Sidewall Compaction from Planting into Wet Soils

May 13, 2019

Conducting field work -- including planting, tillage, or traffic in general -- after wet weather can cause soil compaction, and in particular sidewall compaction in the seed furrow. The worst cases of sidewall compaction are seen after a field has been planted when the soil was too wet, followed by a period of dry weather. If the soil stays moist, the roots are usually able to grow through the walls of the seed furrow. But if the soil gets dry, the roots can have a harder time growing through that seed furrow wall, and instead grow along the furrow, resulting in what is referred to as sidewall compaction (Figure 1).

Figure 1. Sidewall and seed zone compaction in heavy clay soil.

With corn, the plants might look fine for a while, but the symptoms of this problem will probably show up after the plants get to be several inches tall. Symptoms will look like drought stress, nutrient deficiency, or both (Figures 2 and 3).

Figure 2. Potassium deficiency in a field with sidewall and seed zone compaction in a wet, clayey soil.

Figure 3. Planting into a cold, saturate soil resulted in sidewall compaction which led to crown rot resulting in "chromic" corn.

Since there are not any good ways to fix sidewall compaction once it exists, the best practice would be to avoid creating the problem in the first place. This means waiting until soils are dry enough to plant. The way to test for this is to dig down to the desired planting depth and try to make a ball with the soil. Next, see if the ball will crumble or crack apart, or if it deforms like molding putty. If it crumbles, it is ready to plant. If it deforms, it would be best to wait before resuming field operations. Even waiting as little as half a day could make a big difference.

Source:ksu.edu

Video: Why Your Food Future Could be Trapped in a Seed Morgue

In a world of PowerPoint overload, Rex Bernardo stands out. No bullet points. No charts. No jargon. Just stories and photographs. At this year’s National Association for Plant Breeding conference on the Big Island of Hawaii, he stood before a room of peers — all experts in the science of seeds — and did something radical: he showed them images. He told them stories. And he asked them to remember not what they saw, but how they felt.

Bernardo, recipient of the 2025 Lifetime Achievement Award, has spent his career searching for the genetic treasures tucked inside what plant breeders call exotic germplasm — ancient, often wild genetic lines that hold secrets to resilience, taste, and traits we've forgotten to value.

But Bernardo didn’t always think this way.

“I worked in private industry for nearly a decade,” he recalls. “I remember one breeder saying, ‘We’re making new hybrids, but they’re basically the same genetics.’ That stuck with me. Where is the new diversity going to come from?”

For Bernardo, part of the answer lies in the world’s gene banks — vast vaults of seed samples collected from every corner of the globe. Yet, he says, many of these vaults have quietly become “seed morgues.” “Something goes in, but it never comes out,” he explains. “We need to start treating these collections like living investments, not museums of dead potential.”

That potential — and the barriers to unlocking it — are deeply personal for Bernardo. He’s wrestled with international policies that prevent access to valuable lines (like North Korean corn) and with the slow, painstaking science of transferring useful traits from wild relatives into elite lines that farmers can actually grow. Sometimes it works. Sometimes it doesn’t. But he’s convinced that success starts not in the lab, but in the way we communicate.

“The fact sheet model isn’t cutting it anymore,” he says. “We hand out a paper about a new variety and think that’s enough. But stories? Plants you can see and touch? That’s what stays with people.”

Bernardo practices what he preaches. At the University of Minnesota, he helped launch a student-led breeding program that’s working to adapt leafy African vegetables for the Twin Cities’ African diaspora. The goal? Culturally relevant crops that mature in Minnesota’s shorter growing season — and can be regrown year after year.

“That’s real impact,” he says. “Helping people grow food that’s meaningful to them, not just what's commercially viable.”

He’s also brewed plant breeding into something more relatable — literally. Coffee and beer have become unexpected tools in his mission to make science accessible. His undergraduate course on coffee, for instance, connects the dots between genetics, geography, and culture. “Everyone drinks coffee,” he says. “It’s a conversation starter. It’s a gateway into plant science.”