Blessed relief

Perhaps it is hard for those who live in cities to quite appreciate the strain which unfortunate weather can put on farmers.  It seems like such a little thing, when radio announcers are confidently talking about glorious sunshine, beach weather and bright days.

We can't hope to communicate the situation in an entirely personal fashion, but watching a lamb nose around in dry grass for something succulent, watching the grass stop growing, and as it gets gradually grazed down, exposing the dust beneath, watching the water in troughs fall by inches every day as thirsty animals try to make up for what their grazing can't give them, fills one with a sense of impotence.

Dryland farmers are doubtless laughing at the idea that two or three rainless months are much trouble, and in the big picture they are right, of course, but when one's pasture consists of plants which are used to frequent water, and which quickly suffer heat and drought stress, even a single dry month can really change things in a hurry.  Three months is not catastrophic, but very troublesome.

The older trees have enough roots that they can water themselves from the water table, but we may well have lost a few dozen of the younger ones.  One hopes that the losses will be fewer than that, but dessicated leaves on young twigs tell their own story.

This morning at last the rains have come, gentle but apparently enduring rains which start to soak the earth.  We are trying to balance the activities of our grazers so that dust does not immediately transmute to mud, but in the end the rain is so welcome that this is a vastly preferable problem to have.