Cicadas sing their ancient song as the sun settles into its 4 o’clock angle on the water.  The level is high, a little unusual for late July, as Johnson Lake, Gosper County, Nebraska is a reservoir on the old Tri-County irrigation system.  Built as a Works Progress Administration Project in the 1930’s, it was the answer to the dustbowl in southwestern and south-central Nebraska to move corn farming away from the whims of dryland practice dating back to the homestead days.   Originating in the 1880’s, the idea was sidetracked by just-often-enough ideal growing conditions, which lessened the need for controlled irrigation in the eyes of farmers for decades.  By 1934, the Great Depression combined with the extreme drought changed minds, and finally made the push to more modern growing practices.

 

Often by August, the reservoirs move from their recreational mission to the primary purpose of serving agriculture in the region.  The area has had an unusual amount of rain this year, and the snow pack upriver on the shallow, wide Platte system extending into the Colorado Rockies was adequate to keep these old valleys flooded in their reservoir service.  I can see sailboats, people fishing, jet skis, and skiiers enjoying the sun and light breeze as the wind percusses the cottonwood leaves in a familiar sound from my time spent growing up here.

 

As we crossed the Northern Plains and settled into the valley yesterday, I saw the corn approaching peak with tassels whipping in the wind.   Taken back to my time working on my Grandparents farm in the 1970’s, I recall that they had worked this land since the late 30’s as a college graduate and former teacher, and had grown up here.  As the fields go by, I reflect on my own interaction with the canal system, irrigating hundreds of acres of corn by hand with siphon tubes on hot, sunny days. That was close to the end of an era as well, as the water would soon be distributed to crops with gated pipes and pivot systems.

 

Today is the 105^th anniversary of the birth of my Grandfather Leroy Nyquist.  I learned the history of the canals every year when we started back up in late June, opening the canal gates to let the water fill the ditches we’d dug to irrigate our fields.  It’s still sunny and hot, and I map out the system in my head once again, just like I did 40 years ago.