Going Against the Grain

If you find yourself in the Skagit Valley, a region located near the coast of Washington about 70 miles north of Seattle, you’re likely to experience a particular phenomenon. Ask a Skagitonian about anything from the weather quirks to fertile soils, snow geese swarms, bald eagle flyovers, Bigfoot sightings (or at least signage), or the nation’s largest tulip festival, and they’ll likely reply with a shrug, “Well, it’s the Magic Skagit.” Sometimes it’s accompanied by a chuckle, but I have learned it is meant to sincerely encapsulate something about this place. If you’re looking for signs of magic here you don’t have to search very far. The Skagit Valley sits in the alluvial plain at the base of the North Cascade Mountains. It is bisected by the “Wild and Scenic” Skagit River, which still harbors all five species of Pacific salmon as well as steelhead and coastal cutthroat trout (it’s one of the few rivers in the contiguous US that can make that claim). It’s bordered on the west by the Puget Sound, where orcas breach, seals bask in the sun, and salmon begin their journey out to sea.

As an agricultural region, the Skagit boasts an immensely diversified farming landscape featuring 80 crops of commercial significance. Yet perhaps one of the most magical things currently brewing in the Skagit is also the most unassuming: a grassroots regional grain supply chain. Dave Hedlin, a third-generation farmer in La Conner, whose farm sits at what he calls the rural-urban interface, grows 500 acres of everything from spinach to cabbage seed, tomatoes, peppers, and gourds. But I met with Dave to talk about his wheat and barley, which he’s mostly been growing at a loss for the last few decades. That is, until recently.

Farmers have been growing grain here rotationally for a long time because of the Skagit’s alluvial clay soils. For thousands of years, during seasonal flooding or slower flow periods, the Skagit River has been depositing its finest particles—clay and silt—across the valley floor, blanketing the landscape with rich, fertile deposits. To farm these soils full of precious organic matter is mostly a blessing. But these heavy clay soils also retain excess water, which means they’re easily compacted and create an environment where fungal disease and soil-borne pests thrive. Crop rotations that feature deep-rooted grains help break up compaction, improve soil aeration, and reduce pest and disease pressure in these conditions.

When crop rotations weren’t prioritized, farmers in the Skagit Valley learned the hard way. “There was a 20-year window in the valley where you could grow peas and wheat and send your kids to college,” says Dave. But when farmers started growing so many acres of peas that they no longer had enough land to rotate, fusarium wilt ravaged their fields. According to Dave, “Mother Nature never sleeps and she always bats last.” Lesson learned.

Today, farmers strive for a minimum of a five-year rotation, usually made up of some combination of feed, potatoes, grains, beans, and fresh market vegetables, turning the valley into an aerial checkerboard. In fact, the farmers here have learned to work in close cooperation, swapping ground every year so potato farmers can grow potatoes and squash farmers can grow squash, all while still maintaining these critical rotations—another bit of magic.

Today, the Skagit Valley is composed mostly of small and medium-sized farms. That’s not to say it has been immune to the broader consolidation trend that has reshaped modern agriculture. When Dave and his wife Serena took over the farm in the 1970s, they watched as local smaller-scale input and processing companies went out of business or were bought up by larger corporations until only a few remained. They began to feel trapped in what Dave calls the “Walmart business model of cheaper, faster, better.” Several years back, a produce buyer gave Dave a hard time, warning him, “Dave, you’ve got to be lean and mean to drive all your costs down.” Exasperated, Dave shot back, “If I win a race to the bottom, where does that leave me?”

Since then, Hedlin Farms has been relentless about differentiating and diversifying. They opened their produce stand around 40 years ago and did farmers markets until COVID. They sell to restaurants and a food co-op. Fifty percent of their land is organic and ROC (Regenerative Organic Certified) certified. As a result, Hedlin Farms has managed to carve out niches for much of its high-value seed and produce production with a loyal customer base that knows its quality and environmental ethic. But the wheat and barley Dave grew in his rotation? While it did much for their soil, it wasn’t exactly lucrative. Wheat is a global commodity, with prices set by international markets, making it nearly impossible for smaller-scale diversified farms to compete, whether in organic or conventional systems. Dave would sell most of his wheat to the local feed market, which was helpful but did not command a price premium.

But about 15 years ago, the idea of taking grains out of the commodity system to create a regional supply chain began to take root in the Skagit. If differentiation is the key to profitability and resilience, especially for small farms, could the Skagit make that happen for grains?

The Breadlab

Steve Jones was one of the first people to probe this question, though it wasn’t his original intention. For much of his career, Steve worked as a winter wheat breeder at Washington State University’s main campus in Pullman on the east side of the Cascades, a region known for its large-scale, high-production wheat farms. Over time, however, he grew disillusioned with the industrial model that dominated the area. He moved to the west side of the mountains in 2008 and became the director of a 600-square-foot research station. Steve thought he would start a cabbage or squash breeding program, but farmers told him they were growing wheat and barley at a loss, setting a low bar for improving outcomes. In 2011, Steve established the Breadlab at WSU’s Mount Vernon Research and Extension Center to breed and test grains suited to the Pacific Northwest’s climate to support regional grain economies. Today, the Breadlab is run by Kevin Murphy, Steve’s former grad student and postdoc.

To produce the consistent white flour that dominates the market, wheat must be uniform, driving breeders and farmers to prioritize yield and standardization for large-scale commodity production. But these varieties don’t take into account the needs of Skagit Valley growers. The Breadlab aims to change that by developing grains tailored to this region. For example, as an organic breeding lab, the Breadlab prioritizes traits like pest and disease resistance—essential in the wet soils of the Skagit, which create ideal conditions for diseases like common bunt, more colorfully known as stinking smut. This foul-smelling fungal disease has historically been prolific in the Pacific Northwest, and without the chemical seed treatments used in conventional systems, organic breeders like Kevin must find genetic solutions. Lodging, when grains are knocked over by wind or rain, making them harder to harvest and sometimes unsuitable for milling into flour, is another issue that afflicts the Skagit. So breeders are focused on improving both disease resistance and structural resilience.

The Breadlab also breeds for nutrition, selecting varieties high in fiber, zinc, iron, and other micronutrients that will support whole grain final products. The production of white flour involves removing the bran and the germ, which comprise about 20 percent of the wheat kernel and contain most of its nutrients. Simply swapping whole wheat for refined white flour could slice the environmental costs of growing and processing wheat by 20 percent and quadruple its nutritional value. In addition to all these components, yield is paramount, which is why the Breadlab focuses on economically viable crops over pure heritage grains.

To create new varieties, the Breadlab uses a technique called population breeding. Janine Sanguine, the Breadlab’s Outreach and Engagement Manager, took us to the “breeders pantry,” which resembles a small candy shop with shelves of glass containers lining the walls. But instead of jelly beans or gummies, each jar contained wheat, rye, or buckwheat seed varieties. With population breeding, breeders plant a diverse mix of these seeds and repeatedly select for the best-performing plants with desirable traits over generations. This allows for natural interbreeding and evolutionary change to shape the crop while researchers can see how each variety responds to different events throughout the growing season.

One variety to come out of the Breadlab is called Salish Blue, a perennial grain, meaning it will grow back on its own for several seasons, so farmers don’t have to till their fields and spread new seed every year. The variety’s robust root system aids in water filtration and helps plants scavenge for nutrients. Another well-known Breadlab variety is Skagit 1109, a hard red winter wheat prized for its high yield and ability to survive cold, wet winters and resist disease. According to Dave Hedlin, having a breeding program tailored specifically to the region’s unique soils, climate, and cropping systems is not just beneficial—it’s essential to the long-term viability of local agriculture.

The cherry on top of it all is Breadlab’s baking program. No matter how resilient, high-yielding, or nutrient-dense a crop is, it won’t find a foothold in the market if it doesn’t perform well for bakers. Connecting the field to the bakery was another part of Steve’s vision. He started organizing grain gatherings to bring together farmers, bakers, millers, and scientists—a group that, according to Kevin, was like a mixing bowl that already had the right ingredients. “It was like we just needed to add yeast—and boom. It was magical to watch,” he said. While most breeding labs do bake tests, they’re typically focused on mainstream standards like white sandwich bread. What sets the Breadlab apart is its commitment to whole grain and its prioritization of flavor and nutrition as much as yield or disease resistance.

The Remarkable Middle

With the creation of the Breadlab, the Skagit Valley had many of the ingredients for a regional grain system—locally adapted seeds, committed farmers, and skilled, enthusiastic bakers. But without regional processing infrastructure, that system is still tethered to global supply chains and commodity-scale production, limiting its ability to fully support farmers or deliver better products to consumers. Regional processing and storage capacity are the bottlenecks in the system. It’s often called the “messy middle,” but Kevin Morse, CEO and Co-founder of Cairnspring Mills, prefers to call it the “remarkable middle.”

According to Kevin, flour is the Rodney Dangerfield (known for his catchphrase “I don’t get no respect”) of food ingredients. It’s a white, ubiquitous product expected to be uniform and utilitarian. But it wasn’t always that way. One of the first things Kevin will tell you is that 120 years ago, there were 24,000 flour mills in the US. Today, there are just 180. Until the late 1800s, flour was made in stone mills where whole grains were ground between two large horizontal stones. As the runner stone turns, it shears and crushes the grain against the stationary stone, producing flour. Historically, most people ate whole grain flour; only the aristocracy could afford the time and effort needed to eat sifted white flour. But in the early 1900s, the first roller mills arrived in the US. In this highly efficient process, grain passes through steel rollers that crush, shear, and separate kernel components, enabling millers to produce a highly refined white flour.

White flour was desirable in the early 1900s for a few reasons. Without widespread cold storage, whole grain flour would eventually go rancid because it still has fats and oils from the germ, whereas white flour can be stored for a long time and shipped worldwide. Fine, consistent white flour made it easier for commercial bakers to produce light, airy breads with predictable texture and rise that fit the needs of industrial baking. But removing all the nutrients from a food as ubiquitous as flour also led to an uptick in diseases stemming from deficiencies in key nutrients such as iron, B vitamins, and fiber. In the 1930s and 40s, the US government worked with the industry to launch enrichment programs that would add back iron and B vitamins. Hence, the fortified white flour we have today.

Roller mills also helped drive the centralization of larger mills that could afford to invest in new technology and distribute cheap white flour at scale. As local mills closed, many rural agricultural communities lost all the associated economic activity. Farmers had to transport grains much farther, increasing costs and dependence on large, powerful buyers. Large centralized mills also prefer standardized wheat varieties most suited to roller mill processing. This pushed farmers to adapt their planting choices to meet the market’s needs. By the late 1900s, if you didn’t want to grow a few select wheat varieties for an industrial mill, your options were few and far between.

Kevin Morse didn’t set out to become a miller. He worked in rural economic development for almost 10 years in Western Washington and the Chesapeake Bay, where he got a firsthand look at the tragedies that can stem from this race to the bottom. He then worked for the Nature Conservancy for a decade, where he was tasked with finding ways to align conservation and farming using market-based strategies. At the time, he was also farming livestock and pastured pork. At fifty, searching for what came next, he took a chance on an opportunity with the Breadlab, Patagonia, King Arthur Flour, and local farmers: building a regional mill in the Skagit Valley.

Despite his admittedly limited knowledge at the time about how flour is made, he raised his hand to lead the charge because he had a vision of creating a whole new flour category similar to the third-wave movements already happening in products like beer, chocolate, and coffee. Kevin likens the creation of Cairnspring to an old-fashioned barn raising. The vision was to build a regionally scaled modern stone mill that sources non-commodity grain directly from farmers and mills it into fresh, value-added products, all while generating local economic opportunity. The idea seemed crazy, but impact investors took a chance, and bakers pitched in to help design for specs and quality. In June 2017, the mill was operational, and they have not been able to keep up with demand ever since.

The journey from grain to flour at Cairnspring is a fine-tuned process that blends the precision of modern equipment with the intentionality of traditional milling. When the grain enters the mill, it receives a final cleaning. Then it is misted with water in a high-speed dampening auger to rehydrate it, improving milling efficiency and preserving quality. After resting, it moves through steel rollers that pre-grind the wheat berry to double throughput and help achieve the desired granulation. The wheat then enters a stone mill, the pièce de résistance of the whole process, which incorporates the bran, germ, and endosperm into a nutrient-rich, flavor-packed flour. This is really where modern milling meets ancient practice. While monitoring pressure by an amp reader, Kevin says Cairnspring’s millers are “still setting stones by hand. We’re still listening to the stones.” The finished product is poured into bags, run through a metal detector, stacked by a mechanical arm, and wrapped for distribution.

Small mills sometimes get a bad rep for inconsistency, largely due to limited access to diagnostic tools. Cairnspring invested early in the same $60,000 grain and flour analyzer used by large mills, enabling them to test for protein, moisture, and other quality markers at every step—from pre-harvest to milling. They continuously monitor specs like ash and protein content during milling, adjusting airflow, speed, and stone pressure to stay on target. They also use tools like a falling number tester to detect sprouting and a farinograph to assess flour stability and mixing tolerance. With this approach, Cairnspring can match or exceed quality control standards of much larger mills. It’s also enabled a farmer like Dave to work with companies like Patagonia (Hedlin Farms provides the wheat for their ROC-certified Moonshot Crackers), which are looking to buy premium wheat but have criteria for things like soil carbon tests that they can pass through and verify via Cairnspring.

The mill is currently running at capacity at 7.5 million pounds a year—roughly what a large industrial mill produces in a single day. Cairnspring also provides another critical piece of infrastructure—storage. For farmers growing wheat outside the conventional hard red or soft white classes, there are few options to store grain in a way that preserves its market class and identity. Currently, Cairnspring sells six product SKUs (including their Organic Edison flour, which is made from Breadlab’s Edison variety)from different grain varieties, which are all stored in separate silos until they’re ready to be milled into final products.

Being a regional mill also means developing a different model for sourcing from growers. Unlike the commodity system, where local elevators post bids before planting season, Cairnspring works directly with farmers to set a contractual price that ensures profitability, barring a crop failure. In return, Cairnspring requires farmers to continuously improve their regenerative practices for soil health. But they don’t expect farmers to embark on this journey alone. This year, Cairnspring sourced from 12 farmers covering around 6,000 acres. Kevin emphasizes that “If we’re gonna lift farmers out of the commodity system and get beyond the early adopters, we have to meet farmers where they are.” Cairnspring has a sustainability manager who sets custom standards for each farm based on the priority resource concerns set by NRCS. They provide technical assistance to help the farmers understand where they are regarding soil health and providing wildlife habitat, and then design a system to improve outcomes. This is what Kevin calls “working at a human scale.”

Kevin makes it clear that Cairnspring is not just a local mill—it operates a regional supply chain to ensure volume and quality. Last year underscored the importance of this: it was one of the worst years for grain in the Skagit Valley, with midsummer rains leading to widespread lodging and premature sprouting, rendering the grain unusable. Thankfully, he was able to fill in those gaps with grain from Eastern Oregon and Washington. Another reason for Cairnspring’s regional approach is the diversity of growing conditions, which results in distinct nutrient profiles. They can blend the Skagit’s flavorful, nutritious grain with higher-protein wheat grown in the hotter, drier climate of Eastern Washington to create a final product that combines ideal flavor, nutrition, and baking performance.

Of all the challenges inherent in building a regional supply chain, demand was not one of them. Cairnspring has grown at an average of 54 percent a year since its inception. The original intention was to sell mainly to artisan bakers, but when the pandemic hit, they opened to the public and were floored by the reception. Today, wholesale is still 80 percent of Cairnspring’s business, and they’re used and touted by some of the most famous bakers, chefs, and pizza makers in the country, such as Tartine Bakery in San Francisco, and Grand Central Bakery, Macrina Bakery, and Essential Baking Company in Seattle. In retail, they’ve built a strong following among bakers eager to support local grain economies, who seek quality and variety, enjoy experimenting with flavor, and care about the story behind their flour. Kevin knows they will never compete with mass-produced white flour, but in the 40 billion dollar flour market, it’s become clear that there’s room in the craft category.

Enough room, in fact, that Cairnspring has a new mill in Pendleton, Oregon in the works, which will produce about 100 million pounds of flour annually, roughly 12 times more than they currently make. At the Blue Mountain Mill, they’ll continue working at the human scale, partnering with 20 to 25 farmers on the eastern side of the Cascades and sourcing around two million bushels a year from 40 to 60 thousand acres at max capacity. “I think that’s impact,” says Kevin.

But Kevin may be most proud of the economic opportunity the mill has created for the local community—over a million dollars in payroll and over 2 million annually into farmer businesses. He gets emotional when he talks about his goal to create good jobs for people who may not otherwise have access to higher education. Many of his workers can now support themselves, and sometimes their parents.

The past decade in the Skagit is a testament to an “If you build it, they will come” approach. People flock from across western Washington and farther to attend the Breadlab’s workshops and events, or even just to buy a loaf of bread. Water Tank Bakery popped up next door to Cairnspring and uses 100 percent Skagit-grown flour to make their sourdough baguettes and sinfully good cookies. It’s as if the seeds of this prosperous grain economy had been there all along, lying dormant and needing only the right conditions and a little magic to be revived once again.

A Recipe for a Regional Grain Supply Chain

As I worked on this article, I wanted to explore the question: What are the key ingredients that make a regional grain supply chain like the one in the Skagit successful, and what lessons can other regions learn from it? While every place has its own context, a few themes emerged across conversations.

Resiliency. Resiliency is built into every step of the Skagit’s supply chain. For example, consistency is good for making flour, but it can be risky for plants, especially as climate change increases the likelihood of variable weather events and the spread of pests and diseases. The Breadlab, in collaboration with King Arthur, has developed a climate blend that features three wheat varieties and is specifically designed to weather more extreme conditions. As global supply chains become more vulnerable to geopolitical and weather events, resiliency will give these alternative supply chains the upper hand.

Differentiated Products. Differentiated products are key to better margins across the supply chain. By breeding for flavor and nutrition, milling identity-preserved whole grain flours, and collaborating on product development with bakers and chefs, the Skagit grain supply chain has generated more value through distinction rather than scale.

Infrastructure. This one is not a surprise. The Port of Skagit, one of the only port districts that puts money directly into agricultural research, has been incredibly instrumental in making all this happen. The port supported the creation of Cairnspring as well as Skagit Valley Malting, which also buys local grain at a premium (it was shut down but is being brought back). The port’s goal is to create jobs, and they decided that investing in the regional food system is one of the best ways to achieve ROI.

Good soil. The Skagit’s deep, fertile alluvial soils are rich in organic matter and nutrients, contributing to the exceptional flavor and nutrient profile of the grains they grow. It is the Magic Skagit, after all.

Community and Collaboration. Maybe the most critical ingredient in the whole equation, and it exists on many levels. The farmers in the Skagit have a storied tradition of working together. Dave told me that it was due to the insistence and minor “extortion,” as he calls it, on the part of the farmers that they even have a research station in the valley. He says that in the 1920s, Skagit farmers went to Olympia and had all of WSU’s funds held up until they agreed to support a research station. A few years ago, they conducted an $8 million expansion for which the local farmers raised a million and a half dollars. According to Kevin Morse, “There aren’t many other places in the country, let alone the world, that have the collaboration amongst the farmers to trade ground, maintain healthy soils, and sustain their viability.”

The Breadlab and Cairnspring switch off hosting Toast Tuesdays, where once a month, folks across the grain supply chain come together over freshly baked bread to catch up and share ideas without any agenda. The Breadlab has also become a linchpin for community gatherings and educational experiences. During our visit, Breadlab staff were making 100 percent whole-grain pizza dough with staff from the Skagit Extension and the WSU Research Station. They have a baking school with King Arthur Flour, featuring classes on everything from pies and tarts to sourdough and whole grain baking. They also host workshops for all ages on topics such as buckwheat and stone milling, which sell out in minutes (I know because I tried to get tickets). They do bakery pop-ups once a month that draw people from all over Western Washington, eager to try their creations, learn more about the Breadlab, and meet other enthusiastic bakers.

In terms of a broader ecosystem, Cairnspring works with mills around the country. “There’s a sense that we’re all in this together. The more people in the space, the more traction you’ll get in the market. Momentum helps everyone out,” Kevin Morse says. The Breadlab Collective, spearheaded by the Breadlab, is an international network of bakers, millers, plant breeders, educators, and students collaborating to create affordable, nutritious, and flavorful whole grain products that support regional non-commodity grain systems.

In April, the Breadlab announced that the USDA had suspended the federal grant money that supports portions of its research and staff—amounting to a $2.5 million loss in funding. Frustrated but undeterred, the Skagit and broader Washington community has rallied around them with dozens of fundraisers, which enabled them to continue their work without interruption. In June, the Breadlab shared that its USDA funding had been reinstated. While uncertainty about the future of federal funding remains, the episode did serve as a resounding affirmation of the value of these institutions to the local food system.  It’s also a testament to the fact that while the Skagit may have its magic, this kind of transformation can take root anywhere a community comes together to make it happen.