Farm News 11-05-06

Sunday morning, after chores

A Trip to Quivira

Finally, I made it to Quivira. I've been trying to get out there to take a look at the birds for several weeks. This time, I arrived just after most of the birds had left. Oh, well, I had a good time anyway.

I-70 is sometimes described as the dreariest highway in this part of the country, a reputation that is deserved in some stretches through Missouri. West of Topeka, though, the only dreary part is the number of miles involved. Automobiles help: one hour of driving an automobile on I-70 covers about the same distance a covered wagon would travel in ten days if the weather was good. I entered I-70 in Topeka and headed west. About two days wagon drive west of Topeka the highway lifts into the Flint Hills.

The Flint Hills might have given may travelers their first glimpse of the vastness of the West. This is where the trees stop; from here to the Rocky Mountains trees are found only along waterways and the waterways become more scarce. Without trees, it is possible to see a long way from the top of a hill.

There is a colony of Pronghorn Antelope miles to the south, and a colony of Bison to the north, but I didn't see any of either. Driving through the Flint Hills opens up one view after another of good camping sites. There aren't enough trees to provide firewood for wintering but there are wonderful summer sites: places that are open to breezes but sheltered from strong winds, that have water nearby but not so close there will be mosquitoes, that can be defended from raiders.

Near Salina the highway drops into a series of river valleys until, west of Salina, the Smoky Hills and the West begin. The West begins at US 81 (now partially replaced by I-135). Thus, west of US 81 coyote is pronounced ki-yo-tee, and east of US 81 it is pronounced ki-yote. The most obvious difference between the East and the West is that the rock outcroppings on the hills change from the light tan of the Flint Hills to the rusty red of the Smoky Hills. If you take the cattle away and let the grass grow, it will grow 6' to 8' high in the Flint hills, and 2' to 3' high in the Smoky Hills. The Flint Hills are tall grass prairie, and the Smoky Hills are short grass prairie. Grass is cattle feed, so you seldom find it even 1' tall in either place.

The Smoky Hills appear darker. This is more like the country shown in many cowboy movies: rough terrain with lots of boulders strewn around. Here, though, the boulders are dark, not light, in color. Mule Deer start appearing here, along with the White-Tail Deer. There might be a few antelope about but I haven't seen any.

The eastern side of the Smoky Hills is dark but the western side is bright, chalk bed bright, in fact. The Kansas Geological Survey provides a quick introduction to the geology of the Smoky Hills. Castle Rock, west of where I went on this trip, is an example of a chalk outcrop. Except for bottom land, of which there isn't very much, it is not good country for raising field crops. Cattle are the crop, here.

Ellsworth is one of the old cowtowns. For a while, it was at the end of the railroad, and the herds that had gone to Abilene earlier came to Ellsworth when the rails reached it. When I reached a spot northeast of Ellsworth, I took the exit from I-70 onto KS-156, which hooks around Ellsworth, continues through the Smoky Hills to Holyrood, then down into the sand dunes of the Arkansas River Lowlands. Most of this land is used primarily as cattle pasture with oil production coming in second. Oil wells dot the landscape, a scary thing in sandy country, where spills can easily migrate underground.

There was a construction detour which went through the town itself, instead of hooking around it, as the highway does. Ellsworth looked nice. It was tidy, the streets were clean, lawns mowed, and the children appeared to have been bathed within the past week.

Out of the town, the detour rejoined KS-156, and, enjoying the recently widened highway at the legal limit of 65 mph, I cruised south west through the Smoky Hills to Holyrood. The highway skirts past Holyrood, and I did, also, having no reason to stop there. The countryside smoothed out into the Arkansas Valley.

This is winter wheat country. Brilliant green fields stretch away on both sides of the road, smooth and even. A few of the fields had cattle pasturing on the fall wheat, mostly Angus, although I think Herefords are much more picturesque on the bright green fields. Many of the farmers here are Anabaptists (a term which includes Mennonites, Amish, and Brethren, I think), descended from the German-speaking farm families who left Russia, bringing their seed for hard red winter wheat, to live in Kansas.

Winter wheat is 'drilled', i.e., planted in long rows close together, in the late summer or early fall. It then grows up green to about 8” high. When cold weather arrives it dies down to the crowns of the plants until the weather turns warm again. After that it will grow whenever the soil temperature goes a little over 45°. The rest of Kansas wears a sweater in shades of brown, but the winter wheat fields gleam bright green.

In the spring the wheat fields again turn bright green. Then, as summer approaches, the plants send up longer stems, at the end of which a head of wheat berries will form. Once it has set it's seed, the plant starts to die. When all traces of green are gone and the field is golden in color, the wheat is cut and the wheat berries are separated out.

The land becomes flatter and flatter until, finally, it's so flat there is nowhere for water to go. That's Cheyenne Bottoms. I turned into the preserve, drove the circle around the Big Salt Marsh, and saw nothing but ducks and coots. No waders or shorebirds to be seen. So I left and headed on down south and east to Quivira, my destination.

A few miles outside of Quivira I spotted some flights of Sandhill Cranes, of three to seven birds in each flight. One flight of three Whooping Cranes, a delight to see. However, there were no cranes in Quivira. Nor were there Ibis, Avocets, Stilts, Sandpipers, Swans, or much of anything else save lots of White-Fronted and Snow Geese, and lots of Mallards. There were quite a few species of ducks, actually, and I had a chance to see some new ones.

While driving from one marsh to another, I stopped as a White-Tail doe stepped into the road in front of me. She was plump and sleek, a beautiful animal. Her most notable feature, as she stood there looking at me, was her rump: full, round, and smooth. It made me want to bite her on the butt, after she was roasted for a few hours while being basted with good sauce.

Obviously, the birds had left Quivira before I got there, but I still had a good time. It was a pleasant trip through Kansas, and I turned around and headed for home.