"A lot of what we do in this business is defensive, or preventative. Things like planting a cover crop on failed cotton acres will not make us more money this year, per se, but it will provide benefits in producing next year's crop." - Steve Verett

I started my trip driving west from Dallas on a rainy Monday. The skies were grey and the fields I passed were silent and largely empty. I thought to myself, I am here for the harvest, right? But by Wednesday morning, as I made my way north through West Texas, the scene was a lot different. It was the second day of sunshine in a rain-riddled region, and boy could you tell. The farms were buzzing with all kinds of equipment; it seemed the harvest had finally begun.

If there's one thing that I learned along the way, it's that cotton is everywhere in this part of Texas. And it makes sense-Texas has been dubbed the nation's "Cotton King" and the state's High Plains area is considered the largest cotton-producing region in the world.

I started my official cotton tour in Lubbock, a busy metropolis that is central to a vast majority of west Texas farmland. And while I'd find myself traveling south to Lamesa later in the day, I met my tour guide Steve Verett outside of the Plains Cotton Growers (PCG) headquarters in Lubbock.

Over the years, Lubbock has established itself as a home base of sorts for the surrounding farm communities. Steve himself started out living on the land he farmed in nearby Crosby County, land he still farms with his brother Eddie to this day. Today, Steve and his wife Patricia live in Lubbock, and in his day job, serves as the executive vice president of PCG.

Like Steve, many of the farmers that I met-some of who farm upwards of 100 miles away-now call Lubbock home. With a population of more than 200,000 and growing, it's one of the few communities in the region to see a population increase in the last 10 years. It's not a big surprise-in comparison to the farming communities I passed, Lubbock resembles Manhattan.

However, what most people don't realize is that by calling Lubbock home, these farmers have just added long commutes and hundreds of miles to an already demanding schedule.

Case in point, Steve and I ventured 60 miles south to Lamesa, TX to visit cotton producer Shawn Holladay on his farm. Holladay, too, was raised on the land he farmed, but he eventually moved his family to Lubbock where he lives with his wife and 15-year-old daughter.

Steve took me to Lamesa not because it was the closest cotton farm, but because it was a true, clear as day representation of the risks associated with farming.

He was right. On September 30th, just as the cotton was beginning to open and Shawn Holladay was making final preparations for harvest, Lamesa was struck by a devastating hailstorm. In one fell swoop, the very crop that so many had worked so hard on all year was gone.

In Lamesa, Holladay and his father Grant farm close to 7,300 acres of cotton. According to Holladay, this year's crop did well. That is, until the hail came. Holladay's cotton took a direct hit, knocking out close to 2,000 acres, and leaving much of the rest damaged.

We drove past dozens of fields of ruined cotton, more than the eye could see. At first, I honestly couldn't tell if the field had already been harvested, or if the hail had hit it. The only difference was the amount of cotton on the ground.

As we surveyed the damage, I couldn't help but notice how calm, and surprisingly upbeat, Shawn Holladay was. We even jumped up onto a cotton stripper to get a closer view and see what, if anything, could be salvaged.

"Each year, we [farmers] take a leap of faith," Holladay shrugged. "We can't predict the weather, we can only do what we know works best and, at the end of the day, cross our fingers."

The cotton stripper ran up and down the rows, but most of the cotton was already on the ground. He told me that even though the cotton on the ground was matted and dirty, it still has value.

I asked Holladay if he planned to collect it.

His response was somewhat hesitant, and he went on to explain that it would take a special crew with the appropriate machinery to gather it up. And, like most things in life, with extra hands come added costs.

The irony is that he's telling me this in a piece of machinery that costs close to $200,000. And that's not including all of the attachments, which Holladay told me runs him a cool $60,000-70,000 a piece. Nor does it include the newly installed GPS system, or any other piece of machinery required for harvest (I counted four different machines in one trip on the cotton stripper).

For that amount of money, the cotton stripper should not only be able to pick up cotton on the ground, it should be able to fly to the moon, I thought.

Nonetheless, Holladay said that after sustaining a major loss in the acreage, he would have to do a cost benefit analysis to bringing in the additional equipment to gather the cotton on the ground. I gathered this might not be his year.

Still, throughout the tour, he maintained this positive attitude. It was infectious, and incredible to see. We're amongst a natural disaster and spirits were high.

As my travels continued, I came to find this attitude was typical of the farmers I met. The sun was out and that meant the harvest was near. For most, regardless of whether it was considered a good year or a bad one, the harvest is their favorite part.

"I love the harvest, it's the fruit of your labor, our labor." Holladay beamed.

And it wasn't the last time I heard that on my trip. They all told me that in order to survive the profession, you need to be able to find the silver lining or you'll never make it. The harvest, it seemed, was the silver lining.

It's a rather common principle that when the going gets tough, the tough get going-and one that Shawn Holladay truly defines. Even so, it's a principle that is often easier said than done.

After all, in the height of the harvest, farmers log on between 18 and 18-hour days. They plant a crop months before the harvest, and then they must nurture it day in and day out-knowing all along that the outcome is never guaranteed. For Holladay, it all disappeared in one hour.

I compared it to the loss of a child. Holladay assured me that his wife is often far more upset about it than he. It's the nature of the game, and something he's come to accept about the job. But the truly amazing part is that he doesn't give up, and he continues to do it-every year.

We ran the cotton stripper for another hour before calling it a night, and I was ready for the drive back to Lubbock when I realized that my day wasn't over. And neither was his. Holladay is a part owner of the United Cotton Gin, a world-class gin just down the road from his farm.

With the strippers out, the gin was running, and we hopped in his truck for another adventure.

In the end, I saw the cotton ginned. I saw it graded at the USDA classing office. I saw the cottonseed milled (who knew!). And short of slipping on a new pair of jeans, I saw the cotton lint pulled, separated, dyed and rolled into sheets of denim fabric.

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