Collected here are all the first-, second- and third-place winners in the Second Annual Wild Words & Art contest. You can tell us what you think of them at the Leopold Heritage Group's blog site.
Dream About a River
First Place ($50) — Kathleen Unger Hart, Dallas City, Ill.
Dream about a river. Let it fill your mind.
Look down on it from high above and know
The wholeness of it,
The far source and the distant destiny.
Dream that the river is a thing alive,
Moving muscles of mist and mud.
Dream about a river. Let it fill your heart.
Lean back on the grassy bank and know
The feeling of it,
The coolness of the air around it.
Dream that the river is speaking to you,
Whispering over sandbars and silt.
Dream about a river. Let it fill your soul.
Drift on the current and know
The energy of it,
The creative cosmic force of it.
Dream that the river is you,
Shining back at the Milky Way.
Prairie Tapestry
Second Place ($30) — Janice Blakenburg, Donnellson
The fields form a tapestry
Woven by four generations
Each row resembling wide ribbons
And sturdy cords
Tiny threads tightly stitched
Family, neighbors, bankers,
Men at the local elevator
Give the design valuable detail
Each thread adding to its life story
For one-hundred years
Broken threads carefully mended
Have kept this heirloom unflawed
This well-woven work of art
Signifies for all eternity
What we did here mattered
Captive Coffee with Miz'Issippi
Third Place ($20) — Nancy Leigh Harless, Wever
The tintinnabulation of the
tap, tap, tapping
rain holds me captive
inside my small detention cell.
Cordoned off, snug and warm,
in my tiny sailboat brig, I sip
hot coffee, stare out a foggy portal,
reminisce the river’s rhythm to the quiet
backbeat of the tap, tap tapping rain:
A duck’s happy tail in the air.
The buzz of a slough —
air teeming with fresh life.
Reeds wrinkle into the questioning
necks of white inlet egrets.
A blue heron, tree-posed,
in the purple, shallow shadows.
An eagle stabs a bold, bald
red-eyed glare, soars above trees
whose colors hint the tint of autumn.
I sip my now cold coffee,
captive inside my small detention cell,
comforted by the cadence
of the tap, tap tapping rain,
and my river recollections.
Adult Essay
The 'Gratest' Time
First Place ($50) — Cindy Owsley, LaHarpe, Ill.
“I cannot remember the shot; I remember only my unspeakable delight when my first duck hit the snowy ice with a thud and lay there, belly up, red legs kicking.” Aldo Leopold
He walked quietly — obviously on high alert. “Watch for nuts falling,” he whispered. “Sometimes squirrels drop them from trees.” Suddenly he brought the .22 to his shoulder and fired. Thirteen year old Jake had just bagged his first squirrel.
In real life, Jake is the little brother. For the weekend, he was big brother to 10 year old Wesley. When the two boys posed for the requisite dead animal picture, it was impossible to tell which one was the proudest.
I have to admit that as soon as I gave Jake permission to hunt, I regretted it. Though I’d spent time with both boys, they had never met. Jake hunts with his dad, but Wesley had never been in the field. And I had given up gun hunting after I shot my first rabbit when I was 16. I quickly added a caveat, “But if either one of you is even the least bit unsafe, the guns get put away — no questions asked.”
Jake did his daddy proud. He modeled gun safety like a pro and patiently taught Wesley how to use the rifle. Jake’s mother wasn’t surprised. “He’s gone to the duck blinds with his dad since he was two.”
Unfortunately, Jake’s dad wasn’t with us. Jake looked at his squirrel and asked, “Do you know how to clean it?” “No,” I responded. “I was hoping you did.” Jake mustered confidence that comes with his gender, “I think I know how.” In a couple of hours, breakfast was roasting over the campfire because “that’s what the Indians would have done.”
After cleaning fish, I’ve always insisted on having a ceremony. We stand solemnly on the edge of the dock and give thanks to the fish for letting us catch them. Then, we put the remains back into the water. When I asked Jake how he thought we should do a squirrel ceremony, he said, “I think I have to do it by myself. There are some things I should explain (to the squirrel).” It was obvious that at least parts of him were no longer a boy.
It might seem odd that a 53 year old woman who has spent the last four years developing habitat on her 38 acre farm would encourage hunting. I think it’s odder that most people do not make any connection between animals and the meat on their table.
On that day, Jake made the connection really well. He was choking down the squirrel he had so recently shot and cleaned. “You know,” I told him softly, “the Indians thought that the animals gave themselves to the hunters. They did not think hunters got game because they were a good shot. I think that squirrel would want you to eat it.”
The next morning I shuffled both boys into the crisp fall air before they changed out of their pajamas. We sat cross-legged around the sacred circle of the campfire and we each said something positive about each other. Jake told me that he was proud to be trusted to hunt with Wesley. Wesley told us that he thought it was neat that we didn’t know how to clean the squirrel, but we did it. I told them both I was pleased with their gun safety.
Later, Wesley noted in the cabin log, “Jake is cool!!” And Jake wrote, “I had the gratest time ever.”
The Mother Tree
Second Place ($30) — Elaine Tweedy Foley, Montrose
(in memory of Hughie Tweedy, 1910-1979)
It was just an old gnarled apple tree: too dense for climbing, too lopsided for a specimen tree, too short for much shade — just an old bent tree, probably grown from a tossed apple core. Next to the woven wire fence, too far from the orchard, it was crowded by the electric pole and the barnyard gate. But the trunk was strong and thick, so the farmer chose it for his experiment.
How many varieties would one apple trunk support? The sour red cherry tree had accepted the graft of the sweet yellow bing branch. Would this old girl accept more than one graft?
So the farmer worked carefully and patiently. The host tree looked like Red Delicious — but who really knew? First he tried a (yellow) Transparent graft. He caressed the mother tree with tender care and vigilant scrutiny every time he passed it on the way to milking, then on the way back to the farm house. Success! The following summer Golden Delicious and sweet Winesap were carefully introduced. Three adopted branches and the following summer the mother tree allowed for another: a Jonathan bough. The clipped grass beneath her canopy grew lush as a green velvet skirt.
The farmer knew a lot about timely dormant spraying and careful pruning. Every spring what a sight: four flowering grafts springing from the original growing-in-the-wrong-place, blooming apple tree. Neighbors parked in the lane, walking to the barnlot to admire the remarkable tree that didn’t seem so old, nor so gnarled anymore. In fact, she seemed to stand more erect with her arms held high: look at me now! Fat yellow and red apples eventually grew from the same trunk. The bountiful, beautiful tree made the farmer as proud as a new papa!
One early summer afternoon, when tiny fruits were again just beginning to form, the farmer was napping in the house. He didn’t hear if someone knocked at the door. He didn’t hear if they speculated that the fruit tree might someday interfere with the electric wire so high above. He didn’t hear if they later claimed they were just doing their job.
As the farmer walked to the barn for the evening milking he dropped both buckets when he saw the brush pile of flowering branches, wilted and dying. The mother tree stood mutilated and broken: the center cut away with her outer branches still grasping toward the sky. The tree’s heart was cut out, its vulnerable core exposed to wind and weather. The maimed tree struggled next to the woven wire fence, too far from the orchard, crowded by the electric pole and the barnyard gate.
The utility company’s work report said it was just an old gnarled apple tree: too dense for climbing, too lopsided for a specimen tree, too short for much shade — just an old bent tree. Not worth anything.
The Picture
It was a warm spring day, and we were returning from fishing when I got the picture.
We had been to Lake Sugema down by Keosauqua. All my buddies had been going down there, and they all were raving about how big the bluegills were. A year earlier we had gone there for the first time, and I can still remember the look on the girl’s face a the gas station when I asked her how to pronounce it. “Of course it is pronounced just the way it is spelled,” I was told. So the best I could figure it was something like “Saw Gee Ma.”
We always took the back way to the lake through Geode, across the dam, then the long winding road down to Lowell, across the Skunk River, up the hill, past Pickle Church, Salem Stub, over here, over there, back and forth and finally at some point we would get to the lake.
It had rained on us a couple of times during the morning, but the sun was shining now as we headed home. It was a beautiful day! We had just made the turn at Pickle Church and were heading towards the curve just before we would be dropping down to cross the Skunk River. I looked above the curve and there in the pasture was that dead tree. It was one of those trees that always catches your eye because it seemed so out of place in the middle of the field.
But today was different. Today it was not a dead tree guarding the crest of the hill. Today it was alive, more alive than it had probably ever been. Its leaves had fallen for the last time years ago, but today it was in full foliage. It was majestic, the branches and limbs were filled and fluttering in a warm sun-drenched breeze. That is then I got the picture.
The picture caught all thirteen turkey vultures with their wings spread to dry and soak up the afternoon sun. I had never seen anything so remarkable. They had spread themselves out evenly in the tree and each one of them held the same pose as if they had all received the same instructions on how to hold their wings and turn their heads just so. There they were warming and drying themselves in the warm breeze and penetrating rays of the sun.
I pulled my Blazer to the side of the road the best I could. The boat was still out on the highway a little, and I hoped no one was coming. It was there that I took the picture that is embedded in my memory. This was the most marvelous thing I had ever seen in nature. How some turkey vultures that are near the top on nature’s ugly list could make for such a beautiful picture was almost too much for me to get my feeble mind around. What a glorious picture it was.
I just wish I had brought my camera.
Adult Drawing
First Place ($50) — Daniel Roberts, Mount Pleasant
Harmony
A man walks in a field,
His hand softly touches the tips of the wheat.
He’s thinking about his wife,
Her hair the same golden brown.
A young girl is climbing a tree
Her feet are bare, her hands grasp another branch.
She never worries that she might fall,
Trusting the tree as she goes higher and higher.
A young boy learns to sail with his father,
The waves of the ocean crashing around them.
Dolphins in the distance play in the sun
As the wind carries the boy in his boat.
A young couple picnics on the beach.
As the tide rises, the sun begins to slowly set,
Giving the lovers a show they will never forget.
An encore begins when the stars start to shine.
Every day, people interact with the world around them,
Nature’s helping them get through their day.
And in return, we must help the world back.
Nature and man in harmony.
Waiting
Second Place ($30) — Raymond Lawson, Mediapolis
My eyes are focused on the field ahead
My fingers are frozen in their gloves
My nose is chilled to a light red
But still I wait from above
I hold my twelve gauge waiting to shoot
I look for my trophy to walk in sight
My feet shiver in their boots
I’m starting to run out of light
Then a buck comes slowly through some trees
I sit still and wait for him to come near
I feel a nervous shaking in my knees
But he still doesn’t know I’m here
He gets closer and I raise my gun
I don’t make a single sound
Now it’s time for the fun
I pull the trigger and unload a round
He takes off after a short fall
Now the moon is starting to rise
I lower my gun and put away my call
Not it’s time to claim my prize.
Environmental Protection
For us to see
That nature is fragile
And here it won’t always be
We take for granted
Almost everythingk
We don’t realize our damage
Just from littering
Animals get hurt
Rivers are full of pollution
People never have time
To find a solution
What would it hurt?
To do the right thing
Let’s stop being pits
And keep the Earth clean
Whatever goes wrong
It all comes back to us
If we do our part
There’ll be no need to fuss
Let’s start today
Cleaning up our act
Make living more peaceful
And keep Earth intact.
High School Art
Stumble through the house.
Gather gear; soften footfalls; don’t disturb the others.
Sharp, clear, brisk cold air.
Takes your breath away, bites your fingertips.
Drive away, quiet morning, icy water waits.
First light, silhouettes, almost time.
Calling, calling, calling.
Listen.
Wings beating, flash of color, noisy calls.
It is time.
A deer walks and forages
Delicately with its fawn.
Its path meanders through the swamp
And over grassy knolls
In search of a bedding area.
Once there it lies
Watching over its young buck
With vigilant eyes.
Watching it eat
Keeping an eye out
For veiled predators.
Alert and attentive—
But does she know
That I have been watching over her?
Of a white oak tree
The clouds float by
Images of animals suspended overhead.
Geese call to me to fly with them.
Wolves taunt me,
Jumping higher and higher
Over hazy meadows.
It is almost as if
I left the earth when the bald eagle
Swooped down toward me
Talons outstretched to grab me.
So, here I lie in my bed awake
Wondering which nature dream will come next.
(click!) “Drat!” I said to myself. I couldn’t believe it. No ammunition! I quickly reloaded, but when I looked back, the vixen was gone. Luckily the freshly fallen snow left the fox’s footprints behind. I wasn’t a hunter who just gave up, so I followed the tracks to a small den. I decided to lay low, under a large rock.
It felt like hours before I spotted movement. I looked up to see a small fox pup, who was curious enough to venture out of the safe, warm den. I grabbed for my gun and aimed. The young fox turned to look at me. I put my hand to the trigger but I couldn’t put my mind to shoot the poor, defenseless creature. I put out my hand toward the little pup. It took awhile, but the fox finally learned to trust me.
What happened next really made my head spin. I looked up to see not just the forest, but tall, magnificent pine trees. I smelled the beautiful fragrance of wild roses. It was the most amazing sight I had ever seen.
The fox pup started to wander away as if he’d seen it millions of times before. I followed after him. That little rascal was hard to keep up with. I still prevailed. The young pup started panting and ran over to a small pond to drink.
I had never been this far into the woods, but I didn’t mind. I would retrace my steps to get home.
I looked up to see a large, serene waterfall. The water dropped into the pond, which glistened with the last bit of light that shone through. The fox pup started to go back to his den. I thought I’d better get home, too. As I trudged through the snow I had to think: Even the smallest of things can make you wonder how magnificent nature truly is.
I also learned that every animal has a place in nature, and no, it’s not necessarily on a plate drenched with gravy. From then on, I only hunted when it was necessary.
This wouldn’t be the last time I would meet the beauty of the world around me. I still had much more of the forest to explore. And the fox, well, we eventually met each other again.
Right now, as I write, a flock of geese is flying back north as spring’s near. My biggest hope is that you, too, will have many experiences with nature. When you do, please feel free to visit. Good luck on your adventure. See you later, at the sound of nature’s song.
Pollution is a very scary thing that can severely damage our ecosystem. If we start simply by just throwing a pop can to the ground, well, think of where that might end up! It may end up in the body of some animal, or in a lake, or even in your backyard. If garbage were to get into the body of some animal, it could kill it! If too many animals die, well, there goes that species. That could also kill off the animals that eat them.
It would have the same effect, possibly a bigger one, on a lake. Without a clean environment for the fish, they will not be able to survive, and that would not keep the water as clean. The water pollution or lack of fish for food could kill off lots of species! All living things need water to survive!
Now, not only will this have a negative effect on animals, it will also have a negative effect on our plants. Plants could die down because when an animal eats a plant, it is also eating its seeds; therefore, the animals are spreading seeds to make new plants.
What would happen if we didn’t have any plants, animals, or clean water? We would die. The plants give us oxygen, and without oxygen, we will die. Without clean water, we will die. All of these things can make us die. How does that sound? Bad, right? I know that I do not want to die!
So you can tell now that our food chain would be affected horribly, and we could die pretty easily. I am not saying that everything would happen immediately: we would suffer first, and then we’d die! The only way we can stop all of this from happening is simple. Use a trash can! Do not litter! You could pick up trash along a highway, around your school, or even in your back yard. You do not have to do some big thing; all you have to do if you are walking along and see some piece of trash lying on the ground is just pick it up! You could save some animal’s life, which could eventually save your own! You can make a difference, and you will be rewarded for it — the gift of life!
As I go to the porch swing, many animals hurry to shelter. I sit there watching the rain. As the rain slows to a stop, I see a beautiful rainbow arching across the sky.
As I go back to my swing, I see our garden in bloom, raindrops on their petals. The setting sun is burning bright; it’s surrounded by a breathtaking view of pinks, blues, and purples. As the sun sets, the stars begin to shine brighter than ever before.
I see the garden that my family planted this spring with its flowers beginning to close. We plant the same flowers every year, yet I fail to remember their names. As everything quiets, the sun will become a beautiful memory, lights turn on, flowers close, and I go into my home as many others do. As I go in, I take one last look at the sky with a full moon glistening against the dark blue night sky.
Third Place ($20) — Darrick Blair, Burlington
Note: Place-winners also received a copy of Aldo Leopold’s “A Sand County Almanac.”