On a hot summer morning in California's Central Valley, Howard Yu stands in his vegetable field, surveying rows of crops that have been his life's work. Behind him stretch fields of eggplants, peppers, and leafy greens—crops he has cultivated for decades as a Korean American farmer.
Howard's story is one of immigration, hard work, and deep connection to the land. He came to America from Korea in the 1970s with little more than determination and a willingness to work. Like many Korean immigrants of that era, he found opportunity in agriculture.
"When I first arrived, farming was one of the few options available to me," Howard explained in Korean-accented English, wiping sweat from his brow. "I didn't speak English well. I didn't have much money. But I knew how to work hard, and I understood farming from my childhood in Korea."
Howard started by working for other farmers, learning the American agricultural system. Over time, he saved enough money to lease land, and eventually, to purchase his own farm. Today, at seventy, he operates a successful operation spanning several acres in the Central Valley.
But Howard's farm is not typical of the large-scale industrial agriculture that dominates the region. Instead, Howard grows specialty crops—vegetables that appeal to Korean American consumers and others seeking high-quality produce. His fields are meticulously maintained, each row carefully tended.
"I take pride in my work," Howard said. "Every vegetable that leaves this farm must be perfect. That's how I was taught, both by my parents and by my early mentors in farming."
Howard's dedication extends beyond production. He is deeply involved in the local Korean American agricultural community. He mentors younger Korean American farmers, helps them navigate regulatory issues, and advocates for agricultural policies that protect small farmers.
"There are fewer and fewer small farmers like me," Howard said, looking out at his fields. "The big corporations are taking over. Young people don't want to farm anymore. They see it as too hard, not profitable enough. But farming is honest work. It connects you to the land, to the seasons, to something real."
His son, however, did not choose farming. After studying engineering in college, he works in Silicon Valley. "I wanted him to have different opportunities," Howard said, without regret. "Education, a profession—these are good things. But I wish he understood the value of what his father has built here."
Despite this, Howard's farm remains a source of pride for his entire family. His grandchildren occasionally visit during summer, learning about where food comes from and understanding their grandfather's lifelong commitment to the land.
Howard is acutely aware that his way of farming is becoming increasingly rare. Climate change, water scarcity, and pressure from large agricultural corporations all pose challenges to small-scale farmers. Yet he remains committed.
"I will farm until I can't anymore," he said simply. "This is who I am. This is what I do. And as long as there are people who want to eat good, honest vegetables, I will be here, growing them."
As the morning progressed and the sun climbed higher, Howard returned to his work, tending to his crops with the same care and attention he has devoted to farming for nearly five decades. In the rows of vegetables stretching across the California landscape, his legacy—and his love of the land—grows.