I am passionate about the Nebraska Prairie. As a child growing up just outside the small town of Brady,Nebraska, my father's ranch was nine miles south (with clay soil), while we lived at the foot of the Sandhills. It was here that I spent hours hiking the hills, hunting for the lake that "didn't exist," and chasing lizards whose tails fell off in my hands. I also found snakes and blowouts from which I jumped, enjoying the free sail through the air. The Sandhills were barren and greatly void of trees. Loaded with various grasses and a sand base, they made wonderful grazing country for cattle. Raising crops was harder due to lack of irrigation and water. A classmate had a party one night and a friend and I sat and looked over the land from a hilltop. Some forty nine years later, I remember how the snow reminded of a huge ocean under the moonlight.That land spread out for miles, hill after hill, unhampered. It was awesome.
My wish was to spend a winter up there, a really bad blizzard, snowed in. I wanted generated heat, garden produce, canned meat, and all the amenities needed for survival in this less populated area of the United States. Little did I know that these hills were one of a kind. That they weren't to be found anywhere else in the world. Today, authors write a fair amount about them and the people who lived there.I find the Sandhills most beautiful at sunset, during the winter, when they take on a cold bluish hue that makes me want to fix warm stew when I go home.
The Sandhills were filled with jack rabbit and pheasants. I used to go with my dad who hunted these rabbits.. I have a picture of me standing on the hill with about six rabbits dangling from my arm..Other times, Dad would go pheasant hunting and he and his pharmacist friend, and a man named, Doc Pyle, would go up north and shoot these birds.Both the rabbit and pheasant made for delicious eating-I keep feeling that I should apologize. I wasn't the hunter and I didn't watch. Anyway, along with these, I would listen to the coyote howl at bedtime, an eerie, but wonderful sound. Rather lonely.
One day when I was alone and hiking-I went to my favorite blowout and was on my way home, I looked down and saw a fully beaded and most colorful snake. It took my breath away-both because it was http://templeranch.wordpress.combeautiful and also because I feared it might be poisonous-though I knew it wasn't a rattler. As I remember it had blue and orange beading. I still wonder what it was that I encountered.
I had a relative, Art Nelson, who owned the Big Dipper Ranch up in the Sandhills north of Brady in Wild Horse Valley. His cattle brand was made to represent a dipper, and he had cowboy boots on the top of the fence posts, used to greet people. At least one pair of boots were still there a few years back.
I am going to stop here with the Sandhills. I will return with the clay hills, south of the Platte in the Platte River Valley next time. After that, I want to write about the plains in their very early state before they were settled by hundreds of pioneers. After that I have my vast collection of literature to share from.
The wondrous prairie with its grass, wildlife, flowers, and all that makes it quaint and charming, is part of my heartbeat and soul. Please share your thoughts and knowledge.I would be most grateful.
