Prairie. Candace Savage

. . because the work is worth doing . . . These questions lurk, like ephemeral companions, at the edge of our field of vision. For me, the answers have often turned out to be comically understated: growing carrots in my garden, playing fiddle tunes on my accordion, or stringing words one after another to form sentences. But none of these activities can compare with the simple, animal pleasure of scuffing across a dusty stretch of half-wild prairie somewhere in the back of beyond, with hot licks of meadowlark song filling the air. Enveloped in the sounds and scents of the grasslands, I am a child again, holding my mother’s hand, as memories of her own sage-scented prairie childhood rise up to meet her. The Great Plains grasslands are old, older than memory. For visitants like us, this ancient land offers a grounding in continuance.

      Something kindles inside me when I sit on a lichen-covered boulder and realize that it has sat there for ten thousand years, ever since the retreat of the glaciers. Or when I lie on my back in the grass, soaking up the sun, and feel the Earth pressing against me as if it were holding me up. Whatever it was that lit the spark of life in the beginning of time is still present here, in the grass, wind, sunshine, and rain, in the birds and animals. Working to preserve and restore grassland ecosystems is an act of reverence for the crazy caper of life, which gave birth to us and all our flying, walking, swimming, and slithering relations. It is an expression of gratitude for the mundane gift of being here.

      There is no point in pretending that everything is hunky-dory for the wildlife and wild places of the Great Plains. In my home region of the Canadian prairies alone, more than two dozen species have been added to the at-risk list since this book was first released seven years ago, and another dozen have been “uplisted” to a more critical status. Only two listed species appear to have made significant gains during the same span of years: a tiny fish called the bigmouth shiner, which has been found in new locations and is no longer thought to be at risk, and the swift fox, a cat-sized canid that went from Extirpated to merely Endangered, thanks to a long-term reintroduction effort. Meanwhile, the status of prairie birds as a group continues to worsen year by year, as formerly abundant species, like the Common (now uncommon) Nighthawk, become the focus of concern.

      The fundamental problem for most prairie species is loss of habitat. To this day, we continue to lose wetlands to drainage, river-flow to dams, and both native and tame grasslands to cultivation. In the Great Plains states, for example, millions of acres of marginal cropland that were seeded to hay in the 1980s and 1990s under the Conservation Reserve Program—and that have provided living space for wildlife ever since—are currently being ploughed up for the production of biofuels. As for the surviving wild prairie, it is in declining health due to the incursions of invasive plants and the relentless, dendritic expansion of oil-and-gas exploration and other human demands. If you are looking for a place where the conservation needs are urgent and your help is required now, look no further.

      . . . a strategy of “no regrets,”. . . I can’t promise you that a united force of grass-huggers will succeed in striking a happy balance between prairie people and the more-than-human world. It’s pretty clear, however, what will happen if we do not make the attempt. From my own small experience of engagement (as board member for the Nature Conservancy of Canada and a partner in a restoration project, among other things), I can tell you that, even though the context is often disheartening, the work of conservation can be exciting, inspiring, and fun. The prairie ecosystem is battered, but it is also adaptable and tough. Repeat after me: Things can change for the better.

      There is no way to hold back the future. But we can shape the course of events by engaging— fully, deeply, and passionately—with the present. And so we begin again.

      Eastend, Saskatchewan

      April 2010

{ ACKNOWLEDGMENTS }

      THE AUTHOR IS deeply indebted to the dedicated and creative people who contributed their talents to this project, in particular photographer James R. Page, artist Joan A. Williams, editor Nancy Flight, designers George Vaitkunas and Naomi MacDougall, and cartographers Lorena Patino and Diane Perrick. This book owes much of its beauty and merit to their efforts.

      The information presented here is based on scientific research conducted by biologists at universities, research institutes, and other publicly supported agencies in every province and state across the Great Plains. Although there are too many of them to mention individually, they have each earned a vote of thanks from everyone who loves the grasslands. The experts who served on the advisory panel for this project deserve special acknowledgment, since they found time in their busy schedules not only to read all or part of the manuscript but also to offer many invaluable corrections and clarifications. Many others generously shared their time and knowledge, notably: Steve Adair, Ducks Unlimited; M.G. Anderson, Brian Gray, and Rhonda McDougall, Ducks Unlimited Canada; James Bassinger and Brian Pratt, Geology Department, University of Saskatchewan; Barrie Bonsal, National Hydrology Research Centre; Jan Bednarski, Benoit Beauchamp, and Arthur Sweet, Geological Survey of Canada; Louis B. Best, Department of Natural Resource Ecology and Management, Iowa State University; Dean Biggins and Mike Lockhart, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service; Peter Blancher, Bird Studies Canada; Don Buckle, arachnologist, Saskatoon; Bonnie Chasteen, Missouri Department of Conservation Grow Native! Program; Bob Clark and Dean Nurnberg, Canadian Wildlife Service; Meredith Cornett, Minnesota Chapter of the Nature Conservancy; Robert R. Cox, Jr., and Gary L. Krapu, U.S. Geological Survey; Sarah Davies, American Prairie Foundation; Art Davis, Cedric Gillott and Robert Randell, Department of Biology, University of Saskatchewan; Cyndi Evans and colleagues, Prairie State Park, Missouri; Gene Fortney, Nature Conservancy of Canada; Curtis Freese, World Wildlife Fund U.S.; David A. Gauthier, Canadian Plains Research Center; Rob Gardner, Society of Grassland Naturalists; Robert Gordon, Northern Plains Entomology; Robert Graf and Owen Olfert, Agriculture and Agri-Foods Canada; Grant Harper, geologist, Thornhill; John A. Harrington, Department of Geography, Kansas State University; Kirk Henderson, Iowa Native Roadside Vegetation Center; E.H. Hogg, Canadian Forest Service, Natural Resources Canada; Sam James, Department of Biology, Maharishi University of Management; Kris Kendell, Alberta Environment; Anna Leighton, Saskatchewan Native Plant Society; Steve Malins, Banff National Park; Richard Manning, author and board member of the American Prairie Foundation; Mary Ann McLean, Department of Life Sciences, Indiana State University; Sue Michalsky, range ecologist, Eastend, Saskatchewan; Russ Miller, general manager of the Turner ranches; Wendell Morrill, Department of Entomology, Montana State University; Heather Musgrove, Saskatoon; Dave Naugle and Thomas M. Power, University of Montana; Kevin Murphy, Saskatchewan Environment; Mike Phillips, Turner Endangered Species Fund; Keith Roney and Ron Tillie, Royal Saskatchewan Museum; John Sidle, U.S. National Grasslands; James C. Trager, Shaw Nature Reserve, Missouri; Elaine Wheaton, Saskatchewan Research Council; and David and Lynn Zahrt of the Country Homestead Bed and Breakfast in the Loess Hills of Iowa. I am grateful to you all.

      Finally, it is a particular pleasure to acknowledge the day-in-and-day-out contribution of Keith Bell, whose generosity and love of life have sustained this endeavor at every step.

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       WHERE IS HERE?

      “You cannot take care of what you cannot see”.

       DR. GEROULD WILHELM, SPEAKING AT THE NORTH AMERICAN PRAIRIE CONFERENCE, KIRKSVILLE, MISSOURI, 2002

      THERE ARE PEOPLE who think of the prairie as boring, and it is hard not to pity them. We see them on the highways, trapped inside their cars, propelled by a burning desire to be somewhere else. But even as we wonder at their hurry, we have to admit that these disgruntled travelers are following in a grand old North American tradition. On both sides of the Canada–U.S. border, prairie bashing is as old as the written record. In 1803, for example, when the United States was contemplating the acquisition of the lands west of the Mississippi River from the French, through the