rice close-up in autumn
“Sustainable is the buzzword,” said Jeff Durand, holding out a single stalk of rice—roots splayed out and covered in dirt. “But our main goal is to be efficient.”
When Jeff and I met in October, the fields were being flooded for the crawfish season. Dozens of traps were piled high in the trails cleared out between fields. We were in his truck, driving on a dirt road, when a man pulled up to the driver’s side on a four-wheeler. Jeff rolled down the window to talk to him. “One of my brothers,” he explained, looking at me and rolling up the window. “We’re flushing water through the fields. We’re constantly making sure the oxygen stays at a high enough level that we won’t lose our crawfish crop.”
Jeff and his two brothers Gregory and C.J. have operated Durand Farms out of St. Martinville since 1980 —making their farm relatively youthful considering the generational pattern of most family-run farms in the region.
The Durand brothers have won several awards, among them the 2009 Outstanding Master Farmer Award—certifying their farm as a model for LSU Ag students, while recognizing their willingness to experiment with new sustainability practices. According to Donna Gentry from the LSU Ag Center, “They’re known in that area for their conservation efforts. On recommendation of locals, they were selected to be one of our model farmers.” This progressive mindset, according to Jeff, has always been more simply about what’s best for the farm.
The Durand brothers practice “no till” farming—a technique in which farmers plant crops without fresh tilling every season. This allows more water to flow into the soil, reduces the farmer’s fuel and labor costs, and reduces the greenhouse gases usually emitted during tillage. While it’s a common practice now among farmers as sustainability becomes a bigger concern in Louisiana agriculture, the “no till” approach had such success at Supreme Rice that it quickly attracted institutions like the LSU Ag Center.
Jeff told me that several years ago, “a county agent came by and pulled his own soil samples and sent them off. He couldn’t believe that organic matter was that high in a rice field. He found out we weren’t trying to pull his leg.”
As we drove the 1,300-acre property, Jeff said “I’m looking for some wildlife for you to see.” We watched several white herons emerge from a thicket and fly overhead. Over 250 bird species travel through this farm during their migration south—drawn to the region for the wide expanses of land, feeding on the crawfish, and the rice. The crops provide sustenance on these birds’ route up from the Gulf, but in some cases, this is at the expense of farmers themselves.
“These Whistling Tree Ducks,” said Jeff, “they are a big problem.” Trying to scare off the ducks from their crops, the farmers often shoot propane cannons into the sky. “You could walk up on them, and they don’t take off,” he said. The Whistling Tree Ducks sit in the Atchafalaya Basin, only a mile and a half from the Durand’s farm, during the day. “They come back in here at night by the thousands and walk across the field and pick up all the rice seed.”
Animals as diverse as alligators, ground eels, and nutria rats have made the farm their home, too—burrowing into the crawfish levees. It forces Jeff and his brothers to break down the dirt and rebuild where the ruts were made. Many of the levees are “over forty years old and some of them are leaking bad” because of animal intrusions.
He showed me a small map of their crawfish levees, which the brothers are currently working to break down and rebuild. “We’re building them big enough to where they should last another forty years. Whoever will be farming then will have it a little easier than we do now.”
The Durand brothers, like most rice farmers for the last several years, have been caught in the balancing act between their livelihood—growing a good crop—and playing their part as a habitat creator for wildlife in a region where habitat is increasingly scarce.
“Just had to go to a meeting Tuesday and another farmer said he’s going into sugar cane. It’s more economically feasible.” This is a shift taking place across Louisiana—but Jeff hopes to hold out, not only for business but for the wetland habitat. “Once you lose it to sugar cane, it’s hard to go back to rice and crawfish,” he said.
The farmers converting to sugar cane, whether they’re aware of it or not, could be contributing to the loss of habitat. So, the Durand brothers are holding out a little longer, sharing the land they farm with the burrowing wildlife, even with the challenges that poses.
“People should be made aware of it,” said Jeff, talking about the lack of public knowledge on the stresses that his farm, and many others, are facing. “We’re providing that (wetland) habitat, at the same time trying to stay in business on the farm.”
I look out over the rice crop, the thin green rows of the plant peeking through the soil. On its borders are dense woodlands. Until the 1970s, much of the property was made up of forests.
“This was a bad year,” he said. “After all of the rain we had this fall, the quality (of the rice) suffered.” Even with the financial difficulties facing rice farmers, Durand is optimistic. “We’re gonna stay in it for a while,” he said, honoring a lifelong commitment to “Feeding our families and, then in turn, our neighbors."
Editor's Note: In the original version of this article, the Durand Brothers were mistakenly cited as owners of Supreme Rice.
