Indeed, a tough row to hoe

Growers are held hostage by a commodities market that saw a bushel of wheat hit $12 and then plummet.

TULSA, Okla. (AP) — Wheat farmer Jeff Krehbiel scoops handfuls of peanuts-in-the-shell from a bag and puts them in a small wicker basket. He sets it on the edge of the table, next to stacks of glossy brochures advertising the irrigation systems he sells.

Maybe the peanuts will be incentive for a customer at this year’s Tulsa Farm Show to linger at Krehbiel’s booth. Maybe it will be enough time to shake a hand, get a phone number, make a sale.

But in this economy, those are big maybes.

In the farm belt these days, there aren’t too many folks interested in snapping up $80,000 irrigation systems, which he sells as a sideline to farming.

These are dicey times for growers like him, held hostage by a volatile commodities market that saw a bushel of wheat hit $12 and then plummet, and by unpredictable costs for expenses like diesel fuel and fertilizer.

The break-even point on the crop he harvested in June was $6.30 a bushel, and he managed to make a profit, selling as high as $7.50. But on his September crop, break-even could be $7.80 a bushel, and the going rate at the local grain elevator recently closed at $4.15.

“You can talk about all the Wall Street boys losing their money, but it’s the same thing on the farm,” says Krehbiel, a tall, sturdy man of 45 who wears Wrangler jeans, scuffed brown boots and a Farm Bureau cap that hides a swath of gray hair.

His hands are rough and worn, his eyes tired. A difficult year has taken its toll.

Krehbiel takes a pinch of Skoal and waits.

In a decent economy, he would be thrilled if he could sell two irrigation systems in a three-day show. This year, he’ll be happy if he can sell one.

Time is money, and he’s already crunching the numbers in his head on what it’s costing him to be here: renting space on the exposition floor; electrical hookup; hotel and meals for three nights; and fuel for the 170-mile drive from his home in Hydro, Okla.

Twelve-hundred dollars easy, he figures, and not one nibble yet from a customer.

Krehbiel’s buddy, Chuck Tolle, strolls up, cup of black coffee in hand.

“Is there anything I can’t leave here without?” he asks.

“Maybe,” Krehbiel replies.

“I’m back in conservative mode,” Tolle admits.

“Me too. I was going to buy a combine, but now I’m plum not in the mood.”

The men talk about $1,000-a-ton fertilizer and how Tolle’s combine got hit by a freak bolt of lightning during the summer’s harvest.

They watch dozens of farmers stroll by. A lot of looking, but not a lot of buying.

The guy in the booth next door is doing welding demonstrations every 10 minutes or so, and that seems to draw the bulk of the crowd on this row.

The two lay odds on when the financial mess might turn around.

“I’m forecasting 2009 is going to be hell,” Krehbiel says, spitting into a plastic soda bottle. “It’s not going to get better until 2011 or 2012.”

“I’m more optimistic, but not by much,” Tolle replies.

The conversation moves to Paul Jackson, a wheat and cattle farmer who’s walked over to commiserate.

“Paul, how are you planning for ’09? Building a bunker?” Krehbiel asks, half-joking.

“Hunkering down, watching my pennies,” Jackson says.

Jackson and the others sweated over every pound of chemical they put down this year, worrying if a profit could still be turned. Cutbacks mean more weeds left in Jackson’s fields, but he figures the first hard freeze will kill ’em off.

“If you’re sitting still, you’re not spending money,” Jackson laments.

“That’s the truth,” Krehbiel says.