Birds call triumphantly, “Spring is here, Spring is here!” While great roving flocks move against the sky, keeping both day and night over the prairie alive with a cacophony of honks and screams and indistinguishable calls.
The last of the ice has become a perch where upon meander the Anatidae families when they are not a field foraging winter wheat on the mud flats or a-wing traveling the great grain-belt expanse.
Proud roosters with their long tail feathers – though less gloriously colored for the spring molt – strut among their harems of lady pheasants. Occasionally do they indulge the traveler – the observer – in a show of great admiration as they stomp scratch and beat their wings at competition.
The heady scent of sloughs now thawing fills the air and inspires some sense of excitement in the folk who commune often with nature.
Grab your guns
Get your binoculars
Walk out into the pasture and lay down under the screaming feathered cyclone of 20,000 snows as they feast and rest – a much needed respite on their arduous journey to the tundra of the far north.
In the prairie the world comes alive with spring. So too does the soul of farmer – the spirit of the hunter – and the heart of the artist.