How One Missouri Farmer Built His Empire from Scratch
Gavin Spoor remembers walking every inch of his first six acres. He was out there every other day, hunting down water hemp and volunteer corn with the methodical precision of a surgeon. There wasn't a single weed in that pristine field in Northeast Missouri, and he was pumped about every square foot of it.
"I was out there every other day. We sprayed and had a few escapes, so I walked the whole six acres me and my younger brother and one of my friends," Spoor recalls. "There was not a water hemp or weed in that field. It was pristine."
Seven years later, Spoor farms 2,000 acres of corn, soybeans, wheat, milo, and his signature crop—popcorn that ships to all 50 states. He's proof that in American agriculture, you don't need to inherit land to build an empire. You just need to want it badly enough to sacrifice everything else.
The Farm Kid Who Wasn't
Spoor grew up staring out his kitchen window at neighbors driving tractors across fields he didn't own. His family rented a house on a farm for over 20 years, close enough to smell the diesel exhaust and hear the combines working late into the night, but far enough from ownership to make his dreams feel impossible.
His grandfather had been a farmer, raising eight children on a quarter section that was three-quarters woods. "He passed away 20 years before I was born," Spoor says. "But never got to meet him. He passed away in 1977."
Without a father or grandfather to guide him, Spoor became the adopted sidekick of every farmer within a 10-mile radius. He'd finish elementary school and jump into whatever tractor, combine, or semi-truck would have him.
"All these farmers, they had sons and daughters who were older than me that had moved away from the farm, so none of them had kids," he explains. "I was like their little farming buddy, their little sidekick that would pester them with tractor questions."
When he turned 21, those relationships led to his first opportunity—six rented acres and a chance to prove he could grow something. What he remembers most about learning the business side wasn't the planting or harvesting. It was everything else.
"I rode with farmers and helped farmers out throughout high school and college, so I had a basic grasp of the farming side of it," Spoor says. "But then learning the financial side of it was like drinking from a fire hose."
Gavin Spoor represents the new generation of agriculture—first-generation farmers who are building empires from scratch in a world where most inherit their operations.
The Growth Problem
Spoor's biggest challenge wasn't finding land or equipment. It was managing success. When you're trying to jump from six acres to 100, then 500, then 2,000, you're not growing at the sustainable 5 to 7 percent that bankers recommend. You're trying to grow 100 percent year after year, and your skills have to keep pace.
"The biggest growing pain I would say is trying to have my level of education keep up with the level of growth," Spoor explains. "'Cause I've been blessed with tons of growth, but when it comes fast and my skill set doesn't necessarily keep up with it, and me, like many other young guys, you don't wanna say no to an opportunity."
The pressure is unique to commodity farming. Unlike other businesses that can scale gradually, row crop operations require a minimum size to survive. "You have to get to a certain size because you touch so many dollars and keep so few," Spoor says. "And when it's all cash rent or crop share, if you don't have a paid-for land base, it's just difficult."
Timing became everything. Spoor started farming in 2017, just as equipment values began inflating during COVID. For three or four years, he could buy a piece of equipment, use it for a season, and sell it for more than he paid. That arbitrage funded his next jump in scale.
"But now as we're heading down and equipment's going back down in value, if a dude tried to copy what I did, it would not work right out of the gate," he admits. "But it worked for me three or four years in a row."
Old Iron, New Tricks
This year, Spoor made a statement by breaking out a 1966 International Harvester 1066 tractor for planting. It was a deliberate pivot from the shiny new equipment that had defined his social media presence the year before.
"I almost felt like I was pretending to be this big successful farmer that I wasn't because it's great to get to run this brand new stuff, but if I didn't have a social media platform to back that up I wouldn't be buying brand new equipment," Spoor says. "I'd be doing exactly what I'm doing this year, which is running old stuff, and just getting the crop in the ground."
He completely rebuilt a 50-year-old planter, adding row clutches and aftermarket parallel arms. "So we took a 50-year-old planter and made it as good as a new one could be for probably a sixth of the cost," he explains.
That philosophy extends to his equipment strategy. Spoor advocates for investing in a quality sprayer with individual nozzle control, which saves him money on his scattered Northeast Missouri fields. Combines, he argues, are where young farmers overspend. "A combine's a combine, I think. You can get a clean sample out of anything."
The Popcorn Revelation
Spoor's breakthrough came not from scaling corn and soybeans, but from growing something nobody else was growing. Popcorn production mirrors field corn through most of the season, but harvest requires gentle handling to avoid nicking kernels. After harvest, he ships his crop to Kansas for food-grade cleaning, then stores it in a climate-controlled warehouse on his farm.
The business model is completely direct-to-consumer. "We ship to all 50 states, and then also movie theaters, kettle corn companies," he says.
The key was building an audience before he had anything to sell. Without a Facebook account, Spoor created both personal and business pages specifically to market popcorn. Every Sunday after church, he'd make a one-minute video update from his field.
"This is what the popcorn looks like. I'm young and stupid, and I'm a popcorn farmer now. Check this out," he'd tell the camera. "So I had this following before I ever had the crop ready to sell of people invested in my popcorn."
Social media became more than marketing—it became his primary business development tool. Multiple farms came to him through Facebook connections, including deer hunters who wanted good farmers on their land.
"Without Facebook or something like that, I don't know if half those people would've ever heard of me," Spoor says.
The First-Generation Advantage
Rather than feeling disadvantaged by his lack of family legacy, Spoor sees freedom in building from nothing. "If something were to fail, I don't feel like I'm letting dad or grandpa down because if they didn't build it and I lose it, everything I've built has been in the past few years and it's all on me," he explains.
His advice to other young farmers centers on one philosophy: "Dreams only work if you do." He's seen the guy at a gas station who started farming because he watched Spoor's videos for six years. He's fielded calls from young farmers looking for proof that it's still possible.
"There's opportunity everywhere," Spoor insists. "There's a guy that's gonna be starting this year or next year that's gonna surpass whatever I've accomplished just because he finds a niche and runs with it."
In Martinsburg, Missouri—population 304—they still believe in small-town dreams and the farmers who chase them. Spoor represents something increasingly rare: proof that American agriculture still has room for those willing to start with six acres and build an empire one kernel at a time.
