Soil

For most, the word “muck” enters into daily vocabulary (if at all) as simply another way to describe the litany of dirty substances one encounters. Slime on the bottom of a boat? Yeah, that is muck. The muddy pathways at an outdoor music festival? Yeah, that is muck, too. Yet what most do not realize is that muck also refers to a specific soil type, one that until now, has enjoyed relative obscurity. So, with that in mind, we turn to the question: what is muck?

In short, muck is defined as a prodigiously fertile and highly decomposed soil that forms over thousands of years beneath wetland ecosystems. To explain, marshes, like those in Hardin County, are home to thousands of plants and animals. When these living organisms inevitably expire, their remains sink to the marshbed where they begin to decay. As time progresses, more and more organic material is added. This rapid accumulation, in conjunction with decreased levels of oxygenation on the marshbed, dramatically slows the rate of decomposition. In the end, such natural processes yield an incredibly dense and highly organic soil—one ideally suited for agricultural production. 

Additionally, muck shares many commonalities with a much more widely known soil type: peat. They both are exclusively formed in wetland ecosystems, and each possesses heightened fertility when compared to more widespread soil types. Based on these shared characteristics, the two are often mistakenly conflated. However, key differences do exist. First, muck soil represents an increased level of decomposition when compared to peat. In muck, for example, this means that no vegetative material remains present throughout, whereas it does in peat soils. Second, muck boasts a fine texture compared to the coarseness of peat, a direct result of the presence (or lack thereof) of vegetation found in both.

For growers, drained mucklands represented areas of highly prized acreage due to their heightened fertility and productive potential. In many places, like in the Scioto Marsh, this was the case for three main reasons. First, unlike more common mineral soils, muck required limited need for added nutrients and fertilizers. This, in turn, eliminated a significant portion of an operation’s expenditures as robust annual applications were not necessary. Second, muck proved uniquely suited to the cultivation of specialty commodities, such as root vegetables, as opposed to only traditional commodities like corn, wheat, rye, and soybeans. Beyond just differences in husbandry, vegetables offered significantly more return on investment per acre when compared to grains. In a market economy where every penny earned mattered immensely to growers, any chance to diversify and increase profit security was vigorously pursued. Finally, in tandem with the previous benefits, muck soil routinely returned harvests of the highest quality. When taken jointly, it is no surprise that growers preferred mucklands to their alternatives. 

Interestingly, these fertile regions were found across the northern United States in states like Indiana, Michigan, New York, Ohio, and Wisconsin. Though separated by hundreds of miles, they all shared a common history which included wetland drainage to achieve muckland production. Moreover, they also sowed broadly the same commodities such as onions, potatoes, carrots, and beets, among other vegetables. In Michigan, New York, and Ohio, for example, the vital importance of muck necessitated the creation of state-funded research stations to ensure its conservation. In Willard, Ohio, the Muck Crops Agricultural Research Station, run by Ohio State University, was formed in 1948. Today, the station continues operations and represents the oldest statewide facility still in operation.

Like in those areas across the country, the mucklands in the Scioto Marsh rewarded growers with immense productivity. As detailed previously, the marsh was drained through a series of attempts beginning in the mid-nineteenth century with the expressed purpose of liberating the soil for agricultural production. Almost immediately, growers recognized its adaptability to vegetable production. So, in 1887, the first acres of onions were planted to test the theory. That fall, the harvest was bountiful and the trial validated. Growers, encouraged by these early results, scrambled to add onion acreage to their holdings. As such, the commodity’s presence grew exponentially. Between 1887 and 1900, acreage ballooned from six acres to 1,500 in less than fifteen years—an increase of 28,000%. In total, this meant that growers expanded operations by 130 acres annually. However, if you expand these numbers to include an additional fifteen years, they increase even more dramatically. In 1915, for example, an astonishing 5,500 acres were planted, representing a 91,000% increase. As for yields, those too excelled. In 1900, for instance, 1,696 acres returned 500,000 bushels of onions or 294 bushels per acre. Known for their high quality, the marsh’s onions gained national notoriety. In markets across the eastern seaboard, consumers regularly purchased the prized bulbs. 

Yet such successes did not come without consequences. Driven by sizable harvests and lucrative profits, growers became interested in onions and onions alone. A destructive monoculture soon followed. While the ecological ramifications will be explored next, it is important to note that monocultural production rendered contradictory results for those who implemented it. Monoculture, a practice that abandons needed crop rotations, decimated soil health. These issues, in tandem with strikes among farmworkers in the 1930s, significantly lowered onion acreage in the marsh. In fact, by the 1970s, onions had completely disappeared.

The most critical issue that faced the Scioto Marsh’s muck soil was sustainability. As previously discussed, the destruction of the wetland ecosystems was required to liberate mucklands for agricultural use. To accomplish this, the waters were drained and the plant life removed. Only then could the exposed soil be oxidized enough to be plowed and seeded. Yet, without the saturation and decomposition required to maintain muck production, a process which took centuries, the newly opened muck represented a finite resource—once lost, it would never return. At first, such concerns were trivial. As recounted by local historian Carl Drumm, in 1940, early growers often fought against the soil’s persistent soggy state. When plowed, the ground rendered “a fluffy powder that became a bottomless, sucking ooze after every rain.” He continued, “The muck held water like a sponge…[it] could be worked when it was dripping wet without making it cloddy.” To many, it seemed such conditions would remain in perpetuity—the natural condition of the prized soil. However, as was soon realized, such conceptions were wholly fanciful. 

As production increased, so too did oxidation. In the 1880s, the marsh boasted a maximum depth of ten feet. Yet, in the 1930s, this had been reduced to merely a foot in the most ideal locations. But why? In short, growers had accelerated the removal of much-needed moisture from the soil every time they plowed. This not only decreased the natural fertility present but also amplified a previously unforeseen risk: fire. For many, it is hard to imagine the ground aflame. However, to residents and growers in the marsh, this nightmare became a reality, a direct consequence of production without sustainability. In September 1916, for example, one of the largest recorded muck fires broke out following a seasonal drought. Burning wildly, the flames engulfed more than 800 acres and inflicted upwards of $600,000 in damages ($17.4 million in 2025). In one horrific event, residents watched a dog “[fall] through the honeycomb surface [of the soil], which had been burned several feet deep, in a literal lake of fire.” Sadly, the canine did not survive. Thankfully, the flames were extinguished before any additional casualties could be suffered, but the threat remained.

While muck fires posed the most significant threat to marsh growers, they were by no means the sole consequence of runaway oxidation. In fact, soil erosion remained widespread and difficult to manage. Rendered powdery from moisture loss, muck constantly blew away. If the wind was moderate, such losses could be managed, though not prevented entirely, through strategically placed windbreaks. The most preferred method included planting trees, usually willows, in a straight line close to the muck. But, if winds were severe, there was little that growers could do to save the soil. At times of incredible intensity, strong winds created blizzard like conditions known as muck storms. Lifted into the sky, dark soil swirled around before it was displaced across the marsh. In early April 1925, a particularly violent storm system accumulated enough muck that sky darkened for miles around. Yet, regardless of the affliction, the root cause remained the dried and diminished soil. 

In the 1980s, growers began taking these challenges to sustainability seriously. Led by Robert Wyss, who was working to reinvigorate carrot production on the marsh, these individuals sought to combine tried-and-true methods with new-age technology. This, importantly, included the purchase of a center-pivot irrigation system which would return moisture to the soil. As described in his own words, “I don’t see it as an experiment. I see it as insurance. The muck is only about 12 inches deep, and this will help hold it. And, in dry years, I will have a good crop in at least one field.” Informed by the region’s agrarian past, Wyss understood intiatmely the costs of doing nothing. “It was feast or famine,” he said of the previous generations of growers, “One time they’re millionaires and the next time they’re a pauper.” To ensure continued production, he first needed to control the oxidation.