Salmon are hardy animals. They’re among the few families of anadromous fish, ones that transition between fresh and salt water biomes throughout their lifecycles, migrating from the sea to rivers to spawn. Most species migrate to the lake or river from which they spawned to breed anew, enduring miles of downstream currents, eluding marine and backwater predators, and even scaling waterfalls if demanded by instinct. Yet, despite waterways carving nearly 80,000 miles of the state, no variety of salmon can survive the fitful seasons and gallery forests of triple-landlocked Nebraska.
With one notable exception: Nebraska City.
Situated a few miles south of downtown, the ribs of a sprawling greenhouse adjoin a large, spare assemblage of bolts and steel. Beneath its gabled roof, along repurposed catwalks choked with pipes and hoses, a marvel of engineering churns with life. Silvered scales flickering and sinuous in the wake of electric pumps; fanning gills jockeying for flow and feed above rippling plains. Here, Atlantic salmon are a keystone species for a novel ecosystem—and a fresh approach to Nebraska agriculture.
One of two cold-water farms to produce both salmon and leafy greens in the Midwest, Nebraska Vegetable and Protein (NVP) utilizes a recirculating aquaponics system for a land-based, climate-controlled environment. Advanced bio-filters in tandem with the roots of 1,600 heads of lettuce ensure that pristine, ammonia and nitrite-free water reaches the fish, who in turn, nourish the greens. Of course, no system is perfect—careful observation and specialized knowledge remains crucial, especially for juveniles.
“My main thing here is watching fish behavior, because I think it’s the most important [consideration] for fish health,” said marine biologist Kelly Scammon, a shoal of inch-long alevins (the earliest stage of salmon development) bobbing gently beneath her gaze. “I’m also looking at ammonia and nitrogen levels daily, your pH, your temperature—and it’s telltale when you get eyes on your fish when something’s out of balance.”
Her partner, aquafarmer Alan Kapitany, inspects a pea-green amalgam of tanks, tubes, and gauges—an oxygen concentrator, one sequence of a ‘polishing system’ that utilizes ozone to eliminate contagions at the molecular scale (with excess ozone removed by ultraviolet irradiation prior to reaching the fish).
“Everybody builds their farm differently,” Kapitany noted, his voice vying for decibels amid humming machines and sluicing tail fins. “Their nuances, their own processes—what kind of fish they’re growing, what kind of equipment they’re using or not using. There are a lot of similarities, but many differences overall.”
Their fields have propelled Scammon and Kapitany from coast to coast, including stints in Florida, New Hampshire, Vermont, Nevada, and Hawaii. Intrigued but understandably incredulous of the heartland fish farm, the intrepid 20-somethings scheduled a visit prior to accepting their roles as assistant production manager and facility manager, respectively.
“That skill set is not so common around here. Alan and Kelly applied, and they flew out three days later for an interview. We showed them around the area and really, really took a lot of time to show them how great life is here in Nebraska,” admitted Nebraska Vegetable and Protein Co-Owner, Kiel VanderVeen. “And then, six or seven days later, they moved across the country […] they’ve been here for six months, and it’s been incredible.”
While ‘The Good Life’ initially required some convincing, the VanderVeens’ dedication to sustainability and organic aquaculture was never in question.
“I’m really proud of our fish feed,” said Mimi VanderVeen, who co-owns and runs media for NVP with her husband. “A lot of fish farms get their fish ‘big and happy’ off a filler food, and that is one of the off-putting flavors that come through when you’re buying farm-raised fish. Fish keep a metabolic memory in their muscles of what they’ve consumed […] so when people are eating fish, often some people do have fish allergies, but a lot of people are actually having issues with the feeding ingredients in the fishery rather than the fish itself. So, I’m really proud we’re not using dye; it helps with our organic question.
“Also, whatever we give the fish will end up with the plants, and whatever we give the plants will end up with the fish. So we need to be kind to both of them.”
Therein lies the secret of the VanderVeen fish chow…really, it’s proprietary. No red herrings here.
“We can’t disclose a lot [about the feed], but it’s proven in peer-reviewed studies to push the off-flavors out of the fish so we don’t have to take them off feed. We don’t have to starve our fish,” Kiel added, alluding to the common industry practice of reducing off-flavor by withholding feed for weeks prior to harvest.
However, the curious circumstances that led a young Nebraska City family to farm salmon are freely dispelled. Kiel, a certified financial planner by profession but a naturalist at heart, had joined a Sherwood Foundation ‘Commuty Catalyst’ cohort, designed to explore and exchange ideas for the betterment of towns and cities statewide. When it came time for Kiel’s proposal, one concept in particular resurfaced time and again during weekly meetings: “We’ve got a shed and an old farrowing house…wouldn’t it be neat to raise fish?”
The doldrums of COVID-era lockdowns proved fertile ground for Kiel’s imagination, tempered only by Mimi’s foresight as the due date of their first daughter, Sylvia, fast approached.
“I was very, very pregnant at the time, otherwise we might be raising dinosaurs,” laughed Mimi, alluding to the sturgeon Kiel initially had his sights on—a truly prehistoric genus of fish, clad in bony scutes and averaging 7 to 12 feet in length.
The VanderVeens found equanimity with the Atlantic salmon—a high value fish, more demanding to raise than trout or tilapia. Between dialing up hundreds of experts, touring an aquaponics facility in California, and absorbing countless hours of DIY YouTube footage, Kiel and Mimi transformed their humble acreage into Nebraska’s first, and thus far only, salmon-based aquaponics farm. Just as remarkable, all but the electrical system has been salvaged, auction-won, and self-installed since breaking ground in 2020.
“We just auger out our growout feed. That’d be about 1,200 pounds a day of feed, rather than carrying in the bags,” explained Kiel, gesturing toward a pair of 10-ton capacity feeders attached to the main facility won from a cattle ranch.
Plant life is also eating well. The nitrate-rich fish water serves as a potent fertilizer, circulating beneath floating ‘beaver boards’ of lettuce that pack the 4,400-square-foot geothermal greenhouse. After three weeks of incubation, nursery-grown seedlings emerge as flotillas of lettuce—with seven varieties, including Romaine, Lolla Rosa, and Red Bibb—unfurling in succession until ripe for harvest.
“We are an FDA-registered food-processing facility; fully licensed and compliant to process our fish onsite. Then we have USDA approval for the lettuce side of the operation, fully washed, sanitized, and ready to eat,” Kiel said, NVP planting 2,000 seeds and yielding approximately 1,000 pounds of salmon (finished product) per week. “The fish, you obviously have to cook…”
Despite Mimi describing the current facility as a “MacGyver episode,” it’s a testament to the VanderVeens’ patient ingenuity and work ethic. Kiel still works full-time as a CFP while Mimi has her hands full with a toddler and a newborn. In fact, this backyard experiment may soon exchange the title of “R&D facility” for “dedicated hatchery” if all goes to plan.
“We do have aspirations for growth. We are working on a pretty significant expansion with hopes of breaking ground in September, October, or November,” Kiel said, noting the involvement of six engineering firms “piecing together” a massive facility in a yet undisclosed location. “If we’re able to successfully build this, each one of the buildings are 888-feet long and 200-feet wide. Fifteen acres under roof, producing 6.6 million pounds of Atlantic salmon per year, along with byproducts—I think it was 2,000 tons of solid fish fertilizer for local farmers, about 150,000 gallons of high quality fish oil, and give or take 50 tons of fish emulsion for other farms per month.”
Once operational, NVP’s fillets will travel far beyond area farmer’s markets and small-batch orders. Both locally sourced salmon and employment opportunities are expected to be more plentiful.
“We’re targeting 52 jobs,” Kiel added.
Though a seismic shift in scale, organization, and production, the original family farm will always be a source of inspiration for the VanderVeens, one of growth. Not only is it a microcosm for their business’ future, but their children’s. Three-year-old Sylvia is already described as NVP’s “mini-manager” by her parents, and baby McCartney is poised to join the “crew” once she has a handle on walking, talking, and solid foods. Their backyard not only provides the VanderVeens with healthy plates, but a wellspring of topics for developing minds: biology, botany, engineering, sustainability, operations, economics, and more.
While the full curriculum may be years away, Sylvia has already gleaned valuable business lessons during her oversight of NVP: to take pride in one’s work…and how to size up the ‘competition.’
“She loves it—she’s the boss,” declared Mimi, softening with maternal pride.
“We’ll go to the Henry Doorly Zoo and she’ll go to the aquarium and say: ‘My daddy’s fish is bigger than this daddy’s fish!’”
For more information, visit facebook.com/Nebraskavegetableandprotein/.
This article originally appeared in the July/August 2024 issue of Omaha Magazine. To receive the magazine, click here to subscribe.
