6 THE A-U'DU BOO Ne -*B.U be bape 
nn EES 
Potholes and Prairies 
By MARGARET and CONSTANCE NICE 
THE WEALTH OF BIRD LIFE reported by early observers in the north central 
prairie states had long made us eager to see this country. Our opportunity 
came in 1951 when we planned to spend June in Delta, Manitoba, studying 
the behavior of ducklings. At the Wilson Club meeting in April at Daven- 
port, Iowa, Paul Errington, James Sieh and Philip DuMont mapped out for 
us a route which would include wildlife refuges and virgin prairies. 
Our first stop on the morning of May 21 was at the 
Villa Park prairie, thirty miles west of Chicago; we 
found it bright with prairie phlox, cammassia and 
prairie violets. Unfortunately it is being engulfed by a 
real estate project. The first western meadowlark sang 
near St. Charles, and after that on route 64 all we 
heard were westerns until we reached Savanna. At 
White Pines State Park May apples were in bloom, and 
columbine was exquisite on the side of the cliffs where 
rough-winged swallows were nesting; wood thrushes, 
wood pewees and red-eyed vireos sang. 
In Iowa we found beautiful rugged country with fine 
woods along the Mississippi, and as we drove west to 
Backbone State Park, fine hardwoods with a few red 
cedars and white pines. Along the Mississippi all the 
meadowlarks were eastern, but 40 miles west of Du- 
buque we heard both species. The last eastern songs 
were recorded the next morning not far from McGregor. 
We thought of Althea Sherman’s pioneer life history studies as we crossed 
the rolling hills and saw the comfortable farm houses almost smothered 
in trees. 
Prairie Violet 
On the Ada Haydn Prairie, named in memory of a fine botanist and 
leader in conservation, and far-sightedly preserved by the state of Iowa, we 
found many old friends — shooting star, rattlesnake master, golden alex- 
anders, lead plant, puccoon, and — entirely new to us — torch flower (also 
called prairie smoke or grandpa’s whiskers), an exquisite picture of sym- 
metry with dark red sepals, bracts and stems. A dickcissel earnestly said his 
say, bobolinks burst forth with ecstacy, and western meadowlarks sang. 
It is sad that in all our trip through Iowa, this preserve, a pasture about 
five miles to the east, and Gitchie Manitou State Park were the only tracts 
of native prairie along our route. Otherwise, except for small patches along 
railroad rights of way, which no longer contain the full variety of flowers 
and grasses, the prairie has been eradicated. | 
We travelled chiefly on the main roads — a poor way of seeing native 
vegetation. The more modern the road, the more monotonous the scenery 
that borders it. Only a few years ago, road builders were content to smooth 
the actual roadbed, leaving the roadsides as a museum of native plants, 
shrubs and trees. Now the fashion is to abolish the small hills, curves and 
ponds that kept the route interesting and the driver awake. No longer, as 
