As a Black date farmer, Sam Cobb is a rarity. But he doesn't want to stay that way
It is the middle of the week in the middle of July. Sam Cobb, wearing a long-sleeved shirt, bright-green cap and jeans, is hunched over the flood irrigation system at his farm in Blythe, California, near the Arizona border.
An outdoor thermometer on the property claims it is 104 degrees, but it feels hotter than that. It's the kind of heat that makes you think you could hear your skin sizzle if you listened closely or start seeing mirages if you went more than a few minutes without water.
Cobb says some people call his method of watering crops archaic because it isn't efficient at reaching the roots of crops, but it’s the best for growing dates that have roots everywhere. He has more than 2,000 date palm trees on his farm, all of them originally born at his “home ranch” two hours away in Desert Hot Springs, California.
He spends his summers − a critical time for dates because that’s when they're the thirstiest and the fruit ripens − “chasing water.” Cobb sets alarms every three hours for 72 hours straight so he can cycle through the same essential tasks: donning his gloves so his hands don’t peel from coming in contact with hard water, turning on his flood irrigation system by hand and keeping an eye on things to ensure it's all flowing correctly. In between the farm tasks, he sleeps and spends the time in his truck, where there’s air conditioning.
“I have my finger on the pulse of my crop,” Cobb says. “That’s why my dates taste good.”
Dates are typically associated with West Asia and North Africa, but their cultivation has extended beyond the region. The Coachella Valley, for instance, is renowned for its dates. Cobb is one of many date farmers in the valley. But he might be the only Black date farmer in the entirety of the United States, according to the Black Farmers Index.
Cobb said there are few Black people farming. There were 46,738 agricultural producers who identified as Black in 2022, according to census data from the Department of Agriculture. That's just 1.4% of 3.4 million producers.
But Cobb wants to help make a difference in ensuring farming is passed on to the next generation, whether its through methods like informational YouTube videos or Instagram posts. He's also writing a memoir.
"I do not want to be the only one. African Americans, or Black people, have a rich history in agriculture," he said. "It's a rich history of working on the farm, not a rich history of owning a farm and running a business."
He said farming involves the study of subjects like agronomy, finance and policy that need to be started early on in life, for example by joining the National Future Farmers of America Organization, which teaches students about agriculture. He's used to being the only Black farmer in the room who's serious about all that farming entails − whether it's science, business or putting your hands in the dirt. He'd like for that to change.
"Don't just be used by agriculture," he said. "Make agriculture work for you."
From mid-October to mid-April, his Desert Hot Springs farm is where he sells his dates and holds tours that explain to guests the magic behind growing the fruit. There are dates grown on the 5 acres there, too, but he primarily grows them at his 110-acre farm in Blythe, where the larger property was cheaper to purchase and he had learned to plant the date palm trees farther apart so their growth wasn’t hindered by shade.
A lifelong dream
Cobb is originally from Fresno, California. He referred to it as the “land of agriculture” and said farming was always around him. He worked on a farm as a kid and was part of the Future Farmers of America in high school, which he credits for teaching him public speaking. On his first date with his wife, Maxine, he asked her if she would be OK being married to a farmer if things worked out between them.
“Ever since I was 3 years old, all I wanted to be was a farmer,” Cobb said.
He studied agricultural education, with an emphasis in agronomy, at Fresno State University. Fresh after graduating, he pursued farming without any support. He said he grew anything he could make money on − which turned out to be nothing.
“According to the school, I can farm. There’s more to it than that,” Cobb said. “Within five years, my wife and I were bankrupt. We lost everything.”
Cobb pivoted to work for the Agriculture Department, where he would remain for 30 years before retiring in 2019. It was during his time with the USDA that he saw people growing dates.
“I said: ‘Wait a minute. I see what’s going on. They’re growing a crop. People are going directly to the farm and it’s a nonperishable product. Whoa.'”
He set the plan in motion for what would become Sam Cobb Date Farms. Cobb purchased his Desert Hot Springs farm in 2002 and starting buying the land that's now his Blythe farm in 2006. He said the land in Blythe was “dirt cheap” because no one thought anything could grow there. But correcting soil, part of his job at the USDA, was something for which he was well-equipped.
Some people tried to discourage him. They would tell him dates are the hardest thing to grow, he said.
“Man, stop telling me it's too hard. I don’t think you know how to farm. I mean, that’s what it is. You’re afraid to step out,” Cobb said. “So I mapped it out. I’d been there before. I had already failed; I knew how to fail. So just don’t go that way. … I mapped out a plan for success.”
He named the farm after himself at his wife’s insistence.
“I was trying to dream of a name, and my wife said she would not have any other name for the farm than Sam Cobb,” he said. “'That’s been your lifelong dream, why would you call it something else?'”
Cobb said he would find out there are two kinds of dates − OK dates and good dates.
“People really appreciate good dates,” he said. “So I decided that’s the kind I will grow. Good dates. And the way you get good dates is from a good farmer.”
That’s now his slogan: “We grow good dates.”
Cobb’s office
A bit after watering with his flood irrigation system, Cobb hops into his new tractor to fix the borders by some of his date palm trees. These are lines dug in the dirt that are meant to keep water by them.
The vehicle is tall and fancy enough to have air conditioning. Cobb says it needs to be large so that it can have enough horsepower to pull the dirt for the borders and not get stuck. It rumbles as it moves over its path, shuffling dirt and creating a cloud of dust in its wake. He has to go over these borders only a couple of times a year if at all, he says.
Female date palm trees produce fruit and male date palm trees produce pollen. Cobb said one male date palm tree can produce enough to pollinate 30 to 50 female date palm trees, so he has strategically placed them around the farm.
“You got to keep those guys away from the girls,” he said.
He doesn’t use pesticide but has bags placed over the fruit to protect them, and he attributes the lack of pests to his skill for growing healthy trees. (His method remains a secret). His employees work on bagging as he drives his tractor. Cobb said he grows about 100,000 pounds of dates a year but sells only about 5% of it themselves. The rest is sold to a packer, which will process it and sell it at stores like Costco, Albertsons and Vons under its own branding.
Cobb has ambitions to open his own processing facility, which would let him clean more dates. He has set aside 10 acres in Blythe for it but is in no rush to get it open as he decides what he wants it to be like.
“It would catapult us from farmer to processor,” he said. “When we’re processors, then people will buy dates from us to sell wholesale.”
Black gold
Cobb sells seven varieties of dates, including his own, which he has named “black gold.” He found the seed for it on the side of the road, and it is his favorite to grow.
“First flavor is kind of eh, kind of plastic-like … but stay with it because it’ll begin to mellow out, and when it mellows, you begin to taste caramel and a hint of chocolate,” Cobb said. “And then there’s another mystery flavor that you just keep chewing and say: ‘What is that? What is that?’ Hard to describe it, and just as you’re about to, you know, it’s on the tip of your tongue, it’s gone.”
There are many varieties of dates, and each flavor is unique if it came from a seed, according to Cobb. It is a copy if it came from an offshoot of a date palm tree, which grows in a set of seven at the base of each.
“If anyone ever tells you how many varieties of dates there are in the world, they are lying to you because each date is an individual plant,” Cobb said. “If it comes up from a seed, it’s a new variety. Just like people.”
In mid-July, he was experimenting with how long he can keep dates in the field and have them still taste good. He had kept some outside for 15 months at the time. When they come out of the bag used to protect them from pests, they are a little more shriveled than typical dates, likely a result of being left outside so long. These experimental black gold dates taste like a combination of sugar, caramel and the mystery flavor Cobb mentioned that's hard to identify but pleasantly clings to your mouth all the same. It isn’t a subtle sweet; it's almost decadent.
People can purchase Cobb’s dates at his Desert Hot Springs location. He also sells dates year-round online.
A farmer's shadow
It is windy at Cobb’s Desert Hot Springs farm in mid-October. The weather is cooler as he has begun to set up his date farm stand on Saturdays for customers. He and his wife put plastic containers of dates out on a table underneath a tent by the parking lot. Pictures of Cobb, his family and past articles featuring him adorn the wall behind it.
His tour group was small this day, with only two guests who drove in from Culver City just for the date farm. Cobb said it is typically more crowded later in the year. The tours last about an hour and fifteen minutes, depending on how many questions people ask.
Benches are set up in a few spots throughout the farm. Cobb has the group sit at them as he explains how he started out with his farm and how dates are grown. He is a charismatic speaker − throwing in jokes throughout that amuse himself as well as his audience. He brings a binder full of photos with him, showing images like his early days on the farm.
Cobb’s tours were really born out of people pestering him with questions. He said people would come up to his date stand and ask him how they are grown. He realized he needed to start charging them. He joked that he set up ticket prices expecting it to discourage people from coming.
“Started with $17 – swamped. Up to $22. They still come,” Cobb said. “Got COVID-19 and almost died. Doubled the price to $42 and they’re still coming.”
But despite Cobb’s humorous exasperation at people wanting to pay to learn about date farming, he said he does give an interesting tour. He takes photos of his guests with their phones at the end, thorough about the angles, background and lighting. People sample dates he picks directly from one of his trees, and he sends them off with bags that have samples of different date varieties.
“I enjoy farming, but we stop the farming on Saturday and we greet the public, our customers, who have made it possible for us to continue doing what we do,” Cobb said.
He recalled a lesson he learned from a farmer in Fresno about 25 years ago that he adopted for himself.
“In order for any fruit or vegetable or any crop that’s been grown to taste its very best … the farmer’s shadow has to fall onto the plant,” he said. “In other words, the only way the farmer’s shadow’s going to get on anything, he has to be there.”
Ani Gasparyan covers the western Coachella Valley cities of Desert Hot Springs and Cathedral City. Reach her at ani.gasparyan@desertsun.com.