A Sand County Almanac

The most notable sign of May is the return of the upland plover from its wintering grounds in the Southern hemisphere. On the prairies, the plover nests in hayfields, where its young quickly grow to maturity. This cycle was nearly broken by overhunting, Leopold writes, but the plover was saved just in time by federal legislation protecting migrating birds. Leopold then describes the joy of trout fishing in June, where the objective is less to catch a large fish than to delight in the challenge of fishing itself.

In July, Leopold describes the creatures he observes staking their claim to a part of his farm early on a summer morning, starting with birds—field sparrows, robins, orioles, and wren, to name but a few—and going on to rabbit and deer. As the sun climbs higher in the sky, human boundaries reassert themselves in the form of noise from neighboring farms, and Leopold stops his observations. From here, he goes on to describe a graveyard near his farm, abutting a section of native prairie—a kind of ecosystem that has almost disappeared from the landscape—on which a plant called Silphium blooms in July. One year, Leopold notes that the section of prairie has been mowed down. This pattern has been replicated on farms throughout the area, he writes, in part because people are ignorant of the existence of species like Silphium, which have a large root system and can grow new plants from severed roots but which have nonetheless been largely extirpated, along with other prairie species, by the grazing of cattle.

Leopold opens the section on August with a description of a river as a kind of artist—specifically, a painter. Using this metaphor, Leopold describes the progression of a riverbank from a stretch of silt to a lush green bed of Eleocharis that supports everything from mice to deer to a variety of wildflowers before being erased by the river and replaced by bare sand. By September, Leopold writes, the spring dawn chorus of songbirds has been replaced by the distant song of the quail, which conceals itself from human view.

In October, Leopold takes to the woods, where the tamarack trees turn from green to gold, in search of grouse to hunt. This hunting requires being awake before dawn; from here, Leopold lays out how hunting also requires following the visual cues in the landscape, including the red of blackberry bushes, or “red lanterns,” where woodcock and partridge are likely to be found. Most hunters are unfamiliar with these signals and therefore look fruitlessly in areas where birds are not found. With his naturalist’s training, however—and the assistance of his hunting dog—Leopold is able to find grouse in the boggy landscape and to attempt to hit them, even if he often misses. Along the way, his dog often finds other creatures, including raccoons and deer. That so much can be discovered in a small area highlights the richness of the landscape: “Almost anything may happen between one red lantern and another” (69).

November brings the wind and the departure of geese, flying south for the winter. The cooler weather is ideal for wielding an axe in comfort, and Leopold describes the conservation considerations that come while wielding an axe: choosing which species of tree is worth saving when two specimens are crowding each other. These calculations are complex, Leopold notes, citing an appreciation for native species, a bias toward the tree that he planted (rather than the one that grew on its own), a preference for the longer-lived species, and a love of pines for his decision to sacrifice a birch to save a pine tree. Pine isn’t the only tree that captures Leopold’s affections; he writes that he also favors tamarack and cottonwood and notes that all plant preferences are a function of both one’s profession and one’s preferences.

In December, Leopold begins by noting the ranges of the species that share his farm, which he gleans by watching their movements and following their tracks in the snow: a quarter mile for the rabbit, a half mile for the chickadee, and a mile for the deer. In this way, he writes, he’s able to learn more about ranges than conventional science can describe. Leopold closes this section with a discussion of banding chickadees, the most satisfying element of which is the recapture of a bird that had been banded in the past, like bird “65290,” which survived for five winters, likely by respecting the chickadee “commandments”: avoiding winter winds, never getting wet before a blizzard, and investigating every new sound in case it meant a discovery of ant eggs, the chickadees’ preferred food.