Corn was just starting to tassel across much of the Midwest, including fields in southern Indiana, a golden crown signaling the end of the season. But while most farmers were preparing for harvest, Ray McCormick was climbing back into his tractor to redrill his soybeans.
The southwest Indiana farmer had to drill soybeans in August 鈥� for a second time last year, having already lost his spring-planted corn crop 鈥� after yet another heavy rain flooded his river-bottom field.
鈥淢y dad used to say that after July 10, 鈥榊ou鈥檙e kidding yourself trying to plant,鈥欌�� said McCormick, who was trying to produce a crop for the landlords who own these fields.
McCormick鈥檚 delayed planting is one example of how a changing climate 鈥� and the rains that come with it 鈥� are transforming farm country in the Mississippi River watershed.
A hotter atmosphere is causing rain to fall in harder bursts, pushing back planting seasons and drowning crops. At the same time as human-driven climate change is juicing precipitation, Corn Belt farming practices such as installing underground drainage tiles and leaving fields bare after harvest are changing how water moves across the landscape and into waterways.
That runoff eventually makes its way south, carrying sediment as well as pollution that contributes to the hypoxic, or oxygen-free, 鈥渄ead zone鈥� in the Gulf of Mexico.
鈥淭here is no part of the water cycle we haven鈥檛 altered,鈥� said Carrie Jennings, research and policy director with the Minnesota nonprofit advocacy group Freshwater.
This story is part of When It Rains, a special series from the .
In Minnesota, flows in the Mississippi River rose 24% in seven decades, according to a . Flows have doubled in the Minnesota River, which carries sediment and pollution from the state鈥檚 southern farm country into the Mississippi, according to .
In Indiana, along the Wabash River just upstream from McCormick, flows have increased by at least a third in the last century, according to a . More than 100 U.S. Geological Service stations in Indiana show increased streamflow over the past 30 years.
Similar trends of heavier rains and increased flows can be seen across the Midwest region.
All that water has to go somewhere. With a changing climate, the farms of the future will look different, experts say. How communities adapt will determine what kind of farming they can do.
鈥淭his rain isn鈥檛 going away,鈥� said Jennifer Kanine, the director of natural resources for the Pokagon Band of Potawatomi, which has worked to restore wetlands in northwest Indiana鈥檚 agricultural areas.
鈥淲e need to start working with it instead of fighting it,鈥� she continued. 鈥淲e need to ask, how can we best manage all this water, because we鈥檝e compromised the system so much already.鈥�
Murky waters
Harder rainfalls are one of the clearest climate signals emerging in the Upper Midwest.
Generally, climate data shows that the region is getting more rain 鈥� but the times when it falls are also changing, said Austin Pearson, a climatologist with the . The increase in rainfall over the course of a year might obscure that skies are sometimes staying clear for weeks, then giving way to deluges that fill rain gauges all at once.
These rainfalls cause problems from the moment they hit the ground all the way downstream.
McCormick sees that first hand in his community 鈥� Vincennes, a 16,759-person town along the southwest Indiana-Illinois border. He said the intense rainfall that wreaks havoc on his and other fields usually falls upstream, and then flows down into an 鈥渁lmost guaranteed flood.鈥�
鈥淭imes have changed,鈥� he said, 鈥渂ut farmers down here that get flooded a lot in these floodplains, they鈥檒l go right back in and just keep trying to grow a crop.鈥�
Farmers are taking different precautions, digging drainage trenches or installing more underground pipes, called drainage tiles, in their fields in an effort to keep them from flooding. Those steps have unintended consequences, however, that may worsen flooding and soil loss.
When heavy rain falls, it flows into the tiles, which empty into ditches that rush the water away from farm fields. These tiles drain some 55 million acres across the United States, according to .
Along the Le Sueur River in southern Minnesota, almost half of the 711,000 acre basin is fitted with agricultural drainage, .
That drainage is making the Le Sueur run faster when rain falls 鈥� and washing away dirt from the banks of the river. In the case of Don and Becky Waskosky, it鈥檚 washing away from their backyard.
The couple live in a small neighborhood nestled into a curve of the river south of Mankato, with several farms nearby. When their home was built in the 1970s, they said, there were 100 feet between their back deck and the edge of the river. Today, that distance is 5 feet, followed by a steep drop-off to the river below.
This disappearing dirt has been well-studied in the Le Sueur, included in that farming and landscape changes had increased the dirt washing down the river by four to five times.
In 2016, extreme rains, traveling through a matrix of farmland drainage, pushed the Le Sueur dangerously high. The garage attached to a house next to the Waskoskys crumpled down a bank. That night, the couple slept in their living room, ready to go at a moment鈥檚 notice if the ground fell from under them.
Through the night, 鈥渨e could hear large chunks of dirt hitting the river,鈥� Don Waskosky said. 鈥淵ou'd sleep for 10 minutes and wake up.鈥�
The house survived, but three of their neighbors have now demolished their homes and left because of erosion.
鈥楩orgotten the flooding years鈥�
Some federal programs take flood-prone farmland out of production, offering incentives to farmers to set the land aside.
The Emergency Watershed Protection has retired thousands of flooded farm properties across the country after presidential disaster declarations, according to the (NRCS).
But more farmers want easements than there is money available. After one heavy rain in March 2019 in Iowa, manure tanks overflowed, grain bins washed away and farmers couldn鈥檛 check on their animals because roads were flooded. The deluge was part of a spring of flooding across the country that prevented plantings on 20 million acres of insured farmland, .
More than 360 Iowa landowners applied to retire flooded land in 2019 鈥� far more than could have been funded, said Sindra Jensen, a former NRCS Iowa easements coordinator who now works for NRCS at the national level.
Landowners who don鈥檛 get an easement likely will keep farming flood-prone areas, causing further erosion and nutrient pollution in waterways.
And those who have to wait too long for payments may also back out. Jensen said roughly half the applicants flooded in 2019 pulled out when their land dried enough to use again.
鈥淭hey have forgotten the flooding years,鈥� Jensen said.
Gradual solutions
Individual farmers aren鈥檛 the only ones who forget about the devastation of flooding caused by climate change.
Two of the U.S. Department of Agriculture鈥檚 largest agricultural conservation programs 鈥� which paid out $7.4 billion combined from 2017 to 2020 鈥� used less than 12% of that on 鈥渃limate-smart鈥� practices, the Environmental Working Group released Sept. 28. These practices, including cover crops and reduced tilling, also help to retain rainfall.
At the same time, the U.S. paid out $17 billion in 2020 in crop insurance payouts and other subsidies to farmers that might encourage continued farming in flood-prone areas, according to the
But that may be changing.
Those two big USDA conservation programs, the Environmental Quality Incentives Program and the Conservation Stewardship Program, will get nearly $12 billion more through the new Inflation Reduction Act to help farmers pay for implementing practices like growing cover crops or building wetlands.
鈥淭hat extra money is definitely going to help get more farmers who want to participate funded,鈥� said Anne Schechinger, EWG鈥檚 Midwest director.
Curt Zingula, an Eastern Iowa landowner and retired farmer, knows the drainage tile he installed to keep his fields dry after heavy rains has the potential to harm water quality in nearby streams.
So he applied for government aid to install a saturated buffer in 2017 and now is working with the state and local government to put in a cellulosic bioreactor, essentially a woodchip trench that will filter water from 30 acres of tile lines.
鈥淭he greatest motivation is to try to reduce the nitrate load going into the streams and rivers,鈥� he said. 鈥淚鈥檓 familiar with the hypoxia in the Gulf. Everyone needs to be part of the solution.鈥�
This story is part of When it Rains, a special series from the , an editorially independent reporting network based at the in partnership with and the , funded by the Walton Family Foundation.
The series is being distributed in partnership with , a collaboration of public media newsrooms in the Midwest, which reports on food systems, agriculture and rural issues. Follow Harvest on Twitter:
