Washington State
CENTRAL WASHINGTON LAND GRAB
Mike Clayton inspects a bin full of sweetheart cherries. The Claytons are one of many farming families who have seen thousands of acres of Washington’s fertile land along with water rights scooped up by investment firms and private holding companies.
Family orchards are forced to sell in Central Washington in latest land grab
By Seattle Times
August 8, 2026
I FIRST LEARNED about April Clayton in the early summer of 2025 from the president of the Washington State Tree Fruit Association. I’d written to him to say I hoped to speak with an orchardist who’d recently gone broke — having heard, I added, that a lot of them had. “April Clayton,” he wrote back, “had to lease out her orchards last year. April would be a good one for you to meet.”
April Clayton picks Rainier cherries from her family’s orchard. After the family lost the farm she took a job teaching chemistry at Wenatchee Valley College.
I went online and listened to her on a podcast called “Real Food, Real People.” “I kind of resisted getting into farming at first,” she said, “because I didn’t want to be known as Mike’s wife. I’d just finished my Ph.D. I didn’t want to be, Oh, the farmer … Oh, you know, his wife.”
I called her. She was driving, on speaker phone. She drove endlessly, she told me. From her house it was 40 minutes to Wenatchee, where she almost always went for groceries. Right now, as we spoke, her daughter, Jojo, was at a theater day camp even further away, in Leavenworth. If she took Jojo to camp, then stopped for groceries, then went home, that meant 2½ hours of driving. Picking up Jojo at the end of the day meant another 2½ hours.
She was in Wenatchee a lot these days, she said, because since they’d lost the farm she’d taken a job teaching chemistry at Wenatchee Valley College.
Jojo, 13, loved performing in musical productions, and was in a troupe called StageKids. John, on the other hand — April’s 15-year-old son — was a relative homebody. What John liked to do was operate heavy equipment on the farm and play video games in the basement. As for Mike — April’s husband — he still did what he’d done before they’d leased away the farm: plant, irrigate, prune, thin, harvest, and manage apple and cherry orchards. He was supposed to be getting a salary for that, and April and Mike were supposed to be getting $1,450 annually for each acre they leased out, too, but so far, in year two of their lease, they’d hardly been paid.
The guy they were leasing to, April explained, had gotten overextended and, just like them, was biting the dust.
Say you’re an orchardist with a few acres of apples who contracts with a packer to ship your fruit to retailers. The contract ensures that when you deliver your apples, the packer will pay you for them. That said, the price you get for a bin of apples might be less than you paid to fill it. You don’t get to say, “My bins of apples are $100 each this year.” The packer, instead, names the price per bin.
Something else: If all you do is grow apples, the price you get for them will determine your financial fate, but if growing apples is only one aspect of your business, meaningful advantages will accrue to you. If, on top of growing apples, you buy them from other growers, sort and pack both yours and theirs, and market and ship both yours and theirs, you can take a loss on growing apples and make it up elsewhere. You can also lowball growers you buy apples from, and keep doing that until they are losing so much money they are all but forced to sell their orchards to you.
Buying up orchards and vertically integrating has obvious benefits. If you grow, pack and ship a hundred million apples and make a penny on each, you’ll make a million dollars, but if all you do is grow a million apples — paying, along the way, everything it costs to bring them to maturity and get them off your trees — you’ll be lucky to make $5,000.
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