Riding the Dry Wave
Rain has not been something we've seen much of this spring. Nor did snow show up much this past winter in any quantity. The weather station I bought John tells us we've had a total of seven and a half inches of moisture this year, and only 1.32 inches of it in the last month. 1.32 inches in April and May, when "April showers bring May flowers." (Average is 3 inches for April and about the same for May).
Compared to many places in the country and the world, seven-a-half inches is pretty dang good. Our problems ain't nothing when you zoom out and look at the wider picture.
In Iowa, there are counties a lot drier than Monroe, the one outlined in black in the south-central area of the state
And in Nebraska, Kansas, Oklahoma, and Texas things are DRY and getting drier (you can go to this site and look at the maps over time. Currently, almost 20% of the lower 48––162.3 million acres of farmland––are experiencing a drought this week.
But even if Monroe County is not yet in a full-blown drought, history and the increasingly erratic weather tell us it's coming. It will be horrifically dry, and possibly unreasonably hot, someday soon.
Leroy––my father-in-law and the man who farmed this land for decades––used to remind us frequently of the dry spell of 1934. And as I outlined in, Bet the Farm: The Dollars and Sense of Growing Food in America, the hot and dry of 1934 was HOT. Nine inches of rain fell over the course of the entire year, but it was the heat that really spoiled the party. In Ottumwa, Iowa, about 40 minutes east of us, it registered 115 degrees on August 8, and there were 25 days over 100 degrees recorded in our county.
Although 1934 was terrible, there have been reoccurring droughts every 20-30 years in these parts. There was one in the 1950s and again in the 1980s. 2012 also stands out as an especially dry year.
It is of course impossible to tell if we are in for such a dry period again. But as Leroy pointed out, these things go in cycles, and those cycles are speeding up as the planet warms. Droughts have happened in the past and will again in the future, but according to a new study by NASA, they have in fact been happening more frequently in the past seven years as temperatures have risen around the globe. In other words, we are in for some weather, perhaps even this year, and likely many other years too.
Put simply, this sucks. It is a horrible feeling to hope for rain that doesn't fall, to watch as storm clouds suddenly take a turn and scoot around your farm, pouring rain in the next county over. It makes me anxious to think of the cattle, goats and plants outside with little water and raging heat, grasses browning and leaves withering to crispy bits.
John looks at the weather app constantly and pronounces in his Iowan tone––one that is resolute but also sounds perhaps more negative than he intends––that "they" are now calling for less than half an inch, that the storm is petering out, and we will, yet again, remain dry. It makes my stomach feel queasy and my mind skips to our impending doom, the clouds with an agenda to torture us and make us all miserable.
But, I argue with him, becoming obsessed with the weather and checking the app ten times a day will not change things. We need to figure out how to deal with this dry life, to use the information as a tool to get us in gear for our parched reality, whether it comes this summer or five from now.
To be fair, we don't just argue about the weather––we act. We bought an English White Park bull about a year and a half ago because white cattle stay cooler in hot temperatures than black ones (even though black cattle are popular and worth more at the sale barn). Every paddock we make for the cattle and goats has trees so they can get out of the sun, and we always provide plenty of water. We rotate our cattle and goats almost every day, ensuring that even if it doesn't rain again this summer, the grass will still have a chance to recuperate.
Unfortunately, I think we are likely unique in that way. I watch out the window as our neighbors dutifully tractor back and forth in the fields, planting the same crops (corn and beans) in the same way they have for decades. Farming is a game of risk where most just plant and hope for the best (cooler temperatures, plenty of rainfall), relying on government payments and insurance when things go awry.
Farmers decide to grow alfalfa (a water-loving plant) in some of the driest areas of the country (ie - California), and Iowa farmers grow the same amount of corn and beans, as long as they can haul their rigs into the fields without getting stuck in the mud. Few in the state plant based on climatic or even market forces––if corn is what is in rotation this year, then it is corn that goes into the ground, no matter who is buying it or how hard it will be to grow.
Which strikes me as ridiculous, particularly when the current argument over our nation's debt limit is full of rhetoric that the American people should take care of themselves and make good financial decisions, without taxpayer bailouts. Corn and bean prices are already dramatically down this year, mostly because of tough competition around the world for these same crops, grown more cheaply in other countries (the type of reason that sounds like things won’t get better, perhaps ever).
But more than the hypocrisy is the issue that the weather does not care if we are prepared or not; the impending droughts will arrive even if we stick our heads in the cornfields and pretend it isn’t happening. We have a window of opportunity now, before the proverbial shit has completely hit the fan here in Iowa, to prepare. As places like California deal with intense drought, floods, and fire, Iowa can plan to take back some of the market share for the 90% of fruits and vegetables we import.
Even as it gets drier, we can grow our green beans, beef and carrots and eat them too, all while giving Iowa farmers more opportunity.
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Thank you Beth. As a farmer who has practiced regenerative ag for nearly 50 years, who has tried to set an example of alternative agriculture, it is frustrating to watch iowa be ruined by narrow thinking. “But Iowa was made to grow corn,” is what my opponent said when I ran for Secretary of Agriculture in 2006. Our soil and climate can present incredible opportunities for new farmers and feed Iowans at the same time. Why can’t those in control of policy see this?
Beth, this is so instructive. Thank you!