Returning part of our acreage to native flowers and grasses has been on my mind since we moved to this acreage four years ago. Interviewing sources for the article I wrote recently on Iowa's endangered species spurred me to action.
My research led me to Ion Exchange in Harpers Ferry, Iowa. The helpful folks there walked me through site selection and preparation and choosing the right kind and quantity of seed.
Though my husband has made it clear that this is my project, I knew he would never be far away. I staked out an area 40'x80'. He moved the flags to 20x40. We compromised at an area roughly 30x60. Applications of glyphosate and several weeks later, the existing lawn and weeds were effectively dead.
We planted our prairie garden this past Memorial Day weekend. David tilled the ground. I firmed up the seedbed by running the tractor over it. The biggest task was mixing the seed in 10 times the volume of wet sand and spreading it by hand. This action was, I believe, also the most satisfying.
As I walked over my plot, broadcasting the seed/sand mixture in one direction and then another, I thought about bringing the land back to what it was 200 years ago - or trying to. Who knows which of my seeds will grow? Or if they'll be the same plants that once grew here? Regardless, this bit of prairie will be unique to our land preparation and the randomness of my seed scattering, and the vagaries of today's weather and wildlife.
I am eager to see the result, but I'll have to practice patience. Prairie gardens do not establish quickly; three years to reach maturity. I'm in it for the long haul - remembering the past and looking to the future - on my own little piece of Iowa prairie.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
The Wild Things
"Carol! Look out in the horse pasture!" my husband yelled one morning last month. "I think that's a coyote." I scrambled to the window just in time to catch a clear glimpse of what was certainly a coyote. Before I could get the binoculars, the neighbor's dogs ran out barking, scaring our uncommon visitor back into the trees.
We talked about it for days. I had never seen a coyote 'in the wild' before. Let alone in our back yard.
Then a week ago, I looked up from my computer screen to see a wild turkey running across our front yard. Just one, running full tilt. No doubt escaping the neighbor's dogs.
Granted, wild turkeys are fairly common in the Iowa countryside these days. I see them from time to time as I drive.
But still, coyotes and turkeys are not the animals that graced the Iowa fields as I grew up here. They're quite a sight to see. What is ironic about seeing them just now is that I recently wrote an article for The Iowan about the status of threatened and endangered species in Iowa.
I learned in writing on the wild side that the 21st Century landscape of Iowa has changed more than any other state. Our agricultural bent makes that logical, but I admit I hadn't thought of that before. The folks at the DNR say we should be excited - thrilled even - to see these wild species. I know I sure was!
We talked about it for days. I had never seen a coyote 'in the wild' before. Let alone in our back yard.
Then a week ago, I looked up from my computer screen to see a wild turkey running across our front yard. Just one, running full tilt. No doubt escaping the neighbor's dogs.
Granted, wild turkeys are fairly common in the Iowa countryside these days. I see them from time to time as I drive.
But still, coyotes and turkeys are not the animals that graced the Iowa fields as I grew up here. They're quite a sight to see. What is ironic about seeing them just now is that I recently wrote an article for The Iowan about the status of threatened and endangered species in Iowa.
I learned in writing on the wild side that the 21st Century landscape of Iowa has changed more than any other state. Our agricultural bent makes that logical, but I admit I hadn't thought of that before. The folks at the DNR say we should be excited - thrilled even - to see these wild species. I know I sure was!
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Playing in the sky
“You have to make your own fun,” Dad told me. His comment embodied both a life philosophy and the financial reality of our eastern Iowa dairy farm in the 1950s. So as often as not, our fun came from what we made rather than something we bought.
One year when the March winds were strong enough to make a skinny kid like me think I could stand on a hilltop, spread my arms and fly, Dad taught us to make kites. He brought dowel rods to the dining room table; Mom dismantled brown paper bags. He showed us how to measure and cut, fold and glue until we had a sturdy diamond-shaped kite.
We were giddy with anticipation as we carried our kite to the field south of the house. Dad coached one of us to run with the kite while another played out the string.
Time after time, the kite swooped in the air and then nosedived into the ground. It just would not fly. Dad stood perplexed. Then he remembered. “A kite needs a tail,” he proclaimed. Back to the house we trooped.
Mom dug an old sheet out of her rag drawer and we tore it into strips. We crafted one long strip, knotted smaller cloth strips down the length, and tied it to the end of the kite.
Back in the field, one good run, one solid gust of wind, and that kite took off, its fancy tail sailing in the wake. “Let out the string!” Dad urged. It was all he could do to leave the ball of string in my hands.
We played the kite out. It soared higher and higher. Swooping. Diving. As high as an airplane! We had made our own fun and it reached the sky.
This piece was published in the April 2009 "Fiftysomething" section of the Des Moines Register.
One year when the March winds were strong enough to make a skinny kid like me think I could stand on a hilltop, spread my arms and fly, Dad taught us to make kites. He brought dowel rods to the dining room table; Mom dismantled brown paper bags. He showed us how to measure and cut, fold and glue until we had a sturdy diamond-shaped kite.
We were giddy with anticipation as we carried our kite to the field south of the house. Dad coached one of us to run with the kite while another played out the string.
Time after time, the kite swooped in the air and then nosedived into the ground. It just would not fly. Dad stood perplexed. Then he remembered. “A kite needs a tail,” he proclaimed. Back to the house we trooped.
Mom dug an old sheet out of her rag drawer and we tore it into strips. We crafted one long strip, knotted smaller cloth strips down the length, and tied it to the end of the kite.
Back in the field, one good run, one solid gust of wind, and that kite took off, its fancy tail sailing in the wake. “Let out the string!” Dad urged. It was all he could do to leave the ball of string in my hands.
We played the kite out. It soared higher and higher. Swooping. Diving. As high as an airplane! We had made our own fun and it reached the sky.
This piece was published in the April 2009 "Fiftysomething" section of the Des Moines Register.
Friday, April 24, 2009
Helping the blind to read
My mother had macular degeneration, a disease that destroys straight ahead vision but leaves peripheral vision. She could no longer sew or read or see the faces of people right in front of her. But fortunately, we found the Iowa Department for the Blind. The tips they shared, including the use of puff paint to mark stove and washing machine dials, microwave buttons, and radio & TV remote controls, allowed Mom a quality of life in caring for herself in her own home that she'd have lost without them.
The biggest blessing of all, though, was Talking Books. The Department for the Blind provided the player and librarians quickly learned Mom's preferences in books and authors - biographies and Louis L'Amour. Books arrived in her mailbox and when Mom was finished, she returned them to her mailbox in the postage paid mailers. She was never without a book to 'read.' And her reading resulted in weekly book discussions between us.
When I published my book Growing Up Country: Memories of an Iowa Farm Girl, I was fortunate to be able to read it for the Iowa Department for the Blind Library, thereby making it available to everyone with low vision.
During the process of reading my book for their library, I learned that tens of thousands of Iowans qualify for the services of the Department but only a few thousand use them. That's a shame. The services are free. The quality of life bestowed, priceless. If you know someone with low vision, don't hesitate. Give the Department for the Blind a call.
The biggest blessing of all, though, was Talking Books. The Department for the Blind provided the player and librarians quickly learned Mom's preferences in books and authors - biographies and Louis L'Amour. Books arrived in her mailbox and when Mom was finished, she returned them to her mailbox in the postage paid mailers. She was never without a book to 'read.' And her reading resulted in weekly book discussions between us.
When I published my book Growing Up Country: Memories of an Iowa Farm Girl, I was fortunate to be able to read it for the Iowa Department for the Blind Library, thereby making it available to everyone with low vision.
During the process of reading my book for their library, I learned that tens of thousands of Iowans qualify for the services of the Department but only a few thousand use them. That's a shame. The services are free. The quality of life bestowed, priceless. If you know someone with low vision, don't hesitate. Give the Department for the Blind a call.
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