Chapter 2

As promised. . . .

Photo by Krista Bateman on Unsplash

Alexander Harley was a farmer’s third son. Which in 1947 meant he would never be more than a worker on the farm. Sure, the non-family members working there saw him as a senior farmhand, but a farmhand nonetheless. And when you’ve fallen hard for Molly Campbell, you know her father will only accept a man with prospects.

During the lulls between firefights in that god forsaken war, Alexander would contemplate what his life could be if he survived. And that’s when he decided to tie his fate to seeds. And not just any seeds, mind you. Quality seeds. The best seeds.

When he got home – with all his limbs intact, thank you, Jesus – he laid out his plan to his father. First, start selling fodder to the local farmers. Once he’d built up a rapport, then he’d start selling seeds from his father’s crops – which everyone knew were the finest. And with his father’s blessing and a burning desire for a certain Campbell lass, he set out to win over the local farmers who were perfectly happy harvesting their own seeds, thank you very much.

By 1960, Alexander had been tenacious enough that he now had the luxury of selling only to seed merchants. Then in 1962, he bought a large warehouse at Milnathort in Kinross, in the heart of Scotland. He and Molly had been happily married for 14 years with three kids to show for it. Alasdair, the oldest, also went on to have three children.

Hamish Harley, Alasdair’s oldest, was standing in front of a white board, desperately trying to capture all that was spinning through his mind. Eventually he paused and slowly recalled there were others in the room. Turning slowly, he looked at the faces of his siblings and the company’s most trusted and steadfast employees.

“Ok, we all know this fertiliser supply chain situation is serious,” Hamish began.
“And I mean serious like nothing we’ve seen before. So, how will this affect us?”

“Are you asking for our input or just pausing for effect?” asked his sister Iona.

“Maybe a little of both,” he admitted.

“Well, I can tell you farmers are feeling skittish. I just got off a call with a seed merchant who said a farmer who normally buys barley seed just bought all the spring bean seed he had,” Iona shared.

“That is telling,” said Hamish. “Anyone not related to me want to speculate on why a farmer is doing that?”

“Nitrogen,” said Maisie Clark, their top researcher.

“Go on,” Hamish said.

“Well, your great grandfather would have done the same thing. Before fertilizers became ubiquitous, famers would replenish the nitrogen the barley sucks from the soil by planting feed beans.”

“Ok, that fits with something I heard yesterday,” added Fergus Connor, head of sales. “My ma called to tell me she heard a neighbor farmer was thinking of selling his stockpiled fertiliser and letting his fields go fallow because he’d make more money than he could growing and selling his crops.”

“I’ve been hearing similar things,” Hamish agreed. “So let’s play this out,” he said turning back to the white board.

“First, the farmers realise they won’t be getting fertiliser at a reasonable price – or any price – in the near future.

“Secondly, we’re hearing that this very cold and wet spring is wreaking havoc on grazing pastures. The grass simply is not growing. And they can’t get their hands on any fertiliser. So how is a farmer going to feed his 400 sheep and their newborn lambs?” Hamish asked.

“And that’s not the only question,” Iona added. “What happens if more farmers choose to let their fields go fallow? Or the ones who don’t but have diminished yields because they had no fertiliser and their soil is nitrogen deprived? We’re looking at a major food chain disruption.”

“Yes,” Maisie concurred. “Which leads to what the farmers will do to address this. They have livestock that needs feeding and soil that needs replenishing. So, they all stop growing barley, wheat, oats, and rye and grow beans to feed the livestock and maybe themselves.”

“Further disrupting the food chain,” Hamish agreed. “So where does that leave us?

“In the short term, we’re about to make a lot of money. In the long term, things aren’t so rosy.”

“Yes,” chimed in Fergus. “First off, we can’t ramp up production on a dime. We all know that’s not how the seed business works. And secondly, if farmers can’t count on us, they will break the Plant Varieties Act and harvest seeds from their own crops.”

Hamish continued the thread. “Frankly, given this scenario, I think we’d all agree the legal BS goes out the window. As it should, yes?”

All heads around the room nodded. Many of them had heard the old trope about the Harley Family Heart, but witnessing it firsthand had its own power.

“So, what are we going to do?” Iona asked with uncharacteristic sincerity.

Right then a rather insistent knock was heard on the boardroom door. Hamish signaled for someone to open the door.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Harley,” said a breathless junior salesman. “But we’re having a run on spring seed beans. The older guys are saying they’ve never seen anything like it.”

“And so it begins,” Hamish stated softly to the floor.