In a state where most crops drink only what the clouds provide, the recurring specter of drought keeps every grower's eye on the rain gauge — and turns some toward the water of the Missouri.
The great majority of North Dakota's cropland is dryland — farmed on whatever moisture the sky sees fit to deliver — and so drought is the oldest and most implacable of the grower's adversaries. A dry spring, a rainless July, a run of hundred-degree afternoons, and a promising crop can burn to a light and shriveled kernel before the combine ever starts.
Between the Rain Gauge and the River
Along the Missouri and above the aquifers, some growers irrigate, drawing on the river that the great dams pooled into Lake Sakakawea. But irrigation is dear, and the infrastructure reaches only a fraction of the cropland, so for most of the plains the answer to drought remains the same as it ever was: conserve every drop of snowmelt, and hope.
From the almanac's reckoning:
- The great majority of North Dakota cropland is unirrigated dryland.
- Lake Sakakawea, pooled by dams on the Missouri, supplies some irrigation.
- Snowmelt conservation remains the dryland grower's chief defense against drought.
The almanac has never pretended to command the rain. It offers instead the old counsel — bank moisture with stubble, choose drought-hardy crops, and carry a reserve through the fat years against the lean. On the plains, water is the one account that cannot be overdrawn.
Elsewhere in the Almanac
Flax Returns: The Blue-Flowered Crop Finds New Favor
Prized for its oil and its omega-rich seed, flax has staged a quiet comeback across the plains, its brief blue bloom once again dotting the northern fields.
Passing the Land On: The Delicate Art of Farm Succession
As a generation of plains farmers reaches its later years, families across the state wrestle with the hardest harvest of all — handing the farm to the next hands, or letting it go.
The Country Elevator: Still the Heart of the Grain Town
Beside the rail line in a hundred plains towns, the grain elevator stands as it has for a century — weighing the harvest, holding it, and shipping it to the wider world.