The banker had spreadsheets. The equipment dealer had financing options. The agricultural extension agent had research showing irrigation pays for itself in seven years, maybe ten, depending on drought frequency and crop prices and energy costs and about fifteen other variables that nobody can predict.

You looked at all of it and said no.

You've got 200 acres of corn and soybeans in central Iowa. A quarter-section pivot would run $100,000 financed over fifteen years. That's $8,000 annually in loan payments before you pump a gallon of water. Add the $160 per acre operating costs and you're at $30,000 every year just to keep the system running. You'd need an extra 67 bushels per acre every single year—not just drought years—to break even.

Some years you'd get that. Other years you wouldn't. The years you wouldn't are the ones that would kill you, because the debt doesn't care if it rained.

Your father took on equipment debt in the 1980s when everyone said you had to get bigger or get out. He got out. Lost the farm in '86 when corn prices crashed and the note came due and the bank didn't care that he'd done everything the experts said to do. You were sixteen. You remember.

So when your neighbors started installing pivots after the 2012 drought, you watched. When the equipment dealers came around with their financing packages, you listened. When the extension agents showed you projections about climate resilience and weather volatility, you nodded. Then you said no thanks.

You accept that you'll have bad years. In a drought your yields will be 30% to 40% below your neighbors who irrigate. You'll watch their pivots running while your corn curls in the heat. That'll hurt. But you're not carrying $100,000 in debt that comes due whether it rains or not.

You work construction in the winter. That's steadier income than farming has been in a decade. You've experimented with cover crops and no-till practices that help the soil hold moisture. You've looked into crop insurance, though you're skeptical the payouts would actually cover a catastrophic loss. Mostly you've accepted that farming in the Midwest in 2025 means living with uncertainty, and you're not convinced that taking on generational debt makes the uncertainty any less.

A 2023 study from Dartmouth found that by midcentury there will likely be enough water to irrigate soybeans in Iowa but not corn. Iowa grows more corn than any other state. So farmers installing irrigation systems now are betting on water availability for crops that might not be viable to irrigate twenty years from now. They're borrowing money for infrastructure that might be obsolete before it's paid off.

The weather in 2024 proved something, though you're not sure what. Some parts of Iowa got higher-than-average rainfall. Others stayed in drought. September in Minneapolis saw 0.06 inches of rain—breaking the 2012 record for dryness. October brought maybe a quarter of normal precipitation across the Upper Midwest. There's no pattern anymore. Just volatility.

You can try to engineer your way through volatility with $400 to $1,000 per acre in irrigation infrastructure. Or you can accept that the weather's going to do what it's going to do, and taking on $100,000 in debt doesn't actually give you control over the rain. It just gives you another bill to pay.

Between 2018 and 2023, the number of U.S. farms with irrigation dropped 8%. Irrigated acres fell 5%.

Your neighbors think you're leaving money on the table. Maybe you are. Or maybe you're avoiding a trap. U.S. farmers spent $3 billion on irrigation equipment in 2023. The U.S. Precision Irrigation Market is projected to hit $4.72 billion by 2033. The equipment manufacturers are making money. The banks financing the loans are making money. The agricultural consultants selling resilience are making money.

You're trying to keep your farm.

Your yields will be terrible in bad years. Fine in others. You won't out-produce your neighbors in the good years, but you won't be underwater when corn prices drop or the aquifer runs low or the pivot motor burns out at the worst possible time. You'll sleep without the debt waking you up at 3 AM to run numbers that don't work.

Farmers have to choose between accepting weather risk or taking on debt risk. There's no safe choice. Just different ways of being vulnerable. You've chosen to be vulnerable to the weather rather than vulnerable to the bank.

Your neighbors made the opposite choice. Both are rational. Neither is wrong. You're just betting on different versions of a future nobody can predict.

You're betting without owing $100,000. That might be foolish. It might be the smartest thing you ever did. Right now you're just a farmer who looked at the spreadsheets and the financing options and the projections about climate resilience, and decided the only winning move was refusing to play a game that's rigged against you either way.

You'll find out if you were right. Your neighbors will find out if they were right. In the meantime you're both just trying to grow corn in a climate that's stopped making sense, hoping your particular bet pays off, knowing it might not.