In downtown Enterprise, Alabama, a bronze woman in classical robes holds a large boll weevil above her head like a trophy. Erected in 1919, it remains the world's only monument celebrating an agricultural pest. The tribute honors the insect that destroyed Coffee County's cotton crop so thoroughly that farmers were forced to plant peanuts, which made them richer than cotton ever had.1 A century later, the Wiregrass region surrounding that monument is in extreme drought, and the peanuts themselves are under siege.2
We met a county extension agent on a bench across from the monument on a morning when the temperature was already 94 degrees at ten o'clock. He'd just come from a field visit where a dryland peanut farmer wanted to know whether it was worth irrigating from a well that was drawing down faster than anyone expected.
Grady Turnipseed has been the Henry County Extension Coordinator for the Alabama Cooperative Extension System for twelve years. He grew up on a dryland farm twenty minutes from where we sat. His great-grandfather was one of the Coffee County farmers who switched from cotton to peanuts after the boll weevil arrived in 1915. He is, in other words, a product of the last time this landscape was forced to become something new.
Grady Turnipseed is not a real person. He is a composite character constructed from the documented work of extension agents across the Wiregrass region in 2026, including staff at the Henry County Extension Office, and agents like Jeremy Kichler in Colquitt County, Georgia and Seth McAllister in Terrell County, Georgia.3 4 His name is fictional, though if you've spent any time in rural Alabama, you know it sounds exactly right.
You drive past this monument every day. Does it register anymore, or is it just part of the scenery?
Grady: Oh, it registers. Especially this year. That statue is basically a thank-you card to a bug for destroying people's livelihoods. Which is insane, right? But the logic was: the weevil made us diversify, diversification made us money, therefore the weevil was a blessing. And I get it. My great-granddaddy planted his first peanut crop in 1917 because his cotton was worthless. Family's been growing peanuts since.
But what nobody talks about with that story is how many people it didn't work out for. The ones who couldn't afford seed for the new crop, or didn't have the right soil, or just couldn't make the turn in time. There's no monument to them.
The Wiregrass is in extreme drought right now, the second-highest classification on the Drought Monitor scale, with parts of Houston County at exceptional, the worst level possible.2 What does that look like on the ground?
Grady: Dirt. It looks like dirt. I was out at a place yesterday, dryland peanuts planted in April, and the plants are just sitting there. They germinated because there was enough residual moisture, but they haven't really grown. The soil column hasn't recharged since January. We're five, six inches behind on rainfall for the spring.2 And only about a quarter of our cropland can be irrigated at all, maybe twenty-five percent.2 So three out of four farmers are watching the sky. That's it. That's the whole plan. Watch the sky.
That irrigation gap is almost identical to the structural vulnerability dryland farmers had in your great-grandfather's time. Same landscape, same exposure.
Grady: Yeah. And I think about that more than I probably should. Because the boll weevil was terrible, but it was legible. You could see the bug. You could hold it up in your hand and show a farmer the thing eating his cotton. You could say, "This is why your yield dropped from thirty thousand bales to ten thousand in one year."1
What I'm dealing with is everything at once and nothing you can point to. The drought, sure. But also fertilizer costs up thirty percent, and cotton prices in the basement. Over in Terrell County, Georgia, cotton acreage is down fifty percent, and the extension agent there says it's price, not weather.4 Then you've got the heat on top of it. March was the seventh-hottest on record in Georgia.5 The UGA climatologist calls climate change a "multiplier," not the cause but the thing that makes everything else worse.5
Try explaining a multiplier to a guy who just wants to know if he should plant or wait.
What do you actually tell that guy?
Grady: Depends on the guy. Some of them, I can talk about soil moisture data, planting windows, variety selection. The technical stuff. We're looking at earlier-maturing varieties, adjusting planting calendars, talking about cover crops to hold what moisture we get.6
But that's tinkering. That's adjusting the dials on a system that might need a whole new dashboard.
And I know that. I just don't have a peanut to hand them.
Say more about that.
Grady: In 1917, the extension agents who had my job could walk onto a farm and say, "Plant peanuts. Here's the seed. Here's how you do it. Peanuts work in this soil." Clean answer. One crop for another. I don't have that. Nobody's coming to me saying, "Grady, grain sorghum is the answer," or "Grady, tell them to switch to sesame." The research is happening. CSU's running wheat trials on sixteen farms trying to breed drought tolerance in, K-State is studying compound heat-drought effects on Plains wheat.7 8 Good work. Important work. But none of it is ready to hand to a Henry County peanut farmer tomorrow morning.
So the translation layer, which is essentially your job, carrying research knowledge to farmers, is being asked to translate something that hasn't been fully written yet.
Grady: That's a pretty good way to put it. The experiment stations are working on it. The climate data is there. But the last step, "here's what you plant instead, here's how it pencils out, here's the market for it," that doesn't exist yet.
And meanwhile, half the federal infrastructure that's supposed to help us figure it out is getting questioned. Farmers I know are worried about losing the USDA Climate Hubs.9 Those are the people who connect state climatologists with extension staff, who help us actually understand what the models mean for a specific county. You pull that out and I'm just a guy with a soil probe and a hunch.
Do your farmers use the phrase "climate change"?
Grady: Some do. Most don't. But here's what I've learned after twelve years of field visits: it doesn't matter what you call it. Every single one of them knows the rain isn't coming when it used to. Every single one of them knows July is hotter than it was when their daddy farmed. They'll say "the weather's different" or "we're in a bad pattern." And then they'll ask me what to do about it, which is the same question regardless of the vocabulary.
Your great-grandfather switched from cotton to peanuts. If he were farming your land today, what do you think he'd do?
Grady: He'd be scared. Same as everyone.
But he'd also, look, he made the switch because he had to. Not because it was smart, not because some agent convinced him with data. Because the cotton died. The weevil didn't leave room for debate.
What scares me about right now is that the pressure is real but it's slow enough that you can talk yourself into one more season. One more year of hoping the rain comes back. And then one more. And by the time you can't talk yourself into it anymore, you've burned through your savings and your options.
That's a dark read.
Grady: It's a Tuesday.
Is there anything that gives you hope? I'm asking genuinely, not fishing for a silver lining.
Grady: I'll tell you what gives me something. I was at a field day last month and a young woman, maybe thirty, third-generation farm family, she'd already started planting a portion of her acreage in cover crop mixes and experimenting with double-cropping systems nobody around here has tried. She wasn't waiting for me to tell her what to do. She was already doing it and asking me to help her measure whether it was working.
That's the pattern. That's always been the pattern. The farmers who make it through aren't the ones who get the best advice. They're the ones who start moving before the advice catches up.
This interview was conducted in early September 2026. The Wiregrass drought was ongoing at the time of publication.
Footnotes
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Auburn University College of Agriculture, "Defeating the Boll Weevil." https://agriculture.auburn.edu/150-years-celebration-ag-engineering/defeating-the-boll-weevil/ ↩ ↩2
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WTVY, "Drought grips Southeast Alabama during peak planting season," April 29, 2026. https://www.wtvy.com/2026/04/29/drought-grips-southeast-alabama-during-peak-planting-season/ ↩ ↩2 ↩3 ↩4
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Albany Herald, "Albany area farmers hit with triple whammy," June 18, 2026. https://albanyherald.com/news/albany-area-farmers-hit-with-triple-whammy-high-costs-depressed-commodity-prices-drought/ ↩
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Yahoo News / UGA Extension, "UGA Extension update: 2025 row crop season well underway in Terrell County." https://www.yahoo.com/news/uga-extension-2025-row-crop-035900453.html ↩ ↩2
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Atlanta Journal-Constitution, "Georgia farmers fear crop losses as drought deepens," April 24, 2026. https://www.ajc.com/business/2026/04/pretty-scared-georgia-farmers-fear-crop-losses-as-drought-deepens/ ↩ ↩2
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AOL/Exclusive, "Georgia farmers learning to adapt to extreme heat." https://www.aol.ca/articles/georgia-farmers-learning-adapt-extreme-080238000.html ↩
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Colorado State University Source, "Researchers targeting drought-tolerance traits in crops," June 2026. https://agsci.source.colostate.edu/drought-resistant-crops/ ↩
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K-State Research and Extension, "Study: Compound effects of heat, drought and wind pound Great Plains wheat," December 2022. https://www.ksre.k-state.edu/news/stories/2022/12/agriculture-hot-dry-windy-impact-on-wheat.html ↩
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KCUR, "Farmers may lose a USDA program that helps them adapt to climate change," February 9, 2026. https://www.kcur.org/environment-agriculture/2026-02-09/usda-climate-hubs-midwest ↩
