Amid rain and rockets, Ukrainian farmers keep working the soil

The Russian invasion of Ukraine feels far away from the Dergoff farm in the farming town of Tetiiv, as tractors spray fertilizer across freshly planted corn fields on a May sunny day.

Reminders come in the form of sturdy checkpoints in the town’s entrance – where “infiltrators” have been caught trying to smuggle weapons and night goggles – and a warplane cutting across the clear blue sky. Veteran farmhands see their presence in their fields as a matter of necessity and fret about the future.

“What will people eat if we don’t work here?” asks Valentyn Maksymenko, who has been farming for 25 years. “Everyone depends on us. The army. All Ukrainians. Everyone.”

Yet just a couple of miles away in one of the farm’s cavernous warehouses, unsold maize forms golden dunes. War in Ukraine – a major breadbasket thanks to its highly fertile black soil – has the global food system reeling. Russia and Ukraine supplied nearly a third of the world’s wheat and barley before the outbreak of full-scale war. But last year’s corn and other grain harvests did not reach the international market because of Russia’s invasion. Moscow’s warships block the maritime routes linking the southern strategic port of Odesa to the world.

In front-line regions, farmers work the fields knowing the risk of shelling and rockets rivals the odds of spring showers. In territories seized by Russia, they have adapted to occupation. Shortages of fuel, fertilizer, and storage space pose a challenge across regions. The motivation for farmers to carry on in such adverse circumstances ranges from the pragmatic to the patriotic.

“We are not on the front line now, but the day could come that we are on the front line or needed in the front line,” says Mr. Maksymenko’s colleague, Anatoliy Stelmakh. “We have children and grandchildren, so of course we are worried.”

With millions of people at risk of famine due to the war, Ukrainian farmers are finding themselves on the front lines of a global emergency, even if the conflict may not be threatening them immediately.

“We don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but we will plant our seeds,” says Dergoff farm’s agricultural manager Oleksandr Chornyi. “Farming is key for food security and economic security.”

Harvest, interrupted

Agriculture is a mainstay of the Ukrainian economy, with about a third of the population active in this sector. In recognition of the strategic importance of farmers, President Volodymyr Zelenskyy temporarily exempted them from military conscription. Out of the roughly 600 people who work in the vast Dergoff farm, 10 have gone off to fight.

“Many of our employees are willing to fight, but the conscription office has them on hold because they need experienced fighters,” says Bohdan Balagura, who is the mayor of Tetiiv but is well versed in the farm’s business operations, which he oversaw until 2020. “They are more useful here.”

The Dergoff farm is relatively well positioned to weather the economic storm thanks to diversification. Still, they expect a revenue loss of no less than 50% relative to last year.

“We are ready to go through hard times because we are certain that victory will come,” says Mr. Balagura, pointing to a giant nest on the chimney of the farm’s office, considered a good luck omen because it was built by a stork, the national bird of Ukraine. “Our family can easily leave the country, but we decided to stay here because we believe in victory.”

Ukraine grows enough grains to meet domestic consumption and export three-quarters of its output. But blocked ports mean producers can’t sell their grain. Rail alternatives via Europe have not been viable at the scale needed. Moscow has said it will lift the blockade only if Western sanctions are lifted.

“Ukraine, which can feed half the world, is isolated,” laments Mykola Gorbachov, president of the Ukrainian Grain Association, which unites grain producers, processors, and sellers.

The export of agricultural products is crucial to Ukraine. “More than 50% of foreign exchange earnings in Ukraine come from the export of agricultural products,” says Mr. Gorbachov. “Depending on the prices, this amount may be between $22 billion and $28 billion per year. From this you can conclude how important it is for our GDP. Wheat and corn and sunflowers are produced in all regions of the country.”

In the autumn, Ukraine made plans to export about 70 million tons of grains and oil seeds in the first half of 2022. It only managed to export 43 million tons as of Feb. 24, when Russia invaded the country, he notes. About 27 million tons of wheat and corn earmarked for exports are stuck. Of the 33 million tons of grain planted this year, 26 million were for export.

War has meant a 40% drop in production. “If last year we produced about 107 million tons of grain and oil seeds, this year we are expected to harvest about 65 million tons,” says Mr. Gorbachov.

“It is a danger to be here”

Most of the fields on Ihor Tkachov’s farm are devoted to winter wheat, a variety planted in autumn and harvested in summer. It is well suited to the cooler climate of northeast Ukraine. “We need to do something to save this harvest,” he says. “It is important to transfer grains out of the front-line zones because these are at the most vulnerable zones.”

Intermittent shudders shake the fertile soil underfoot as he speaks. That is the impact of incoming shells. Guttural pops mark outgoing fire and those have increased in intensity as Ukrainian troops have pushed Russian forces away from Kharkiv. Mr. Tkachov’s farm sits near the border with Russia, in the village of Skovorodynivka.

Russian troops have not marched on his property, but countless rockets have landed in his fields. Ukrainian forces spread mines in the area to stop Russian advances. Both have claimed farmers’ lives. He refuses to show his grain silos for fear that they be targeted by Russia, as has been the case elsewhere in Ukraine.

“It is a danger to be here,” says Mr. Tkachov, sporting a black vest against the morning chill. “I’ve never seen a planting season like this one. The traders were supposed to come on Feb. 24 or 25. Instead there were Russian planes coming. Rockets flying over the village.”

Two brave agronomists who work with him, Sasha Serdytyi and Slava Khrolenko, risked their lives twice venturing to nearby Kharkiv. They procured seeds and fertilizers as street battles raged and tank shells rained. “Suppliers understand that we need chemicals, seeds, and fertilizers,” says Mr. Tkachov. “Even if they had evacuated from Kharkiv, they came back to open up the storage facilities.”

“Everything needs to be done at the right time in farming,” says Mr. Serdytyi. “All we think about is whether we will wake up the next morning. All we want is to collect this harvest.”

“We work so that our children do not go through a Holodomor,” adds Mr. Khrolenko, referencing the 1932-33 state-generated famine in the Soviet Ukraine that killed millions of Ukrainian people. All three farmers grew up with stories about the horrors of hunger. Mr. Tkachov credits his grandmother for teaching him the value of bread.

Failure to work could spell hunger for their fellow Ukrainians and the world. “This is not just about Ukraine,” says Mr. Serdytyi. “Many countries depend on our exports.”

Dealing with the Russians

About 20% of Ukrainian land is now under Russian occupation, blocking 6 million to 10 million tons of grain. Dmytro, who declined to give his last name for security reasons, works for four agricultural companies employing 80 workers in the occupied region of Kherson in southern Ukraine. The agronomist, who once served in the Soviet Army’s rocket forces, decided to stay put along with his mother and his wife after Russia took over Kherson in early March. His sons left.

“Russians went through the Kherson region as if they were marching on a parade. So easy,” he says in a phone interview. “It doesn’t matter if you want it or not – sometimes we must communicate with them. They are so polite, it’s almost disgusting.”

Farming has carried on largely as normal under Russian occupation, he says. They have planted wheat, barley, rapeseed, and sunflowers on schedule. The region has been spared the relentless bombing endured in other parts of Ukraine, so there has been no war-related damage to agricultural facilities and fields. The inputs needed for the spring – fuels, seeds, chemicals, pesticides – were secured after the autumn harvest.

“We have everything, and we have ... nothing,” says the farmer, who is particularly upset by acts of petty theft and the difficulties he has procuring medicine. “Russians came and took one car from each farm. And now they’re driving around in our cars.”

Russia’s occupation of Kherson has also meant the rise of “dodgy dealers” who drive around buying grain for 4,000 hryvnia ($135) per ton, about 50% less than the regular price, he says. Some travel in cars with Crimean license plates and then transport the grain to the Black Sea port of Sevastopol, the second largest city in Crimea, which Russia annexed from Ukraine in March 2014. Ukrainian authorities estimate that about half a million tons of grain have been taken to Crimea by land and exported as Russian grain.

Despite the circumstances, the farmer is optimistic. The region, he says, expects a higher-than-average harvest. And he is among those who have not lost hope that the Ukrainian army can liberate Kherson by the end of the summer.

“We expect to harvest wheat, rapeseed, and barley while still under the occupation, and sunflowers when back in Ukraine,” he says.

Oleksander Naselenko contributed reporting to this story.