During the 2025 National No-Tillage Conference welcome reception earlier this month, I was fortunate enough to listen in on a conversation that made me put down my Miller Lite and tacos.
While conversing with co-workers and farmers from all over the world, our president, Mike Lessiter, asked one of our videographers to shoot a quick interview with South Dakota grower Desmond Miller, who was recently featured in the November 2024 issue of No-Till Farmer’s Conservation Tillage Guide on his modified ridge-till system.
But it was something more specific that Miller said that caught my attention. He was praising our events for inviting sponsors from many different companies, some of whom are in direct competition with one another. He also added that he liked that farmers could speak openly about what products or equipment worked well for them and what didn’t — regardless of what names might be seen nearby on pull-up sponsor banners.
In contrast, Miller talked about the early failed ridge-till movement in the early 1980s. He attended a couple of ridge-till education conferences in Des Moines which were hosted by one organization — Fleischer Manufacturing, the manufacturer of the Buffalo ridge planter.
“It was obvious to me they were careful to exclude any kind of competing manufacturers for ridge till, such as Orthman, Hiniker or other big names — they just kept them out,” Miller said. “They also only brought in speakers who lavishly promoted Buffalo and Fleischer Manufacturing. That business model made them a prominent and successful manufacturer, but it destroyed and limited any kind of competition. And when you limit competition, you also exclude opposing or competing ideas. It causes stagnation, and that’s exactly what happened to the ridge till movement. It stagnated."
Miller continued on to say that because of the way the ridge-till technology transfer was handled, the practice didn’t grow or progress — and it didn’t improve.
“Farmers, myself included, got so frustrated with the equipment and the practices that we just quit. The whole ridge-till movement crashed and burned, and pretty much is no more, except the sour taste it left in people’s mouths.”
After explaining his frustrations, he drew a comparison to why he believes the no-till movement has long been destined for a brighter future. Specifically, he noted how our very own National No-Tillage Conference, about to embark on its 34th year, continues to be a major catalyst for “growing the game,” as they say in sports.
“You guys at Lessiter Media are the ones who organize these events — and you’re open to all kinds of competing suppliers,” Miller said. “You are open to all kinds of no-till ideas, so long as they share the same values of soil improvement. A lot of the ideas that I’ve heard today are conflicting with each other, and you encourage that; you’re open to that here.
“And the no-till movement has just grown and flourished and moved beyond equipment development into major principles like soil health and microbiological management. It’s amazing what you’ve done, and it’s because you, as an organization, approach it in an open-minded manner, which others might think of as threatening but it is absolutely necessary.”
I thought a lot about what Miller said throughout the conference. He definitely had a point: yes, our conference model works because of the willingness of the farmers to share successes and call out the landmines for others.
But there was one key takeaway that I felt I could apply to my own work and life as someone who strives to do good and make the world a better place.
My takeaway was to examine things in my life that are potentially “threatening, but necessary.” Like when I decided to take my first journalism job after college, even though it meant leaving an easy and comfortable position elsewhere. Or stepping into a subject area that would force me to work harder and learn unfamiliar topics. Threatening, but necessary.
Or the time in 2018 when I had to drive through West Virginia and Maryland in treacherous conditions in a 1999 Toyota Corolla to make it to Baltimore in time to see my family for the holidays. Threatening, but necessary. Or to a lesser degree, being brave enough to use the latrine at Greenbriar State Park Campground during a family camping trip when I was 8 years old even though it was covered in spiders. Threatening, but necessary.
There are many things in life that can be categorized as such. But recognizing them before it’s too late is the key. And I am fortunate to work for a company who understands this sentiment with the responsibility of informing farmers on how they can advance. As Frank Lessiter says, it’s our job to identify all the ingredients so that farmers can assemble a recipe that works for them.
So, as we wrap up the first month of 2025, I urge you to consider what also might be threatening, but necessary, for you this year.