South of Town

North of Columbia, the landscape soon gives way to the relatively flat terrain of the Glacial Plain that covers much of the Midwest, from central Ohio to the eastern Dakotas. But south of town, one encounters the rolling hills, bluffs and floodplain of the Missouri River Valley; it is a landscape of wooded slopes, hilltop meadows and valley farms, all sloping toward a broad, flat swath of cropfields, wetlands, bottomland woods and the River itself.

On this bright, cloudless morning, I journeyed through this landscape, winding along graveled roads and stopping now and then to observe the changing scenery. Mourning doves and eastern bluebirds huddled on the powerlines, blue jays, mockingbirds and cardinals flashed across the roadways and mixed flocks of juncos and winter sparrows scattered from the roadside thickets. Red-tailed hawks circled above the frosted fields and an occasional red-shouldered hawk patrolled from a barren tree. Though common in this habitat, wild turkeys had not yet left their forest retreats, leaving the meadows and corn stubble to herds of livestock and flocks of Canada geese.

Down on the floodplain, noisy killdeer raced along the mudflats, crows foraged in the crop fields and a lone bald eagle surveyed the scene from a riverside grove. A steady south wind negated my opportunity to observe migrant snow geese but distant, high clouds, off to the northwest, foretold of an approaching storm. That front, due tomorrow, will reinforce the winter season and another wave of snow geese will ride its northerly wind across the Heartland.

Swans over the South Platte

Not inclined to join the mob scene at area malls and presented with another mild, sunny morning along the Front Range, my wife and I decided to take a hike along the South Platte River. A series of cold nights have coated many of the smaller ponds with a sheet of ice and wintering waterfowl are now congregating along the river and its adjacent lakes.

Joining the permanent residents (mallards, gadwalls, Canada geese, wood ducks, northern shovelers, American wigeon and common mergansers) were an excellent variety of winter residents and visitors; these included buffleheads, common goldeneyes, American coot, hooded mergansers, lesser scaup, green-winged teal and ring-necked ducks. On our walk through the South Platte Valley we also encountered belted kingfishers, northern flickers, red-tailed hawks, a lone rough-legged hawk, black-billed magpies, great blue herons, ring-billed gulls, song sparrows, red-winged blackbirds and an industrious muskrat.

But the highlight of this November morning was a flock of tundra swans, winging their way toward Chatfield Reservoir. All eight were in full adult plumage and were unusually silent on their graceful flight above the South Platte. After breeding on the Arctic tundra of Alaska and northern Canada, most tundra swans winter on estuaries along the mid Atlantic and Pacific Coasts; smaller numbers migrate through the interior, heading for the marshlands of New Mexico and Texas.

A Global Thanksgiving

On this American holiday of Thanksgiving, most of us will give thanks for our human possessions and relationships. But our lives, our health and our society are dependent upon the background support of Earth's natural ecosystems.

Those who do focus on the benefits of nature are likely to mention spectacular sunsets, beautiful scenery, wondrous night skies and the inspiration of our magnificent diversity of wildlife. In referring to the latter, there will be reference to eagles, whales, wild horses and other creatures that humans hold in high esteem. Few will give thanks for fungi or beetles or earthworms, yet, their presence and activity is as vital to our welfare as any other life forms that share this planet.

Indeed, all life on Earth is interdependent. Diverse human cultures, while prone to disagreement and conflict, must learn to cooperate if our species is to survive. And we humans, inclined toward self importance, could not survive without the support of our planet's "lowest" plants and animals. It is thus appropriate that we give thanks for life itself, in whatever form it may exist, and dedicate ourselves to its protection and conservation.

The Colorado Piedmont

When the Rocky Mountains first crumpled skyward, 70 million years ago, the adjacent plains rose with them, producing a gradual rise from the High Plains to the eastern flank of the central uplift. Streams meandered eastward from the modest summits which were gradually eroded to the level of the sloping plain. A second uplift of what is now the Colorado Plateau and Rocky Mountain corridor began about 25 million years ago, significantly augmenting the elevation of the mountains and increasing the erosive power of the streams that flowed from the high country.

These streams and subsequent Pleistocene glaciers sculpted the mountains and foothills, removing overlying sediments and cutting numerous canyons through the ancient, Precambrian core. Rumbling onto the plains, the streams merged to form two primary channels, the South Platte and the Arkansas Rivers, their watersheds split by the Palmer Divide; this high, broad ridge, which rises between Denver and Colorado Springs, still connects the High Plains with the east edge of the Front Range. The Rivers and their numerous tributaries have molded a scenic terrain of valleys, low ridges, mesas and hidden canyons along the base of the Rockies, extending eastward along the channels of the primary streams; lower than the adjacent mountains and High Plains, this landscape is known as the Colorado Piedmont.

The great majority of Coloradans live on the Piedmont and its valleys of Cretaceous Pierre Shale support a large portion of the State's agricultural production. The numerous lakes and reservoirs of the Piedmont attract bald eagles and migrant waterfowl while the wooded streams and canyons host the greatest concentrations of eastern Colorado wildlife. Basking in the rain shadow of the Rockies, the human and wild residents of Colorado's Piedmont enjoy a spectacular climate while dodging most of the severe thunderstorms and blizzards that plague the High Plains.

Canadian Sunsets

As the sun sets behind the Colorado Front Range, lines and Vs of Canada geese take to the skies. Common across the urban corridor throughout the year, these large waterfowl are especially abundant from November to March, when the permanent residents are joined by their migrant cousins.

After feasting on natural grasslands, golf courses and the manicured lawns of parks and cemeteries throughout the day, the geese return to our lakes and reservoirs to spend the night. There, surrounded by water or ice, they are protected from the coyotes, fox and feral dogs that prowl the Piedmont; unless taken by surprise, Canada geese are large and aggressive enough to protect themselves from these predators.

Having lost favor due to their abundance and their habit of fouling our pristine lawns, Canada geese do not inspire the average citizen (or even the average birder); but one must admire their tenacity, their cooperative instincts and their powerful flight. Backed by the Rockies and the spectacular Front Range sunsets, their wildness and beauty are easy to appreciate.

Snows in the Clouds

Heading to Colorado for the Thanksgiving Holiday, we left Columbia shrouded in moist, balmy air, courtesy of a stiff southerly wind; the latter was produced by an advancing cold front, still in Kansas at the time of our departure. Once we reached Kansas City, the location of the front was obvious as low, gray clouds formed a dense wall across the western horizon.

Passing through the front, the temperature dropped from the sixties to the forties and the wind shifted from the south to the northwest. Layered cloud decks replaced the blue sky and sunshine of our Missouri leg and it looked like our trip across the Great Plains would be far from appealing. Then, in Central Kansas, flocks of snow geese appeared amidst the clouds and my concern about the weather was soon forgotten.

Catching a ride on the strong, northwest winds, these vocal migrants were surely on their way to the Gulf marshes of the Texas Coast. They will probably make another stop in the Arkansas or Red River Valley before pushing on to their wintering grounds and we were fortunate to observe a small segment of their journey from the Arctic. The encounter may have been relatively brief, but the memory will invoke wanderlust in my soul for years to come.

Marriage: an Unnatural Union

Marriage is not a natural human relationship. Rather, our society has collectively decided (and most of us would agree) that children are best reared in the setting of a monogamous commitment. Unfortunately, our natural traits tend to undermine and disrupt these good intentions.

The romantic, "can't get enough of each other" phase of marriage is often fleeting and, in some cases, is over before the vows are exchanged. It is followed by the "what have I done?" phase, when we begin to pay more attention to annoying traits of our partner and come to resent our loss of independence. The arrival of children usually rescues the marriage, as parental pride and the shared responsibilities of nurturing our kids rekindle the romance. Once they are teens or young adults, however, other threats emerge, including discipline issues, Oedipal jealousies and nostalgic yearnings for the freedom that our progeny enjoy.

Perhaps the greatest threat to the stability of marriage occurs when the children are finally independent, often coinciding with the boredom of our middle age lives. Men, naturally attracted to fertile females, have a tendency to stray while many women, having sacrificed careers for their children and now facing entrenched societal discrimination, come to resent the advantage that their spouse has enjoyed; if not rescued by communication, compromise and the trust to extend individual freedoms, the relationship often disintegrates. Those couples who make it through this stage have generally learned to respect the human need for personal space and, if luck holds, they finish out their lives together.