St. Louis weather forecasters said there was a chance of thunderstorms this
week, but rain showers failed to show up in our nearby area of Illinois.
Meanwhile, parched fields of corn continue to suffer, with little hope of
recovery. This week's photo, above, of an Illinois field between Lebanon and Trenton,
east of St. Louis, shows corn stalks that are stunted, cobs that are not
developed inside their husks, and dry earth that is cracking. The drought has
devastated the corn crop, as I discussed in my last blog post. Are the soybeans
more drought tolerant? They, too, are looking in need of some significant rains.
Keep praying for the farmers.

The temperature in St. Louis today was supposed to climb to 107. The same high temperature is forecast for tomorrow. This week marks our third round of 100-degree heat. The first round lasted 10 days. And this wicked heat wave has come on top of the long, summer drought that has gripped much of the nation.

Out here, 23 miles from downtown St. Louis, Mo., we're surrounded by Illinois farmlands and acres and acres of corn. Of course, you'll see plenty of soybeans in the countryside, too, but corn is the big crop, and this year was supposed to produce a bumper corn crop. Farmers were looking forward to green fields forever and the best corn production in years.

I was looking forward to that, too. You see, back in the summer of 1990, I was visiting here from California with my daughter, who was just turning 10 then. We were driving down a road east of Lebanon, Ill., and the tallest corn I'd ever seen was growing on each side of the road. The stalks were so tall, they created a tunnel effect. The corn was towering, lush and green, and the tunnel was beautiful. Suddenly, we breathed in a moist, sweet smell of aromatic corn. It saturated the air. That smell was better than the taste of any cob of fresh, buttered, juicy, sweet corn I'd ever munched on. So, I was happy to see that both sides of that road were planted in corn again this year. I had plans to photograph the corn tunnel and take in that sweet aroma.

Not a chance now. The unrelenting drought has ruined our Illinois corn.

Last week, a farmer southwest of here told a television reporter that only 30 percent of the corn crop is salvageable. This week, a county farm bureau representative told another reporter that only 20 percent could be saved and that if the rain continued to stay away, all would be lost. In some places in Illinois, some farmers already have cut down their corn, calling it a total loss, leaving just a few rows of failed corn for claims adjusters to inspect.

I remember this past spring, when I watched local farmers hard at work in the fields, prepping the soil and planting the corn before turning to the task of harvesting their winter wheat or planting some fields in soybeans. Their high hopes of record corn have dried up.

Just by chance, this morning, I happened to hear "Poor Old Dirt Farmer" by the great Levon Helm, who died this year of cancer. It's from his Grammy-winning album, "Dirt Farmer," recorded in 2007. The first verse could have been written for this year's farmers, for those hard-working corn planters of 2012. It goes:

"Oh the poor old dirt farmer, he lost all his corn.
And now where's the money to pay off his loan?
He lost all his corn, can't pay off his loan.
He lost all his corn."

The farmers I know are not poor, but when I listen to "Poor Old Dirt Farmer," I realize that farmers every year face the chance that too much rain or too little rain or no rain could ruin their crops, set them back terribly, and threaten their very livelihoods.

We're praying for rain.

The sounds of roofers can be heard throughout our small  Illinois town this summer. A heavy-duty hail storm in April damaged hundreds of roofs, and the town has been besieged by roofing companies ever since. It seems like every homeowner here is getting a new roof.

In the meantime, as the summer arrived, temperatures began to rise. They didn't stop rising. They started breaking records. They shattered records. By the end of June, we were sweltering each day in record-setting, triple-digit temperatures. It stayed in the 100s for at least 10 days before falling back into the 90s last week.

The roofers remain hard at work despite the blistering  heat wave. Imagine working all day long on those rooftops, under that broiling sun in oven-like temps.

My wife took notice and said she wondered how the hard-working roofers could do it. She said as much to some of the roofers and to a lot of our friends. I, of course, respect the roofing guys, but I finally had to add an extra perspective to my wife's admiration for these local workers.

"Don't forget the Marine lance corporal in Afghanistan, who is working in the same kind of heat, while strapped with 50 pounds of gear and additionally burdened with the possibility of getting shot at any moment," I said.

It was one of those I'm-just-sayin' moments. It might bring agreement. It could start a debate. In this case, it brought on only a wrinkled nose, squinted eyes and scrunched mouth. That means: I see your point, but give the roofers their due.

Then I thought back to a time many years before, when I was a lance corporal in what Americans call the Vietnam War, or what the Vietnamese call the American War. I remembered being excruciatingly hot, sweaty and fatigued from the temperatures and humidity and 50 pounds to 70 pounds of gear. I recalled praying we wouldn't get into a firefight, because I was too hot and tired and weak to fight. We'd get into
firefights, anyway, but fortunately, the adrenalin would kick in. Suddenly, you were strong again and completely oblivious to the heat.

So, while I respect the roofers who are working under the scorching sun in the hot, Illinois temperatures, I want to salute that lance corporal who is defending freedom
afar, in those difficult and dangerous conditions in Afghanistan. Safe home, Marine. Semper Fi. And the same to all you Marines and all you soldiers, sailors and airmen, too.