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24 Apr 2001 The Great PlainsThe Way We Were
Why do we buy such myths? Why do we Americans know so little about our own country? Why are we content to settle for the abbreviated version delivered nightly by television? Aren’t we at least slightly interested in this splendid landscape stretching beyond the horizon? For the past two weeks I wandered North Dakota and Kansas (with side trips to Minnesota and Missouri). From Pembina to Turtle Lake, from Mountain to Annamouse, from Manhattan (Kansas, not New York) to Great Bend, I negotiated the Great Plains. Spring on the Great Plains is a wondrous season, with winter finally breaking and arcs of waterfowl coursing north to the prairie potholes to breed. Yet what I witnessed I shared with no one. I had the Great Plains to myself. Let me offer an example. My schedule on April 10 allowed for a break. I chose to relax with a trip into the Missouri Coteau. Leaving Bismarck after breakfast, I traveled east on I-94 to Medina, and then continued north on ND CR 68 toward Chase Lake. As soon as I left the interstate I could tell that the day would be memorable. Thousands of Dark-eyed Juncos and American Tree Sparrows littered the shoulder of the road. Every twig, branch, stem, field, yard, fence, and mound (include hay bales) carried its quota of sparrows. Often, immense flocks of juncos and sparrows would crowd the sky, spinning and screwing through the atmosphere before reeling to the ground. Waterfowl, too, seemed wired by the season change. Lakes were thawing, and ducks crammed the open water that rimmed the shore. The immediacy of the nesting season prompted many to begin their courtship antics. Drakes bobbed and ducks feigned. Geese peppered the sky, and at no time of day were the prairies absent the sounds of migration. By the end of the morning I had seen 20 species of waterfowl (15 ducks, 4 geese, 1 swan), and to be honest I cannot classify my effort as being more than leisurely. Although packed with wildlife, the North Dakota prairies were anything but crowded with humanity. For the entire day I had Chase Lake National Wildlife Refuge and the surrounding Coteau to myself. No birders, no photographers, no curious citizens wondering why the skies were seething with the migrating masses. I was alone. Following North Dakota I repeated the exercise in Kansas. After speaking before a rural economic development conference in Manhattan (sponsored by the Kansas Center for Community Economic Development), I rushed west to Great Bend and the Cheyenne Bottoms. Fermata is initiating a strategic planning effort for Great Bend, and I scheduled a number of meetings with stakeholders. My final gathering on Friday left me with a few daylight hours, and naturally I chose to spend the remaining moments watching wildlife at Cheyenne Bottoms. As soon as I entered the Bottoms I could sense something awing. Shorebirds were streaming into the marshes, cart wheeling from the sky as they landed for the night. I could imagine how welcome Cheyenne Bottoms might appear to a Hudsonian Godwit flying over, not having set foot on terra firma since departing the rice paddies of the upper Texas coast (or maybe the llanos of Venezuela). From the moment I entered until darkness drove me back to the motel, shorebirds never halted this parade into the Bottoms. I spent my formative birding years along the upper Texas coast, and I cannot count the hours I invested in studying shorebirds in the rice fields that once surrounded Houston. Yet my few hours in Cheyenne Bottoms were as thrilling as any that I have experienced in Texas. Thrilling? Yes, and singular as well. For as in North Dakota, I was alone. The Great Plains, the broad ocean of grass and grain that sprawls between the mountains, is what we once were yet squandered. The Great Plains is the Heartland, a reflection of a time and culture that sifted through our fingers as we left the farm and rushed headlong to the city. The Great Plains is a land of reconnection, of roots. In the Great Plains nature spans the horizon. In the Great Plains nature is in your face, demanding that you slow down and pay attention. Perhaps these are not attributes that appeal to the masses. Yet I cannot help but believe that in this nation there are those who do see value in what is authentic. I cannot help but believe that there are those who have not succumbed to the allure of a virtual reality (what could be more exotic or stimulating than reality itself?). For those searching for the genuine, the unaffected, the Great Plains offers a respite, a refuge. For travelers in search of the real, the true, the Great Plains is one of our nation’s last great resorts. Trip du Jour, April 24, 2001
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America
is the land of the geographically challenged. What most of us know about
North Dakota is derived from a movie actually set in Minnesota. Kansas
is as flat as the wicked witch in The Wizard of Oz. Texas is J.R.,
cotton-candy hair, and a drawl that wraps around your tongue and anchors
in the pit of your stomach. 
