My walk across the pasture sounded as if I were walking across a sidewalk full of corn flakes. There was not a bit of green to be seen on what had been a lush pasture for our milk cows.
The years were 1956 and 1957, and a drought had set into northwest Iowa.
One hears on a nightly basis of the drought that has taken over many parts of this country and parts of Canada. Temps hovering near or above 100 degrees have been commonplace this summer. Where once cool temps covered the northwest, now water shortages are being reported and the water behind Hoover Dam is at an all-time low.
In farm country, farmers and ranchers are beginning to wonder when a rain cloud may appear. Without irrigation, corn leaves are curling and fields are being plowed under until the rain returns. Livestock herds are being thinned.
The situation is much like the one I experienced during my growing up years on the farm. Up until the two years described above, rains had come regularly and crops and livestock prospered. There was little warning that during those two years a struggle to survive on the farm would take place.
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My family farm's corn and oat crop rose as usual after being planted in those two years. The alfalfa field where all of our hay was baled and stored for the winter looked green and lush as the calendar turned from spring to summer. The year looked good.
Then the water spigot turned off and didn't return on a regular basis until 1958.
Drought in those days before federal crop insurance and irrigation meant real trouble for small farmers such as us. The feed grain we had stored from the previous years was drawn down, and to top it all off the well that supplied water to the farm went dry. It had served that farm for nearly 100 years.
No amount of wind caused the windmill to produce more than a trickle of water. That caused my dad to call on a local farmer who "witched" wells. Charlie was his name and he showed up in our farmyard one morning with a copper wire in his hand.
Charlie assured my parents that he thought he could find water somewhere on that pasture. I asked to accompany him but he declined to have me shadowing along behind him.
"I need to concentrate and I don't want anyone close to me," he declared.
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About an hour later Charlie came back up to the house with a grin on his face.
"Clyde, I left a rock in the grass and I think you'll find water there about 20 feet down. I think you should get a test auger and try it."
We did and we found water actually uphill from the dry well and we hit water at 20 feet deep. A curbed well was dug and that well produced great water until the farm was sold in 1970. I think it would still be producing but the pasture has been turned into cropland.
During those two summers we disced down our corn and oat fields and planted sorghum to provide forage for the herd. We bought loads of hay from ranches in Nebraska. We bought corn and other grain from the elevator.
We had never done that before. We made it through.
When I hear the dire reports of the drought that has taken over large parts of our country I can relate to how it affected my farm family and how we had to change our ways to survive that period of time.
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And, I remember Charlie Stabe and that copper wire he held and the water that came from that well. I thought it was magic. I know it took all those things to keep our farm alive.
It is not an easy time for many. Bring on the rain.
See you next time. Okay?
