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Welcoming everybody to his farm on a searing August afternoon, Ron Rosmann lets the pleasantries go for 12 minutes before getting to the heart of things. Around him, about 70 growers sit like school kids on bales of hay, braced to hear him.

Rosmann has been farming organically for 36 years on western Iowa鈥檚 fertile hills, and his voice is as gravelly as the road that runs alongside his land. You might think farming without pesticides would get easier over time, but you鈥檇 be wrong. An impossibly rainy planting season and runaway giant ragweed have made this year his toughest yet.

鈥淲hat are we experiencing?鈥� he asks the group. 鈥淲armer temperatures, more rainfall, warmer nights, 10 years in a row of cold, wet springs. I鈥檓 getting more and more nervous.鈥�

The growers, all members of Practical Farmers of Iowa, or PFI, are here to learn how Rosmann copes. A rare alliance of organic and conventional farmers, their views on climate change run the gamut of opinion. They meet on different farms around the state to share practices and today have come out for a 鈥渇ield day鈥� to observe how Rosmann and his family produce beef, pork, chickens, eggs, popcorn, and grains on 700 acres鈥攚ithout chemicals.

While long-term climate change is prompting growing activism, farmers like these often register its near-term effects first. It contributes to soil erosion and severe weather events. It has increased annual precipitation in Iowa at least 8% over the past century, according to the state Department of Natural Resources. And the effects keep multiplying. 

The field day includes a hayrack tour of the Rosmanns鈥� pesticide-free fields. On one section, turnips are planted as a cover crop, and volunteer oats and barley also pop up. Down the road, the group visits naturally ventilated 鈥渉oop house鈥� pig shelters: metal arcs covered with greenhouse plastic, in which deep cornstalk bedding decreases manure runoff risk. They stand in front of long compost mounds, where butterflies land as Rosmann describes how to balance straw and manure. The farmers end their tour back in the barn, dining on the Rosmanns鈥� organic coleslaw and pulled-pork sandwiches. 

As Rosmann, a self-declared independent Democrat, pontificates about climate change, Mark Peterson, a conservative Republican, studies his phone. The two Iowa growers admit they don鈥檛 see eye-to-eye on the issue.

Peterson, who grows grain conventionally an hour away, believes changing weather patterns may be cyclical. 鈥淚 respect his opinion,鈥� Peterson says after Rosmann鈥檚 climate talk. 鈥淚t鈥檚 scary, there鈥檚 no doubt about that. But the cause鈥擨鈥檓 not sure that鈥檚 as important as figuring out what we鈥檙e gonna do about it.鈥�

While they may not agree on what has gotten them here, growers like Rosmann and Peterson are thinking beyond politicized climate change arguments to figure out solutions. They鈥檙e trying to adapt to the differences they鈥檙e experiencing, and even trying to mitigate them.

Along with fellow PFI members, they鈥檙e approaching agriculture more regeneratively: focusing on soil health, planting cover crops, reducing chemicals, and minimizing the runoff that contributes to the Gulf of Mexico鈥檚 fishless 鈥渄ead zone.鈥� In the age of climate change, their sharing of experience is increasingly vital.

鈥淧FI, in my view, is the best example in this country right now of the blending of science and local wisdom,鈥� Laura Lengnick says. She鈥檚 a North Carolina-based resilient-agriculture researcher who travels the country talking to groups like these.

Organizations like PFI remain rare, Lengnick says. The group has 鈥渂een a constant star in my career, literally from when I was an undergraduate student, because they鈥檙e so unique.鈥�

Most people don鈥檛 keep diaries of the weather. Only novelties, like big storms or long stretches of unseasonable temperatures, register as unusual. It鈥檚 up to scientists鈥攎eteorologists and climatologists, mainly鈥攖o tell us about how today鈥檚 weather fits into larger patterns.

Farmers are different. Weather doesn鈥檛 just affect their Saturday at the park; it dictates their livelihood, and they keep exhaustive mental and written records of it day by day, year by year. 

That鈥檚 why in 2019, you don鈥檛 need to tell many farmers that climate patterns have been shifting. When Lengnick started working on her resilience book in 2012, things were touchier in agriculture. Many farmers didn鈥檛 want to go on the record about climate change. 鈥淚 see a sea change since then,鈥� she says. 鈥淓verybody鈥檚 talking about it.鈥� 

In August 2019, Alan Sano, a central California farmer, argued in The New York Times that drought, heat, and wildfires have put growers at the climate-change frontlines. The U.N. Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change had just warned that soil is being lost up to 100 times faster than it is forming. 鈥淲e don鈥檛 need to read the science鈥攚e鈥檙e living it,鈥� Sano declared.

Sano and his farm manager, Jesse Sanchez, are part of the Conservation Agriculture Systems Center, a working group at University of California, Davis. The working group pulls a mix of California farmers together to share eco-friendly practices like reducing tillage. Like PFI, they often host field days to help farmers share techniques.

In New Mexico, the Quivira Coalition, which was formed in 1997 and believes ranching should support a healthy ecosystem, brings livestock producers together to build resilience. Today Quivira includes 750 members of all political stripes. 鈥淥ut here, people are coming from extremely rural areas, and there鈥檚 a complexity of views that is hard to characterize,鈥� executive director Sarah Wentzel-Fisher says. 鈥淏ut I think the underlying commonality we have is that people really care about the land they steward and animals they care for.鈥� 

Practical Farmers of Iowa has a longer history. Fifty members formed the organization in 1985 as a way to learn from each other. These days it numbers more than 3,500 and prides itself on being big-tent鈥攚ith wide-ranging views around politics and the environment.

Fred Abels, for instance, a staunch Republican, is passionate about improving water quality through environmentally sound practices like maintaining wetlands and buffer strips. Dan Wilson leans firmly conservative, but farms completely organically. 

Iowa made national headlines for this spring鈥檚 record flooding that has PFI members still reeling.

 鈥淒isgustingly wet,鈥� the otherwise affable Peterson growls.

At his Bent Gate Farm, Peterson鈥檚 two Labrador mixes, Emmy and Riley, jog out to greet a visitor. Dogs and cats are the farm鈥檚 only animals, but Peterson has a friend鈥檚 cattle graze on his cover crops.

It begins to rain, and from his Chevy Silverado, Peterson surveys the cover-crop mix of buckwheat, sunflower, radishes, and turnips he鈥檚 growing on 50 acres to help manage soil erosion. Each 1% increase in soil organic matter, scientists say, helps soil hold up to 20,000 gallons more water per acre.

The soil here is healthier now, Peterson says, and will yield more corn later. The field鈥檚 traditional wet spots haven鈥檛 been as big or lasting. The winter wheat will anchor the topsoil. As he talks, three geese alight. Lately Peterson has seen three coveys of quail, and up to seven pheasants in a one day. 鈥淚 see that as a sign of overall farm health,鈥� he says.

Peterson still uses the herbicide glyphosate, in the form of weed killer Roundup, although sparingly. On fellow PFI member Denise O鈥橞rien鈥檚 Rolling Acres farm 45 minutes northeast, even that would be anathema.

O鈥橞rien has farmed organically for 43 years. On this day, she and a mentee, Amber Mohr, are digging up potatoes out back.

 Rows of veggies stand at attention around them. O鈥橞rien is just as proud of her sustainable high tunnels. Working like greenhouses, they require irrigation but extend the growing seasons. O鈥橞rien installed the hoop shelters on tracks in 2013. 鈥淭his is the way vegetable farmers are going to be mitigating climate change, with high tunnels,鈥� she ways. 鈥淚t鈥檚 going to protect the soil.鈥�

She and Mohr grab the harvested vegetables and move into a barn as storm clouds loom. O鈥橞rien works barefoot as she hoses stubborn dirt clumps that stick to some carrots, later grabbing a higher-pressure hose to finish the job. Outspokenly liberal, she confesses to occasional frustrations with PFI.

She recounts losing her temper in August, when one farmer on PFI鈥檚 general listserv asked how to deal with sprayed pesticide drifting over from her neighbors鈥� farm. Pesticide drift is a hot-button issue with the farmers. During the Rosmanns鈥� field day, a crop-duster buzzed overhead. 鈥淚ncoming!鈥� farmers pointed. 鈥淗ope it鈥檚 not gonna spray us,鈥� one muttered. 

The pesticide-drift post was moved to PFI鈥檚 smaller policy listserv, which O鈥橞rien protested. After nearly 40 years as a member, she threatened to quit. 鈥淚 don鈥檛 like to end on a threat, but this 鈥� makes me sick not to discuss,鈥� she wrote.

Such flare-ups aren鈥檛 uncommon, the natural byproduct of bringing people together across ideological lines.

Within a couple days, O鈥橞rien had decided to stay, though she wishes the group would take a firmer stand on agriculture policy. Still, she鈥檚 glad a rare organization like it even exists, with its mix of growers and ideas. 鈥淚t鈥檚 really neat that conventional farmers are a part of PFI, because they to me are the farmers of the future, figuring out how to use more sustainable practices,鈥� she says. 鈥淭he other thing is, I鈥檓 still learning a lot from other farmers.鈥�