Story and photos by Linda McGurk
A spring day in the late 1990s, a decade when many swine producers succumbed to low prices and huge losses, Adam Moody of Montgomery County sold a load of hogs for next to nothing. Later that day, he and his wife, Lucy, went to the grocery store to pick up an Easter ham, just to find out they couldn’t afford it. That was the pivotal moment when Moody recognized he would either have to give up farming and take a job in the city or drastically change the way he marketed his products. “I realized I wasn’t raising food for people, I was raising commodities for others to market,” Moody said.
On a mission to prove that it’s possible to make a decent living from a sustainable, diversified 200-acre farm, Moody started marketing his products from gate to plate, selling his meat directly to the consumer. The decision made him a pioneer at a time when local foods were little more than an exotic niche or, as he puts it, when “local foods weren’t cool,” and long before terms like “locavore,” “sustainable agriculture” and “food miles” had entered the general public’s vocabulary. “We started going to the farmers markets in Lafayette and Zionsville in 1997, and we did extremely well,” he recalled.
Today, Moody and his family raise cattle, hogs, sheep, chickens and laying hens, as well as a wide variety of grains at their Lone Pine Farm near the small town of Browns Valley. He has farmed sustainably since 1987, meaning that he’s sworn off the use of chemicals, growth hormones and antibiotics. Instead he favors a labor-intensive model reminiscent of the way most farms were run half a century ago, where each crop and animal is rotated through the farm, and pastures lay fallow every seven years. Each species thrives from the presence of another, collectively forming a vibrant ecosystem.
Moody’s 23-year-old son, Isaac, who is the farm’s production manager, summed up the farm’s philosophy: “As natural as can be,” he said while watching a herd of sheep and their frisky lambs scurry back and forth in the grass at the farm. “We were already doing all this before people started paying attention to being green and eco-friendly.”
Moody said his standards for the farm are even more stringent than those required for USDA’s organic certification. “We farm the way people would like to see people farm. It’s important to point out that I’m not against industrial farming, but my model puts the consumer against it. If they see the way I raise my hens and they see the way industry raises hens, they want to buy my eggs. I’m just providing a choice for people,” he said. “I farm this way not because of the consumer but because I believe this is how I should farm. The key thing is I don’t change anything for the animals for my benefit.”
All animals on the farm, including the broilers and beef cattle, are pastured, naturally fertilizing the land. Once they’re ready to go to market, Moody takes the animals to the processing facility in Ladoga that he and Lucy bought in 2000. The meat is then cut and sold both from the Ladoga store and from Moody Meats’ satellite store in Avon. The company also sells frozen meat through the Indianapolis-based business Farm Fresh Delivery, which buys produce from local farmers and takes it all the way to the customer’s doorstep.
The recession has done little to dampen the company’s growth; sales in the Avon store increased over 10 percent last year and Moody anticipates a 12-percent increase this year. In July, Moody Meats is opening a third store in Zionsville, and once that’s operational the number of full-time employees will grow from 18 to roughly 25.
“Over 80 percent of our customers come to us because of the quality, the rest are really pro-local,” Moody explained. Word of mouth and free samples are his most powerful marketing tools. “I’d rather give away $400 worth of meat every week than put an ad in the paper. Every new customer that comes to the store gets a free pound of bacon or ground beef,” he said.
Many become loyal customers, like Linda Estep of Ladoga. “They have very good, fresh meat and everything is nice and clean. I usually try to get my steaks from them,” Estep said. “If they don’t have something, they’ll usually cut it for me, so I feel special. The workers are always friendly and make me feel welcome.”
Moody believes the company’s authenticity and the relationship with customers like Estep are key to its success, especially at a time when people are getting more educated about where their food comes from. “There’s no substitute for knowing the producer and the processor, and we have cemented the relationship with the consumer. This is a transparent business – anybody can come out (to the farm), any time,” Moody said.
Transparency – and the consumer trust that it generates – is often cited as one of the main reasons people choose to buy local foods. And the recent food safety scares have only sent more customers Moody’s way. “If there’s a ground beef recall in the Midwest I know that for the next three to four weeks our sales will increase by about 14 percent. Whether (the threat) is perceived or actual is irrelevant to the market,” Moody said. “Perception is the marketing strong-arm of America, and Moody Meats is authentic.”
In the early days of the business, Moody would often spend long days at the Ladoga processing facility, handling everything from the morning’s first slaughter to the final clean-up. As the company is maturing he’s taken on more of a managing role, and has also become a go-to adviser on topics such as sustainable farming and local foods networks. He still sometimes starts the day on the kill floor, but now he may switch to his business suit mid-morning for a meeting with Lt. Gov. Becky Skillman. Later that day, he might hop back into his blue jeans and plaid flannel shirt to haul manure, then clean up and finish the day speaking about soil quality at a Soil and Water Conservation District meeting.
But when it comes down to it, there’s no question that the farm is where Moody’s heart is. The fact that his son Isaac and his 25-year-old daughter Rachel, whose husband, Chad Hassler, works as a processing manager at the Ladoga facility, both have chosen to stay in the area to raise their families makes Moody confident he was right to give farming a second chance instead of taking that job in the city. “Of all the things that I do, this is my nest egg,” Moody said, his gaze drifting toward a cattle herd lazily grazing in a sunny pasture outside his living room window. “And this is what’s going to provide my grandchildren with the opportunity to grow up like I did.”
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From Gate to Plate
Story and photos by Linda McGurk
A spring day in the late 1990s, a decade when many swine producers succumbed to low prices and huge losses, Adam Moody of Montgomery County sold a load of hogs for next to nothing. Later that day, he and his wife, Lucy, went to the grocery store to pick up an Easter ham, just to find out they couldn’t afford it. That was the pivotal moment when Moody recognized he would either have to give up farming and take a job in the city or drastically change the way he marketed his products. “I realized I wasn’t raising food for people, I was raising commodities for others to market,” Moody said.
On a mission to prove that it’s possible to make a decent living from a sustainable, diversified 200-acre farm, Moody started marketing his products from gate to plate, selling his meat directly to the consumer. The decision made him a pioneer at a time when local foods were little more than an exotic niche or, as he puts it, when “local foods weren’t cool,” and long before terms like “locavore,” “sustainable agriculture” and “food miles” had entered the general public’s vocabulary. “We started going to the farmers markets in Lafayette and Zionsville in 1997, and we did extremely well,” he recalled.
Today, Moody and his family raise cattle, hogs, sheep, chickens and laying hens, as well as a wide variety of grains at their Lone Pine Farm near the small town of Browns Valley. He has farmed sustainably since 1987, meaning that he’s sworn off the use of chemicals, growth hormones and antibiotics. Instead he favors a labor-intensive model reminiscent of the way most farms were run half a century ago, where each crop and animal is rotated through the farm, and pastures lay fallow every seven years. Each species thrives from the presence of another, collectively forming a vibrant ecosystem.
Moody’s 23-year-old son, Isaac, who is the farm’s production manager, summed up the farm’s philosophy: “As natural as can be,” he said while watching a herd of sheep and their frisky lambs scurry back and forth in the grass at the farm. “We were already doing all this before people started paying attention to being green and eco-friendly.”
Moody said his standards for the farm are even more stringent than those required for USDA’s organic certification. “We farm the way people would like to see people farm. It’s important to point out that I’m not against industrial farming, but my model puts the consumer against it. If they see the way I raise my hens and they see the way industry raises hens, they want to buy my eggs. I’m just providing a choice for people,” he said. “I farm this way not because of the consumer but because I believe this is how I should farm. The key thing is I don’t change anything for the animals for my benefit.”
All animals on the farm, including the broilers and beef cattle, are pastured, naturally fertilizing the land. Once they’re ready to go to market, Moody takes the animals to the processing facility in Ladoga that he and Lucy bought in 2000. The meat is then cut and sold both from the Ladoga store and from Moody Meats’ satellite store in Avon. The company also sells frozen meat through the Indianapolis-based business Farm Fresh Delivery, which buys produce from local farmers and takes it all the way to the customer’s doorstep.
The recession has done little to dampen the company’s growth; sales in the Avon store increased over 10 percent last year and Moody anticipates a 12-percent increase this year. In July, Moody Meats is opening a third store in Zionsville, and once that’s operational the number of full-time employees will grow from 18 to roughly 25.
“Over 80 percent of our customers come to us because of the quality, the rest are really pro-local,” Moody explained. Word of mouth and free samples are his most powerful marketing tools. “I’d rather give away $400 worth of meat every week than put an ad in the paper. Every new customer that comes to the store gets a free pound of bacon or ground beef,” he said.
Many become loyal customers, like Linda Estep of Ladoga. “They have very good, fresh meat and everything is nice and clean. I usually try to get my steaks from them,” Estep said. “If they don’t have something, they’ll usually cut it for me, so I feel special. The workers are always friendly and make me feel welcome.”
Moody believes the company’s authenticity and the relationship with customers like Estep are key to its success, especially at a time when people are getting more educated about where their food comes from. “There’s no substitute for knowing the producer and the processor, and we have cemented the relationship with the consumer. This is a transparent business – anybody can come out (to the farm), any time,” Moody said.
Transparency – and the consumer trust that it generates – is often cited as one of the main reasons people choose to buy local foods. And the recent food safety scares have only sent more customers Moody’s way. “If there’s a ground beef recall in the Midwest I know that for the next three to four weeks our sales will increase by about 14 percent. Whether (the threat) is perceived or actual is irrelevant to the market,” Moody said. “Perception is the marketing strong-arm of America, and Moody Meats is authentic.”
In the early days of the business, Moody would often spend long days at the Ladoga processing facility, handling everything from the morning’s first slaughter to the final clean-up. As the company is maturing he’s taken on more of a managing role, and has also become a go-to adviser on topics such as sustainable farming and local foods networks. He still sometimes starts the day on the kill floor, but now he may switch to his business suit mid-morning for a meeting with Lt. Gov. Becky Skillman. Later that day, he might hop back into his blue jeans and plaid flannel shirt to haul manure, then clean up and finish the day speaking about soil quality at a Soil and Water Conservation District meeting.
But when it comes down to it, there’s no question that the farm is where Moody’s heart is. The fact that his son Isaac and his 25-year-old daughter Rachel, whose husband, Chad Hassler, works as a processing manager at the Ladoga facility, both have chosen to stay in the area to raise their families makes Moody confident he was right to give farming a second chance instead of taking that job in the city. “Of all the things that I do, this is my nest egg,” Moody said, his gaze drifting toward a cattle herd lazily grazing in a sunny pasture outside his living room window. “And this is what’s going to provide my grandchildren with the opportunity to grow up like I did.”
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