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Article 2/18/04 |
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| Where
the American bison roams
Peter Davenport
The Advocate, Stamford Connecticut
February 18, 2004 |
Stamford,
CT- In his 1948 book "A Sand County Almanac,"
naturalist Aldo Leopold wrote about a strange country
cemetery along a Wisconsin highway. It was strange because
it was triangular and because it held "a pinpoint
remnant of the native prairie."
Untouched by the plows of surrounding farmers, the cemetery
was an oasis for native grasses and plants. One plant
in particular drew Leopold's interest: the cut-leaf silphium,
a "man-high" flowering plant "spangled
with saucer-sized yellow blooms resembling sunflowers."
It was the only one of its kind along the highway, Leopold
wrote, and perhaps that area's sole survivor.
"What a thousand acres of silphiums looked like when
they tickled the bellies of the buffalo is a question
never again to be answered, and perhaps not even asked."
I know nothing of cut-leaf silphium, and I don't know
much about buffalo -- or, more accurately, American bison.
But I do know where to find bison and occasionally feel
a need to check in on them.
*
On Sunday, I visited the Bronx Zoo's herd, whose tiny
range -- bounded by fences and the Bronx River, and well
within earshot of the Pelham Parkway -- lies about 17
miles from the state line.
It was a cold day turned bitter by a strong wind. Most
of the dozen animals were resting on the frozen stubble
in the enclosure. Adult bison can weigh up to 2,000 pounds
and the nearest animal looked to be pushing the envelope.
Steam puffed from its massive nostrils. Its dark coat
of matted hair grabbed heat from the wan winter sun.
This herd's lot is bittersweet. Its bison will never pull
prairie earth beneath their hooves or graze at the Plains'
wealth of grasses and wildflowers.
The fact that thousands of other bison can, however, owes
in part to the zoo herd's forebears.
In 1907, the nascent American Bison Society took 15 bison
from the zoo (then the New York Zoological Society) on
a 2,000-mile train trip to a small chunk of Oklahoma,
the modern Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge.
It was rocky land, forested by post and black-jack oak,
unwanted by farmers and the American Indian tribes. But
it also held swaths of native grasses.
"It is original prairie; it has not been plowed,"
says Joe Kimball, wildlife biologist at Wichita Mountains.
"It wasn't tillable."
The Bronx bison flourished there. For the first 60 years
or so, an on-site slaughterhouse culled the herd so that
it didn't exceed the land's caring capacity. Since 1968,
however, the excess animals -- 150 to 200 per year --
have been sold to bison farmers or donated to zoos, other
wildlife refuges and American Indian tribes seeking to
restock their native lands.
The place offers a chance to see the bison in their element.
"You can get right up to them," Kimball said,
"though I don't recommend it."
*
An estimated 200,000 bison are reported in the United
States, according to the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service.
The number is modest compared with the estimated 30 million
to 75 million bison that roamed between the Rocky Mountains
and Atlantic coast, but a big improvement over the hundreds
remaining -- almost exclusively in private herds, except
for a few dozen in Yellowstone National Park -- by the
late 1800s.
Their success was recently noted in The Week magazine
in an article titled "Trouble in the Heartland."
It examined the flight of family farmers from the Great
Plains, where stores and factories are closing and "even
the parents are telling their kids to get out."
A friend of mine showed the article to me.
"Why don't we buy some land here," he'd said.
Sounds pretty depressing, I said.
Then he pointed out a little news nugget buried in the
story: "Thousands of miles of the northern Plains
have reverted to wilderness, with fewer than two people
per square mile," the article said. "Huge buffalo
herds now roam there as they did before the pioneers came."
For me, the story raises a few questions. Are these Bronx
bison? Are they tickled by silphiums?
-- Peter Davenport is an assistant city editor at The
Advocate.
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