All you have to do is pump it. Every farmer in that room signed up that night. Every farmer except one. Alvin Ducker was 61 years old and had farmed 320 acres of dryland wheat in Sheridan County since 1933, the worst year of the Dust Bowl, the year the sky turned black and the top soil blew to Chicago. He’d been 18 years old, just married, just starting, and the land had tried to kill him before he’d planted his first crop.
He’d survived not by borrowing, not by expanding, not by chasing the latest technology. He’d survived by doing one thing, refusing to depend on anything he couldn’t control. Alvin sat in the back row of that community center meeting and listened to every word Richard Tully said. He looked at the charts. He looked at the loan terms. He looked at the projected yields. And when the signup sheets were passed around and every farmer in the row ahead of him signed his name, Alvin passed the sheet to the man behind him without picking up the pen.
After the meeting, Richard Tully approached him in the parking lot. Mr. Ducker, I noticed you didn’t sign up. Can I answer any questions for you? Alvin was leaning against his truck, a 1965 Ford F250, faded red, held together by rust and stubbornness. He looked at Richard Tully. The way a man looks at someone selling something that sounds too good. How deep is this aquafer? Alvin asked. Varies. Under Sheridan County, between 100 and 200 ft of saturated thickness, and how fast does it recharge?
Richard Tully hesitated. That wasn’t a question farmers usually asked. The recharge rate depends on rainfall and soil permeability. In this part of Kansas, it’s approximately half an inch per year. Half an inch per year, Alvin repeated. And how much water does a center pivot pull out per year? About 18 in of water per acre per growing season. So, you’re pulling out 18 in and putting back half an inch. Richard Tully opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again.
The aquafer has enormous capacity, Mr. Ducker. At current projected usage rates, the water will last how long? Decades? 50 years at minimum? Probably longer. Alvin nodded slowly. 50 years. And what happens in year 51? Richard Tully didn’t answer that question. Nobody ever did. Alvin pushed himself off the truck. I’ve been farming this ground for 39 years. My father farmed it before me. The only thing I’ve learned in 39 years is this. Free water doesn’t exist. Somebody always pays.
If it’s not you, it’s your son. If it’s not your son, it’s the land. He got in his truck. I appreciate the offer, but I’ll find my own water. He drove home. Now, let me tell you what happened next because this is where the story splits into two paths. And the two paths are the whole point. Path one, everybody else. Within two years, 37 of the 43 farmers in Sheridan County had installed center pivot irrigation systems. The transformation was visible from the air where there had been a patchwork of brown dryland fields, wheat, sorghum, there
