I wrote this a few days ago, but wanted to wait to post it.

Remember after September 11, when the entire nation was shaken to the core by the tragic events in New York?  We all collectively bit our nails and reflected on how our lives had been changed, as we waited for the other shoe to drop.  Laughter was subdued, even when you felt joy, there was always that underlying knot in your stomach, as you reminded yourself that life would never be the same.

We did heal, though as in any cut so deep, we as a community of people will always bear the scar.  And when we stop and reflect back on those events, the pain will always be fresh in our minds.

And we grieve again.

It began with the winter.  The coldest winter in three decades, ice storm after ice storm, subzero spells one after the other.

The spring brought late blizzards, unending snow.  Then came the rain—to produce the wettest season ever.

It did not stop.  Some farmers managed to get their crops in the ground, only to have seeds or seedlings washed away by torrential rains. The ground absolutely cannot hold another drop of water.

Those farmers that were able to plant contend with record gas prices.  Some farmers spent well over $1000 a day on diesel fuel alone to run their equipment.  Fertilizer prices have doubled since last year and are projected to double again next year.

Food prices have skyrocketed as well.  While we in the Midwest probably enjoy the lowest food prices in the country, our milk prices have nearly doubled and meat prices are the highest they have ever been.  It will only get worse this fall, as we will be short on crops, but high on expenses.

Many in our communities have lost their homes in the mortgage crisis.  Still others have lost their jobs and are unable to meet their financial commitments.

In late May, there were two tornadoes that tore through our state, destroying two towns and killing a number of people.  Our communities rallied together to build up those that were torn down.

That spirit would be tried yet again.

The hopes that spring and early summer bring were dashed when after a break we received week after week of heavy rains.  Again, the ground is completely saturated.  Even when it only sprinkles, the rain pools instantly on the farmland surrounding our home.  There is just nowhere for it to go.  The rivers, streams, lakes, and drainage creeks are full to the brim.

Our state and community has experienced the worst flooding ever.  Levees broke, cities flooded, entire towns have been destroyed and are no longer in existence.  In some cases, the water has not yet receded, and people are still in shelters. We have heard that FEMA trailers are being delivered to our state.  Some of those people will likely never be able to move back into their homes.  This was a 500-year flood, and few in that floodplain obtained flood insurance.  Can you imagine losing everything you owned and not receiving any compensation for it?  Your car, your home, possibly even your job, since your company may be underwater, too?  Your grocery store, the roads you travel, your school.

In the midst of our flood, yet another tornado struck a boy scout camp, killing several young men.  Not just any young men, but the very sort of young men that a crisis like this needs.  One young man gave up his spot on the football team so he could learn to sew.  Yes, sew.  He felt such a sense of purpose that he sewed pillowcases for every child that would stay at the local hospital.  He said he wanted them to feel loved and special. 

We persevered, united as a community once again, and vowed not to let it get us down.  Many filled sandbags, gave blood, and volunteered in any way they could.  Once again, the commitment to community that is woven into the fabric of our being got us through this situation.

With many of the fields still too wet to plant, and others destroyed before there was any hope of growth, we face an uncertain fall.  Feed prices that are already so high will undoubtedly rise, as we struggle with the choice between animal and human food.  The low dollar against other currencies ensures that we will have a bidding war with other countries with deeper pockets.  If we are to keep our own produce, we will need to be the highest bidder.  Of course, the price to be the highest bidder is passed along at the grocery and at the feed store.  We do have a few crops, but the revenue we see—if we see revenue this year—doesn’t come close to offsetting our expenses.

We planted a large garden this year, hoping to supplement our groceries with our vegetables.  We planted plenty of corn, tomatoes, cucumbers, strawberries.

And today came the hail.  I am waiting for it to pass now, so that I can assess the damage.  Just west of us was golf and baseball-sized hail.  We escaped with quarter-sized hail, but for 15 or 20 minutes Mother Nature pelted us with ice.  I saw my geraniums on the front porch shredded and hopeless, and I can only imagine what my garden of tomatoes and corn look like.  I don’t even want to think about what our cornfield looks like.  A tree lies across the road down the hill, blocking traffic.  The drainage creeks are again at their banks, carrying the runoff to already swollen rivers.

Since I wrote this, I did check for damage.  There are about 5 corn plants in my garden and 3 tomato plants that will make it.  The others are destroyed.  The strawberries and cucumbers are pummeled and will not make it.

The leaves on the corn plants have been shredded.  I don’t know if they will bounce back or not—it is touch and go.  Being small (the cool weather and excess moisture has stunted the growth), they still have a lot of growing to do, and could recover.  However, being small, all of the leaves were shredded.  Had they been larger, maybe the top leaves would have served as a canopy to save the leaves underneath.

Our county has been declared a federal disaster area.  Today FEMA came to visit our house, asking if we needed help and offering their services.  That is very eerie to me.

And so I am once again noticing that the color of our collective moods is very gray.  Smiles are not as broad, joy is not as joyous, yet worries are exaggerated by the worry that is already carried around in the pit of one’s stomach.  If you are already worried about money, you cannot help but be terrified about what harvest time will bring.  Farmers are resilient—they have to be.  They have been through these types of things before. But never so many times in the same year, or even the same growing season.

Yesterday I went to the farmer’s market in our town, selling the goods for my side business.  My sales were dismal.  Opening day, before much of the disaster had hit, still hopeful for what the spring would bring, our sales were double what they were yesterday.  The first day, it rained—POURED—for the morning.  Yesterday it was sunny and 72 degrees.  I think people are sad, they are carrying around the sadness and it prevents them from enjoying things in their lives.  And I think people are worried not only about what is to come in the fall, but what is left to come this summer.  We get through one disaster, and another one comes.  Those who have experienced significant damage from storms, lightning and hail are not being made whole because their damages pale so significantly in comparison to those who have experienced the natural disasters.  We continue to wait for our settlement check from our insurance company after our fire last October.  We will likely continue to wait, as the adjusters are kept busy with all of the other challenges.  And how can we ask?  How can we be the squeaky wheel when others have nowhere to live?  When they have lost their loved ones?  In the meantime, we cannot hay our field, as we have nowhere to store the hay.  We don’t raise cattle, so our hay must be pristine, and can’t be stored outside.  We already claimed one year of hay on our insurance, but since it is taking so long to rebuild, we may have to claim another.

I don’t have much good to report.  It’s not that there is no good, but it’s not what is on everyone’s mind right now.  We’ll get through it, and we’ll be a stronger community for it.  But it’s not the kind of community building exercise we are looking for.