North Country Prairie

Photo Credit: Claranne Baddeley

The wind blows across the prairie of North Dakota and the grass sways in emerald green waves, like an incoming tide sweeping in off the ocean. The only sound is the wind and the chattering of red-winged black birds down in the slough and the chirping of gophers, Richardson's Ground Squirrel.

My wife Louise and I are staying at the Baddeley Ranch, which originally was owned by her parents, Hazel and Lloyd Swensrud. Louise and her sister Claranne were raised on the farm. Claranne and her husband Charlie recently purchased the ranch and are raising horses, angus cattle and longhorns. Louise, Hazel and myself are spending a few days at the ranch visiting.

The ranch is nestled behind two small rounded hills, on the rolling prairie of North Dakota. About 10,000 years ago, continental glaciers swept north over this region leaving a landscape of undulating hills, small lakes and ponds. The soils are generally deep and laced with sand, gravel and rock and scattered large boulders called erratics are quite prevalent. Glacial debris.

Claranne gave me a couple of pictures of the ranch and the first one shows longhorn cattle with the ranch buildings in the background, on the wide open prairie. The second picture shows Claranne's husband Charlie and their daughter Linea, on horseback. Linea is riding a horse named the Ragin' Cajun, with a saddle that was owned by her grandfather. Charlie is riding a horse named Gone Physco. In the foreground of the picture is an old horse drawn one-bottom plow that Hazel and Lloyd used for farming, many years ago.

The prairie grass has gotten off to a slow growth this year after a hard winter, with lots of snow, which will make for smaller hay crops. The small ponds and lakes are brim full of water, which will make for great nesting habitat for ducks, geese, swans, red-winged blackbirds and shorebirds. In the fall the adult birds and their young will take flight to more moderate climates.

The weather is king, in the north prairie country, and the seasons dominate the activities of the local residents. Summer brings hay cutting and tending of crops followed by fall which is harvest time for wheat and other crops. Winter seems endless with arctic like conditions of frozen ground and snow followed by the miracle of spring with the regrowth of the grasses, new calves on the range, and brand-new flocks of baby ducks. The timeless cadence of life on the prairie.

Shindig at Shenandoah Marsh

Spring grows ever closer, in the wetlands below my house, which I call Shenandoah Marsh. The marsh has been covered with ice, until last Sunday, when about half of it melted. By Monday the marsh was entirely ice free with open water. The Red-winged Blackbirds have increased in numbers, several fold, in just a week, and are creating quite a ruckus, chattering back and forth, making a high pitched sound, “oak-a-lee, oak-a-lee”, then a series of “chek” sounds, like a clucking sound in some ways.

Shenandoah Marsh is a small wetland, about an acre in overall size, but it is full of life. The primary vegetation is the cattail, a tall plant that has strap like leaves 3 to 6 feet long, with a long stem around 8 feet tall, topped by a dense mass of minute brown flowers. The cattail is a very common plant of the wetlands of the inter-mountain west of the United States. The roots and lower stem can be eaten and are full of starch, a veritable pantry of the outdoors. The cigar shaped flower head on top of the stalk (it looks like a cats tail), once dried, can be broken up and makes good insulation or bedding. Like goose down. Bed and breakfast. All you need is a lawn chair and a beer.

I walked down to the marsh on Monday and was a bit surprised to see that the water was open, with no ice, and the smell of rotting marsh, greeted me. A least of couple of dozen male birds were darting about and making lots of noise. The dead cattails from last year lay mostly crushed and broken, but a few stalks were still erect, with their brownish cigars, but there didn't appear to be any new growth. No life yet except for the birds. As I approached, a male Red-wing, flew to a shrub and roosted 5 feet over my head, scolding me with his raspy alarm call “zeer, zeer, zeer”, casting lightning bolt looks in my direction, letting me know I was an invader. Trespasser. Three smaller brownish birds darted quickly into the thicket of cattails, at my approach. They were probably the females that one of the males had gathered into his harem. The territorial males will gather up to 15 females, which he will rigorously defend, all for naught, because up to 50% of the young in his herd are fathered by other males.

I spotted a male mallard duck, perched on a mound of dead cattails and a female mallard soon appeared from a narrow water opening, a sheltered nook, and both swam out into the pond. The pair was looking for a nesting spot. The water was as smooth as glass and both ducks had identical twins, on the smooth liquid. The male looked grand in his green hood and the female a rather drab brown. Perfect camouflage for sitting on a clutch of eggs or protecting newly hatched ducklings.

The marsh is about 500 feet from my house and one of the things I enjoy in the spring, is opening a bedroom window and hearing the symphony, the song, of Red-wings, going about their rituals and rites or just singing for the pure joy of it.