“The Illinois Reports” Pioneer Hi-Bred International Supply Department

James Kirby Snideman

Illinois Report I: 1st week of July 2008 To my Supervisor and the Supply Department, Salutations from the "Land of Lincoln." It's been a week since my arrival in Illinois and at the behest of my supervisor I make the first of what will be four weekly reports. I've included a few other individuals in this mailing whom I thought would also appreciate the update. No reply in necessary, just enjoy the sneak peak into my current assignment. But if it looks too long, don't feel pressured to read it all--my boss has to... but you don't. Last week I joined the ranks of Pioneer's "Goldhat" army--a sizable band of seasonal, temporary employees who are so named because of the yellow caps they've traditionally donned. The Goldhats have been an elemental force in Pioneer's quality check for many decades, hired year after year to physically inspect almost every acre of the company's seed crop--a yearly product totaling billions of dollars in sales. Old timer's talk of a time when this group was at odds with the local production team--being hired by HQ to find errors and problems and subsequently create more work for the plants. However, today's Goldhat gang seems to be sincerely appreciated by our local production team--assisting the production plants in meeting Pioneer's ever increasing quality standards.

I've been assigned to the Good Hope production operation, located in Northwest Illinois about an hour and a half east of the Mississippi river. Although stationed out of this plant, I've only been to the actual facility once. The growing area I have been charged to inspect is called Green Valley--a very fertile,

mostly irrigated flatland almost two hours east of Good Hope. The considerable distance from the production plant to the Green Valley growing area prohibits frequent visits to the plant, but daily meetings with production leaders take place not far from my assigned fields. Those fields are situated amidst miles of gently rolling plains--once partially flooded and bare but now drained and put to work. But for the crops and an occasional tree or house the land is still mostly empty--though towering clouds and ever changing weather break the monotony and paint a canvass that often makes me drop everything I'm doing and just look. Upon arrival, the first duty of the Goldhats is to double check the isolation of all assigned fields. Corn is an open-pollinated crop, allowing outside forces to operate as the mechanism for fertilization--the union of male pollen to female gametes. For corn, wind is the predominate actor. This can present a problem if the desired crop is planted too close to contaminants. These contaminants--as we refer to them--are nothing more than other corn crops planted by nearby farmers. These contaminants introduce foreign pollen which have the potential to adversely affect the fertilization of our crop. To minimize this scenario, Pioneer requires specific standards for the amount of distance--or isolation--which our crop must maintain from contaminants. Though certainly not brain surgery, the process of isolation can be much more complicated than it sounds. A myriad of field shapes and sizes colliding in numberless combinations can create some interesting topographical possibilities. Add to this sometimes abstruse geography the additional complication of planting errors (when our planters make a mistake in the layout of our fields), and you can occasionally get some rather challenging isolation issues. However, the bulk of this review process simply requires the stamina to walk several miles daily and visibly check the entire perimeter of every field. With a modest assignment of two thousand acres I've been kept busy this last week--and can only imagine the plight of fellow inspectors who have more acreage and less time. Additionally, after having witnessed the layout first hand I have developed a much better understanding of the challenge of obtaining desired genetic purity for our product. Many markets where we would like to ship American seed prohibit our exports if they contain even a hint of GMO (genetically modified

organisms) DNA. Europe, in particular, is especially picky. But with so many American farmers planting GMO corn it is virtually impossible to grow seed in the United States without some contamination. Looking towards the future I can see that if those markets continue to demand GMO free seed, our company may be forced to find somewhere else to supply their demand. On a lighter note, having walked multiple marathons in the last eight days I've seen some interesting things--despite the sometimes prosaic landscape of rural Illinois. At the top of that list would have to be the three-legged mutt that followed me for three miles around field 7487. I've seen canines a lot prettier but not half so loyal and entertaining. His front right leg seemed to be amputated flush with his chest so that that it appeared as if no leg was intended to be there at all. Every time I stopped to make field notes he would sit up on his hind legs like an alerted ground

hog and wave his one free appendage in the air. The sandwich in my shoulder bag did not have a

prayer--this mongrel earned his reward and received a feast of roast beef and Muenster. The loss of my sandwich meant a delayed lunch, but the show was worth my extended hunger.

After a hard day's work of walking several miles past fields of corn, soybeans, wheat, and other crops, I make my way to my temporary home in Peoria. The city is a regional hub with just over 100,000 inhabitants, with a long history as a depot--being strategically located on the always navigable Illinois river. Although it is Pioneer's policy to house relocated Goldhat inspectors in hotels I was graciously allowed to make other arrangements--no doubt because of my unique status as a full-time employee. With some intense searching while still in Iowa I was able to find a respectable accommodation with everything I needed. Though living in a hotel for a month would've had its advantages, it also would've excluded me from cooking and the companionship of my dog. The thought of subsisting thirty days on fast food while Parley (my dog) was contracting some unpronounceable, communicable disease in a kennel in Des Moines seemed a little less than appealing. I thank my superiors for allowing this exception. For their reward I will save Pioneer over two thousand

dollars in expenses related to the cost of renting a private room versus of a hotel. But I deserve no praise--I will always choose the practical over the opulent without any external incentive. Well, I hope all is well back at headquarters in Iowa or wherever this correspondence finds you. This concludes my first report. Tune in next time to read more about the following step in this inspection process--"Counts." Additionally, if space permits I hope to include more details about the science of seed production and life in Illinois farm country. Illinois Report II: 2nd Week of July 2008 To my Supervisor and the Supply Department, Greetings again from Obama-land. This is the second report of my current assignment in NW Illinois and I hope it finds y'all healthy and happy. I must confess that this report is lengthier than the last, but I promise it to be educational and entertaining. I left off last time explaining the rationale behind isolation and my work in reviewing the outlay of our fields. Currently, my time is consumed with the additional task of taking "counts." All this work plays an essential part in the main objective of Pioneer's business--producing hybrid seed. Before I continue I think it would be prudent to explain more about the process of creating a hybrid. Simply put, to produce a hybrid, two inbreds must be crossed. What's an inbred? Well, we're not talking about my Texas cousins from Waxahatchie--although you got the right idea. This may be more intuitive to understand if we use an example from dog breeding. Where canines are concerned, an inbred is usually referred to as a "purebred." A purebred (inbred) is a breed so fixed in the display of its physical characteristics that if you mate two purebreds from the same breed the offspring will be identical to the parents. For instance, if you take a purebred Chihuahua and mate it with a purebred Chihuahua, then you will get… no surprise, a purebred Chihuahua. How do you create a purebred? It requires some natural or artificial barrier which separates a portion of the species' population. For Chihuahuas, that barrier was their human owners who isolated certain dogs that were small (and annoying!) and selectively mated them over successive generations until the offspring were identical (in the way the breeder wanted) to their parents.

Unfortunately--when inbreeding--you also crowd a breed with a disproportionate amount of genetic disorders. This happens not only in dogs but also with humans. The plight of several Amish communities has recently received much attention for this very reason; after centuries of intermarriage their populations are experiencing a noticeably high rate of genetic disorders. The same is true for corn. Farmers in this country use to save a portion of their harvest and replant the same crop the following year. Repeated for several generations this practice naturally selected for corn plants which were best adapted to the famers' land--but also depressed yields by shrinking the gene pool of the population and displaying recessive genetic disorders. However, it was discovered that if two inbred varieties of corn could be mixed with each other, then the usual result was a HYBRID with a substantial increase in yield! This phenomenon is known as heterosis--or hybrid vigor. The hypothesis generally used to explain this effect argues that when two inbreds are mixed the genetic disorders are covered up and the result is an offspring with superior adaptive ability. Interestingly enough, hybrid vigor can also be demonstrated in canines--as well as most other sexually reproducing organisms. With dogs it is widely understood that most mixed-breed pups tend to be stronger, healthier and live as much as 50% longer than their purebred (inbred) parents! And what about humans? Well, although we sometimes like to think of ourselves as different we are all really too mixed to find any purebreds. Cat Stevens was right. Now, the challenge of creating hybrid corn is that, unlike dogs, corn plants contain both the male and the female organs. To mix dogs is rather simple: put a stud with a bitch, blare some Barry Manelow over the boom box and presto--pregnancy. Unfortunately,

because corn has both male and female organs, if you plant two different inbreds right next to each other they

will not only pollinate each other but they will also pollinate themselves. The result, each ear of corn will contain some kernels that are a hybrid and some kernels that are an inbred. While this is progress, it is certainly not a product for which farmers would pay good money. The solution, designate one inbred to be the female and another to be the male. The female inbred will be neutered (removing its male organ) and the male inbred will only be used for its

pollen (or sperm) and then soon thereafter destroyed. Thus, self-pollination will have been inhibited and the resulting seed crop will be 100% hybrid corn. Now that's marketable. In fact, it’s a multi-billion dollar industry in the U.S. alone! Of course, managing this process sounds much simpler via email. In reality it requires intense physical labor and scrutinous supervision to ensure the correct mix of inbreds. As one of the Goldhats, I am currently being used to take numerical surveys--or "counts." I sample a thousand plants in each field over a representative area and tally four main observations: female shed, female silk, male shed and pull. The data I collect not only helps in the current management of the crop but will also be utilized by regulatory organizations and our production team at headquarters to review the resultant harvest. With an introduction to seed production out of the way, I hope in my next report to elaborate on these observations. Before I go, a short story from the country. The other day while driving home after a long day's work, I was winding down to an NPR broadcast on conserving energy. Feeling rather green by driving my 40 MPG Honda Civic, I decided to go one step further and choose windows over the AC. I rolled down the glass and invited nature's breath to lick my skin cool. Being a little overzealous with the power-window-controls I discovered that with slight manipulations I could adjust the wind's vector and maximize its cooling potential. Down in back, and the wind moves to the right. Up in front, and it moves to left. Down in the back just a little more and... WHZZZZZZZZZZ, A HUMONGOUS BEE FLEW IN AND SLID RIGHT DOWN MY SHIRT! I screamed like a school girl on fire, lost control and donutted off that country road like Lindsay Lohan on her way to rehab. Alive but still under attack I jumped out of my vehicle and loudly flung myself about like... well, like someone with a bee down their shirt. I tore off my clothes in a wild frenzy of yelps. It wasn't until I was half-naked and several hundred feet from my vehicle that I noticed the old local sheriff had pulled up right next to my car and was standing watch--with one hand on his door and the other on his holster. I walked back slowly, my heart racing, trying not to look like the crack fiend I just impostered. Extremely nervous and still breathless from the bee bout, I called out to the sheriff in broken English, "I... (gulp) swerved... bee down... (gulp) shirt... I, uh... (gulp)." Immediately realizing how ridiculous I sounded, and having arrived at my car, I stopped talking and just panted

heavily--shirt in hand and sweat on face. Those couple seconds of awkward silence had me prepared for the worse. The sheriff finally responded in full country twang, "Son, that's jest 'bout the funniest thang I've ever seen." He full-heartily laughed and I cautiously joined in, still not sure if I would be required to "spread 'em." He made a friendly approach over my car and asked me if I was alright. "Yes," I said, "except for this big bite on my..." and I desperately began to explain myself. His laughter caught me mid-excuse, and I was soon relieved as he admitted I didn't do anything wrong. He said he saw me lose control and then run out of my car, and just wanted to make sure I was alright. We looked my car over and luckily found no damage. Then under the shade of a nearby tree we had one of those intimate conversations you can only have with a stranger. He leaned against a signpost and I against the trunk and we exchanged biographies. His was naturally much longer and filled with some great advice. Except for his service in Vietnam he has always lived in rural Illinois. I asked him how he could do it--live a life some would say was so simple. He smiled at my ill-phrased query but responded without guile: "A lot of folks are always reaching up--but I've always tried to reach out. Life, son, ain't about who y'are or what y'are or even where y'are. It's about the people around you. Remember that, boy." I did. We talked a bit longer and then he received a call and had to leave. We shook hands and then parted. As I got back into my car and continued my drive home (with my windows up) I thought about all the people I've met here in the mid-west... and thought about how right the sheriff was. From the crossroads of the Heartland and the Cornbelt, I send my regards. Until next report… Illinois Report III: 3rd Week of July 2008 To my Supervisor and the Supply Department, Hello again from rural Illinois. The dog days of summer are upon us and--in spite of the extra chores that long days bring--I hope everyone's been finding time to have some fun. Amidst the hustle and bustle of soccer games and pool trips, BBQ's and crawfish boils—I hope y'all find a few minutes to enjoy my third report from the fields. For those of y’all that braved the verbosity of my previous entries, your reward: yet another long recount--though hopefully worth the read. Last time I wrote I gave an in-depth look into the science of hybrid seed production. This time I wish to

elaborate on a few details involving the physiology of corn which will help to further elucidate my current duties. Also, I hope to share some insight I've gleaned while spectating on the job our managers do with the copious amounts of additional, temporary labor hired for this critical period. If you remember from my last report I mentioned how

a mature corn plant contained both male and female organs. The male organ is called the tassel. It sits at the top of the corn plant and disperses pollen. The female organ is the ear. This is the part we are most familiar with. Before your

shuck an ear of corn, you find it wrapped in several modified leaves and with lots of hairs pouring out of the top. Those hairs are known as "silks." Follow those silks down and you will find each one connected to an individual kernel. What does the silk do? It serves as a canal for the pollen to reach the kernel. You see, each kernel is in reality an unfertilized egg and must be carefully protected. That is why the ear is wrapped up so tightly. But being so encased, the corn plant has to find a way for the pollen--or sperm—to reach the kernel--or egg. Millions of years of evolution has provided the solution: the kernels can stay safely wrapped up while silks grow out of each one--waiting en masse at the top of the ear like a thousand impatient receptacles. Once a grain of pollen lands on a silk it grows down and fertilizes a kernel. Repeated enough, the result will be an ear of corn jam-packed with fertilized kernels. For the successful cultivation of hybrid corn, this process of fertilization must be closely managed. This requires several "managers" and generous numbers of temporary workers. As part of my duties I am encouraged to meet with the managers of my area daily. We typically sit down around lunch time and exchange vital information concerning the de-tasseling of female inbreds, silk dates and shed counts--as well as any special concerns.

Despite the sometimes intense conditions the mood is usually blithe and always jocular. Being the new guy I'm often at the center of the jest. For those familiar with my daily health regimen, it should come as no surprise that lunch time for me consists of a mountain of steamed vegetables: potatoes, carrots, broccoli and green beans. Though I pride myself on the health of this habit the old farm boys that daily surround me are not impressed. I often feel like I wore a Speedo to the church picnic. "Where's the meat?!" I regularly hear. Shamefully I reply--amidst hisses and jeers--"Just veggies today." Well, to appease the assembly I put my lunch aside one day last week and joined the gentlemen in town for a "proper" meal at the local eatery. Going for the safe

bet I selected the grilled chicken

sandwich. Encouraged to be more manly by my fellow Pioneer peers, I decided to live wild and make it a grilled chicken

"melt." And live wild I did! Not only was the grilled chicken FRIED (I'm guessing as a way to re-heat it) but the bread was fried as well. Topped with a Valdez spill of processed cheese and oily mayonnaise, this meal literally contained more fat than I consume in an entire week. But all in a valiant effort for fraternity. Watching these men up close I've had the opportunity to examine several different styles of leadership. The subject has been on my mind since visiting a local homeless shelter and having a very interesting conversation. Eager to be involved in some of the same activities that occupy my time in Des Moines, after I arrived in Peoria I walked downtown and inquired about any open shelters. I found one in service and offered what little free time I could as a volunteer. I'm not sure that I've made much of a difference with my visits but I have been able to lend a little encouragement to a few new friends. One such is a mother about my age. She isn't currently homeless but being at risk she stops by regularly and maintains her connection with the counselors who work there. She had her boy when she was fifteen. Now he's eleven and according to her "a little devil." She of course loves her son but complains about how difficult it is becoming to get him to do anything. Her orders are often ignored until voices are raised and threats are issued. After visiting with her on several occasions I felt impressed to share a little advice. I humbly admitted my naivety as a parent but offered my experience as a boy. The greatest control you can have over a young man is not the kind of control that derives its power from caveats of retribution. Though certainly necessary at

some stages of youth, threats of punishment only work as long as a parent is feared. All too often single parents are unable to maintain that fear and children--boys especially—are lost to a world of unbridled pursuits. But, I explained, there is hope. There is a kind of power which so permeates a boy's being that it can rein him well into manhood. What is that power? Admiration. Respect. Love! All fill a boy with an immense desire to please. And that desire can keep a boy in line better and longer than the meanest commination. I told her about my father who for a stretch raised ten children on his own! It was his lightest touch that concretely steered me. I admitted to my new friend that this isn't easy. Not yelling and never punishing in anger while continually offering encouragement and support is no easy task. It takes a lot of patience and conscientious action. But it really is worth it. The next day at work I reflected on that conversation and took special notice of the way my fellow Pioneer employees managed those around them. It seemed very clear to me that what applies to parents and children equally applies to managers and the managed. I observed how when things got tense the most effective managers were those who had the admiration of their subordinates. It was a valuable lesson to learn. And that concludes my third report. My fourth and final report will be delivered in a week or less--as my work here is winding down. Until then, continue to enjoy the summer and thanks for all the replies. Illinois Report IV: 4th Week of July 2008 To my Supervisor and the Supply Department, This is my fourth and final report from rural Illinois. Yesterday was my last day in the fields and with my work here concluded I eagerly anticipate my return home. This has been thirty days of hard work—but labor much enjoyed. With plenty of hot days spent traversing colossal landscapes, a collection of cuts from corn leaves, and lacrimal-fluid-inducing humor shared over rowdy lunches with untamed farmers--this business has gotten it all from me: BLOOD, SWEAT, and TEARS. Thursday morning I'll be back in the office, but before I part I wish to leave y'all with one final thought: my appreciation for the way Pioneer does business. I have always been fascinated with the development of an organization. It excites me to discover where certain behaviors--now well established and almost

fully habitual--have their origin. For Pioneer Hi-Bred International it has become standard to strive for excellence in quality as well as fairness in all transactions. But where did this culture of good behavior come from? While working in the fields this last month I have had the opportunity to explore the answer to that question. No where is this culture more evident than in the actual production of our product--on the soil where we grow our seed. Being able to see us in action right alongside our competitors I can more fully appreciate the extra effort Pioneer makes to insure quality. We have the highest standards regarding isolation--requiring more land to raise a bushel of hybrid corn than most anyone. We hire the most hands to keep a watchful eye on the mating of our inbred lines. We use the best equipment and technology to insure everything is done as correctly as possible. In addition, the company goes to great pains to maintain a relationship of trust with its employees, its contracted farmers, and its customers. As one example, our hiring of seasonal laborers illustrates this point profoundly.

Remember how I mentioned the process of

"neutering" female inbreds to insure a near perfect mixture with male inbreds. This means that each female tassel must be cut and then pulled upon reaching maturity. This is first done mechanically with large, huge-wheeled devices. These machines are never perfect

and subsequently a field is required to be cleaned by hand. Every row of corn must be individually eyed and any remaining female tassels must be removed by hourly laborers. It is often discussed among management how crews of migrant workers are more effective at this job. They work longer hours, work faster and usually do a better job. Thus, the detasseling work can get done within a shorter period of time--ultimately saving money by decreasing the window of opportunity for quality concerns. However, despite the apparent advantages of migrant labor, a concerted effort is made hire labor from local pools--a significant portion of which tend to be high school age individuals. "Why," I asked, "do we do this?" The reply: "Not only do many of the locals depend on this

extra summer income, but for many it has become a rite of passage, a tradition among family members. We have out in these fields third generation detasselers. If we decided to no longer higher these kids, many would be disappointed and upset--and that's a cost savings we can't afford." All of this means that we spend more dough than most of our competitors to grow an equal amount of seed. Resultingly, the price tag for our product reflects the added investment and a premium is charged for each bag of seed. Some would argue that this is simply part of our marketing strategy--a ploy to be recognized as the quality leaders within the industry and thus capture market share. While I admit our marketing department wastes no time in capitalizing on our position I am unabashedly confident that the way we do business has less to do with stratagem and more to do with a cultivated culture of ethics. Many reasons explain why this is so but I point to one I feel is paramount: the intentions of our founder. I shy at giving one man so much credit but I also love the idea that one man can make such a difference. Henry Agard Wallace was the founder of Pioneer Hi-bred and also the thirty-third Vice President of the United States. For the sake of brevity I'll only introduce him as a man of vision--but implore you to read a little more about him when you get the chance. He did much to advance the productivity of agriculture during this last century, as a scientist and breeder but also as a statesman. He cared immensely for the plight of the common man and made their cause his cause. He adamantly believed that if men were to become free throughout the world then they must first be free from hunger and malnutrition. He started and ran Pioneer with that mission in mind. Though operating as competitively and efficiently as any other business, Pioneer was different in its culture from the very beginning--placing profits second to service. Indeed, for years during the great depression Pioneer operated at a loss to continue offering its much needed seed to struggling farmers. Fast forward to today--a time when corporate corruption on the scale of Enron is dismissed as commonplace--and you wonder if any of Wallace's legacy has survived. Well--honestly--the very nature of corporations (which Pioneer has since become) requires that the final direction come from shareholders whose ultimate goal is profit. So open altruism may have become obsolete. But I can say

that Pioneer has definitely retained a culture that truly does give more than lip service to quality and trust. In my short experience with the company it seems evident that the bottom line is not punctuated with dollar signs but annotated with an awareness of our role and responsibility within the larger community. That brings me pride to belong to such an organization.

And that concludes my fourth and final report. To the dedicated few who've endured these seemingly sempiternal logs--know that I am grateful for your readership. To be in the mud with a friend--even one in company by correspondence--turns the rainiest days into a sunny Sunday morning. Thanks again and see you at the office. Farewell from the farmland.