Diaries From the Drought (Excerpt)

by Rebecca MacDonald and David Hear

I traded hospital work for [daughter] Julie and the pigs, and have never regretted it. There is a special freedom on the farm being your own boss, working as a team with your husband, being close to God and His creation, serving your community and church. We are not typical of a lot of farmers in that we have been successful throughout some poor years, but my family has not been immune to adversity. In 1984 my father became a statistic when he committed suicide. Dad, Mom and my younger brother farmed 1,200 acres. It had been a drought year in 1983, and 1984 started with a wet spring, but [then] there wasn‘t rain until after Dad‘s funeral in mid-August. I also have a cousin who lost his farm and an uncle in the farm implement business who has fought bank closings. And many of our friends have lost their farms or gone bankrupt.

Still overcast this morning and with a few sprinkles. We drove to Kirksville, Mo., and headed up northeast through farming country. The crops got progressively worse. The corn is only five feet tall when it should be seven to eight feet tall.

One of Dennis‘s uncles said that as 1988 dawned, he had such optimism that this would be a great year. The crops went into the ground so good. He then looked away and said, "And now this."

I always find myself looking into farmers’ eyes to see if that spark of life is still there. It was gone in my dad‘s eyes before he died.