The Banker Said "Get Out"
When the lender who cheered your expansion suddenly forecloses on your future, the rules of survival change. Jordan Morris explains how he rewrote his financial playbook to survive the volatility of 2026.
In January, the bank handed Jordan Morris the capital to rebuild a shop, construct dirt lots, and expand his cattle barns. By May, the conversation changed. The same institution that funded the expansion four months earlier delivered a new message: Find a new bank.
"They got you in a half Nelson," Morris says. "They’re getting ready to pin you because they’re not letting the pressure off. They’re gonna push and push until you’re gone."
Morris is not an outlier. Across the agricultural landscape, the relationship between producer and lender has shifted from partnership to antagonism. Banks that once encouraged aggressive growth are now looking at balance sheets with panicked scrutiny, forcing operators to restructure or exit entirely.
"It’s clear you guys just don’t want me to be your customer," Morris told his loan officer. The response was a simple, brutal confirmation. "It’s okay. Here’s your sign. Get out."
The Financial Pivot
Survival in the current economy requires more than just finding a new lender; it demands a fundamental change in how capital flows through an operation. For Morris, moving to a new bank wasn't just a transaction—it was a reclamation of his life.
"I feel like a whole new man," Morris tells host Jonathon Haralson on the “Your Ag Empire” podcast. "I can see it when I'm at home with my wife's response to things. I'm not crabby sitting in the corner… wondering how I'm gonna make something happen."
The fix involved a tactical shift in cash management. Agriculture typically runs on annual payments—huge, lump-sum withdrawals that drain liquidity and leave producers vulnerable for the other 11 months of the year. Morris flipped the script, converting his land and equipment notes to monthly payments.
"Annual payments are killers," Morris says. "If you can cash flow a monthly payment on something, do it."
By moving his equipment and his land notes to a monthly schedule, he reduced the interest load and kept working capital accessible. It is a defensive move that mimics commercial business structures, ensuring the operation doesn't starve while waiting for a harvest check.
The Equipment Trap
Beyond the bank, the machinery market has become a bloodbath. The old game of trading equipment every year to stay under warranty no longer works when trade-in values plummet and new sticker prices soar.
"We can't take $250,000 hits every year," Morris notes.
He points to a neighbor who bought a piece of equipment for $600,000, only to be offered $350,000 on trade a year later. That level of depreciation is unsustainable. Morris navigated this by trading down—dropping 5,000 hours on a trade to get into a bigger, newer tractor, but accepting that the days of easy flips are over.
For row crop farmers and custom cutters, the math is even uglier. Buying 10 combines at current interest rates, knowing the repair costs on modern emissions systems will likely double in the next 24 months, is a recipe for insolvency.
Profit Over Pride
The most dangerous adversary for the American farmer right now might be the coffee shop scoreboard. For decades, producers have competed on yield, chasing 300-bushel corn regardless of the input cost. In 2026, that vanity is expensive.
"Are we chasing bushels? Are we chasing profit?" Haralson asks. "My 120-bushel corn [in Texas] made a lot more money than that 270-bushel corn in Iowa."
With projected returns on corn sitting at a loss of $180 per acre and soybeans losing $120 per acre, the "kitchen sink" approach to fertility and chemical application must end. Morris advises a ruthless audit of inputs. If the ground has a low Corn Suitability Rating (CSR), putting premium nitrogen rates on it is burning cash.
"Your field is your best storage," Morris says, quoting industry expert Joe Sinclair. "Put double on when it's affordable. Don't put any on when you can't afford it... Don't put it out there just because your neighbor puts it out there."
The Empathy Deficit
The financial squeeze has revealed a darker side of the industry: a lack of empathy among neighbors. When a producer stumbles, the local gossip often turns predatory.
"I don't understand how people don't like seeing other people succeed," Morris says. "If I have a sick calf in my dirt lot by the road, I will know about it at 7:30 a.m. at the gas station... I didn't ever hear anybody offer, 'Hey, if you need help treating that thing, let me know.'"
This isolation fuels the mental health crisis plaguing rural communities. The pressure to hold onto a multi-generational legacy can feel crushing when the bank is calling and the cattle aren't gaining. Morris advocates for finding "3:00 a.m. friends"—peers who will answer the phone when the walls are closing in.
"Don't get bulldogged by your bank in thinking that you're doing something wrong and you don't have to go down with your ship," Morris says. "The ag sector's changing... Don't keep it all in."
The path forward isn't about working harder. It is about working differently. It requires stripping away the ego that demands new paint and record yields, and replacing it with a cold, hard focus on net profit and monthly cash flow. The bank may have changed the rules, but the operator still steers the ship.
