Changeable weather

She said it a million times: the weather has changed.

When the snow piled as high as the eaves on the east side of our house for weeks on end, she said it: “The weather has changed. When I was a girl, I walked to school in snow as high as the fence.”

When the winds howled and the temperature plummeted, she said it: “The weather has changed. When I was a girl, I froze my ear when I was walking to school.”

When the snow lay in drifts to the top of our garage doors, she said it: “The weather has changed. In January 1916, I cooked a quarter of beef for the hay-balers. Dad hauled a hundred tons to town on a bobsled.”

When the snow was deep in the driveway, even covering the board fence, she had to go to the hospital. It took a county snowplow, a four-wheel drive vehicle, and an ambulance to get her there. It was another twenty-four hours until we got in to see her. Even then it took a pick-up truck to make the trip.

“The weather has changed,” she said. “When I was a girl, they got so bad brother and sister made me stay at Aunt and Uncle’s while they walked on to school.” When the deep drifts block the intersections both east and west of us, we watched snowplows work until deciding the job was over their head – literally. Later we watched as the huge payloaders came in and piled snow upon snow until one lane was open for each road.

We took her for a ride through the snowy tunnels, and she said: “The weather has changed. When I was a girl …” This year the weather has changed again. This is my forty-first year on the farm. During the first forty years, there were only two years that we did not finish planting corn by the week that had May 15 in it. 1981 was different. Early in April weather was beautiful, and a few adventurous souls planted corn. The last week or ten days of April and the first week or two of May are the ideal times, usually. But Mr. Weatherman sent rain and more rain. If a farmer had a well-drained field, it dried enough to work, and then it rained. Then he ditched and prayed and cursed or both.

May 20 our first field was planted. And then it rained. More ditching and “jobbing in.” The corn came up and flourished except in one spot which later became our “cane patch.” The wheat looked beautiful. Ah, we have one good crop, said the farmers. But one neighbor did not like the looks of his. So he walked out into the field and found more empty heads and more uninvited guests than he could count. Army worms.

So another farmer walked his fields, and another, and another. The helicopters and airplanes were called in and almost all wheatfields, countywide, were sprayed. For some it was too late. The chopper came here on Friday. We were away when the spraying was done at about dusk. An hour or so later we were back home. It was raining. A few days later I found 30 Army worms under one row of pees. The garden adjoined the wheat field.

The elevator operator says the lucky farmers have as much as half a crop this year. We are scheduled for the combine tomorrow, but already clouds are banking in the west. Yes, the combines have been going full tilt for a few days. Operators are charging eighteen or twenty dollars per acre. Corn and beans have been “jobbed in” for the second and third times and rained out again.

Today is July 9. Our neighbors planting beans. We have one field which hasn’t been planted at all. Every time they got it ready, we had another rain. I will have to agree: the weather has changed.

By Dorothy Howard Adler, June 1984