When the World's Supply Chains Wobble, it’s Felt at the Farm Gate

This spring, the conflict in the Gulf put fertiliser prices and supply in doubt across the country, which farmers had no say in. The Strait of Hormuz, a narrow stretch of water between Iran and Oman, carries close to a fifth of the world’s oil and a large share of its liquefied natural gas. When traffic through it falters, as it has for much of this year, the effects reach far inland, onto farms that hitherto have never given the place a moment’s thought. Whether it is moving freely this week or blocked again the next, the lesson we have learned won’t be forgotten in a hurry.

The connection, for a beef herd in Northumberland or a dairy unit in Cheshire, runs through natural gas. It is the raw material for nitrogen fertiliser, so when gas supply tightens, and its price climbs, fertiliser follows close behind. That is what happened over the past few months, with urea prices climbing steeply within a matter of weeks as Gulf production stalled and major exporters held back supply. Unlike oil, there is no strategic reserve of fertiliser to fall back on when supply fails. A farm that leans on bought-in nitrogen to grow its grass is, in a very real sense, exposed to a conflict it plays no part in and cannot influence.

This relates very closely to the heart of why I set up Ruminant Revival. A farm that needs a particular input to function is dependent on it, and some would say “addicted” to it. Take away fertiliser overnight, and production drops, because the whole system has been built around its presence. Resilience, then, cannot be bought in a hurry when prices spike. It has to be built slowly, across seasons and years, by changing the system so it needs less in the first place.

There is a definition of sustainability that I often hear and do not accept. It goes like this: we have fewer dairy cows than ever, and we are producing more milk than ever, so the system must be getting more sustainable. Getting more from less is a real achievement, but it is not the same as farming in a way that will still work in ten, twenty, or fifty years. If today’s gains rest on inputs that might not be there, or might not be affordable, the next time we reach for them, we have banked the cash now and left the harder question for those who come after us.

We treat other finite tools the same way. Antibiotics and wormers worked so well for so long that using them by the calendar felt like common sense, right up until resistance started taking them out of our hands. The fertiliser story is the same: it’s a resource that looks endless but is worth treating as though it isn’t, while we still have the choice.

Reducing an input is a long-term change, never a switch to flick at a moment’s notice. A pasture grown on a single grass species and regular bagged nitrogen suffers the moment that nitrogen is removed. The same field, sown with a wider mix of species, deeper-rooted plants, and legumes that fix their own nitrogen, feeds itself far more often. Better soil structure holds water during dry spells, and hedgerows and shelter affect how stock behave and ease heat stress. Each is a small step that leaves the farm less hostage to the next price shock, and most of them earn their place, whatever happens in the Gulf or any other flashpoint of geopolitical tension.

What gives me some optimism is that we have the answers. We know a great deal about how to build resilient livestock systems that require fewer bought-in inputs. What it takes is the will to begin, and proper support for farmers through a change that cannot be done in one season. The past few months are a reminder of why that work matters, and why real food security rests on farms that can keep producing when the supply lines beyond the farm gate come under strain. Another shock will come, whether from the Gulf or somewhere we are not yet watching. The farms that come through it in the best shape will be those that start planning for a future less reliant on supplies vulnerable to events taking place thousands of miles away.