[Marxism] Tapped out

Louis Proyect lnp3 at panix.com
Mon May 20 07:14:48 MDT 2013


NY Times May 19, 2013
Wells Dry, Fertile Plains Turn to Dust
By MICHAEL WINES

HASKELL COUNTY, Kan. — Forty-nine years ago, Ashley Yost’s grandfather 
sank a well deep into a half-mile square of rich Kansas farmland. He 
struck an artery of water so prodigious that he could pump 1,600 gallons 
to the surface every minute.

Last year, Mr. Yost was coaxing just 300 gallons from the earth, and 
pumping up sand in order to do it. By harvest time, the grit had robbed 
him of $20,000 worth of pumps and any hope of returning to the bumper 
harvests of years past.

“That’s prime land,” he said not long ago, gesturing from his pickup at 
the stubby remains of last year’s crop. “I’ve raised 294 bushels of corn 
an acre there before, with water and the Lord’s help.” Now, he said, 
“it’s over.”

The land, known as Section 35, sits atop the High Plains Aquifer, a 
waterlogged jumble of sand, clay and gravel that begins beneath Wyoming 
and South Dakota and stretches clear to the Texas Panhandle. The 
aquifer’s northern reaches still hold enough water in many places to 
last hundreds of years. But as one heads south, it is increasingly 
tapped out, drained by ever more intensive farming and, lately, by drought.

Vast stretches of Texas farmland lying over the aquifer no longer 
support irrigation. In west-central Kansas, up to a fifth of the 
irrigated farmland along a 100-mile swath of the aquifer has already 
gone dry. In many other places, there no longer is enough water to 
supply farmers’ peak needs during Kansas’ scorching summers.

And when the groundwater runs out, it is gone for good. Refilling the 
aquifer would require hundreds, if not thousands, of years of rains.

This is in many ways a slow-motion crisis — decades in the making, 
imminent for some, years or decades away for others, hitting one farm 
but leaving an adjacent one untouched. But across the rolling plains and 
tarmac-flat farmland near the Kansas-Colorado border, the effects of 
depletion are evident everywhere. Highway bridges span arid stream beds. 
Most of the creeks and rivers that once veined the land have dried up as 
60 years of pumping have pulled groundwater levels down by scores and 
even hundreds of feet.

On some farms, big center-pivot irrigators — the spindly rigs that 
create the emerald circles of cropland familiar to anyone flying over 
the region — now are watering only a half-circle. On others, they sit 
idle altogether.

Two years of extreme drought, during which farmers relied almost 
completely on groundwater, have brought the seriousness of the problem 
home. In 2011 and 2012, the Kansas Geological Survey reports, the 
average water level in the state’s portion of the aquifer dropped 4.25 
feet — nearly a third of the total decline since 1996.

And that is merely the average. “I know my staff went out and 
re-measured a couple of wells because they couldn’t believe it,” said 
Lane Letourneau, a manager at the State Agriculture Department’s water 
resources division. “There was a 30-foot decline.”

Kansas agriculture will survive the slow draining of the aquifer — even 
now, less than a fifth of the state’s farmland is irrigated in any given 
year — but the economic impact nevertheless will be outsized. In the 
last federal agriculture census of Kansas, in 2007, an average acre of 
irrigated land produced nearly twice as many bushels of corn, two-thirds 
more soybeans and three-fifths more wheat than did dry land.

Farmers will take a hit as well. Raising crops without irrigation is far 
cheaper, but yields are far lower. Drought is a constant threat: the 
last two dry-land harvests were all but wiped out by poor rains.

In the end, most farmers will adapt to farming without water, said Bill 
Golden, an agriculture economist at Kansas State University. “The 
revenue losses are there,” he said. “But they’re not as tremendously 
significant as one might think.”

Some already are. A few miles west of Mr. Yost’s farm, Nathan Kells cut 
back on irrigation when his wells began faltering in the last decade, 
and shifted his focus to raising dairy heifers — 9,000 on that farm, and 
thousands more elsewhere. At about 12 gallons a day for a single cow, 
Mr. Kells can sustain his herd with less water than it takes to grow a 
single circle of corn.

“The water’s going to flow to where it’s most valuable, whether it be 
industry or cities or feed yards,” he said. “We said, ‘What’s the higher 
use of the water?’ and decided that it was the heifer operation.”

The problem, others say, is that when irrigation ends, so do the jobs 
and added income that sustain rural communities.

“Looking at areas of Texas where the groundwater has really dropped, 
those towns are just a shell of what they once were,” said Jim Butler, a 
hydrogeologist and senior scientist at the Kansas Geological Survey.

The villain in this story is in fact the farmers’ savior: the 
center-pivot irrigator, a quarter- or half-mile of pipe that traces a 
watery circle around a point in the middle of a field. The center pivots 
helped start a revolution that raised farming from hardscrabble work to 
a profitable business.

Since the pivots’ debut some six decades ago, the amount of irrigated 
cropland in Kansas has grown to nearly three million acres, from a mere 
250,000 in 1950. But the pivot irrigators’ thirst for water — hundreds 
and sometimes thousands of gallons a minute — has sent much of the 
aquifer on a relentless decline. And while the big pivots have become 
much more efficient, a University of California study earlier this year 
concluded that Kansas farmers were using some of their water savings to 
expand irrigation or grow thirstier crops, not to reduce consumption.

A shift to growing corn, a much thirstier crop than most, has only 
worsened matters. Driven by demand, speculation and a government mandate 
to produce biofuels, the price of corn has tripled since 2002, and 
Kansas farmers have responded by increasing the acreage of irrigated 
cornfields by nearly a fifth.

At an average 14 inches per acre in a growing season, a corn crop soaks 
up groundwater like a sponge — in 2010, the State Agriculture Department 
said, enough to fill a space a mile square and nearly 2,100 feet high.

Sorghum, or milo, gets by on a third less water, Kansas State University 
researchers say — and it, too, is in demand by biofuel makers. As 
Kansas’ wells peter out, more farmers are switching to growing milo on 
dry land or with a comparative sprinkle of irrigation water.

But as long as there is enough water, most farmers will favor corn. “The 
issue that often drives this is economics,” said David W. Hyndman, who 
heads Michigan State University’s geological sciences department. “And 
as long as you’ve got corn that’s $7, then a lot of choices get made on 
that.”

Of the 800 acres that Ashley Yost farmed last year in Haskell County, 
about 70 percent was planted in corn, including roughly 125 acres in 
Section 35. Haskell County’s feedlots — the county is home to 415,000 
head of cattle — and ethanol plants in nearby Liberal and Garden City 
have driven up the price of corn handsomely, he said.

But this year he will grow milo in that section, and hope that by 
ratcheting down the speed of his pump, he will draw less sand, even if 
that means less water, too. The economics of irrigation, he said, almost 
dictate it.

“You’ve got $20,000 of underground pipe,” he said. “You’ve got a $10,000 
gas line. You’ve got a $10,000 irrigation motor. You’ve got an $89,000 
pivot. And you’re going to let it sit there and rot?

“If you can pump 150 gallons, that’s 150 gallons Mother Nature is not 
giving us. And if you can keep a milo crop alive, you’re going to do it.”

Mr. Yost’s neighbors have met the prospect of dwindling water in starkly 
different ways. A brother is farming on pivot half-circles. A 
brother-in-law moved most of his operations to Iowa. Another farmer is 
suing his neighbors, accusing them of poaching water from his slice of 
the aquifer.

A fourth grows corn with an underground irrigation system that does not 
match the yields of water-wasting center-pivot rigs, but is far 
thriftier in terms of water use and operating costs.

For his part, Mr. Yost continues to pump. But he also allowed that the 
day may come when sustaining what is left of the aquifer is preferable 
to pumping as much as possible.

Sitting in his Ford pickup next to Section 35, he unfolded a sheet of 
white paper that tracked the decline of his grandfather’s well: from 
1,600 gallons a minute in 1964, to 1,200 in 1975, to 750 in 1976.

When the well slumped to 500 gallons in 1991, the Yosts capped it and 
drilled another nearby. Its output sank, too, from 1,352 gallons to 300 
today.

This year, Mr. Yost spent more than $15,000 to drill four test wells in 
Section 35. The best of them produced 195 gallons a minute — a warning, 
he said, that looking further for an isolated pocket of water would be 
costly and probably futile.

“We’re on the last kick,” he said. “The bulk water is gone.”




More information about the Marxism mailing list