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Yahoo
29-05-2025
- General
- Yahoo
The land ethic of our grandparents is key to our grandchildren's future
A pasture at the home of Barry and Jane Dunn in rural Brookings. (Courtesy of Barry Dunn) EDITOR'S NOTE: This commentary is adapted from a speech to the 2025 Big Sioux Stewardship Summit in Sioux Falls. My grandfather, Claude Lamoureaux, was a cowboy and an Indian. For a boy growing up in the 1950s and '60s, that was just about the coolest thing ever. He and my grandmother, Hattie, ranched south of Mission on the Rosebud Reservation. My boyhood memories are of driving across the ranch in a two-wheel-drive, green Chevy pickup with my grandfather, checking the cattle and the windmills and making sure all the gates were closed and the fences were tight. Many times we rode horses, and from early on I saddled my own. Grandpa was never very talkative, but I peppered him with questions to the point of annoyance, and I learned by some sharp looks that I needed to be quiet. I have no memory of him tucking me into bed or telling me he loved me or playing games. That was Grandma's job. But on horseback, in his truck, around the supper table, he taught me many lessons, most of which I understand better today. I graduated from high school at Christmastime and immediately went to the ranch working full time. Sadly, my grandma died soon after, and I found myself alone with Grandpa Claude. He was grieving, and I was trying to grow up, so it was a poignant time for both of us. By then, his brown skin had darkened even more and he had wrinkles from a hard life defined by scarcity. He wasn't a tall man, but he was still rugged and straight, and his love for the land was obvious. He was a member of the Sicangu Lakota. He was born on the Rosebud Reservation south of what is now Winner, into extreme poverty and just two years after the Wounded Knee Massacre on the Pine Ridge Reservation, a few miles to the west. As a teenager, Grandpa rode in the last open range roundups in the Dakotas, clearing the reservations of Texas cattle to open the way for homesteaders. He described the landscape back then as beautiful, endless grassland, except for an occasional cottonwood grove, which was a sign of water and perhaps some shelter. Right after World War II, he bought a place called the Antelope Ranch. He used his Indian preference status and was very entrepreneurial, buying abandoned homesteads for dollars an acre. He put together 12,500 contiguous acres and renamed it the L7 Ranch, after his brand. He received that brand from his father, and I still have it. Most ranchers talk about their prize cattle and their best horses, and Grandpa was very proud of his livestock. He ran a band of mares with a stallion. But his true love was for the land. During the homestead era, farmers had plowed up nearly every flat acre in Todd County they could find. When they failed during the Dust Bowl, they left the land abandoned, scarred and unproductive. Grandpa used to say that weeds were Mother Nature's way of covering her nakedness. He found the old fields that he bought covered with weeds and annual grasses. Without understanding the modern concepts of ecological succession, he called those fields 'go back' — meaning to him that they were trying to go back to their native condition. As I reflect on that, I'm left wondering where that understanding of the power of succession, of Mother Nature to reclaim herself, came from. He also knew that planting grasses would hurry the healing, and he worked with the Soil Conservation Service, which is now the Natural Resources Conservation Service. He planted hundreds of acres of scarred and blowing land back to introduced and native grasses, way back in the 1940s and '50s. He planted alfalfa with cool-season grasses because he knew it was a natural fertilizer for hay ground, like he knew that purple prairie clover was a natural legume in grasslands. He knew the pastures needed to be properly stocked, so he was careful to put just the right number of cattle in each one. Beavers had been eliminated from the landscape a century earlier by fur trappers — some of them my ancestors — and he understood that by building a series of small dams on Antelope Creek, he could raise the water table of the entire valley, increase its productivity and provide water for livestock and wildlife. An interesting phenomenon occurred after that: The beavers came back. My grandpa didn't use fancy words when he talked about conservation and stewardship. He was pragmatic, blunt, usually quiet. He didn't mention his Lakota heritage as part of his values, but upon reflection, they were on clear display. His principles and practices are timeless and elegant. He loved the treeless prairie, and taught me to love it. One year, he won a small award from the Todd County Conservation District. He was so proud of it, and I was proud of him. My lifetime commitment to conservation was inspired by my grandfather and then solidified by education at South Dakota State University. From earning my undergraduate degree in biological sciences way back in 1975 to securing a master's and then a doctorate, I've had many opportunities to learn more about the ecology of our great state and the grassland biome that runs from Canada all the way to northern Mexico, and from the Rockies to the Mississippi River. Many years after that eventful spring and summer following my grandma's death, I saw a quote by the famous conservationist Aldo Leopold that reminds me of my grandfather. Leopold said, 'The land ethic simply enlarges the boundaries of the community to include soils, water, plants, and animals, or collectively: the land.' In short, a land ethic changes the role of homo sapiens from conqueror of the land community to a plain member and citizen of it. It implies a respect for the fellow members of the community. Leopold also said, 'Teach the student to see the land, understand what he sees, and enjoy what he understands.' In those terms, my grandfather was a successful teacher. He was an old man when he built dams, planted grass and stocked his pastures. He didn't live much longer than my grandma, because he couldn't live without her. He wasn't around to see or personally benefit from most of the conservation work that he did. He didn't have to take the responsibility to leave the land better than when he found it, but I am certain he believed he did. His conservation work and land stewardship were an expression of his values and ethics. It inspired me then and still does today. I clearly remember the moment when Grandpa's land ethic clicked with me. It was 1971, during that pivotal time I spent with Grandpa after Grandma died. It was a spring morning following some really good rains, which aren't frequent in Todd County. It was a picture-perfect scene, something you'd expect to see in a Western movie. I was by myself, atop a horse, checking fences in an area I had ridden a hundred times before. And there it hit me, as vividly as Dorothy's world went from black and white to color when she landed in the Land of Oz. We all know how South Dakota's prairie can be that earthy amber color, a warm and sun-kissed reddish brown with golden undertones. But not that morning. Grandpa Claude's hillsides were lit up. Wildflowers were everywhere in response to those infrequent rains, and it was amazing. But the experience was much deeper than that. When I looked across the great expanse before me, I could see the difference in land ethics based upon land ownership. Grandpa Claude's hills were a quilt of blossoms stitched together by sun, wind and open sky. I didn't even need the fences to mark the boundaries. The lack of conservation methods and stewardship and a land ethic contrasted drastically before me. The adjacent lands next to Grandpa's pasture were being farmed for potatoes in Todd County, believe it or not. They looked like drouth-scabbed earth — patchy, uneven, gray, brown. They looked worn and diseased. Beyond the beauty, there are important reasons why we all need those flower-covered hills. The journal Science recently reported that butterfly populations in the United States are dropping dramatically. In conservation terms, butterflies are what is known as a key species. The relative health of their population is an excellent indicator of the health of the ecosystem in which they live, and the health of all insects. Conservation, another science journal, reports that 40% of all insect species in America are on a dramatic decline. Insects help pollinate crops, and they're on the food chain for birds and other animals. They're critically important in the loop that Leopold described, because it's an interconnected world. Conservation ethics — or land ethics, as Leopold called them — are an important link in life's fragile chain, whether we live in cities or in rural settings. As I mentioned, Grandpa wasn't much for talking, but his actions and results spoke volumes. His land ethic instilled in me a love and respect for every blade of grass, every butterfly that flutters by, and even a bird's nest where we don't want it. He's the reason I brush worms back into the dirt from the sidewalk, why I pick up litter, why I recycle everything I possibly can. My question for you today is, will our grandchildren or great-grandchildren have the same opportunities? Will they experience the beauty of a swallowtail butterfly in its natural environment, or just view them in a museum of natural history or butterfly house? Will they hear a meadowlark sing or marvel at a red-tailed hawk on the hunt flying low across the prairie? I'm concerned that they will not. 'Teach the student to see the land, understand what he sees, and enjoy what he understands.' – Aldo Leopold Over the last several decades, native grasslands in South Dakota and the entire grassland biome that I described earlier have dramatically declined in total acres, and with it biodiversity, whose value we can't possibly measure. Fortunately, we know what to do. We know the basics of ecology. We know the importance of soil health. We know the principles of good range management. We know that with the right tillage systems, we wouldn't have dust storms. We know that conservation pays. We know what to do. What we need is ethics. We need core values that reflect a love for the land on which we live and receive our sustenance. But can we muster the common sense and selfless spirit of our grandparents to do that? I'm not sure. I think we need to commit again, every day, individually and collectively, to have a land ethic that expresses our care and compassion and our responsibility for the land. I'll leave you with another quote from Theodore Roosevelt, one of my favorite presidents. 'Here is your country,' he said. 'Cherish these natural wonders, cherish the natural resources, cherish the history and romance as a sacred heritage, for your children and your children's children.' SUBSCRIBE: GET THE MORNING HEADLINES DELIVERED TO YOUR INBOX
Yahoo
23-04-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Cleaning up the Big Sioux River
SIOUX FALLS, S.D. (KELO) — Earth Day doesn't end when the clock strikes midnight. The City of Sioux Falls will host its annual Big Sioux River Cleanup on Saturday. 'We're just asking for volunteers to come and help us to pick up trash and keep the river clean,' Environmental Services Manager Josh Peterson said. He says the cleanup will include seven locations along the recreation trail. Vietnam veteran recalls his service 'We do the Greenway loop around the city and then the loop that goes out west along Skunk Creek to Legacy Park,' Peterson said. The event follows last week's Big Sioux Stewardship Summit, where the conversation focused on environmental issues. 'Everybody maybe takes for granted when you turn your tap on you get clean water but there's a lot of effort that goes into it both from where we're collecting water from the wells in the Big Sioux River and the steps you take to get it clean so that it's safe to drink,' Peterson said. The nonprofit Friends of the Big Sioux River also understands the significance of a clean river. 'It's kind of a symbol of our care for our area, from recreation to economic development, the river is kind of vital for all of that,' Friends of the Big Sioux River Executive Director Travis Entenman said. Entenman said the organization is hosting a cleanup of its own Saturday, and it extends beyond Sioux Falls. 'We'll have the Sioux Falls event, but we're going to be in Watertown, Brandon, and Canton as well, trying to get multiple communities within the Big Sioux Watershed to help beautify the cities,' Entenman said. Items, including gloves and trash bags, will be supplied at both events. 'If you come, we'll have you fill out a quick waiver and then you're off to the races, it's kind of choose your own adventure in terms of what you want to pick up,' Entenman said. All in an effort to clean up the Big Sioux. The cleanups will take place beginning at 10 a.m. Saturday. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
Yahoo
18-04-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Millions spent to keep manure out of Big Sioux River paying off, speaker says
A grass buffer strip along the Big Sioux River. (Courtesy of Big Sioux River Project) SIOUX FALLS – Keeping cattle waste out of the river that runs through the state's largest city will cost about $11 million over the next five years, and the city will pay more than half the price. One of the designers of the water quality program that money pays for, however, told an audience in Sioux Falls that past investments have paid off. The Big Sioux River is polluted with dissolved soils, agricultural chemicals and livestock waste beyond levels safe for uses like fishing and swimming. City, federal and state money has been used for a little over a decade to pay landowners to leave strips of tallgrass or other vegetation in the land along the banks of a river or a tributary. The root systems in those buffer strips catch and filter out pollutants before they enter the water, and also prevent erosion. During Thursday's Big Sioux Stewardship Summit, program developer Barry Berg, said his team and partners have enrolled over 100 stream miles into their buffer strip program since its inception. 'We finally reached the century mark with the program,' he said during a morning presentation. The enrolled areas now total more than 4,000 acres, with an additional 250 to 300 slated for enrollment this spring, Berg said. Under the primary model of the program, livestock are blocked from bank access from April through September. Farmers are allowed to cut the grass for hay after June 15. The idea is to keep cattle out of streams during hot summer months when they're most likely to wade in and defecate, spiking E. coli levels. Berg said advancing the program is an arduous process that involves enrolling landowners in conservation agreements, coordinating federal and state funding streams, and adapting grazing and haying practices to better protect streambanks and riparian vegetation. A focal point of the effort is Skunk Creek, which flows about 70 miles from Brant Lake into the Big Sioux River near Sioux Falls. Skunk Creek now contributes over half of the water that flows over the falls at Falls Park and through the city, due to a diversion upstream on the Big Sioux near the airport. Skunk Creek historically carries a lot of E. coli into the river. But today, he said 44% of its banks in the program's footprint and 48% of adjacent pastureland acres have been enrolled. And that's making a big difference, he said. It's possible, he said, for the state's integrated water quality report to take Skunk Creek off its list of impaired water bodies if the program keeps its momentum. 'Back in 2013 and 2014, we had samples on Skunk Creek with 50 to 70% exceeding standards,' for permissible E. coli and suspended solids, he said. 'Now we're down around 10 to 11% exceeding. If we get down below 10 and hold that for two years in the integrated report, they're gonna say, 'Hey, we're passing. Skunk Creek is no longer impaired.'' For Skunk Creek, 'no longer impaired' would mean its waters would be safe for non-immersion recreational activities like kayaking or canoeing. Because it feeds the Big Sioux, that would move the river's water quality within city limits closer to what advocates want: a swimmable river. 80% of tested surface water in South Dakota fails to meet state standards Participating farmers see financial benefits, Berg added. He described working with one landowner to calculate returns on haying the buffer land. The landowner made more through incentive payments and hay than he would have by planting corn or soybeans. When the last five-year phase of the project wraps up this summer, the water quality investments will have supported 16 watering stations, over 4,000 feet of fencing, 12,000 feet of pipe, and four barns, built with manure-trapping pits beneath them. Additionally, the final phase also saw over 1,000 acres of cover crop planted and 900 more acres enrolled in the buffer program. The next five years will continue that work, with $11 million already earmarked. That includes about $5.8 million from Sioux Falls, $3.2 million in federal grants and funding, $1.4 million in local cash and donations, $465,000 from Dell Rapids, and $263,000 from the East Dakota Water Development District. Berg said his long-term goal is to enroll 75% of Skunk Creek's streambanks. 'If we can get there, I believe we'll see it delisted for E. coli,' he said. 'We're already close.' Travis Entenmann, director of Friends of the Big Sioux River, said the effort is not only about compliance and conservation, but the city's future. A clean river, he said, is one that people can use. 'It's a huge opportunity for us for tourism,' he said. 'The idea that it could be 90 degrees outside and there's not families recreating in the river; it is kind of sad. And we should want better.' A voluntary, incentive-based approach is how the state primarily tries to tackle the issue of E. Coli contamination in its waters, but he said more could be done. 'The three things that I believe will clean our river are regulation, enforcement of regulation, and land use change,' he later said. SUPPORT: YOU MAKE OUR WORK POSSIBLE SUBSCRIBE: GET THE MORNING HEADLINES DELIVERED TO YOUR INBOX
Yahoo
17-04-2025
- Yahoo
Big Sioux shutterbugs speak at Stewardship Summit
SIOUX FALLS, SD (KELO) — People attending Thursday's Big Sioux Stewardship Summit in Sioux Falls focused attention on the natural beauty of the river. The Big Sioux has long been an artistic inspiration to local photographers. A scenic winter tour of Falls Park, courtesy of KELOLAND News Chief Photographer Kevin Kjergaard. Former Citibank looked at for the new prison site 'That was a day in the middle of January. I think I probably spent three days down there, early morning, because there's no people,' Kjergaard said. Photographer Greg Latza also shared his pictures of the Falls with those attending the Big Sioux Stewarship Summit. 'Every now and then, you just get lucky with a purple sky like that. I've never really seen one quite like that since then,' Latza said. Kjergaard found the Big Sioux's river otters camera shy, at first. 'The first day, they were scared. They ran away from me. The second day, they ran away from me. About the fourth day, they started getting used to me. I'm like a tree, they just go past me,' Kjergaard said. Both photographers strive to avoid the trappings of civilization to focus on the natural splendor of the river and its wildlife. 'Falls Park is beautiful. But as you know, it's grown so much, it's really hard to capture that without observation decks, people trains, skyscrapers behind it now,' Kjergaard said. Latza often uses drones to capture images of the river from on high. 'There's a lot of shots that I never even knew existed, like this. I never would have even known I could get a composition like that, until I got up in the air,' Latza said. Both photographers say they hope their work will create a greater appreciation from the public about the natural beauty of the river and support future efforts to preserve this valuable resource, for generations to come. 'Getting these views of what things look like now and maybe striving to keep them that way and showing that they might have looked that way 100 years ago and you want them to still look that way 100 years from now,' Latza said. Kjergaard credits improvements to the water quality of the Big Sioux for boosting wildlife numbers between Falls Park and the spillway on the north side of Sioux Falls. Copyright 2025 Nexstar Media, Inc. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten, or redistributed.
