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The Drive
5 hours ago
- Automotive
- The Drive
Check Out This Weird SOHC-Converted Chevy Small Block for Sale
The latest car news, reviews, and features. If the only thing holding you back from a GM V8 swap is some sort of social-media-hardened dislike for overhead-valve (OHV, aka pushrod) motor designs, Bring a Trailer may have just the thing for you: a single-overhead-cam-swapped small block Chevy V8. It's not some oddball motor from a limited-production race car, but a garden-variety 327 with a purpose-built SOHC conversion. Pretty wild, huh? According to the accompanying Hot Rod article, the upgraded motors were good for 350 horsepower after the cam swap alone—or about the same amount you got from the L84 package engine in 1963, and that was the top-of-the-line engine with mechanical fuel injection. The low-compression (and carbureted) version offered only 250 horses. Sure, the power's nice, but there are plenty of other ways to get that from a small-block V8 without performing a lobotomy. Why go through all the trouble then? An overhead-cam engine benefits from a tighter valvetrain package with less reciprocating mass. Pushrods are simple, but they're long and heavy, and along with the rocker arms, they both contribute a good bit to an OHV engine's overall parasitic losses and limit their ability to rev higher. The overhead-cam setup eliminates them from the design while also allowing for lighter valve springs, and less mass is always good when you're trying to make top-end power. This particular conversion kit was produced by Pete Aardema. If that name rings a bell, that's because he's always doing something crazy with internal-combustion engines. Remember the land speed record car we featured a while back with a home-built V12? Yep, same guy. While a conversion kit is certainly less ambitious than a home-built engine, this thing is nonetheless impressive. It's effectively a bolt-on upgrade, and it even preserves the factory camshaft to continue functioning as a distributor drive. This could all be done with the heads in place, and all signs point to it being completely reversible. In this case, you get the kit pre-installed on this 1963 Chevrolet 327. And for such a novelty, it's pacing to go for a bit of a bargain. Those numbers always go up near the auction's end, of course, but this little bit of obscurity may not necessarily fetch top dollar. Got a tip? Send it in: tips@
The Drive
a day ago
- Automotive
- The Drive
A Stock 2025 Corvette ZR1 Has Already Beaten Chevy's Official 0 to 60 Time
The latest car news, reviews, and features. Me telling you that the new Chevy Corvette ZR1 is quick is kind of like saying that water is wet. Of course it is, right? But now that people outside General Motors are testing the car with real instrumentation, we're seeing just how quick it is in the public's hands. For proof, a totally stock ZR1 on factory tires just ran from zero to 60 miles per hour in 2.2 seconds. Car and Driver conducted the experiment and named the beastly Bowtie the quickest rear-wheel drive car it's ever tested. It beat a European supercar, in true Corvette fashion, reaching 60 mph a tenth of a second quicker than a McLaren 750S. That's scootin'. Now, the 1,064-horsepower Corvette ZR1 has a lot more grunt than the McLaren, given that the 750S is listed at 740 hp and 590 lb-ft of torque. But that isn't always an advantage when it comes to off-the-line traction. The Chevy's Michelin Pilot Sport Cup 2R ZPs surely helped it succeed as they measure 345 millimeters wide out back; meanwhile, the Macca makes do with 305mm-wide Pirelli P Zero Trofeo rears. To round it out, the ZR1 weighs 3,831 pounds—a full 625 pounds more than the McLaren, but because the Corvette's engine is so mighty, its power-to-weight ratio is still better. That 2.2-second time achieved by Car and Driver is also a full tenth quicker than Chevy's own estimate, for what it's worth. I took these photos at the Corvette ZR1's media reveal last July. When a car looks this fast sitting still and has the stats to back it up, you know it's special. Caleb Jacobs The thing about the Corvette ZR1 is that the gap only grows as the speedometer climbs. The 5.5-liter LT7 V8 with a flat-plane crank and the largest twin turbos ever fitted to a production car is a total worldbeater. (They measure 76 millimeters apiece on the compressor side, in case you were curious.) Car and Driver says it trounced the quarter-mile in 9.5 seconds at 149 mph, compared to the 750S's time of 9.8 seconds at 145 mph. Beyond that, the McLaren was a full second slower to 150 mph than the Chevy, and it tops out at 206 mph while the ZR1 can go up to 233 mph. My guess is we're about to see a lot more crazy stats like this as the Corvette ZR1 takes on drag strips and road courses around the country. And while it's nowhere near cheap at $175,000 to start, it's a heck of a bargain compared to the $325,000-and-up 750S. It's undeniably the peak Corvette—at least, for now. Got a tip or question for the author? Contact them directly: caleb@
Car and Driver
a day ago
- Automotive
- Car and Driver
Tested: 1990 Chevrolet Corvette ZR-1 Is an Undercover Supercar
From the April 1990 issue of Car and Driver. A word of advice to you cynics in the audience: don't even think about brushing off the new ZR-1 as just a Corvette with more horsepower. After two weeks and 2179 miles with a production-line version, we're here to report that the ZR-1 is something else entirely. Its 375 hp does more than propel it to dizzying speeds—that massive allotment of power catapults the ZR-1 to a completely new plane, the rarefied realm where a car becomes more than just a car. To a certain cadre of knowledgeable enthusiasts, the ZR-1's reputation has already assumed mythic proportions. After a slew of rave pre-production reviews, this brutal Corvette has become a spiritual icon, ready to take its place in the car guy's house of worship next to such awe-inspiring legends as the Cobra, the Hemi, and the Countach. During our time with the ZR-1, we professional skeptics turned up ample evidence of its heroic status. Don Johnston | Car and Driver Item: An ad in the Chicago Sun-Times shows a Chicago-area Chevy dealer offering a new ZR-1 for $112,500, which is nearly double its list price. Item: A C/D editor is approached at a local eatery by a trio of college-age youths. "That your Corvette, sir?" one of them asks. "Yes, it is." "But it has square taillights." "Well, yes, it does." "But only ZR-1s At which point the three bolt for an up-close look, leaving behind a unanimous "Wow!" as they charge out the door. Item: On the test track, the car pictured here rips a 176-mph hole through the air as it barrels around the Transportation Research Center of Ohio's 7.5-mile high-speed oval. Among U.S.-specification production cars, only a healthy Ferrari Testarossa would be able to equal that performance. Don Johnston | Car and Driver It's been nearly twenty years since Chevrolet offered a Corvette with anything like this brand of speed (the last of the monster big-block engines was emasculated at the end of the 1971 model run), so it's not surprising that the faithful have been eagerly awaiting the 3000 ZR-1s that Chevrolet will produce this season. As fast as the legendary Corvettes were, the ZR-1 has more top end. And with its 4.6-second 0-to-60-mph time and 12.9-second, 111-mph quarter-mile clocking, it's the quickest-accelerating Corvette we've ever tested. It's also the quickest U.S.-legal production car on the market. Not even the Testarossa can stay with it through the gears. All of this makes the ZR-1 immune to the normal market forces at work on most other automobiles. This is not a car in the conventional sense; it's an object of desire, a toy, a piece of history. At this plateau, the standards of comparison change. Suddenly a lot of things don't matter anymore. It's silly to criticize a Testarossa for its antiquated switch gear or a Countach for its plain upholstery. Likewise, Corvette ZR-1s will be snapped up at premium prices regardless of whether they are exemplary all-around automobiles. But will they be valued for the right reasons? They will by everyone who buys a ZR-1 for the purpose of exercising it. If our two weeks behind the wheel taught us anything, it's that the ZR-1 is as exotic as any Ferrari or Lamborghini. It's just different, with its own special way of delivering its prodigious performance. And as with any exotic, to enjoy it you have to have a taste for the particular way it goes about its business. Don Johnston | Car and Driver If your taste runs to brutish, you'll love the ZR-1. That's no criticism. A ZR-1 in full song is a dead-serious automobile blunt and worthy of respect. Its bellicose engine note will fill your gut with adrenaline, and its raw power will make you think twice before burying your right foot in the carpet. You don't unleash this car casually. It's the ZR-1's engine, called the LT5, that sets it apart from standard-issue Vettes. Sure, the ZR-1's rear fenders are stretched and stuffed with massive 315/35ZR-17 rubber and its tail-end styling is slightly different, but only the cognoscenti will notice. The 375-hp, 32-valve, 5.7-liter V-8 is what puts the demon in this car's soul. The engine's sound alone will make you a believer. Plant your right foot in any gear at any rpm and you hear something wonderful. At 1500 rpm, the LT5 sounds flatulent and full, like a 1950s hot rod with glasspack mufflers. By 2000 rpm, you pick up the distant beat of drums. At 3000 rpm, the drumbeats turn into mulled machine-gun fire. By 4000 rpm, the engine note is loud and hoarse; now the LT5 is deep-breathing in earnest. From 4500 rpm to the 7000-rpm redline, the lusty V-8 emits a headstrong, metallic cry, like a giant circular saw ready to slice through anything in its way. Don Johnston | Car and Driver The sweetly violent soundtrack booming through the cabin is entirely appropriate considering what's happening outside. At full throttle in first or even second gear, the ZR-1 rears up like a startled stallion and lunges ahead. If the road is wet, it will spin its wheels all the way to 80 mph, despite its limited-slip differential. What's even more impressive is how long the thrill of acceleration lasts. Most cars begin to fade at 80 or 90 mph, but the ZR-1 hurtles on as if possessed. Keep the throttle down on a two-lane road and the trees blur into a turbulent tunnel. Bursts of 100 mph or more are possible even on short straightaways. As fast as the ZR-1 is, there is a practical limit to its performance. Even in the relatively uncrowded Midwest, it's hard to find enough clear, straight highway to wind the ZR-1 beyond 140 mph comfortably. Indeed, running a ZR-1 anywhere near its top speed will take cunning and planning. We went to the TRC oval to ensure that we could go nearly three miles a minute in complete safety. Don Johnston | Car and Driver This car's real worth only emerges when you use it hard, because if you don't, you'll forever wonder what all the fuss is about. If you baby the throttle and shift at 2500 rpm, the ZR-1 is as docile as any regular Corvette. Even an expert would have a hard time detecting that this is the wild-animal version. There is little to tip you off inside the cabin. From the driver's seat, the ZR-1 looks nearly identical to its less powerful stablemates. Only the 7000-rpm redline on the tach, the removable engine-power key in the dash (it lets you dial the engine's horsepower back by about a third to cool the ardor of curious parking valets), and the bothersome glare of the "full engine power" light distinguish it from its lesser brethren. Don Johnston | Car and Driver Easy driving also reveals that the ZR-1 comes standard with all the vices and virtues of normal Corvettes. The fiberglass body creaks and groans—our brand-new test car loosened up considerably in the short time we had it—and the big glass hatch flutters annoyingly at high speed. Everyone who drove the car complained about the zoomy, new-for-1990 dash and its hard-to-read instruments. Nor is the interior's fit and finish anywhere near what it ought to be for a car in the 30-grand range, let alone one costing nearly twice that much. Of course, the ZR-1 also delivers all of the good things we've come to expect from Corvettes. Once again we find ourselves singing a chorus of praise for the Vette's race-car-sharp handling. (Experts will detect more understeer than in the standard car, thanks in part to the ZR-1's wider rear tires, which provide more bite at the back.) The massive, ABS-equipped brakes are superb. The cockpit-adjustable shock-absorber system works admirably, and the six-speed manual gearbox—the only transmission offered—is a joy to row. Don Johnston | Car and Driver It's the ZR-1's split personality that distinguishes it from the rest of the world's exotic iron. Compared with, say, a Lambo or a Ferrari, the ZR-1 is almost invisible; you don't encounter inquisitive stares every time you roll up to a stoplight. Passers-by never pigeonhole you when you're trying to make a clean getaway. If what you really want is attention, buy something else. Only a few knowledgeable enthusiasts will ever recognize a ZR-1 for what it is. To us, that's all part of the ZR-1's appeal. This is a thrilling car for driving; who cares if it's a complete bust at posing? The ZR-1 thumbs its nose at the famous-label exotics and delivers the goods in its own distinctive, cut-to-the-chase style. Maybe you like that kind of car, maybe you don't. We know which side of the argument we come down on: the new ZR-1 isn't just another Corvette. It's the Corvette. Counterpoints First things first. The ZR-1 is the best Corvette ever built. It easily outshines the revered L88s, LT-1s, and fuelies of yore. As great as those cars were in their day, none of them comes close to the ZR-1 in performance and handling. (I'd bet that a ZR-1 could even outgun a 427 Cobra on the racetrack.) Best of all, the ZR-1 is more comfortable and everyday-usable than a 176-mph car has a right to be. That said, I doubt that the ZR-1 will win over many Porsche or Ferrari aficionados. Despite its princely price, it still suffers the squeaks and rattles that plague regular Vettes. And it shares the same ergonomic shortcomings—gauges with needles that move down as temperatures move up, a cheap-looking gray dash littered with tacky orange lettering, and a blazing warning light that lasers into your eyes at night should you have the effrontery to leave the valet key in the "full engine power" position. None of this dilutes the joy that the ZR-1 brings to confirmed Vette fans. But the infidels will likely remain unconvinced. —Csaba Csere The Corvette ranked as my favorite car when I was fifteen and TV brought Route 66, wherein a Vette and two studs had their way with America. In the meantime came much experience with many cars. So I've been mortified every time the Vette was voted among our 10Best Cars. It represents a very blunt instrument: big tires and torque, little finesse or quality. Five years ago, our long-term Vette fell apart faster than it had been slapdashed together. It drove and creaked like a rolling hinge. Now the garden-variety Corvette has been surpassed by Nissan's sensational 300ZX Turbo. The fearsome ZR-1 blows off both but fails to improve on the all-around (sub)standards of the regular Vette. Despite its extra engine technology, the ZR-1 can't damp the coarseness common to all Chevy V-8s. The huge tires give good "g" but jerk you laterally over pavement ruts and seams. Nothing major feels as if it were about to fall off, but I still fear finding the pedals awash in nuts and bolts. If my feet are going to fail me, I'd rather it be my fault. —Larry Griffin Corvettes have always been like grain alcohol to me: all punch without much taste. I like sleek, fast two-seaters, but for all the potential promised by the regular Corvette—including the arrival of the fine six-speed transmission in 1989—its squeaks, shakes, and front-heavy feel prevent the car from being either rewarding or appealing. The ZR-1 is different. It's easier to drive than any Corvette I've known. Very easy, in fact, for a machine capable of reaching 176 mph and leaping to 60 mph in 4.6 seconds. Its 375-horsepower V-8 lies tame at idle and answers your commands more smoothly than the overhead-valve base engine. The ZR-1's suspension, switched to the lightest, Touring setting, is controlled and honest: you feel the road, and the feedback is welcome rather than painful. With some luck, the ZR-1's refinements and chassis development will eventually trickle down to the more accessible base car. Which would certainly give the regular Corvette the taste I'm looking for. —Phil Berg Specifications Specifications 1990 Chevrolet Corvette ZR-1 Vehicle Type: front-engine, rear-wheel-drive, 2-passenger, 3-door targa PRICE Base/As Tested: $32,479/$59,675 Options: ZR-1 package (consists of LT5 5.7-liter DOHC V-8, 11.0 x 17-in rear wheels, P315/35ZR-17 rear tires, ZR-1 bodywork, Z51 suspension with FX3 adjustable shocks, leather sport seats, 6-way power seats, low-tire-pressure warning system, sound system, and heat-absorbing windshield coating), $27,016; automatic climate-control system, $180. ENGINE DOHC 32-valve V-8, aluminum block and heads, port fuel injection Displacement: 349 in3, 5727 cm3 Power: 375 hp @ 5800 rpm Torque: 370 lb-ft @ 5600 rpm TRANSMISSION 6-speed manual CHASSIS Suspension, F/R: control arms/multilink Brakes, F/R: 13.0-in vented disc/12.0-in vented disc Tires: Goodyear Eagle ZR F: P275/40AR-17 R: P315/35ZR-17 DIMENSIONS Wheelbase: 96.2 in Length: 176.5 in Width: 74.0 in Height: 46.7 in Passenger Volume: 49 ft3 Cargo Volume: 18 ft3 Curb Weight: 3527 lb C/D TEST RESULTS 60 mph: 4.6 sec 100 mph: 10.6 sec 1/4-Mile: 12.9 sec @ 111 mph 130 mph: 18.7 sec 150 mph: 30.0 sec Top Gear, 30–50 mph: 12.4 sec Top Gear, 50–70 mph: 12.3 sec Top Speed: 176 mph Braking, 70–0 mph: 162 ft Roadholding, 300-ft Skidpad: 0.87 g C/D FUEL ECONOMY Observed: 14 mpg EPA FUEL ECONOMY City/Highway: 16/25 mpg C/D TESTING EXPLAINED Reviewed by Rich Ceppos Director, Buyer's Guide Rich Ceppos has evaluated automobiles and automotive technology during a career that has encompassed 10 years at General Motors, two stints at Car and Driver totaling 20 years, and thousands of miles logged in racing cars. He was in music school when he realized what he really wanted to do in life and, somehow, it's worked out. In between his two C/D postings he served as executive editor of Automobile Magazine; was an executive vice president at Campbell Marketing & Communications; worked in GM's product-development area; and became publisher of Autoweek. He has raced continuously since college, held SCCA and IMSA pro racing licenses, and has competed in the 24 Hours of Daytona. He currently ministers to a 1999 Miata, and he appreciates that none of his younger colleagues have yet uttered "Okay, Boomer" when he tells one of his stories about the crazy old days at C/D.
San Francisco Chronicle
2 days ago
- San Francisco Chronicle
Motorcyclist killed in crash in San Jose
A motorcyclist died Thursday from injuries he suffered when his bike struck the side of a moving car in San Jose, police said. At 6:47 a.m. San Jose police officers responded to the crash, which occurred in the area of Senter Road and Sylvandale Avenue, police said. The motorcyclist was pronounced dead at the scene, police said. The Santa Clara County Coroner's Office did not immediately respond to a request to provide the victim's identity. A preliminary investigation found that a man drove his 2015 black Chevy Camaro eastbound on Buckeye Drive onto Senter Road and was heading into the designated right turn lane for eastbound Sylvandale Avenue when it was struck broadside by the motorcycle, a 2004 silver Harley Davidson, according to police. The motorcycle was traveling northbound on Senter Road just south of Sylvandale Avenue at the time of the crash, police said. The driver of the Chevy remained at the scene and cooperated with officers, police said. The crash marks San Jose's 10th fatal collision and 10th traffic death this year, police said. Police are asking anyone with further information regarding the crash to contact the department's traffic investigations unit at 408-277-4654.
Yahoo
2 days ago
- 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
