As a teenager, Ryan White learned to harvest manoomin from his father and grandfather on the White Earth Reservation.

The Minnesota lakes are surrounded by towering pines, the shallows hidden by tall grass, where the sacred wild rice grows. Every fall, he rows out on one of these pristine lakes, some of which ban motor boats during harvest season to keep the water pollution-free and the wild rice beds undisturbed.

Among the tall grass, White fills his canoe with the grain that’s part of the Ojibwe creation story. 

“Most ricers start out as polers, and you just push them around,” he said. “As you gain experience, you’ll kind of figure out where the riper rice is, where the thicker rice is, and just get to know the bed and know the lake.” 

But White, a citizen of the Leech Lake Band of Ojibwe and the director of advancement and public affairs at Leech Lake Tribal College, also knows to avoid harvesting from a certain part of the lake — Pike Bay Channel. 

The channel abuts an active Superfund site that is part of a federal government cleanup program for some of the most polluted areas in the country. The site sits between State Highway 371 and Pike Bay, a 4,700-acre lake just outside the city of Cass Lake. Groundwater pollution stretches east beneath the channel and is migrating to the surface. And recent testing shows that the groundwater pollution is spreading south to Fox Creek, which flows into Pike Bay. 

It’s putting wild rice harvesting — and Ojibwe traditions — in further jeopardy. And if contamination spreads, it could become a problem for communities downstream. Pike Bay and Cass Lake, the 15,000-acre body of water that gives the city its name, are part of a chain of lakes in Minnesota that form the headwaters of the Mississippi River. 

The Environmental Protection Agency has been working to clean up the hazardous waste contamination in Cass Lake for more than 40 years. The primary solution is a water treatment plant that takes groundwater from multiple wells on the site, filters out the toxic pollutants and pumps the treated water into Pike Bay Channel, which connects Pike Bay and Cass Lake. 

The system is meant to clean the contaminated groundwater and prevent its spread.

“It’s failing in both respects,” Eric Krumm, the Leech Lake band’s Superfund coordinator, told Buffalo’s Fire.

From 1957 to 1985, the St. Regis Paper Company operated a wood preserving facility in Cass Lake. During that time, it used the land as a dumping ground for its waste. 

Workers placed wood soaked in hazardous preservatives next to homes, filling them with the smell of tar and mothballs. They burned waste products and discharged about 500 gallons of sludge and wastewater per day into onsite holding ponds, storm drains and the city dump.

The main chemicals of concern are creosote, a tar-like byproduct of burning coal or wood, and pentachlorophenol, a manufactured chemical that the EPA is phasing out and will ban by 2027. Both substances are considered potential carcinogens by the EPA.

When the facility was active, the community was directly exposed to these chemicals at a swimming hole dubbed “Rainbow Pond” because of the iridescent sheen on the water from creosote runoff. In the neighborhood next to the facility, residents breathed in toxic fumes from the burning of the facility’s waste product, and contaminated soil and dust were tracked into homes. 

The EPA designated the 163-acre facility as a Superfund site in 1984 and placed it on the National Priorities List. A year later, the St. Regis Paper Company stopped operations. Residents were bought out of their homes. Businesses closed. And 42,000 cubic yards of contaminated sludge and soil were excavated and buried in a lined containment vault a quarter mile from downtown.

The South Side neighborhood of Cass Lake is now a vacant field called “the great expanse,” surrounded by short, stunted pines. It serves as a reminder of the paper company’s pollution. 

A ‘stable’ situation … or ‘stagnant’

The cleanup plan is now led by International Paper Co., a paper manufacturer headquartered in Tennessee, which acquired St. Regis and assumed cleanup in 2000. The EPA oversees cleanup, with the Leech Lake Band of Ojibwe Division of Resource Management and the Minnesota Pollution Control Agency providing feedback.

The groundwater treatment plan has remained unchanged since water extraction wells and the on-site water treatment facility were constructed in 1987, but the federal government and the band differ on its effectiveness

The EPA’s 2025 Five-Year Review showed decreasing contamination at the core of the plume, but it also showed unsafe pentachlorophenol levels east of the plume near Pike Bay Channel and south near Fox Creek. Of 89 monitoring locations on the site, 58 had pentachlorophenol levels that exceeded the band’s standards, greater than 0.02 parts per billion (ppb), and 36 exceeded EPA standards, greater than 1 ppb. 

The EPA calls these levels “stable.” Krumm calls them “stagnant.” 

The treatment plant was supposed to reduce the groundwater plume and render it effectively contained by 2011. Yet, the treatment plant is still required today — 40 years later — to keep the plume in check. And according to the EPA’s 2025 report, the groundwater “cleanup timelines could extend well beyond 2051 if the system were to remain operating as-is.” 

Groundwater testing by the Leech Lake Band shows that the plume has spread beyond the extraction boundaries and beneath Pike Bay Channel. 

The EPA said this doesn’t necessarily mean that the plume is growing. Rather, as the agency does more testing, “the shape of the plume is changed to reflect that new data.”

There are also fears other chemicals may be present. 

While the plant removes most contaminants, Krumm said, treated water “regularly exceeds” healthy limits of dioxins. This group of highly toxic chemical compounds is believed to have been introduced to the soil and waters of Cass Lake by workers burning waste and wood at the St. Regis facility in the ’80s.

Limits placed on traditional foods

Brenda Eskenazi, a University of California Berkeley public health professor who studies dioxin exposure, told Buffalo’s Fire that dioxin is a potent carcinogen that interferes with hormones and can cause fertility and developmental problems. 

“It has a very, very, very long half-life,” she said, which “means it hangs out in the body and in the environment for very long periods of time.” 

In 2001, the EPA conducted testing on white fish in Cass Lake, which showed dioxin levels in some was 10 times higher than those in nearby lakes. That has fed concerns that community members may be taking in chemicals indirectly through their food sources, including white fish and wild rice, which are staples of the Ojibwe diet. 

The Leech Lake Band advises tribal members to remove as much fat, where dioxin accumulates, from Pike Bay and Cass Lake fish, while recommending that pregnant women and children avoid eating them altogether. But as stated in the band’s 2024 report, “consumption advisories for Treaty fish are like telling average Americans to limit meat or bread consumption.”

Limits are also placed on wild rice. Though the band has not issued a consumption guide for the grain, out of the thousands of pounds of wild rice it buys from tribal members each year for processing, Krumm said none are from Pike Bay Channel. 

Brandy Toft, environmental director for the band’s Division of Resource Management, told Buffalo’s Fire that there aren’t enough extraction wells to capture the contaminated groundwater and prevent its spread. 

Standing among the tall grass at Fox Creek next to EPA monitoring wells, she said the groundwater is like a wave pool, and the contamination is like dye dropped into it. The extraction wells are like straws trying to suck all the dye out of the pool, but there just aren’t enough straws, she said. 

“Especially in a subsistence Indigenous community that has every right, literally every right, to hunt, fish, gather in these areas or surrounding areas without fear or without exclusion from those zones because of contamination,” she said. 

International Paper has not included plans to update the water treatment plant, beyond replacing filters, in its most recent remediation report. The company did not respond to requests for comment.

Disrupting a way of life

Back at the Leech Lake Reservation, White harvests wild rice every year with his sons, 16-year-old Debwe and 14-year-old Arrow — a tradition he is passing down. 

Eight years ago, he took his sons ricing for the first time. White said they were just “moseying along,” collecting rice here and there, when Arrow saw another little boy with more rice in his boat than him. Competitive, Arrow looked at his dad with excitement, urging him to hurry up. 

Arrow’s love of ricing came “naturally,” said White. “He had just seen it in our people and how much we care about that rice. Even at a very young age, you know that it’s important.”

Minnesota Ojibwe tribes, including Leech Lake, harvest wild rice in beds along the St. Louis River and in shallow lakes that make up the headwaters of the Mississippi River — and have been for centuries. Ojibwe ancestors were sent to the region by a prophecy that told them to travel west from the East Coast until they found the “food that grows on water.” 

“It’s called the sacred berry, or the good berry,” said White. “It’s food, but also, it’s medicine. It’s who we are.”

He said wild rice has also provided for the Ojibwe. Today, many tribal members rely on a steady wild rice harvest to supplement their income in the fall.

“There’s times where I had to use my income from wild rice to pretty much pay the bills, keep a roof over my head and keep the lights on,” said White. 

But they have been limiting where they harvest since Pike Bay Channel is off-limits to tribal members.

“That’s what may happen in the future for the entire Pike Bay and the surrounding waterways,” said White, “and all that connects to the Mississippi River. And we’re pumping that directly into the lake.” 

Community impact

So, why can’t Leech Lake tribal members just fish and harvest wild rice at a different lake? 

Harvest practices are deeply tied to place and identity for Native communities, Anton Treuer, a Leech Lake citizen and a professor of Ojibwe at Bemidji State University, told Buffalo’s Fire. 

“Being a Leech Lake Ojibwe person is connected to harvesting fish at Leech Lake,” he said. “The argument that someone should just pack up their bags and drive to Lake of the Woods and harvest a walleye that doesn’t hurt them is silly for a variety of reasons.”

The St. Regis Paper Co. hasn’t used Cass Lake as its dumping ground for more than 40 years, but Treuer said it’s still in the consciousness of tribal members today. He explains it as “an icky feeling.” Is it safe to drink tap water? Is it safe to go swimming in Cass Lake? 

“It never feels as safe as it should be, and people intentionally avoid that space to the degree that they reasonably can,” he said, which has an “immediate impact on people’s ability and willingness to participate in certain cultural practices.”

On top of limiting where tribal members can practice subsistence fishing and harvesting, the Superfund site also impacts ceremonies, said Treuer, who lives on the reservation near Cass Lake. Cedar, commonly burned in ceremonies, must be harvested out of town, he said, and the Superfund site occupies the area where first-kill ceremonies, a rite of passage for young Native hunters, were traditionally held. 

Toft, from the band’s Division of Resource Management, called the Superfund a “black cloud over Cass Lake.”  

“It just keeps hanging there,” she said. 

The fight to preserve Ojibwe culture

But community members are making efforts to promote Ojibwe culture and language on the reservation.  

Bug-O-Nay-Ge-Shig, a K-12 school, serves more than 200 students of various tribal backgrounds. Operated by the band, the school is located 15 miles from the town of Cass Lake, teaches kids the Ojibwe language and encourages cultural engagement. The school holds a Culture Camp each year where students take language classes, learn traditional crafts like drum making and beading, and take part in traditional Ojibwe pastimes. 

The Leech Lake Tribal College also offers a course on nationhood and manoomin, taught by Leech Lake elder Elaine Fleming with help from White.

“When we’re on the water, I’ll be the one out there showing them how to rice — how to use the pole, how to knock, how to knock in a good way,” he said.

Treuer said other tribal initiatives are helping the band reclaim their land, language and culture. Around Cass Lake, signage is printed in both Ojibwe and English. And in June 2024, more than 11,000 acres of ancestral land, previously managed by the Chippewa National Forest, was returned to the band. 

“The Ojibwe at Leech Lake, and really everywhere, we’re in for the fight of our lives,” said Treuer, “to keep our language alive and to keep our cultural practices vibrant.” 

Even if part of the reservation hadn’t been turned into a Superfund site, he said, the Ojibwe community would still be building back their culture from other impacts of colonization, including residential boarding schools and the mass slaughter of buffalo. 

While 40 years of Superfund cleanup has accelerated those impacts, Toft said, in the centuries of Ojibwe history, a few decades aren’t deterring the community from fighting for their land and culture. 

“We think differently,” she said, “and we’re in for the long haul.”

This story is a product of the Mississippi River Basin Ag & Water Desk, an independent reporting network based at the University of Missouri in partnership with Report for America, with major funding from the Walton Family Foundation. 

Wisconsin Watch is a member of the Ag & Water Desk network. Sign up for our newsletters to get our news straight to your inbox.

A Superfund site in Minnesota is spreading, disrupting a tribe’s way of life is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.

Tyler Stafslien is a fourth-generation farmer who’s worked his family’s land in central North Dakota for about 20 years. Roughly half of his 2,500 acres is typically dedicated to soybeans, a major crop in the state and in the Mississippi River Basin. But growing soybeans has become less profitable over the last decade as input costs rose and the Trump administration’s tariff negotiations in 2018 and 2025 destabilized trade and strained farmers’ incomes. 

This year, wary of the precarious export market, Stafslien decreased his soybean acres by half.

“We’ve been experiencing in ag, the last couple of years, a downturn in commodity prices, a lot of that related to just a large supply across the globe of major commodities, but then you add this trade war on top of it, and it’s like the icing on the cake,” Stafslien said.

The administration this month announced a $12 billion fund for one-time payments to row crop farmers to offset a portion of their inflation- and trade-related losses in the 2025 crop year.

Farmers were asking for the federal relief funds and are happy the administration is finally answering, said Stafslien. But he’s still facing uncertainty. The administration has yet to announce how much money per acre eligible growers will be receiving, and the funds will not be distributed until February, further stressing farmers like him with large debt and growing interest.

“Payments announced this week must be followed by additional and expedient efforts to keep farmers on the land and to improve the farm safety net, leaving annual bailouts as cautionary historical context rather than ongoing policy,” David Howard, policy development director of the National Young Farmers Coalition, wrote in a statement earlier in December. 

Farmers and farming associations are looking for longer-term solutions: to diversify trade partners and increase domestic uses for soybeans as export revenues become less certain. Some, like Stafslien, are shifting to other crops, like corn and wheat.

Soybeans are the largest agricultural export in the U.S. The legume covers more than 81 million acres — or 10% — of all U.S. farmland, the U.S. Department of Agriculture reported in September, and more than 40% of the nation’s soybeans are exported to other countries. 

U.S. farmers received $24.5 billion from soybean exports in 2024, with Chinese purchases accounting for $12.6 billion – roughly twice the amount purchased by the next five largest export partners combined, according to USDA data.

But this year, China stopped purchasing U.S. soybeans during tariff negotiations with the Trump administration, instead falling back on its relationships with Brazil and other South American countries to meet its soybean needs. For U.S. soybean farmers, this growing season ends with low prices, unsold harvests, big financial losses and uncertainty going into the next season despite a tentative new deal with China. 

“We learned firsthand that being heavily reliant on China for export sales is only good when things are good,” said Andrew Muhammad, University of Tennessee professor of agricultural and resource economics.

How did we get here?

Soybeans brought by traders and missionaries from Asia first took root in North America in small quantities in the 1700s, but the USDA did not begin tracking soybeans as a crop until the early 1920s. 

Around that time, the USDA, land grant university extension agents and farm groups started to promote the soybean to farmers as a soil-fertilizing crop that yielded high-protein meal for animal feed, oil and even meat replacements for human consumption. The Mississippi River Basin’s flat plains and intermittent rain proved to be ideal conditions for the crop. 

Soybeans gained a foothold on U.S. farms in “fits and starts” over several decades, author Matthew Roth writes in his book, “Magic Bean: The Rise of Soy in America,” but really took off  as a cash crop after World War I. Its success was later buoyed by the Agricultural Adjustment Act that allowed soy plantings while restricting other commodities as a way to stabilize crop prices during the Great Depression, policies limiting foreign oils, and the growing need for animal feed and oil during World War II, according to Roth.

The crop helped diversify farming in the South and Midwest. By the 1960s, Roth writes, “the soybean had insinuated itself thoroughly into the American diet,” but indirectly – as feed for the country’s livestock, oils for salads and derivatives in processed foods.

At the same time, soybeans proved to be a desirable product for international trade partners. In 1989, U.S. soybean exports totaled around $4 billion, about a fifth of which went to Japan. The Freedom to Farm Act in 1996 allowed farmers to plant single-crop fields, and with rising export demand from China starting in the early 1990s, many farmers chose to plant soybeans, Roth wrote.

In 2001, China joined the World Trade Organization and gained better access to globalized trade with the organization’s members, including the U.S., according to Muhammad and the Council on Foreign Relations. From there, growth in China’s tourism economy and middle class spurred increased demand for meat protein, Muhammad said, heightening the country’s need for animal feed in the form of U.S. soybeans. 

By 2000, the crop was planted on more than 74 million U.S. acres, according to the National Agricultural Statistics Service.

“Over time, China has grown, and it seems to be the case that our total export sales have grown with our exports to China,” Muhammad explained. “They’ve sort of driven that rise over the last two decades.”

Brazil’s soybean industry has competed with American exports since the 1970s, but since 2017 has consistently exported more than the U.S. 

When Trump first upped tariffs on Chinese goods in 2018, China retaliated, Muhammad said, and began investing more heavily in purchases and transportation infrastructure in Brazil. The turn toward Brazil as a primary provider during trade negotiations in 2025 “represents a return on that investment (for China),” he said.

Farmers in the U.S. are reckoning with the fallout. 

Farming pains and changing plans

Justin Sherlock farms 2,400 acres of corn and soybeans in eastern North Dakota. His dad started farming in the early 2000s and he took over the farm in 2012.

“The last, you know, 13 years that I’ve been going, the last decade, has been pretty tough to really try and get established,” he said. 

For Sherlock, China coming to market very late in the 2025 harvest season was a blow to profits. Nearly one-quarter of the state’s agricultural exports hinge on soybeans, with China serving as the largest market for U.S. grain.

Sherlock was able to sell most of his soybean crop early to North Dakota soybean elevators — facilities that store the beans — which then found domestic processors in Nebraska and Kansas to sell to. But those domestic markets were also absorbing the supply that would typically be exported to China, so prices — around $8.65 per bushel — dropped significantly below Sherlock’s cost of production. He said he will lose “several hundred thousands of dollars” this year, on top of similar losses last year. 

“We just have to find a way to hopefully make it to next year,” he said. “That’s the struggle right now for a lot of producers.” 

Especially for young or beginning producers, said Sherlock, farmers will likely be having “tough financial discussions with their bankers and lenders.” Or, worst case scenario, these losses could mean losing their farms.

“You cannot have a successful agriculture industry in North Dakota without trade,” he said. “It’s so important that we fix these trade relationships and get back to doing business with other countries.” 

Trade uncertainty was keenly felt by soybean farmers in several Mississippi River Basin states, many of which lead the nation in soybean production and exports. 

Illinois accounts for 16% of the country’s total soybean exports, followed by Iowa with 13%, according to the most recent data from the U.S. Department of Agriculture’s Economic Research Service. North Dakota comprises 5% of national exports.

Even in states that aren’t among the country’s top producers, soybeans can make up a significant portion of the state farm economy. Tennessee ranks 16th in the nation for soybean exports, for example, but soybeans were the highest-ranked agricultural commodity produced in the state in 2023, bringing in more than $990 million in cash receipts. In 2025, soybeans covered nearly 1.5 million acres of Tennessee farmland – the most of any crop in the state – according to the University of Tennessee Institute of Agriculture.

The USDA’s Economic Research Service reported in July that more soybeans are being processed domestically. Most of the soybeans that stay in the U.S. are crushed into oil and meal, and a majority of that meal goes toward feeding livestock. The oil is used in biofuels, for industrial uses, and in food. New crush facilities that separate the beans into oil and meal are under construction in North Dakota, Nebraska, Wisconsin, Iowa, Kansas and Ohio — states that previously shipped soybeans to other countries to be processed. Biofuel has increased domestic demand for soybeans — and crush facilities — since around 2010, providing an alternative for farmers facing lower demand from traditional export partners.

April Hemmes, a fourth-generation farmer in north-central Iowa, said in September that she is fortunate to have nearby options for her beans: There is an ethanol plant and a crush facility that makes soybean meal, biodiesel and food-grade oil, about 10 miles away from her farm. Farmers who don’t have those options will have a harder time adapting to changing export markets, she wrote in an email.

The lack of money in farmers’ pockets is trickling down to other sectors in farming communities, too, said John Bartman, a regenerative farmer working about 850 acres in northern Illinois. He pointed to farm equipment dealers and factories in Illinois and Iowa that are shuttering well-paying jobs because business has been so slow. 

“So it’s more than just farmers who have been affected by this,” Bartman said. 

What comes next? 

In October, China and the U.S. hammered out a trade agreement. China agreed to purchase at least 12 million metric tons of U.S. soybeans by the end of the year, according to the White House, and will purchase at least 25 million metric tons each year through 2028. USDA export sales data from Oct. 2 through Dec. 8 shows China made soybean purchases from the U.S. totaling about 2.8 million metric tons.

For comparison, China purchased an annual average of 29 million metric tons of soybeans from the United States between 2020 and 2024, according to The Center for Strategic and International Studies, an international public policy think tank.

The deal “really isn’t much of a trade deal at all,” Bartman said.

“We’ve just gone through this tariff war, which we’re still going through right now, and what did we get out of it? China agreed to buy less soybeans than what we had last year, and we as farmers have suffered the collateral damage from this,” Bartman said.

With low trade prices and higher input costs, he warned, “we have not improved our economic situation for next year.”

Bartman is among farmers who are promoting investment in domestic uses for soybeans, including biofuels and plastics, though he acknowledges that a market the size of China’s will be “very difficult” to replace.

Muhammad said the turbulence in the soybean exports market shows that disruption of stable trade policy has consequences, which can hurt some sectors more than others.

The U.S. agriculture sector is often a political target in trade disputes, he said, because other countries understand the agricultural community’s significance in U.S. politics.

“It’s not a major export in the context of all exports, but it’s a politically viable community, and it carries a lot of heft in the context of trade agreements and trade policy because of the national security nature of food,” Muhammad said.

Farmers who are eligible for the Trump administration’s $12 billion Farmer Bridge Assistance program should expect the USDA to announce payment rates for crops the week of Dec. 22, according to the department. Payments are limited to up to $155,000 per person or legal entity.

The program appears similar to a $10 billion aid package offered to farmers impacted by trade retaliation in 2018. Those subsidies did not cover all of farmers’ losses. 

For many farmers like Sherlock, these subsidies are a necessity for short-term survival. He said any farming subsidies he receives go straight to paying his bills and paying off loans.

“There will be a lot of producers, especially young, beginning producers, who won’t be able to make it and farm next year if we don’t do something to help them pay their bills from this year,” he said.

Even established producers are worried. Stafslien works land that’s been in his family since 1912, but the tough years are piling up. 

“This is my future. This is my retirement. I don’t have a 401k plan. I have a farm,” said Stafslien, who lives on the farm with his wife, Shannon, and their two kids. “If I have to keep burning through this equity, that’s very, very scary for my future and my family’s future.”

This story is a product of the Mississippi River Basin Ag & Water Desk, an independent reporting network based at the University of Missouri in partnership with Report for America, with major funding from the Walton Family Foundation.

Wisconsin Watch is a member of the Ag & Water Desk network. Sign up for our newsletters to get our news straight to your inbox.

Soybeans have been a top US ag export for decades. What happens when the top buyer stops buying? is a post from Wisconsin Watch, a non-profit investigative news site covering Wisconsin since 2009. Please consider making a contribution to support our journalism.