Essay
Adult Winner
Grandpa's Place
By CINDY OWSLEY, LaHarpe, Ill.
"It is inconceivable to me that an ethical relation to land can exist without love, respect and admiration for land and a high regard for its value. By value, I of course mean something broader than mere economic value; I mean value in the philosophical sense." — Aldo Leopold
I was walking through the short–grass prairie with my granddaughter on my shoulders. I noticed that the little bluestem and side oats grama were crushed in a distinctive oval shape. "Look, Rachel! That's a deer bed!"
It took me a minute to process what the 2 1/2–year–old wanted. Then I laughed when she lay down in the deer's bed … and asked me to lie down with her!
Rachel giggled as we gazed up at the sky and the grasses towering above our heads. Ah, so this is where the deer sleep…
My mother once asked if I knew why I liked the outdoors so much. It was a question whose answer eluded me – perhaps because the idea of not liking to be outdoors was as foreign to me as not liking sleep or food or air.
Mom recalled that when I was a child all of our entertainment was outdoors. They'd taken me mushrooming before I could walk.
She was right. Though I don't remember riding on Dad's shoulders through the timber, I do remember fishing with a cane pole and learning to dogpaddle in the pond. I do remember our cabin where we had so many wiener roasts and family gatherings.
I can still hear how my Grandma Macle squealed when she hooked a fish. And I can still see her "mushrooming" in patches of spring beauties, Dutchman's breeches or bluebells.
My Grandpa Keith was too quiet to squeal, but fishing was his lifelong passion. And he pursued the four–leggeds until his shotgun too seldom found its mark.
Standard Oil was good to my grandpa. And after his last line had been wetted, my grandpa was good to me. It didn't take too long to decide that we'd get more enjoyment from one piece of land than lots of pieces of paper.
Grandpa's Place was a wornout farm not unlike Aldo Leopold's place in Sand County. Since we bought it four years ago, we constructed a pond and a wetland for my grandpa. We sowed a prairie for my grandma. We built a cabin for my parents. We planted trees for our granddaughter.
When the Native Americans speak of their relatives, they don't just mean human ones. They think of ones that fly, swim and walk on four legs. I believe Grandpa watched me one day while I was swimming. He was the big, old bullfrog. And I believe that Grandma visited me when I stopped to admire the Black–eyed Susans. She was the Monarch butterfly.
I take my granddaughter outdoors every chance I get. I point out the "frog people" and "deer people" and "bird people" hoping she will understand that we are all related. And my heart smiled the first time she proclaimed her own find, "Look, Gramma Cinny! Frog person!"
Every year I take her picture with one of the tree seedlings. When she gets a little older, I'll tell her how big the trees will be when she gets to be my age. And hopefully, she'll remember this image as I do when I visit the stand of white pines our family planted over 40 years ago.
It worries me that so many of our children know more about the World Wide Web than they know about the web of nature's world around them. So I wasn't surprised when my 10–year–old friend thought it would be a good idea to get rid of all the mosquitoes. Wesley confidently reported that mosquitoes spread disease. He had never considered what the birds would eat if the mosquitoes were all gone.
It worries me that my brother, Tim, thinks that all predators should be shot. He tells me that they kill all the birds, rabbits and deer.
I try to explain that predators actually keep prey healthy by weeding out the sick and injured and by keeping their numbers in check. I note that if coyotes and bobcats killed all the prey, they would starve to death. I suggest that if he wants to shoot something that destroys our native fauna, it should be his outdoor cats.
As I write this, I'm traveling across the country for a last visit with my nephew, who is 10 years my junior. He spent some of his last days thinking about the good times we had. He remembered fondly how I'd taken him rabbit hunting when he was 10; yet we didn't even see a rabbit.
Aldo Leopold left his mark on the world by setting in motion some ideas about how we should conserve the land and its nonhuman creatures. The ideas were inspirational to many people — including me. Yet, they were not new ideas. Native Americans thought of the earth as their mother. They believed the land should be taken care of for their grandchildren's children.
I feel honored to be the caretaker of 38 acres of Mother Earth. I will share this space with my relatives that fly, swim and walk on four legs. I will recreate the family gathering spot of my youth. But most of all I hope to give some children a place to experience the outdoors because they will never protect the earth if they don't learn to love it.
I think Aldo Leopold would be proud that I adopted some of his ideas about how land should be used. I believe my grandfather and grandmother would be pleased that we are restoring a piece of earth to the condition it was in when their grandfathers and grandmothers were here… And I hope that someday my granddaughter will show her own grandchild where the deer sleep.
Poetry
Middle School winner
Night Versus Day
By DYLAN CARLSON, James Madison Middle School
Shadows lengthen as the sun falls toward the horizon
Willows sing their songs of night to the heavens
Creatures fear the darkness
Running scared from its black tendrils
Night creates cover for the bold
Spells death for others
But night has a weakness
The sun like a diamond blade
Cutting it away, waging war with the darkness
Weak at first, but as it grows in strength
The sun reigns over the earth like a noble king
Warming the frightened
Repelling the evil
Until night slithers like an adder
To its forest kingdom.
Adult winner
Rain Forest Tour
by JOLAN K. WARREN, Burlington
A battered sign proclaims
"Rain forest tours: this way"
In several languages, because few tourists
Se habla espanol
Even in Costa Rica
Where you can drive from the beach,
Up into the mountains, down again,
And then on to the rain forest —
All before lunch on Tuesday.
We join the line and pay our colones
to the smiling guide
Who makes sure we are strapped
Securely into a gondola car
More appropriate in the Alps
Than on a rain forest tour.
I am nervous as
Cables creak their wary protest
As the cars grind through the canopy
Saturated in brilliant green.
Flowers explode from vines and branches.
Click, click, click.
A Kodak moment preserved.
Two hours later, head still in the treetops
Feet back on the ground.
In the car before I realize
"Amber, did you see any animals at all?"
"I think I saw a bird — I think."
One week later, pictures confirm —
A single bird in two hours.
I'm not the only one unnerved by the cables.
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