Watching cycle of farming

I've closely observed an endless marathon this past year. I knew that I was in for a long haul, but little did I know that I would be more watchful of the farmer-trainer than the botanical-contestant. Up close and personal I saw a relationship unnoticed by non-farming families.
 
For over 12 months I surveyed 40 farm acres directly south of my house. I watched it fed on a precise schedule. I observed its reconditioning after every season, a tuning up as fine as one could expect from any expert masseuse.
 
I looked as the land rested just long enough to allow it to give maximum performance in its next productive round. This farmland is loved by those in whose care it rests. Known as the Mitchell farm, it is owned by Bill Thacker and cultivated by Doug Mellon Farms.
 
I started earnestly observing it in September 2007. I had asked Doug Mellon about the cotton crop that was in the ground that summer. In previous summers he had raised various grasses and grains there. Why grow cotton this time?
 
The ground is caliche, hard clay soil virtually impenetrable for water. They grew cotton in 2007 because the plants' long tap roots break through caliche, allowing water to soak in deeper than other crops permit. Mellon Farms made no profit on that cotton planting. While they got some financial return, the crop was grown primarily to condition the acreage so it would yield more profitable crops later.
 
The cotton was picked in one mid-September day by two vacuum machines. The devices collected most of the crop, but not all … as I discovered. A south wind blew that night. I awoke to a yard of randomly dispersed white cotton balls. Happily for me, deep plowing tractors moved in that day. They struggled back and forth across the landscape, pulling up large caliche clods and burying most of the field's residual cotton balls.
 
Within days other tractors crumbled the clods and roughly re-leveled the ground. They, too, traveled monotonously back and forth, back and forth, for over 24 hours, diagonally across the acreage. The next day they laser-leveled the land.
 
Immediately, a new set of tractors formed rough rows, then semi-sculptured them as men arrived to prepare each row end for flood irrigating. Water freely flowed the following day. Then the plot was allowed to sleep for several weeks. As weeds popped up, they were hoed into extinction. Once a cropduster sprayed an herbicide over the entire area.
 
In mid-November, broccoli seeds were placed in the rows. A day later irrigation pipes appeared. Water pumped through rainbirds for 60 straight hours. Then the sprinklers ran eight hours daily for over a week. The irrigation pipes were removed as tiny sprouts poked through the surface. Row irrigation took over after that. As necessary, rows were machine hoed to bury weeds.
 
Periodically the field was sprayed by a cropduster or tractor. In mid-February, emerging weeds were again hoed. Harvesting started in mid-March and was completed in three shifts over a five-day period. Then the field was irrigated again and within a week the second picking of the field was finished.
 
In early April the field was disked and laser-leveled once more. Sowing Sudan grass seeds followed. A couple of days passed until pools of water again covered the acreage. As mid-April temperatures soared above 100 degrees, young plants first cast a green hue over the land. This was followed by flood irrigation repeated each fortnight. By the first of June I could no longer see over the upward thrusting tall grass.
 
A week later the field was mowed and the grass left lying on the ground. Within a week the prone grass was turned. I love that smell! Subsequently the entire crop was bailed and hauled away. Six weeks later the mowing, drying, bailing process completed a second cutting.
 
The grass stubble was plowed under, the field again laser-leveled, flood irrigated and allowed to lie bare until prepped to greet another winter growing season.
 
I look forward to the coming 40 acres of romaine hearts. I'm told that in early spring this harvest will find its way to America's East Coast.


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Gary Knox is a retired Yuma area school superintendent and guest columnist for The Sun.