Des Moines Register

Editor's note: This column by Kyle Munson was originally published in November 2014.

MARSHALLTOWN, Ia. – If Iowa had its own 10 commandments of rural driving, one of the holy laws handed down from brittle scrolls excavated out of an ancient barn would read:

"Thou shalt raise a finger or two off thy pickup steering wheel as a friendly greeting to fellow farmers."

Old-school Iowans probably have heard of the rural ritual known as the "farmer wave."

But Todd Collins had no idea the cultural tsunami he was about to unleash when on a whim he launched his grassroots campaign to establish "Farmer Wave Week" in Iowa.

In 2014, that whim became official when then-Gov. Terry Branstad signed a proclamation to recognize the first Farmer Wave Week.

Farmer Wave Week, which is normally recognized each November, "encourages all Iowans to display their Midwestern hospitality and extend this simple, friendly gesture to all that they might meet."

Collins had entertained this scheme ever since he spent about five years on the air in Wisconsin where his own farmer waves went unreturned.

"I'd give the flick of the finger, and I'd never see anybody do it back," he said. "I'd get actually pretty weird looks."

Finally he decided to rally his listeners during harvest time.

Collins was lucky to catch the then-governor in 2014 still giddy from winning a record sixth term amid a Republican wave of election victories. Branstad probably would have signed a "Farmer Tan Week" proclamation in the middle of November.

Collins was then bombarded by news radio in San Francisco, a YouTube viewer in India and a cowboy poet in Kansas who was moved to compose verse about the hallowed wave. He got another message "from a province in Europe that I can't even pronounce."

The morning radio host recorded his original 3½-minute promo video with help from a Marshalltown Community College TV student. He enlisted a childhood friend who happens to be a graphic designer to create an eye-catching logo.

The cultural message of the farmer wave, Collins explains in the video is "almost like saying, 'I trust you' — 'You're a good person.' "

It's also a sign of solidarity akin to the "down low" wave shared by motorcyclists who meet each other on the highway.

I've also always assumed that the farmer wave on a rutted gravel road or narrow blacktop is a sign of mutual relief that the two drivers avoided a head-on collision.

In case you're skeptical of Collins' agrarian bona fides as gatekeeper of farmer-wave culture: Yes he's been a broadcaster since age 18, but he also still helps his older brother, Chad, harvest crops on the family farm where they grew up near Carroll. (Their farmer father died from cancer about 10 years ago.)

The radio jock has even categorized the waves:

• The farmer wave can be done with one, two, three (extremely rare), four or all five fingers. (The one-finger wave tends to dominate, but Ann Selzer has yet to conduct an Iowa Poll on the subject.)

• Then there's the flick: a jerk of the finger not only off the steering wheel but also slightly back.

• The point: what it sounds like.

• A nod of the head — up or down. (A seed-corn cap helps make this more visible.)

• The "Oops, I missed you" wave: Hold a full hand up in the back of the pickup window so your fellow farmer can glance in the rearview mirror and realize that you just accidentally missed him while checking commodity prices on your smartphone.

While back home a few years ago to drive the combine, Collins was taught yet another variation: "the hook," in which the index finger is curved and held high off the wheel during the wave.

One of my former Register colleagues on Facebook cited the "L" wave (index finger and thumb) as particularly popular in Monona County.

One fungicide even has promoted something called the "yield bump" (with fists) in its commercials, but nobody believes that farmers really do that.

I hitched a ride with Collins in his black Chevy Avalanche 4-by-4 to the small town of Conrad and back. We pestered a few locals at a tire store and then grilled Bob and Doug Lutes, the father-son duo that runs Bob's Farm Center on the edge of town.

Bob didn't realize that the farmer wave culture had become so codified.

"Preferably two," Bob said of his usual wave.

For such a cornerstone ritual of Iowa nice, it's probably a good idea not to mistakenly flip the bird.

After all, you want your neighbor to stop and help the next time you suffer a flat tire on a lonely gravel road.​