Some farmers and local residents fear the unknowns caused by the floodwaters, with many questioning whether they can continue to live and work while battling unpredictable weather and a Missouri River that floods with increasing regularity.
But some also say that it has emboldened them to become louder advocates to get the help they need from politicians to protect their homes — communities that are often forgotten in the national conversation.
“We have to make this in our wheelhouse,” said Jeff Jorgenson, a local farmer and district director for the Iowa Soybean Association, “because we’re working to try to save our community.”
Fewer Iowa farmers expected after flood
At the Silver Spur this week, farmers compared notes and photos to understand the ripple effects of the flood on themselves and their neighbors. Many likened it to the devastating flood in 2011, but with the caveat that the impact of these waters would be much worse and longer lasting.
Some farmers in Fremont County will probably not return to till their soil, many farmers here said.
“Lot of folks won’t be able to continue after this,” said Julius Schaaf, 66, who said 1,500 of his 4,000 acres was currently underwater.
Because of rain, changing temperatures and the speed at which the water arrived, many of the gravel roads farmers use here became impassable in the days leading up to the sudden deluge. Most who operate here were unable to save the soybean and corn bushels they’d kept in grain silos. With commodity prices currently at a record low due to a crop surplus and the Trump administration’s trade wars, some farmers had hoped that storing the crops until prices rose would earn them a few more cents per bushel.
In Fremont County alone, local farmers pulled together a quick estimate that the flood affected 28 local producers’ farmland. Of those who stored grain, only three were able to move theirs before the water came and ruined nearly 1.8 million bushels of corn and soybeans.
Much of the grain lost by these Iowa farmers is uninsured, and they estimate that they lost a total of 390,000 bushels of soy and 1.4 million bushels of corn — totaling about $7.3 million in damage to their farm operations. For context, American farmers yielded 14.42 billion bushels of corn and soybeans between September 2017 and August 2018, according to the USDA.
For some, the flooding could mean losing both their 2018 crops and their 2019 crops, because the lingering water stripped topsoil and left behind sand that could delay planting. Most farmers had planned to plant seed in fewer than four weeks.
Few can afford those kinds of losses in good years, but the waters have made an already grim situation increasingly dire. The flooding will affect farmers here for years.
“The reality is this isn’t going to be over for a very long time,” Jorgenson said. “It took years after 2011 for people to come back. For me as a farmer, there are flooded acres here that to think that I’ll be able to plant a crop in 45 days is just virtually impossible.”
Farmers forced to sue for flood protection
That water like this would arrive so suddenly came as no surprise to some farmers here. They’ve dealt with a growing number of floods on their land since 2004, when the Army Corps of Engineers amended their flood control practices on the Missouri River.
That led to a lawsuit in 2014 of 44 plaintiffs representing farms that extend across six states, from Bismarck, North Dakota, to Leavenworth, Kansas. They contend that the Army Corps of Engineers has prioritized fisheries and recreation over flood control.
The landowners allege that the Corps’ changes to flood control has led the federal agency to intentionally use their farmland to dump excess water from the Missouri River’s levees and dams — which they say has happened more than 100 times in the past 15 years. The lack of compensation for that use of their land violates their Fifth Amendment rights, they say.
Leo Ettleman, 64, one of the plaintiffs here in southwest Iowa, said that the water covering more than 90 percent of his 2,200 acres and his lost grain once again proves farmers’ concerns.
His eyes grew red talking about these latest losses and whether his 42-year-old son, the seventh generation to farm in this county, could afford to take over the family farm.
“I don’t think he wants to give up, but it’s going to be tough,” Ettleman said, wiping his eyes. “Young family and all that — we just don’t know.”
The Corps maintained that while there was risk of increased flooding bychanging its priorities around the Missouri River, it did not directly intend to cause flooding on their land and should not be held liable.
Judge Nancy Firestone, who sits on the United States Court of Federal Claims, ruled in favor of the farmers, and damages have yet to be set. She denied the government’s motion to reconsider last week.
Seth Wright, a lawyer for the farmers, said that his firm is beginning an investigation of the current flooding to determine whether they will sue on behalf of those farmers affected by these floodwaters who aren’t part of the pending lawsuit.
“We’re ahead of the game and aren’t starting from scratch, but we still need to do our due diligence to make sure liability is there,” he told NBC News.
But Ettleman, Lueth and a handful of other local farmers, who gathered along a dirt road in a farm field where water lapped at the edges of the thoroughfare and reached toward the horizon, said they have had enough and will advocate for additional change.
They plan to make a lot of noise in Congress about their continued challenges because they feel they have no choice.
“We need Congress to change the law and we need to reel in the Corps of Engineers,” Lueth said, referring to legislation surrounding the Missouri River waters. “It’s a simple thing, but it still requires a vote. Urban people have a voice with the Green New Deal and things, but we’re losing our rural rights.”
A rural town tries to hold onto hope
Farmers aren’t the only ones who were openly hostile toward the Army Corps of Engineers amid this week’s flooding.
Floodwaters overtook more than three-quarters of the town of Hamburg, Iowa, a small hamlet of 1,400 that dates back 150 years. The town had flooded in the past, but never past Hamburg’s middle intersection, where a flagpole stands.