Drought is an awful, painful thing. But in doing some research on long-term milk cow numbers for an upcoming Agweek article, I came across a drought-related anecdote that might bring a rueful smile.

In 1934, drought was hammering the Great Plains. Livestock was starving; things were really bad. A popular theory at the time was that radio waves  – a majority of American households had radios by then — were messing up the atmosphere and reducing rainfall.

The theory got enough attention that a special “President’s Drought Committee” in 1935  reported, among other things, that radio waves have no effect whatever on rainfall.

Like you, I have no idea when our current drought will end. Like you, I’m 100 percent positive that radio waves aren’t causing it.

Let me leave you with this question, though: If you were farming in 1934 and drought was crippling your crops and pastures — if you were scared and a little desperate —  would you have at least wondered if maybe that newfangled radio was the culprit?

Fall rains can be one of the best or worst things in agriculture in this part of the world. It’s difficult to overstate the frustration that farmers experience when unwanted fall rains delay harvest and make fields a muddy mess. It’s also difficult to overstate the satisfaction that farmers experience when wanted fall rains recharge depleted soil moisture, improving the odds of a good crop the following year.

The moisture arriving this fall is welcome indeed. A summer of drought has left the region parched, and there’s little, if any, worry about finishing the rest of the mostly concluded harvest.

The thing about drought, of course, is that it doesn’t end with the return of normal precipitation. Fields won’t be recharged fully until and unless there’s a long period of above-normal moisture.

The moisture received across parts (but definitely not all) of the Upper Midwest in recent weeks is merely a start. But it’s a start nonetheless. We’ll take it.

Think back a moment to the middle of July.  If you’re an ag producer, you remember how hot and and dry it was You also remember the lamentations and gnashing of teeth about how crops would be hammered

Well, the October production report from the National Agricultural Statistics Service, an arm of the U.S. Department of Agriculture, estimates that yields of most crops in North Dakota and Minnesota held up pretty well during drought. Many South Dakota farmers were hammered, unfortunately, but their peers to the north and east generally did better.

In no way, shape or form am I minimizing the drought. Some individual farmers in North Dakota and Minnesota were hurt badly, with many livestock producers scrambling desperately for pasture and hay. And no doubt crop yields would have been even better without the drought.

Of course, producers  in North Dakota and Minnesota — on the fringes of severe drought in the Corn Belt – benefited from the higher crop prices that the drought helped to generate.

My take-away from all this reaffirms one of the basic truths of production agriculture on the Northern Plains: You can never be sure about yields until you’re sitting on the combine.

If you’re involved with agriculture on the Northern Plains, you almost certainly have some vivid memories of drought.

Here’s one of mine:

In 1988 drought ravaged much of the Upper Midwest, including my family farm in North Dakota. That summer, I returned home one weekend from my journalism job and helped my father and younger brother move cattle.

During the move, I walked across a low-lying patch of pasture next to a creek. In the past, no matter how hot and dry the summer, that small patch always had remained green. Often gnawed down by cattle, yes, but green nonetheless.

Not on this Saturday morning in 1988. The patch was as brown, wilted and ugly as the rest of the pasture. I stood there in dismay. Not even this patch was safe.

My brother, who was on the farm full time, came over and asked what was wrong.

I pointed to the grass. “Just look at it!”

My brother, a no-nonsense guy who wanted to move the cattle with a minimum of fuss, couldn’t hide his exasperation. “What did you expect?”

Well, I had expected the puny crops and withered pastures. I was prepared for that. But I had assumed this small patch of pasture would still be green. Sometimes it’s the little, unexpected things that sneak past our defenses.

In all the years that followed, I never again took that patch for granted.

My Sept. 17 cover article in Agweek compares this year’s drought with notorious droughts of the past, including the one in 1988.