Live a healthy life just in case it’s a long one!

Genetically Modified Organisms (GMOs) are often discussed in strong and opposing ways. Before forming conclusions, it can be helpful to understand how modern farming practices are experienced on the ground.

I grew up working on a farm just outside of Lincoln, Nebraska. It was a large family-run operation managed by two brothers and their sons. Together, they cultivated a variety of crops—including corn, soybeans, alfalfa, and oats—with corn and soybeans making up the majority of production. In addition to crop farming, the operation included a feed yard, which served as the primary source of income. At its peak, the yard held several thousand head of cattle, commonly referred to in agricultural settings as “fat cattle.”

Years later, I would come to better understand what that term implied and how it fit into the broader food system—an understanding that only became clear with time and distance.

Some of my earliest work on the farm began in my early teens. One of my first jobs involved walking soybean fields and removing certain fast-growing weeds—such as sunflowers, velvet leaf, and volunteer corn—by hand. Many of these plants had developed resistance to commonly used herbicides, which meant physical removal was often the most practical option. While it was demanding work, it was usually done in small groups, and there was a sense of teamwork that made long days in the fields pass more easily.

During those summers, we made the work lighter by playing games and telling stories, sometimes jokingly referring to ourselves as “children of the corn.” It was a way of passing long hours in the fields and staying connected to one another. This kind of seasonal work continued for several years, until I was old enough to take on more responsibility in another part of my uncle’s operation.

At the time, it was simply a job. Only much later did I recognize how those early experiences quietly shaped my relationship with food, health, and the systems that support both.

On the farm, I helped care for a wide range of responsibilities—approximately four hundred hogs, one horse, and several hundred acres of irrigated corn and soybeans. It was in one particular soybean field that my understanding of modern farming practices began to come full circle, though that realization would only make sense much later.

One day, my uncle drove me out to assess how long it might take to remove the weeds from a particularly overgrown field. It didn’t take long to see the scale of the task, and I estimated it would take all summer to clean it by hand. He laughed and suggested it would likely take longer, explaining instead that the field would be “wicked.”

Wicking involved a specialized machine pulled through the rows of soybeans, with hanging ropes soaked in herbicide. These ropes could be raised or lowered to match plant height, allowing targeted contact with taller weeds while passing above the crop itself.

About a week later, we brought the necessary equipment back to the field. I dropped my uncle off to handle the tractor work while I returned to take care of other chores. We planned to meet at the pub at the end of the day to regroup. When I arrived later than expected, I noticed he had more empty glasses in front of him than usual. When I asked what was going on, he suggested we wait until one of his brothers arrived so he wouldn’t have to repeat the story.

As it turned out, my uncle was concerned that he might have damaged the crop. Keeping the herbicide-soaked ropes from contacting the soybean plants entirely had proven difficult. His brother, however, reassured him not to worry. He explained that as long as the main stalks weren’t broken, the plants could tolerate direct contact with the herbicide.

At the time, I was young and didn’t think much beyond the immediate task at hand. Years later, that moment stayed with me and began to raise quieter questions. What does it mean for a plant to be resilient to chemical exposure, and how does that resilience translate through the food we consume? These are questions I didn’t have the framework to ask then, but they would resurface later as I began paying closer attention to health, food systems, and long-term impacts.

Some crops have been developed specifically to tolerate certain herbicides, often referred to as “herbicide-tolerant” or “Roundup Ready” crops. From an agricultural efficiency standpoint, this represents a highly effective business model. At the same time, it raises broader questions about long-term trade-offs within modern food systems.

Glyphosate is the primary active ingredient in Roundup, and its effects have been widely studied and debated across scientific, regulatory, and public health communities. Research has explored its impact on soil health, microbial balance, and environmental exposure, with ongoing discussion about appropriate use, safety thresholds, and cumulative effects. As with many widely adopted technologies, understanding both benefits and risks continues to evolve over time.

The second personal story offers a broader view of how food moves from field to plate. In many households, beef has long been a primary source of protein. While this example focuses on cattle, similar systems are used across much of large-scale animal agriculture.

This isn’t a commentary on whether animal-based proteins should or shouldn’t be consumed. Rather, it’s an observation about how animals are commonly raised within modern production models. For comparison, raising a calf on open pasture, where it feeds primarily on grasses, typically takes close to two years to reach market weight. In contrast, at the feed yard where I worked, a steer or heifer weighing around five hundred pounds could nearly double in size in roughly ninety days.

The efficiency of this system is undeniable. At the same time, it highlights the ways convenience and speed have reshaped food production, sometimes faster than broader conversations about long-term health, sustainability, and trade-offs can keep pace.

These experiences eventually led me to broader questions. Over the past several decades, food production has changed dramatically alongside advances in biotechnology and chemical inputs. During that same period, conversations around chronic illness, autoimmune conditions, and long-term health have become more common. Whether and how these trends are connected is still being explored across many fields.

At the same time, large-scale agricultural practices don’t operate in isolation. The methods used to grow crops and raise animals also interact with water systems, air quality, and soil health. In this way, food production becomes part of a larger environmental cycle—one that affects not only what we eat, but the ecosystems we rely on to sustain life.

If substances designed to manage large-scale food production also circulate through our bodies and the environmental systems we depend on, it raises an important question about balance. How do we care for human health and environmental health together, in ways that support long-term well-being for both?