Day #4-part 2   Robert Leverett
  Aug 21, 2006 06:54 PDT 


ENTS,

            First, a word of appreciation to Lee for his input on loess.
Also, Lee, I have found the mother load of earthworms. They are in
Monica’s and her neighbors yards. I’m serious. I was cutting the lawn
when they came to the surface. I had been suspicious of the texture of
the soil. It looked like earthworm worked over soil and it is. We don’t
have to look in the woods behind Monica’s house. We’re swimming in
earthworms. Wait until you see the extent of the local neighborhood
invasion. HELP!! Now, to the remainder of Day #4.

Bob

Day #4 – Part 2:

Before moving into the Nebraska part of our trip, I’d like to say a few
words about western Iowa’s Loess Hills to include what the Loess Hills
are. But first, how do you pronounce Loess? I always flinch when
encountering a new word, the pronunciation of which I have no idea. For
me, loess was such a word. I originally called it loss with a long “O”.
However, loess is German and the way we pronounce it today makes it
rhyme with “fuss”. I don’t think that was the German sound, but we’re
stuck with the fuss-rhyming version.

The Loess Hills of Iowa run north and south for about 200 miles
following the channel of the Missouri River. The Hills are on both sides
of the Missouri, but by far the largest deposits of loess are on the
eastern, or Iowa, side. The predominant material making up the hills is
a very fine-grained, remarkably homogeneous quartz silt that was created
by past glacial action. Loess soils exist in many parts of the world and
are among the richest on the planet, but apparently none are exactly
like the loess that makes up the Loess Hills. So there are grades of
loess. That is to be expected, I guess.

If I’ve learned anything in recent years about how our planet is put
together, it is that the geological processes that are responsible for
the landforms that we see are seldom obvious to the eye, except for
surface patterns of water erosion, layers of deposition, and maybe the
sine-wave warping of rocks sometimes exposed in road cuts and often seen
in western mountain profiles. Creating a landscape is no mean task for
nature. The commingling of complex geological processes acting over eons
belies the simplified explanations that one often reads about the origin
of a landform as presented in the popular brochures that one gets at
parks and refuges. For me, these simplified descriptions do little more
than fill space on a page. Maybe they satisfy the urge for a quick
information fix, but I’m invariably left feeling unsatisfied. So, I
avoided the quick fix brochure and bought a book on the Loess Hills, and
from it, I actually think I understand the basic building and subsequent
sculpting processes. I’ll talk more about this book later, but from it
and the copious information available on the Internet, I’m coming to
appreciate the impact of the Loess Hills on native Iowans and
Nebraskans. What follows expresses some of the sentiment that the Hills
generate.

ODE TO THE LOESS HILLS
From a Song by Sy Runkel

“There's a land in Western Iowa, where the prairies meet the sky
And the setting sun paints the hilltops gold before it says goodbye.
Where the great Missouri River flows on its western shore
And the wild geese by the millions fly their age-old routes of yore!
That's the place I want to be, in these ancient hills of time
Where I'm at home with the yucca flower and the prairie dandelion!
So now!
Away, away then I must go!
Up into these hills where the prairies grow.
And nature speaks to let us know the wisdom in a flower! “

A lot of work has been done on decoding the formation of the Hills going
back into the 1870s. Early theories suggested that slow deposition by
melting water from the glaciers formed the Loess Hills. That view
changed a few decades later. The current explanation for the Loess Hills
is approximately as follows. The last two glacial epochs, the Illinoian
(130,000 to 150,000 years ago) and the Wisconsinan (with coldest period
about 18,000 years ago) ground up a lot of rock to the north of the
Loess Hills. That is one thing glaciers do, i.e. grind up rock into a
powder. The streams at the south end of the ice sheet ran milky with
ground-up rock and spread the material far and wide. This became the raw
material of the Loess Hills. When the land dried out, this “glacial
flour” was later picked up by winter winds and blown to where obstacles
caused it to be dumped. The glacial material consisted of particles of
clay, silt, and fine sand. Winds deposited material into the late 1800s.
Throughout the period, water carved the modern forms of the hills. The
water had lots of material to work with. In some places the loess
deposits exceed 200 feet in depth.

What changed the minds of the geologists from water to wind as the
principal agent of piling up the material ? Nature historian Bohumil
Shimek who did much of the early research on the Hills related accounts
of watching extensive dust clouds lift from the sand bars of the then
un-dammed, uncontrolled Missouri River and drift into the Hills. What he
saw confirmed for him his wind-centered theory of the formation of the
Hills and he changed his view of the origin of the Hills that once
prevailed – that slow deposition of slow moving water created the Hills.
Finding the fossil remains of dry land snails at all levels of the Loess
Hills cinched it for Shimek . The Hills had a wind-driven origin.

Monica and I did not have time to explore the Loess Hills except to
climb a tower at a scenic overlook and enjoy the view. As we stood on
the observation deck looking westward, we beheld the exquisite blending
of sky with the wavy line of the earth created by the Hills. The wind at
the top of the deck, the wide horizon, and plentiful sky reinforced for
me that we were back in the land of vast spaces and distant horizons.
Yes, we were now in the domain of the wind. John Madson eloquently
captures the spirit of the prairie winds in his description of the
difference between wind in grasses and wind in trees:

“I see each oncoming gust before I feel it – advancing swiftly across
the prairie in a long wave of motion, sometimes escorted by patches of
cloud shadow that changes the tone and color of the grassland as the
wind changes the shape. More than in a forest, and even more than on sea
or lake, it is here that the wind is most visible. The ripening grasses
bend and winnow, the waves of our air ocean rolling over the wild
meadows until, as Willa Cather put it,: “The whole country seems to be
running.”
The wind will enter a distant grove of trees with a roar, for it
resents the oaken strength of trees and shouts and growls as it wrestles
with them, tossing their crowns furiously. But out here on the open
prairie that wind only sighs and whispers, passing over the grasses with
little resistance. The grasses bow to the wind’s force, acquiescing to
its passage and letting it go unchallenged and undiminished.”

From our vantage point, we could see slices into the Hills where steep
ravines, cut by water into the silt, suggested that a fascinating
landscape lay at our feet, begging to be explored, but alas, we were
westward bound and we had to maintain some semblance of a schedule. So
we pushed onward.

Our next stop-off was at the Desoto Bend Wildlife Sanctuary on the
border of Iowa and Nebraska. Desoto Bend is where the Missouri takes a
huge turn and it is the location of a famous steamboat wreckage. It was
that of the Bertrand, a state-of-the-art steamboat built in Wheeling,
West Virginia. On that fateful day of April 1st, 1865, she was headed to
the gold fields of Montana. It was her maiden voyage and spirits were
high. However, on reaching Desoto Bend, she hit a snag and promptly
sunk. The sinking occurred so quickly that none of the cargo could be
rescued. Fortunately there was no loss of life. Despite the heavy
financial loss, the Bertrand’s fate did not deter steamboat travel on
the Missouri. It was not at all unusual for steamboats on the Missouri
to sink. A staggering 400 met a fate similar to the Bertrand’s in the
turgid waters of the “The Big Muddy” often accompanied by significant
loss of life. On hearing of these losses reminded me of how dangerous
travel in those days was. There were hostile Indians (and rightfully
so), severe weather, disease, fatigue, snakebite, malnutrition, and
heatstroke, to name a few.

Over just a few years, a major shift in the course of the Missouri left
the Bertrand buried under18 feet of silt and for a century nobody could
figure out where it was. It was eventually uncovered by two persistent
researchers, intent on solving the mystery. But that didn’t occur until
1968. In the interim, the contents of the Bertrand were perfectly
preserved and are now on display at a museum at Desoto Bend in a
climate-controlled, glass-enclosed display room. All the items on the
boat were intended for the Montana mining boomtowns. You can’t imagine
how many belt buckles they required. Women’s lace, mining tools, wine,
you name it. It is all there to see.
         
        Before resuming my description of our trip, I’d like to take a
small detour and relate a story about the Bertram from around 1997, as I
recall. Mike Perlman and I were returning home from a trip to Cook
Forest, when we decided to detour from our planned route that followed
I84 east from Scranton, PA. But near the border of PA and NY, we had
enough of the Interstate. We decided that it was time to meander and so
we swung northward onto the network of rural roads. The back-road jaunt
was delightful when both of us realized that the rumbling sounds we
heard weren’t thunder, but our stomachs. It was time to eat.

We eventually reached a small, sleepy town, the name of which I’ve
forgotten. We looked for an acceptable spot for a late lunch and found
one. The restaurant was a diner of sorts, but one with a clientele I
suspect that was local and loyal to the owner. The diner was immaculate
and thankfully had none of the standard trappings of the spots that
cater to the majority of Interstate travelers accustomed to corporate
decor. We soon observed that the owner was into all kinds of
memorabilia, which he artfully displayed around his diner. He was
obviously a person of pride and wide interests. Mike and I chose a table
and sat down. The table was located near a load-bearing column for the
building. We ordered and proceeded to chat about our trip to Cook
Forest.

I hadn’t paid any attention to a poster that was tacked onto the column
only 3 feet away. But somewhere in the course of our conversation, my
eyes came briefly to rest on the poster and my mouth dropped open.
Before me, as part of the owner’s memorabilia, was one of those highly
artistic posters from an earlier era that served to advertise an event.
Movies were commonly advertised with large posters. This particular
poster was nowhere near as ostentatious, but was very colorful. It had
been designed to be displayed in New York City as the start of a
steamboat trip. The poster advertised the maiden voyage of the Bertrand
with instructions on how to sign up for the trip from New York. I
excitedly exclaimed to Mike that I knew the history of the Bertrand and
proceeded to tell him. I thought that the owner might like also to know,
if he didn’t already, and called to the waitress. She came over to our
table and I explained to her that I knew the history of the Bertrand and
wondered if the owner did too, or if he didn’t might like to. She
explained that the owner was out and had no clue as to the owners
possible interest in the explanation I was offering. Her manner clearly
communicated that she had no interest, herself, but she half-heartedly
suggested that it was okay for me to leave a written message for the
owner. Her lack of curiosity instantly deflated my balloon. I felt like
a bucket of cold water had been dumped onto my head. I had been robbed
of the opportunity to pass along fascinating historical information that
the owner would have enjoyed knowing. As the waitress drifted away, I
imagined what would have happened had the owner been present. He would
have sat down and we would have engaged in a dialogue about those
distant western landscapes and their call to people with adventurous
spirit. For a brief period, we would have joined our imaginations and
journeyed back to the Bertrand headed northwestward to the mining camps.
Perhaps each of us would have had a six-shooter strapped to the hip. We
would have relived the rush of cold water as our shared journey abruptly
and catastrophically ended far from our destination and far from its
origin. We had to survive by our wits. All our belongings lay at the
bottom of a turgid and dangerous Missouri River. But alas, that
encounter was not to be. So Mike and I finished our lunch, paid our
bill, and left. Anyone wanting the complete story of the Bertrand can
find it at:

http://www.fws.gov/midwest/desoto/bertrand.htm

Back to Desoto. Despite the fascinating tale of the Bertrand, the
greatest attraction of Desoto Bend is natural, not cultural. Desoto Bend
is a major flyway for migrating birds and is the site of a tallgrass
prairie restoration project. Large cottonwoods along the Missouri remind
one of how important that species was to the woodland ecology of the
region. Along the stream corridors, in western Iowa and beyond, the
cottonwood rules. Its dominance is near total in some places. We looked
at the displays, Monica spotted a few birds, we bought a lot of books,
and we left.

Moving on, we crossed the wide Missouri following historic route U.S.
30, the Lincoln Highway. In Blair, NE, we stopped briefly for supplies,
gassed up, and then continued westward on State Route #91. It is a bit
of a haul across #91 and the hour was getting late, so we pulled into
Albion, Gateway to the Sand Hills of Nebraska and spent the night at the
same motel that we stayed at last year, one room removed. We both looked
forward to the following day when our journey would take us across the
fascinating Sand Hills country, a vast stretch of grass-covered sand
dunes - a glacial remnant landscape that covers an incredible 19,000
square miles. It is by far America’s largest area of sand dunes, and
barely recognizable as such because of the carpet of grass. But the
land we were in was opening up more and more. That feeling of total
freedom was returning, a feeling that is far better captured by the
words of Stanley Marsh III as quoted in Peter Miller’s wonderful “People
of the Great Plains.” Miller’s book is a must buy for anyone who loves
the Great Plains and I’ll have much more to say about Miller’s book in
the remaining installments. But now, it is on to Stanley Marsh III’s
colorful description.

“Yesterday I saw the new Wyatt Earp film and then I rented ‘Tombstone’
which is a bloody shoot’em up, but in both of them they have Wyatt Earp
moving from Missouri to Arkansas to Arizona and they never cross the
plains! The movie-makers can’t handle the vastness of the horizon like
this! It is enormous! It is impressive! It is wonderful and it is what
makes men free!

“It is the people who crossed the plains who got real balls and real
nuts! Far as you can see there was nothing but flat. That’s what makes
people better who live on the plains than people who live on the ocean!
Only about 8% of the people of the United States live at least 1,000
miles away from one of the Great Lakes or great oceans and those are the
only 8% who count and the rest you can just flush into the ocean. Those
who live out where it is flat are God’s chosen people because if God
wanted people to live near the ocean he would have given them gills.”

How could I hope to top that?

Bob

Robert T. Leverett
Cofounder, Eastern Native Tree Society
Re: Day #4-part 2   Lee E. Frelich
  Aug 21, 2006 07:46 PDT 

Bob:

Stanley Marsh III's measurements are a little off. As anyone (for example
myself) who lives in the middle of the continent knows, you can't get 1000
miles from one of the Great Lakes and still be on the Great Plains. 1000
miles from Duluth, MN on Lake Superior, takes you all the way to Missoula,
Montana, and 1000 miles from Chicago takes you all the way to Riverton,
Wyoming and Salida, Colorado, all of which are clearly in the mountains,
not the plains.

I have to admit that given the dewpoints we have in Minnesota, which is
definitely within 1000 miles of the Great Lakes, gills would probably be
helpful.

Lee
Back to Lee   Robert Leverett
  Aug 21, 2006 08:14 PDT 

Lee,

   I suspect that we'd find poor Stanley's geography off in many ways
were we to hear a few more of his witicisms. But he is pretty funny.
There are a lot of other colorful characters in Peter Miller's book - a
couple of them I know. More on them later.

   I do believe that the land helps to shape outlook and personality,
sometimes expanding one's views, friendliness, or working in the
reverse. I could write a book about the personality traits of
eastern-bred mountain people that I think are reinforced by the
combination of mountains and forests. I'll save that project for a later
time.

   However, I would be interested in your candid description of the
Minnesota personality as shaped by Minnesota weather, the terrain (lots
of variations to consider), population density (low), etc. As a fan of
Garrison Keilor, I take to heart his humorous depictions of Minnesotans.
But what does our friend Lee Frelich have to say about what is
quintessential Minnesotan?

  
Bob

Re: RE: Loess hills   brown_-@colstate.edu
  Aug 21, 2006 13:23 PDT 

ENTS:
FYI - The Crowley's ridge and surrounding area apparently harbored the
last remnants of a species of spruce that went extinct during the late
Pleistocene. That area also apparently harbored relict boreal elements
later than some other areas due to the cold meltwater flow down the MS
Valley.

025_22a.jpg (158174 bytes)

A very old road-bed that dates from early 1800's and 
was reportedly on route on the infamous Trail of Tears (1838).  You 
can see how deeply incised it is  in the deep loess (perhaps 10' 
here) on the steep slopes and the trees that have been undermined by 
the erosion.


Roger Brown

Re: Back to Lee   Lee Frelich
  Aug 21, 2006 15:33 PDT 

Bob:

I think Garrison Keillor gets it right--for people who lived in small towns
30 years ago. There really were people like those he talks about, they were
in the town I grew up in as well.

These days most Minnesotan's are big city people, or, if they live in a
small town, like big city people. They are more like Chicagoan's than
characters in Keillor's show.

I think there is still a much greater awareness and appreciation of trees
than you might find elsewhere, but that's because trees are useful for
blocking the wind during winter and providing shade during summer heat
waves, and they are so likely to blow down here that people always realize
that a given tree could disappear at any time.

Lee
RE: Day #4-part 2   John Knuerr
  Aug 22, 2006 16:57 PDT 

Thought I'd chime in the Loess Hills. If the origin is German then it's a
variation on "los" (pronounce like Lowe's) which is paired with "to be": los
sein - meaning: to be loose.
It also has an adjective form: lösbar (pronounce something like lays-bar)
meaning soluble.
Los sein could easily have become " Low'es sign" and eventually abbreviated
to "Lowe's" and eventually to the fuss-rhyming version.
RE: Day #4-part 2   Matthew Hannum
  Aug 22, 2006 17:53 PDT 

Thanks for the continuing tale of your trip out west!

The travel across the Great Plains has been particularly interesting
since I admit that I always thought of that vast region as a place where
buffalo and seas of grass used to live and where tornadoes and corn live
now, and that's about it. Since I've never really spent any time out
there, I had no true understanding of the ecosystem that exists in the
Great Plains. Thanks for the educational and entertaining posts about
all of this.

Not sure if I could live without my trees, though... and the tornadoes
would freak me out if I lived out there, but it must be nice to have
clear skies all the way to the horizon!