CONVERSATIONS
WITH THE LAND
My daughter, our
youngest, came to visit overnight with her brood of four in tow. It
was dark and I startled her coming up to the house on my way from
shutting in the chickens for the night.
“How do you do
that?” She demanded. “Walk around in the dark without a
flashlight?”
I told her that it
was long familiarity with the place. I said I didn’t need a light
because my body knew every inch of this farm. I finished, rather
lamely I suppose, by saying that “It amounts to love, finally.”
Whatever the truth
or fancifulness of that, it is so that my fascination with the place
increases daily as I age. Among the many things that interest me
about my life and everything that surrounds it, my interest in what
this place is going to do next is chief. Late in life I have begun
to hunger for the names and habits of plants and animals that I now
know I have lived surrounded by and had always taken for granted. I
want to know what they want, if that is the proper way to think of
it, what their lives consist of, why they are here and what pleases
them about their immediate surroundings. And especially is this so
lately regarding the changes in the weather, or climate if you will
and the response of the farm to those changes.
This summer, for
the third consecutive year we have had rainfall that can only be
described as excessive. This summer has featured an extraordinary
surplus of rainy days in addition to the heavy amounts of rain,
making field work nearly impossible. It is difficult not to see that
some of the rainy days are a blessing in disguise as nearby areas
have in the process been hit with five to seven or eight inch
rainfalls in the course of a single night. We have essentially been
missed by the heaviest of the precipitation. Other related things
are different. Humidity readings stay above fifty percent pretty
reliably. It does not drop off a day or so after a rainfall. The
wind does not blow. Consequently, the house does not cool overnight
and in the mornings. These things are unexpected here where we have
sayings about the prairie winds (There goes Grandma, bucking the wind
again!) Traditionally we have expected occasional humidity readings
of seventy percent or higher, but at least as frequently, twenty
percent or less. We expect thunderstorms complete with electric
light shows in the sky and the occasional tornado, but not every
week. It seems as if the elements of our weather are stuck and we
are on constant replay.
The pasture project
is the only thing we have going here that has been working well in
the excessive rain. But the cattle have compacted some of the lower
areas and the higher traffic zones. I know this because of the
increasing size and hardness of the callous in the center of my right
hand, which I use to push in the fiberglass rod posts we use to
subdivide the grazing, but also because of the plants I see. We have
not had much problem with ragweed, either the common or the giant,
which befouls so much organic planting, but we do now. It is ragweed
that shows up in the entire paddock nearest the lowest and wettest
area of the pasture. It appears to like compaction. We have always
had patches of Canadian thistle wherever the cattle have torn up the
sward eating a hay bale or where several bulls are tussling. Canada
thistle is useful in fixing small areas of compaction with the
taproot, but I doubt that ragweed will be. Cattle will eat the buds
off thistles, but they avoid ragweed like the plague.
It is this general
trend of wetness that has increased our problems with compaction on
our heavy clay soils. Some farmers have taken to coping with this by
rotating their grazing in and out of a year of crop production,
enabling the use of primary tillage, usually a plow or heavy chisel
plow. I question the usefulness of that approach on our farm, as any
new seeding we do seems overrun with weeds for several years before
coming back into production with good forage. Perhaps we have too
large a weed seed bank. Presumably some of the neighbors think so.
It all must be
viewed in the framework of what we think the trend is going to be for
the coming years. If it is going to be continued wet, we have to look
at real and major changes here as the land is quite low lying and the
soil composition is not at all porous and fast draining. It is quite
possible that some of the areas lower in elevation will begin to
revert to the sloughs and wetlands they were before we whites came
here, and that we will not be able to engineer a solution. After
all, water only leaves a place by running to a lower place or by
evaporation, on its own or through a plant.
Of course, if this
wet trend is to be followed by a dry one, we would be best served by
not being too rash in the solutions we devise today. There was
drought here in 1988 reducing crop yields by more than two thirds.
With that in mind, it seems that a good approach to the ragweed would
be to try to control the seed production by early enough mowing, and
to till the heaviest infestations followed by a seeding of Reed’s
Canary grass. This grass, where we have it currently, allows no
ragweed or thistle either in its stand. Once established, which will
be after several very weak years, it can be very aggressive, to the
point that it will be difficult to get a clover to thrive as
companion. White clover seems to have worked the best for us; Alsike
survives the wet conditions better, but is low growing and short
lived, two or three years at the most. Canary grass will do well on
higher and dryer ground too if it gets a few years time to colonize
those swards.
We can get low
alkaloid versions of the Canary grass which are quite a bit more
palatable than the common type, but it still makes better cow feed
than for growing livestock. And a real advantage of the older stands
of Reed’s Canary is that they form a thick loose sod which will
stand up under animal traffic that would otherwise pug the soil. I
cannot imagine a compacted soil under a stand of Canary grass.
So we could let a
few wetter acres produce cow feed rather than high octane finisher
grass. It seems contrary to willingly give up striving for top
production. The attitude is pretty deeply ingrained in us farmers.
But perhaps affection teaches what school and reading, or even
experience cannot always. Perhaps asking the farm what it wants is
the question with which I should always have started.