Most of my life, I knew Alfalfa as the dorky kid from “The Little Rascals” with the gauge hairstyle who was, inexplicably, Darla’s crush. But driving through the fields of Imperial Valley in mid-October, alfalfa was everywhere packed in one- to half-ton cubes stacked five high and 15 wide.
Voice of San Diego photojournalist Ariana Drehsler and I went through so much that I wondered: How much does this thing cost? Upon asking around, it was revealed that the market price for alfalfa is between $200 and $300 per tonne, or even more, depending on where it is grown and purchased. Like a mirage, the rows of passing green balls looked more like stacks of bills.
Imperial Valley is an alfalfa production machine. Farmers grow flowering legumes, commonly called hay, to feed livestock. It is the second largest beef crop in the Imperial Valley, generating more than $269 million in 2022, according to the region’s report. most recent harvest report.
But alfalfa can be a sensitive subject in Imperial Valley. Humans don’t eat them. But we consume products that come from livestock that consume them. Some of it is exported to other countries that do not have many seasons to cultivate it. Farmers from France, Spain and Italy visiting the World Alfalfa Congress in Imperial Valley last year (yes, an alfalfa congress, a special interest group under the University of California-Davis) told me they were impressed that Imperial Valley produces nine or more alfalfa crops per year. In a good year, France can get around four. They have to pay a premium to import the rest.
Alfalfa is so controversial because it requires a lot of water, especially in an arid region like the Imperial Valley. Good data is hard to find, but the University of Arizona estimates about four to six acres (feet) of water per acre of alfalfa each growing season. (An acre-foot is the amount that two California households use indoors and outdoors each year.)
Among seven U.S. states and Mexico, Imperial Valley is the largest user of the drought-stricken Colorado River. In extreme drought, reporters parachute in and interview Imperial Valley farmers about why they continue to grow grass with precious Colorado River water. Ask farmer Ronnie Leimgruber and he’ll tell you plainly, “I grow it because it’s the most profitable crop I can grow on this acre of land.” »
If the market demanded more lettuce, he would grow it. If he demanded more broccoli, he would grow it, he said.
“But people want to eat a cheeseburger. They want to eat beef. They want to eat a Happy Meal,” he said.
Aaron Smith, an agricultural economist at UC-Davis, said much of the opposition to alfalfa comes from what people think about using animal products — meat, cheese and milk — in food.
“From a pure resource perspective, it’s inefficient to grow plants and then feed them to animals and let the animals use that energy and then we eat that energy,” Smith said. “It would be more effective to eat plants directly, but the problem is they don’t taste as good.”
Imperial Valley residents have described keeping the agricultural region alive as a matter of national security. The idea is this: in the event of a disaster, preventing the United States from importing and exporting goods, the Imperial Valley could grow everything the country needs thanks to its ancient soils enriched by the Delta. river, its guaranteed supply of Colorado River water, and year-round desert sunshine.
There is a long history of farmers pivoting to the crops that are most in demand. During World War II, when the country needed paint for airplanes, Imperial Valley grew flaxseed used to make this oil-based product. They grow a type of beet that produces baking sugar and all kinds of salad ingredients for the country’s winter dinner tables. But alfalfa continues to be a flagship crop year after year.
A record wet winter offered a brief respite from years of drought worsened by human-caused climate change on the Colorado River. Imperial Valley offered reduce its use by 250,000 acre-feet per year until 2026.
But the West will almost certainly find itself plunged into drought again and alfalfa under fire, along with lawns and other water uses criticized in the West.
That’s why people like Leimgruber have memorized how many golf courses in each state use water from the Colorado River.
So which would you be willing to give up first: your tee time, your burger, or your lawn? This may be a question the United States will face sooner rather than later.
