Carl Coleman’s Road to Change: A Farmer’s Reckoning with Soil and Seed

Some men find themselves at a crossroads by accident, others by quiet deliberation. Carl Coleman found himself there through a little of both.

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I first met Carl in North Carolina in 2011, but not because we had planned it. I was there filming Under Cover Farmers, and Carl was on a separate trip, visiting Curtis Furr, John Pickler, and Nate Lowder—three farmers already rethinking what their land could do. That chance meeting began a conversation that would carry on for more than a decade, shifting from casual exchanges to daily phone calls, from curiosity to collaboration. Neither of us knew then that we’d end up testing some of the most entrenched ideas in modern agriculture.

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Carl was a conventional row crop farmer back then, successful by all the usual measures. But like many good farmers, he paid attention—to his soil, to his neighbors, to what worked and what didn’t. And when he heard Ray Archuleta speak about soil health, something in him recognized an unsettling truth: if even half of what Ray was saying was right, then there were some serious holes in what he had been taught about fertilizers, soil fertility, and yield. That realization didn’t sit quietly.

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Our first real collaboration came through a USDA Conservation Innovation Grant (CIG), where five farmers contributed small acreages to test cover crops. At the time, we were just looking at nitrogen—how much of it was needed, and whether cover crops could help reduce dependency on synthetic fertilizers. The results were intriguing enough that we decided to go further. What started with small plots soon turned into a larger experiment, one that required rigorous testing, funding, and, most importantly, a willingness to question everything we thought we knew.

Carl and I set up randomized, replicated plots on his farm. It was a scientist-producer collaboration, the kind that doesn’t happen often but should happen more. Carl handled the farming; I handled the science. We crowd-funded through Experiment.com, launching two projects: How Much Fertilizer Do We Really Need? And No, But Seriously, How Much Fertilizer Do We Really Need? The joke in the second title wasn’t just for laughs—it was an acknowledgment that our first findings had been so unexpected that even we needed to double-check ourselves.

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What we discovered in those early years—between 2013 and 2018—was almost inconceivable at the time. Soil nutrient levels stayed stable even when we drastically reduced synthetic fertilizers. Yields didn’t collapse. In some cases, they even improved. Inputs went down, and profits went up. Yet, when we shared our findings, the response from many in the agricultural community was hesitant. Not because they were bad actors—extension agents, consultants, and agronomists are good-hearted folks who want the best for farmers. But change comes hard, especially when it challenges decades of agronomic doctrine.

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Still, the landscape was shifting. What was once considered outlandish—cover crops, reduced fertilizer use, biologically active soils—is now being studied seriously by extension and industry alike. The skepticism has softened, and early adopters like Carl played a significant role in that shift.

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To hear more about Carl’s soil health journey, check out our 2-part podcast interview with him here.

As more farmers came to him with questions—not just about soil health, but about seeds—Carl found himself drawn into another problem: the narrowing choices available to producers. A farmer looking for corn or soybean seed had two options—pay for the latest genetically modified hybrids stacked with traits they might not need or settle for whatever was left over. There was little room for choice, little room to match seed to system.

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Carl, true to form, found a way. He began sourcing open-source and public-domain seeds, varieties that had been developed for resilience, for performance, but without the expensive genetic modifications that farmers were told they needed. These seeds often cost a fraction of the latest commercial hybrids and, to the surprise of many, yielded just as well. For farmers looking to cut costs without cutting production, Carl’s solutions weren’t just an alternative—they were a revelation.

This journey, from farmer to collaborator to disruptor in the seed business, wasn’t something Carl planned. But change rarely arrives in a straight line. It follows the contours of the land, bends to the weather, and depends on those willing to walk the unmarked trail first. Today, Carl’s business, Choice Ag, gives farmers something rare—a real choice. And when I think back to that first meeting in North Carolina, I realize how inevitable this road always was, not because it was clear, but because Carl was always going to be the kind of man who asked the hard questions and refused easy answers.

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Some roads you choose. Others, you discover you’ve been walking all along.

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