Saving Ohio's Agricultural History, One Barn at a Time

Aug 14, 2023

By Allie Vugrincic

Debbie Ledley’s family bought a farm near the Delaware County Airport in 1968, when she was just 4 years old. The farm included a big, old barn.

Her father boarded horses and was a grain farmer, Ledley said.

“So, there were gravity (grain) wagons in there. And then we would climb up the hay mow and swing from one side to the other right over the gravity wagon,” Ledley recalled.

Now, with Ledley’s parents in their 80s and no one to take over the farm, it was time for it to go, she said. A company purchased the land last summer to build warehouses.

Ledley's voice cracked as she explained, “Mom and dad sold the farm, and it was just going to be destroyed.”

It’s a story you hear more and more – farms and their barns lose their usefulness, and the land is redeveloped.

But the nonprofit Friends of Ohio Barns believes there’s value in saving the state's historic barns.

The group’s vice president, Dan Troth, is helping Debbie Ledley and her husband, Chris, do just that. They are moving and rebuilding the late-1800s barn to serve as their home outside of Ostrander – between Marysville and Delaware. Troth, a contractor, is overseeing the reconstruction.

Declining number of barns

Historic barns are coming down all over the state, Troth said. Often, they are dismantled for their timber.

“I've talked to people, where's this stuff going? And they said, well, it's all going out of state, going to Texas, the Carolinas, Florida, Montana, Colorado, California – everywhere that they don't have barns,” he said.

For those who sell the wood, it’s like elephant tusks, Troth said.

“But our group, Friends of Ohio Barns, we're trying to save the elephants,” he said.

Friends of Ohio Barns encourages preservation by working with the National Barn Alliance, other state-wide barn organizations and the Ohio Historical Society to connect barn owners with repair specialists.

The group also holds an annual barn conference in the spring and recognizes agricultural use, adaptive reuse, and stewardship with its Barn of the Year Awards.

Troth doesn’t entirely fault people for selling barns in bits and pieces – it saves the timber, after all, and is better than burning, which is now illegal. Troth, however, believes Ohio’s historic barns belong in Ohio.

“The bottom line is this – these barns represent Ohio's story. This is our story,” he said.

Troth also lives in a relocated and refurbished early-1800s barn. He noted that when barns are saved, they are usually moved. They become brewpubs, community centers and event venues – and houses, like his and the Ledleys’.

Rich agricultural history

Ohio's Farmland Preservation Office lists about two thousand historic family farms. The oldest in Adams County dates to 1772.

But those farm owners don't have to tell the office when they sell their land, said Jessi Starkey with the Ohio Department of Agriculture. Plus, the Historic Family Farm Program does not recognize historic structures, but the land itself and the families that farmed it – meaning historic farms don’t necessarily have original barns.

Troth noted that at one point almost all of Ohio’s residents were either farmers or farming-adjacent. He estimates that in the 1850s, ‘60s, and ‘70s, there were a few hundred thousand farms.

“And every one of them had a barn,” Troth said.

Ohio has found a way to recognize barns: they became an official state symbol in 2019, thanks to the efforts of a group of Westerville City Schools students, and a little help from Troth’s organization.

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Video: Can Gene Editing Give Seeds a Stronger Start?

Reagan Reed has a way of describing his research that might make a plant breeder pause.

“I’m the sort of person who likes to break things to understand them,” he says.

What he breaks are genes involved in seed germination. Reed, a Ph.D. candidate at the University of California, Davis, is investigating whether changing those genes can help seeds establish healthy plants under a wider range of conditions.

Reed recently attended the National Association for Plant Breeding meeting in College Station, Texas, as an NAPB Borlaug Scholar. His work speaks to a question that matters well beyond a research lab: what does it take for a seed to get a crop off to a strong start?

A seed that germinates quickly, alongside the others planted with it, spends less time vulnerable to stresses before seedlings become established.

“If you’re able to bridge that gap between germination to stand establishment, then that’s going to give you the highest probability of having a solid yield that year,” Reed says. “There’s a bunch that can go wrong after that, but it maximises your yield from the start, at least.”

Reed works in Dr. Imtiyaz Khanday’s lab at UC Davis, where his research focuses on seed quality in tomatoes and potatoes. He brings an unusual academic background to the work: at Skidmore College, he studied both biology and Latin.

Reed believes that combination prepared him for research. Translating an ancient text means studying each word, weighing its possible meanings and using context to reach the best interpretation. There is rarely a way to know with complete certainty what an author intended. Science, he says, requires a similar willingness to work through uncertainty.

“Attention to detail and comfortability working with uncertainty,” is how he sums up what Latin taught him.

In the lab, uncertainty can produce a surprise. Reed describes changing one gene and seeing little effect. Changing a second gene also appears to do little. Put both changes in the same genetic background, though, and the result can be substantial.

“I break this gene, nothing really happens. I break this other gene, nothing really happens. I combine them into the same genetic background, and now there’s a massive effect,” he says.

Those interactions matter as researchers gain the ability to edit multiple genes at once. They also complicate any simple account of how a trait works: improving a seed may depend on understanding what several genes do together.

For Reed, the question is whether that knowledge could help seeds germinate reliably when conditions are difficult. Some of the genes he studies prevent germination under certain conditions. That response may serve a plant well in one setting while limiting its usefulness in agriculture. He wants to learn what happens when those genes are changed, and whether the result improves establishment.

Yet a discovery that works in a lab still has a long way to travel before it reaches a field. Reed argues that agricultural biotechnology faces an economic challenge as well as a scientific one. New tools can create value for farmers, he says, but developing them requires a way to support the work in an industry where margins can be thin.

His fellowship with Flagship Pioneering gave him a view across AI, agriculture-related work and human health research. It also reinforced the importance of bringing people with different expertise into the same conversation—a benefit of gatherings such as the NAPB meeting.

“You need to have a team of people with different backgrounds who are willing to work together and approach the same problem in different perspectives and different ways,” he says.

That thinking connects the different parts of Reed’s path. Latin taught him to examine details without expecting a perfect answer. Gene editing lets him test what individual genes do—and what happens when their effects combine. Working with people beyond his own field helps him ask what those findings could become.

He came to agriculture because of its reach: the possibility that work by a small group of researchers could eventually make a difference on a much larger scale. His immediate focus is smaller and more precise. He wants to understand what helps a seed get through its first days and become a healthy plant.