Owl Acres is a small patch of rural Iowa with woods, a yard, an open meadow, and a house where I live with my partner Bryan and my dog Dave. At evening and into the night, a pair of barred owls often calls through the trees, wooing and courting, discussing domestic issues, or arguing about owlet rearing. The distinct melody of their calls puts a focus to the soundscape and a smile on my face. They sing of home, and for that reason, I have named these eight acres in their honor.
I grew up in the country, where the snowy tree crickets define a summer night, where the stars shine clear, and where the people live and work hard to turn black dirt into food for a nation.
I am blind, so you might think that I paid extra attention to the soundscape of birds, and tractors, and cicadas and winter snow. You might think that I noticed the textures of leaves and flowers, the shapes of seeds, the nuances of bark. I didn’t. I didn’t learn to identify the birds. I didn’t pay attention to the crop cycles. I didn’t learn to garden beyond pulling weeds and picking beans. I couldn’t tell you a lambs quarters from lamb’s wool, and the daily farm chores went by in uncelebrated and mostly ignored routine. I was busy growing into a teenager, reading books and daydreaming about doing heroic things in other places.
Life happened. College, marriage, babies and jobs got all my attention. And then one day I found myself riding in a jeep with a tour guide up a mountain in Australia. “Tell me about the trees, and the birds. Are there mosquitoes? What is the soil like?? I peppered him with questions which he was gracious in answering. He was well-versed in the standard details, but occasionally one of my questions got an “I don’t know.” Response. How could he not know that detail about his home, I wondered. And then, somewhere along that mountain road, I had a sudden realization—if our roles were reversed, and he was asking me all those questions about my native place, could I answer them? Probably not. I didn’t know much at all about the complex, vibrant and intricate life going on around me. What had I missed? Was not my own native place as important or as interesting as this mountain? I made a promise to myself that I would change that when I got home. This blog is a fulfillment of that long-ago promise.
Iowa is often dismissed as a flyover state with nothing of interest to catch the eye or the imagination. Corn. How interesting can that be? Soybeans? Who cares about them? The interstates carry massive amounts of people and goods on a straight shot through the state—no need to stop, no need to engage. And yet, in every square foot of Iowa land millions of tiny creatures live out their lives. On every acre are hundreds of plant species, their insect friends and enemies. Life cycles take bizarre twists. Dozens of species of birds sing their signature songs. Human history interfaces with the land. Native Americans traversed it for thousands of years, hunting, fishing, gathering, managing the land and its bounty. European settlers changed the ecosystem one acre at a time, breaking sod, planting crops, building towns and cities.
As I sit in my study with the windows open, or stroll through my eight acres of Iowa land, I wonder—who built that barn? Who broke this particular sod? Who roamed the land before the sodbusters came? What happened here on this very spot?
Hundreds of species of plants and animals live on these eight acres. They live in the grass, in the trees, in the weeds and bushes. They nest in the fence rows and roost in the barn. They grow in the garden and carpet the ground. They live in the dirt and in the puddles. Who are they? What are they doing? What are their stories. I am determined to find out.
And your story? Is it similar? Have you been too busy to stop and wonder at the world in your own back yard? If the answer is yes, I invite you to join me on my journey of discovery. The journey is an exciting one, a treasure hunt with gems hiding beneath every leaf. Our finds will be much more exciting if we can share them together. So, come along with me and let’s discover the life, the history, the wonders and woes of these few acres. Together we’ll catch a woolly bear caterpillar and feel its slinky-like movement on our palms. We’ll watch the acrobatics of dragonflies catching their prey in mid-air, and the dive-bombing mating displays of those tiniest of birds. We’ll pay homage to the long and valuable history of the red cedar tree in the woods and its relatives throughout human history, and taste the sweetness of summer berries. We’ll hear a male pheasant calling as he strolls across the yard and wonder how many prairie chickens might have lived here before the ring-necked invader pushed them out. We’ll delve into the soundscape to recognize the moods of the trees, the songs of the birds, the voices of the mammals, the melodies of the insects, and the noise we humans bring to it. We’ll learn what each bird, each butterfly, each prairie flower looks like through pictures and detailed description. And we’ll discover the human history and impact on these eight acres as well.