Last week, I drove through something I had never experienced before in Minnesota.
A black dust storm.
The ground was so dry and the wind so fierce that the soil lifted right off the fields and swept across the land like a blizzard. Except instead of snowflakes, it was dirt. So much topsoil. I found myself gripping the steering wheel in what felt like a black snowstorm.
Later that evening, Natalie and I stood at a track meet with grit between our teeth, literally eating dust while the wind howled around us.
I couldn’t help but think about the families who lived through the Dust Bowl years. We got just a tiny taste of what that must have felt like — the helplessness of watching the very ground beneath you blow away.
And then finally… last night … came the sound.
Thunder rolling across the prairie.
I don’t know if there’s a sweeter sound to a farmer after a dry spell. The rain settled the dust, softened the earth, and seemed to let the whole countryside exhale.
Living through this firsthand has reminded me why soil health matters so much.
During that dust storm, our fields were protected with cover and residue from last year’s crop. We hired a local soil-health-minded farmer to no-till plant our new land this year, and I was grateful watching that soil stay anchored instead of drifting across the county. Our pastures held firm too — deep roots and living cover doing exactly what God designed them to do.
I truly believe we are going to see more and more farmers moving toward practices like cover crops, no-till, rotational grazing, and keeping living roots in the soil. Not because it is trendy, but because healthy soil is resilient soil.
Resilience matters.
This week I was also thinking about a book I recently read about Laura Ingalls Wilder. Someone once said to her, “They say life begins at forty,” and Laura replied:
“No dear, you are wrong. Life begins at eighty.”
I love that so much.
And when you know a little of her story, it is even more special. Laura didn’t start writing her beloved Little House books until she was in her 60s. At 80 she was still living on her beloved farm in Mansfield, Missouri, still writing letters, still fully alive to the world around her. She lived all the way to 90.
As I grow older and live on this little patch of earth I am starting to see the same thing Laura knew. She had plenty of dry and windy seasons too — a son lost in infancy, crops that failed, a manuscript that was rejected before it ever became the books we love. But she kept going. She kept her roots in the ground and embraced the storms.
After dust comes rain. After hard seasons come green pastures again. There is always another sunrise, another planting season, another chance to begin. Maybe wisdom is simply learning not to panic during the dry and windy seasons of life — because if we keep going, that is where we will really live and grow.
Grace and peace to you this week,
Leah
Great Heritage Farm
