Circularity in Agriculture: Not a Slogan, but a Design Choice

Today, “circularity” sits at the center of almost every sustainability narrative. Yet more often than not, the concept is reduced to recycling waste or returning organic matter to the soil. Agriculture, however, is our most critical challenge — and circularity in agriculture is a far deeper structural issue. It is about whether the system can sustain itself as a whole, reduce its dependence on external inputs, and protect the long-term productivity of the soil.

A truly circular agricultural system is not a short-term solution but a design that matures over time. Unfortunately, modern agriculture rarely has the patience to allow this maturation. Farmers are squeezed each year between volatile prices, rising input costs, climate risks, and market pressures. Under such conditions, building a “cycle” can seem like a luxury. In reality, the true luxury is trying to maintain the system in its current form.

The purest form of circularity appears in small-scale production. The farmer is both producer and observer — familiar with the soil, returning animal manure to the fields, composting surplus crops. In such systems, knowledge is passed from one generation to the next, and the cycle is completed directly through human labor.

At this scale, circularity is built on knowledge, effort, and simplicity. It operates with minimal inputs, local resources, and alignment with nature’s rhythm. Circularity is embedded so deeply that people often do not even realize they are practicing it. Yet these systems are economically fragile. Agricultural policies, subsidy mechanisms, and market pressure gradually push small producers away from circular practices.

Still, these small cycles represent the conscience of sustainable agriculture. Here, the producer does not view nature as a “resource,” but as a partner. Circularity is not a strategy; it is a way of living and producing.

At the other end of the spectrum, circularity can also be established at larger scales — but not through random expansion. It requires deliberate, integrated system design.

A company or cooperative can bring producers together through long-term contracts and manage input use, waste flows, water cycles, and energy consumption within a centralized model. For this to work, however, two fundamental conditions must exist: an honest contractual relationship and a genuine commitment to long-term investment.

Today, many contract-farming models turn producers into the weakest link of the system through price and risk pressure. Under these circumstances, circularity becomes little more than a marketing slogan. True circular agriculture, by contrast, rests on business models in which producers are also among the beneficiaries.

Consider a simple example: a dairy processing facility signs a ten-year contract with farmers. Animal manure is sent to a biogas plant; the resulting energy powers the facility, while the fermented digestate returns to the fields as fertilizer. This cycle both reduces carbon emissions and lowers fertilizer costs. But such a system cannot be built on short-term profit calculations — it requires long-term investment and planning culture.

Circularity is not a reflex; it is a matter of design. Knowing that soil, water, and energy are interconnected is not enough — those connections must be managed properly. And that requires planning measured in years, not seasons.

In Türkiye, agricultural policies are typically shaped around short-term subsidies and price interventions. Circular agriculture, however, demands thinking not about today’s yield, but tomorrow’s productivity. Without planning how many animals a region can support, which crops should be rotated, how water should be managed at the basin level, or where waste can be converted into energy, circularity remains only on paper.

True circularity emerges at the intersection of economics, ecology, and engineering. Any system in which these three disciplines do not sit at the same table cannot endure.

Circular agriculture requires patience. In the early years, costs rise, yields may fall, and the system struggles to reach balance. If producers are left alone during this phase, the cycle collaps before it ever closes.

This is why long-term investments and public support act as the insurance of circularity. Enriching soil with organic matter takes three to five years, but the benefits — improved soil structure and resilience — last for decades. Circularity, in essence, is an investment in time. Soil is like a bank: every unit of organic matter, every piece of knowledge, every act of patience becomes the interest of the future.

Circularity in agriculture does not begin with machines or automation — it begins with intention. At small scales, it works through knowledge; at large scales, through planning. In both cases, it requires a “designer” — someone capable of thinking ahead, building systems, and exercising patience.

Rebuilding the soil’s cycle is not only about restoring nature; it is also about restoring trust in people. Because circularity is not something nature forgot — it is something humans did. And it carries a simple reminder: everything eventually returns, for better or for worse.