Ben Garvin

Stills: The New Hmong Migration

When Jai Lor escaped Laos with his family, he though he’d find the life he wanted in Minnesota. But still struggling 25 years later working a factory job, the St. Paul family joins a new Hmong migration - to poultry farms in the Ozarks. Bankruptcy, homelessness, and racism have made the dreams elusive for many, and others are in court suing large chicken companies who they say cheated them out of their profits. "It doesn’t hurt to try," said Jai Lor, a father of five. "We have to try it."

(Best in Show, MN Press Photog.'s Assn.)

From the doorstep of her grandparents' home in St. Paul, Lourdess Moua, 2, nicknamed "Little Miss Chicken," stares at all the Lor's family belongings packed into a moving truck. They left the next day for Arkansas and the dream of eventually owning their own chicken farm.
   
Jai Lor visits the farm he hopes to buy in Decatur, Arkansas. He had already paid $10,000 in earnest money and was waiting for the deal to close.
   
After making the 650-mile journey south from their home in St. Paul, Jai Lor and his wife Choua Moua sit at table in Jai's parent's home in Gentry, Arkansas. "I want be my own boss," said Jai of his dream for a farm of his own. Jai's parents had already moved to Arkansas a few years earlier to help other family members.
     
  
Jai Lor's relatives clean up in the kitchen of his brother's home after a family get-together in Arkansas held in honor of his youngest sister, Yeng Lor of St. Paul, far right. After a first wave of Hmong-Americans moved to the Ozarks to raise chickens, a second wave of relatives followed in search of other jobs. Also present, from left to right, are Mee Yang, Chee Moua, Mai Yer Lor and Mai Nyua Yang.
   
Jai checks the time as he and his wife wait to apply for a one-million-dollar loan at a bank in Siloam Springs, Arkansas. They were approved but the deal eventually fell through, costing them the $10,000 earnest money in the process.
   
On his first day at school in Arkansas, Jai's 8-year-old son Kong raises his hand to answer a question in his new class at Gentry Primary School.
     
  
For many Hmong, part of the draw to rural areas of Arkansas and Oklahoma is the freedom to sacrifice animals and perform traditional ceremonies in their backyard. On his 52-acre commercial egg farm in Gentry, Arkansas, Jai's brother Xeng Lor shoots one of his cows as part of an all-day traditional Hmong ceremony. Their father Wang Chong Lor, a Hmong shaman, performed a ceremony to rid a family member of evil spirits.
   
During a day-long traditional Hmong ceremony for a sick relative, family member Pao Lor stirs a pot of beef soup in Gentry, Arkansas.
   
As 2-year old Alex Lee plays in foreground, his grandparents Jai Lor, left, and Choua Moua sit on the couch back at their daughter's home in Minnesota. They returned after so far being unsuccessful in finding a chicken farm. Instead they were slowly draining their savings and living in a small apartment in Gentry, Arkansas. "I'm an old man, I only do a secret cry," said Jai.
     
  
After returning to ARkansas, Choua Moua, left, waits for her change after buying a toy horse as a Christmas present for her grandson at Atwoods Farm and Home Store in Siloam Springs, Arkansas. While many have welcomed the Hmong as they buy farms and move to the area from Minnesota, some have been less friendly and there have been incidents of racism and intimidation.
   
After draining their savings and 401(k) accounts to come up with the 20 percent down payment, Jai finally purchased an 80-acre farm with 4-chicken houses in Colcord, Oklahoma. Here Jai and his son Kong Pheng laugh together while picking eggs from a conveyor belt on their new farm. "Get good eggs, you get big money!" Lor says to Kong with a grin.
   
Jai looks for dead birds as he walks through one of four chicken houses. The 20,000 squawking birds will demand his attention every day for the next 15 years, the length of his mortgage. If it gets too hot, or if equipment breaks down, the chickens won't forgive the farmer. They'll lay fewer eggs, or they'll just die. Lor says he feels like he is throwing all of his money into an ocean. "We dive and swim and see how much of it we get back," he says.