Phone: 320-273-2191 |
I'm the third generation to farm this land. My father raised 13 kids on 300 acres. Today, I'm trying to raise 3 kids on 1,300 acres ... and it is tough. I'm paying taxes on this old pasture. A prairie easement gives me some income on this land, and I can still enjoy all the things I love about this prairie ... the wildlife, hunting, andknowing thatt it will be protected forever.
Swift county, MN resident
I've cut hay on this prairie for 58 years. Everything around has been plowed up. But this field is full of wildflowers and songbirds. A permanent easement that lets me keep haying it and protect prairie at the same time just makes sense.
Lac Qui Parle County, MN resident
My grandfather told my dad to never plow up that piece of prairie across the river from the home place. Well, dad passed that on to me. My husband asked about plowing it up the other day, but I said no. Grandpa said to leave it alone. He said we always need a reminder of what this country looked like when it was first settled. Protecting this prairie with a permanent easement will give me the peace of mind I need, knowing that we kept our promise to grandpa."
Clay County, IA resident
Reflections over a cup of coffee
This family owns about 400 acres in Lac Qui Parle County in southern Minnesota, where they farm corn and raise hogs, and they also have 190 acres of unbroken prairie. Nearly all of the unbroken prairie in Minnesota and Iowa escaped the plow because it was too rocky or too steep — not much use to a corn farmer, but a critical lifeline to a grassland nesting bird.
I visited in September, cottonwoods and elms, standing like old soldiers, protected the north and west sides of their house, which was old and work down, but not out. The seventy-something patriarch, and his son and daughter-in-law sat at the table. Coffee was poured. We talked about the prairie in general and how the family had been haying the native prairie for over 57 years and about how much the family enjoyed the prairie.
I learned that the 2-year-old granddaughter is especially fond of "her" prairie and loves to collect bugs and hold snakes she finds there. She loves to walk barefoot in her prairie and feel the flowers under her toes. Blond-haired and blue eyed, she rushed to hug her grandfather as he leaves for an appointment that day.
After coffee I took a walk. The family's land is some the best remaining prairie in this part of Minnesota. Surrounded by a sea of corn and soybeans, it creates an illusion of being suspended in time. It was a great feeling to walk around a piece of prairie that I know will be protected forever. Unlike this family's two year old, I kept my boots on.
I kicked up a brood of pheasants, walked right on top of a small buck bedded down in a patch of cordgrass, and watched an adult bald eagle fly out of a nearby tree. Not exactly marbled gowits, prairie chickens, and bison, but their company was appreciated none the less.
Walking in native prairie reminds me of the feeling I got when I stood on the grass at Candlestick Park as a little boy at a Giants game. It's hallowed ground, to be sure. There is not much prairie left — less than one percent remains of what once existed. What was once the largest ecosystem in North America is now our most endangered and fragmented. Many experts believe it is almost functionally extinct.
At the 1998 National Wildlife Refuge System Conference, Lynn Greenwalt exhorted us to "save dirt." That means different things to different people. To some, it may mean saving a wetland, a salt marsh, an old-growth forest, or an endangered species. To a few it means more votes or expanding one's power base. To others, saving dirt may mean saving a farm, a ranch, or a chance to hunt and fish.
On my way home that day, it occurred to me that I had met another reason to save dirt. She was two years old, she likes snakes, and she likes to feel the wildflowers between her toes. That's reason enough for me.
Ron Cole
Big Stone National Wildlife Refuge
