One day in ten dry enough for field work during crunch times, we are ready for it [thanks to a new tractor that always starts and has lights that lets us work into the night]. Five inches of rain in an hour, been there [our fields cant at an angle for better drainage and we use plastic mulch on erode-able crops]. Three feet of snow in a day, check. Ice, sleet, hail, or graupel (our favorite form of precipitation), we’ve seen them all in every month but July and August. 16 foot snow drifts over the high tunnel, just a few hours of shoveling. No rain for ten weeks, yup. Microbursts snapping trees and ripping off chunks of the roof, so last year. Short of the eye of a hurricane or tornado hit (my phobia), we’ve seen pretty much all the lousy weather that we can conceive of, and seen most of it in every growing season on the farm so far.
This is the first year we’ve realized that all this chronic weather hassle, while it increases our labor and stress and reduces the economic viability of our farm, has one narrow silver lining. We have bad weather, but we have it all the time, so really bad weather often feels only marginally worse than normal and we are generally at least somewhat prepared for it. Most other places have much nicer average weather, so really bad weather when it hits them, it feels exponentially worse and hits them so much harder.
The weather is changing and getting more swingy between extremes, with more violence at either end of the spectrum. Wet spells are wetter, and dry spells dryer. That gentle southern wind that wafted along warm air to our fields twenty years ago has morphed into terrifying air-borne freight train that devastates at least ten percent of our crops each year (we hate south wind days!). The jet stream gets stuck, with lousy weather parked in place for weeks at a time, and training storms keep hitting the same towns with boatloads of rain, while their neighbors suffer in drought.
Our exposed site is at high risk for extreme weather, but this risk is something we know about in advance and build our farm systems around. We’ve been doing this because we couldn’t really afford land in easier locations, so if we want to continue as a farm we don’t have a choice but to adapt. We just didn’t realize how much we’ve internalized growing on the extreme climate edge until this season as we heard about all the struggles farms in what we think of as softer and nicer growing climates have had dealing with extremes that we consider normal.
Our takeaway is that we need to continue to adapt for this stressful new normal by trialing and building systems that are more resilient to three weeks of freezing spring gloom, and take notes and share what’s working for us with farmers in other regions that aren’t blessed with as many opportunities to test cropping techniques on the rugged climatic edge. It’s not going to be cheap in terms of infrastructure costs or time, but it also seems like the only way to keep going as a farm in these climatically erratic times.
This spring nationally shows that farmers in all regions need to become more prepared to hedge against the long spells of increasingly uncertain and extreme weather that can become parked over us. Our national food supply is built on softer areas of the country having decent enough weather to fill the grocery shelves, and as a country and an industry, we need to start proactively figuring out how we are going to keep refrigerators full when the global weather systems stop cooperating.