South Dakota Ranchers Face Storm’s Toll, but U.S.’ Helping Hands Are Tied
UNION CENTER, S.D. — The cattle lay in heaps of tangled hooves, collapsed against fences and submerged in creeks. Some had curled up behind hay bales, hiding from 70 mile-per-hour winds that scattered herds for miles, struck by hypothermia weeks before they were scheduled to go to market.
In one of the worst blizzards to hit western South Dakota, ferocious winds and snow as deep as five feet killed tens of thousands of livestock and damaged the area’s economy. More than a week later, many of the cows remain unburied.
“At this point in time, it’s important to step over the dead ones and take care of the living,” said Gary Cammack, a state representative and rancher who lost 120 cows and calves, about a fourth of his herd.
Delayed by more inclement weather and ground too soggy for tractors, Mr. Cammack, like many ranchers in this farming community just east of the Black Hills, hopes to begin the gruesome work of cleaning up the carcasses this week. But while state and county agencies have helped clear roadsides and have provided burial pits, the federal government shutdown has only complicated the crisis.
Fetching about $2,000 a head and outnumbering South Dakotans by 5 to 1, cattle make up about a quarter of the state’s $24 billion-a-year agriculture industry, its largest economic driver. About a third of the state’s 16,000 beef farms are west of the Missouri River, the area hit hardest by the storm.
Ranchers looking for guidance on how to document their losses with the federal Farm Service Agency, whose workers have been furloughed, are, as some here say, “plumb out of luck.” And the stalling of a farm bill in Congress has left many families skeptical about whether disaster relief will ever come.
State officials estimate a death toll of as many as 20,000 cows. An official number may not be known for weeks as producers continue to search for livestock. But the loss has become about more than the economic devastation, which could linger for years and put some producers out of business. South Dakotans are fiercely self-reliant, but they now feel invisible as they ask federal officials to lend a hand.
“If this event had happened to one rancher, if he had lost everything that he owned, you would not hear one word from us,” Mr. Cammack said. “We would pull together and make him whole. But how do you do that when you’re all in the same boat?”
On Oct. 4, after a week of 80-degree temperatures, heavy rain shifted into 36 hours of unexpected whiteout conditions that left close to five feet of snow in some areas. The blast of snow, rare for early October, was the fourth-heaviest ever recorded in South Dakota, said Susan Sanders, a meteorologist for the National Weather Service in Rapid City. A much smaller weather system swept through this week, as cold temperatures, rain and snow continue to plague the region and put surviving cows at risk of exhaustion and sickness.
Ranchers say the cows had not developed winter coats and were still grazing in summer pastures when the storm hit, making them vulnerable in unprotected fields and largely out of reach. The financial toll is even greater when considering the calves those cows would have produced.
“They were carrying next year’s paycheck,” said Lynn Spring, a rancher who considered himself lucky for losing 100 cattle.
The blow comes a year after cattle ranchers weathered a severe drought that raised feed prices and forced some to shrink their herds. The recent losses only added uncertainty to their balance sheets, especially with Congressional leaders at an impasse on the farm bill.
The legislation could include a livestock disaster program that provides assistance for producers in dire straits. Kristi Noem, a Republican who is South Dakota’s sole House member, was recently appointed to a committee tasked with hashing out the differences between the House and Senate versions of the measure.
But ranchers, who are working to document their livestock deaths so they can submit the figures when the government reopens, are doubtful that help will come from Congress anytime soon.
“They’re acting like a bunch of kids fighting over a toy,” said Matt Kammerer, another South Dakota rancher. “They’re getting paid; they ain’t feeling any hardship.”
Mr. Kammerer was among the thousands of residents who lost power during the blizzard, hunkering down at home with his family playing the board game Trouble by candlelight. By the time he emerged, he had lost a fifth of his 200 cows, a number he brought a county commissioner out to verify on a recent morning.
Out in a field, they gazed down at an open grave, where his animals were stacked three layers deep, with dozens more owned by other ranchers. Farther out, in a nearby pasture, cattle that belonged to a distant relative of Mr. Kammerer lay uncollected. Out of a herd of 125, only 11 survived, he said.
“They might not ever recoup,” he said, fighting back tears. “You take $80,000 worth of debt at the bank, and there’s nothing left for them to pay that off. I mean, there’s nothing.”
UNION CENTER, S.D. — The cattle lay in heaps of tangled hooves, collapsed against fences and submerged in creeks. Some had curled up behind hay bales, hiding from 70 mile-per-hour winds that scattered herds for miles, struck by hypothermia weeks before they were scheduled to go to market.
In one of the worst blizzards to hit western South Dakota, ferocious winds and snow as deep as five feet killed tens of thousands of livestock and damaged the area’s economy. More than a week later, many of the cows remain unburied.
“At this point in time, it’s important to step over the dead ones and take care of the living,” said Gary Cammack, a state representative and rancher who lost 120 cows and calves, about a fourth of his herd.
Delayed by more inclement weather and ground too soggy for tractors, Mr. Cammack, like many ranchers in this farming community just east of the Black Hills, hopes to begin the gruesome work of cleaning up the carcasses this week. But while state and county agencies have helped clear roadsides and have provided burial pits, the federal government shutdown has only complicated the crisis.
Fetching about $2,000 a head and outnumbering South Dakotans by 5 to 1, cattle make up about a quarter of the state’s $24 billion-a-year agriculture industry, its largest economic driver. About a third of the state’s 16,000 beef farms are west of the Missouri River, the area hit hardest by the storm.
Ranchers looking for guidance on how to document their losses with the federal Farm Service Agency, whose workers have been furloughed, are, as some here say, “plumb out of luck.” And the stalling of a farm bill in Congress has left many families skeptical about whether disaster relief will ever come.
State officials estimate a death toll of as many as 20,000 cows. An official number may not be known for weeks as producers continue to search for livestock. But the loss has become about more than the economic devastation, which could linger for years and put some producers out of business. South Dakotans are fiercely self-reliant, but they now feel invisible as they ask federal officials to lend a hand.
“If this event had happened to one rancher, if he had lost everything that he owned, you would not hear one word from us,” Mr. Cammack said. “We would pull together and make him whole. But how do you do that when you’re all in the same boat?”
On Oct. 4, after a week of 80-degree temperatures, heavy rain shifted into 36 hours of unexpected whiteout conditions that left close to five feet of snow in some areas. The blast of snow, rare for early October, was the fourth-heaviest ever recorded in South Dakota, said Susan Sanders, a meteorologist for the National Weather Service in Rapid City. A much smaller weather system swept through this week, as cold temperatures, rain and snow continue to plague the region and put surviving cows at risk of exhaustion and sickness.
Ranchers say the cows had not developed winter coats and were still grazing in summer pastures when the storm hit, making them vulnerable in unprotected fields and largely out of reach. The financial toll is even greater when considering the calves those cows would have produced.
“They were carrying next year’s paycheck,” said Lynn Spring, a rancher who considered himself lucky for losing 100 cattle.
The blow comes a year after cattle ranchers weathered a severe drought that raised feed prices and forced some to shrink their herds. The recent losses only added uncertainty to their balance sheets, especially with Congressional leaders at an impasse on the farm bill.
The legislation could include a livestock disaster program that provides assistance for producers in dire straits. Kristi Noem, a Republican who is South Dakota’s sole House member, was recently appointed to a committee tasked with hashing out the differences between the House and Senate versions of the measure.
But ranchers, who are working to document their livestock deaths so they can submit the figures when the government reopens, are doubtful that help will come from Congress anytime soon.
“They’re acting like a bunch of kids fighting over a toy,” said Matt Kammerer, another South Dakota rancher. “They’re getting paid; they ain’t feeling any hardship.”
Mr. Kammerer was among the thousands of residents who lost power during the blizzard, hunkering down at home with his family playing the board game Trouble by candlelight. By the time he emerged, he had lost a fifth of his 200 cows, a number he brought a county commissioner out to verify on a recent morning.
Out in a field, they gazed down at an open grave, where his animals were stacked three layers deep, with dozens more owned by other ranchers. Farther out, in a nearby pasture, cattle that belonged to a distant relative of Mr. Kammerer lay uncollected. Out of a herd of 125, only 11 survived, he said.
“They might not ever recoup,” he said, fighting back tears. “You take $80,000 worth of debt at the bank, and there’s nothing left for them to pay that off. I mean, there’s nothing.”
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