to pay, said Dr. Peter Daniel, another ophthalmologist and glaucoma specialist who works with the nonprofits. He recalled a glaucoma patient who stopped showing up for appointments. The man began to weep when Daniel told him not to worry about the cost and connected him with the charities. 'They're in very difficult socioeconomic and complex situations,' Daniel said. 'And those are the folks that I worry about going blind.' Columbia optometrist Kendria Cartledge sees late-diagnosed glaucoma 'daily.' She said the majority of her patients are on Medicaid, and that not enough eye care providers accept the public insurance program, putting more pressure on the ones who do. The state Medicaid eligibility redetermination process has complicated matters. Patients may have had Medicaid in the past and are still struggling financially, but as states cull the rolls, they may lose coverage without knowing it. With glaucoma patients and others at risk of losing vision, timely care gets interrupted. 'A lot of these patients are getting lost to follow-up,' said Cartledge, who has been treating whole families with the disease among multiple siblings for years, building a relationship with them. 'Some expansion would definitely help out these patients have better outcomes, have a better quality of life.' The gigantic tax and spending bill the U.S. House approved last week could make that situation worse. The measure would cut federal Medicaid spending by $625 billion over 10 years, largely by enacting new work rules and additional paperwork requirements. The changes would remove about 7.6 million people from the Medicaid rolls over the next decade, according to initial estimates by the Congressional Budget Office. Ophthalmologists like Daniel give care knowing they're losing money, even after partial reimbursement from charities. 'If a charity can carry that burden, why can't our state and federal systems help shoulder that burden? We do it for older patients, we do it for our Medicare population,' said Epstein, the Clemson Eye ophthalmologist. 'Why can't we do it for our younger patients?' Clad in a bright yellow tunic and woven sun hat, Jekeithlyn Ross stopped by the Servants for Sight check-in table to introduce herself. Only she didn't have to. Marion Keller already knew Ross was the daughter of eye disease advocate J.C. Stroble as soon as she spoke her dad's name. Keller has a bobblehead figurine of Stroble in her curio cabinet. Ross has been on a mission to relaunch her nonprofit, the J.C. Stroble Glaucoma Awareness Foundation. Dormant during COVID-19, the organization is named for her late dad, who had glaucoma and was blind. The eye care advocate and Spartanburg icon died in 2013 at 71. 'Trying to get services to those that are falling between the cracks or the socioeconomically challenged is a challenge,' Ross said. 'What we're trying to do is go to the people, try to get the services to decrease the rate of blindness here.' A volunteer with the South Carolina Lions Club and speaker at churches and national and local civic events, Stroble was also well-known in the community for his boisterous order-calling at the local fast-food fixture, the Beacon Drive-In. The eatery, where he was nicknamed the 'Beacon Barker,' is popular among locals and as a stop on campaign trails. Inside, Stroble's portrait adorns the wall chronicling the diner's storied history, which includes presidential candidate visits, along with benchmarks like the launch of the internet. Medicaid cuts may disproportionately affect Black, Latino doctors and their patients At the Servants for Sight check-in table, the excitement was palpable: Ross and Keller talked about their mirrored missions as if they were old friends. Keller shared that she had a cornea transplant, and before they parted ways, she and Ross blew each other a kiss. 'This is a marriage. This is only the beginning,' Ross said. Ross said she was aware of glaucoma because of her dad, but others without exposure might not know the importance of getting their eyes checked, or even that it runs in their families. 'We're back in action — because the need is great,' Ross said. 'Education, awareness is the key. It's essential, and it's not enough foot soldiers out there putting that message out.' She's been going to churches, civic groups, clinics and mobile units to spread the word about the foundation. 'Nonprofits pick up the pieces. We have a little joke: 'When the government and all else fails, then you come to us,'' she said with a wry chuckle. 'Because what do you do? You help.' Servants for Sight helped pay for glaucoma surgery and eye drops for 71-year-old Jimmie 'Coach Sheek' Robinson. The retired school bus driver and Little League coach said he's had trouble accessing Medicare. 'It was like looking through a plastic sandwich bag,' he recalled. 'I'm asking, 'Lord, what is happening to my eyes?'' Often running in families, glaucoma can sneak up in those with 20/20 vision all their life, like Robinson. He couldn't see his fellow churchgoers' hands, extended to greet him with a handshake. He'd have to explain that his peripheral vision was waning. Handshakes matter at Piney Grove Baptist, a small congregation with scarlet carpets in Anderson, about 30 miles southwest of Greenville. A 'flimsy grip won't do it,' said one deaconess at the podium on a recent Sunday. 'You can tell someone loves you,' she said, by their handshake. 'Shake my hand,' she exclaimed as parishioners laughed. 'Show up with love.' That day, Robinson, donning glasses, was able to do that. Throughout the sermon, he'd wave his hand in prayer over his daughter and grandchildren, who filled the pew behind him. 'I'm not going to get depressed over my eye,' he said. 'God been good to me.' Back in Columbia, with those costly prescriptions, doctor and rideshare visit costs adding up, Charisse Brown said she is now steeped in about $7,500 in debt, with Uber costs totaling $1,500 alone. She's kept a GoFundMe up to try to chip away at bills through donations. She has just moved into another apartment, a gray-floored two-bedroom, where rent is $300 cheaper than her previous one-bedroom flat. Leaving lights on at night, along with the beaming lamppost right outside her back door, helps her navigate her apartment after dark. 'That's pretty much the only way that I am able to see, is enough light is coming in, especially in my left eye,' she said. Brown said her friends have noticed her own light dimming. Friends have always called her 'Kumbaya' for her outgoing and positive attitude. But after her vision crisis, she fell into despair. She stopped going out, self-conscious about the appearance of her left eye, which is sometimes swollen and has strabismus. Because she can't hop in her car for a spontaneous road trip like she used to, she's leaned on her personal avatar in the online game 'Second Life,' where she simulates going to the beach and streams her pastor's sermons, as if she's sitting in the pews. She's trying to lift her spirits by writing poetry and tending to her plants. In the corner of her sparsely furnished living room sits a fern she's named Duchess, a pothos called Prince and a few other small pots, studded with budding succulents. Sitting on the couch, she reads from her poem 'Overcome.' She'd been lying in the hospital bed after a surgery, using speech-to-text to write: Darkness and light both dwell in the same universe, but light always outshines – so I nicknamed myself 'Bright,' To be able to blind the Dark from coming my way. It's so blinding that maybe he would give up And leave me alone today. This story is part of 'Uninsured in America,' a project led by Public Health Watch that focuses on life in America's health coverage gap and the 10 states that haven't expanded Medicaid under the Affordable Care Act. Stateline reporter Nada Hassanein can be reached at nhassanein@ SUPPORT: YOU MAKE OUR WORK POSSIBLE
