Peace Creek Not So Peaceful

Peace Creek at the Zenith Road - August 10, 2022

It's not a good sign when you stop at a bridge and the first thing you see is a vulture perched in the creek bed. (It flew away before I got the shot - FYI.)

This summer in Kansas has not been fit for man or beast - unless you happen to be a vulture, I suppose. We've had more days than usual above the 100-degree F mark. And we are dry. When the weather forecasters were predicting 2 to 4 inches in our area a couple of weeks ago, we got 0.75". We were thankful for every drop. However, the most appreciable rain before that happened at the end of June during wheat harvest.

The Kansas Drought Monitor tells the tale, too. Half of Stafford County is in extreme drought and the other half in severe drought. (And that's better than a bunch of counties in western Kansas.)

At the bridge along the Zenith Road, Randy saw fish gasping for air in the dwindling water. I went back with him, but we couldn't see the fish at that time. However, we saw a bunch of bullfrogs who were still hunkering down in the few wet spots they could find.

 

Two years ago in August, I took this picturesque scene as I headed toward home after running an errand to the field.

Peace Creek at the Zenith Road - 2020

The U.S. Drought Monitor website also had this chart of impacts of drought. As they indicated, the consequences vary from state to state.

Several of these are evident in Kansas and other areas of the Great Plains this year.  (Click on the chart to make it easier to read.) Some field corn is getting chopped for silage, rather than harvested for grain. There are new blue-green algae alerts in the news all the time. Fires are much more likely to get out of hand. Ranchers are contemplating how to feed their cow/calf herds with dwindling pasture reserves. 

This week was again supposed to bring rain. But as this week arrived, the weather maps on the local TV stations started changing to fewer raindrops. So far, we haven't received any moisture.

However, Wednesday was a wonderful respite from the hot temperatures. So that prompted a Gator ride to the Rattlesnake Pasture.

There's still a little water in the Rattlesnake.

It's definitely better than the scene in 2012, when it was dry as a bone.

August 2012 - no water in the Rattlesnake

The cows and calves appeared to be faring well, despite the lack of rain to make the grass grow more abundantly. However, to keep it that way, Tye and Todd have decided to wean the calves from the cows next week and sell them now, rather than wait until later this fall, as is the norm. (Though we've had our farm sale, we still retain ownership in our cow/calf herd, though Tye and Todd do the day-to-day management.)

That will reduce the number of head of cattle in the pasture, with the hope that the grass will last longer for the remaining cows.

 As we left the pasture, we stopped at our customary spot for photos on the bridge.

There's still a little water flow. It's never a rushing river, but here's a comparison from March 2021.

Is there light at the end of the tunnel? The Farmers' Almanac predicts our area will have a snow-filled winter. My Grandpa Neelly may have planted potatoes by the light of the moon and the Farmers' Almanac, but I'll believe heavy snowfall when I see it. 

“Get ready to shake, shiver, and shovel!” says the website for that publication, which was founded in 1818 and is based in Lewiston, Maine. That almanac has weathered considerable distrust from meteorologists over its long-range forecasts, which it says are created using a secret formula that’s centuries old. 

Honestly, the Farmers' Almanac can't be much worse at predicting precipitation than the local TV stations.

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As I wrote earlier this week, I'm sure I'll write about the farm sale. But it's going to take some time and some thought. More on that down the road.