This Issue

Restorative Powers

In this spring issue of the Volunteer, two conservationists write about launching into ambitious projects to restore wild species and habitats. Biologist Sue Leaf writes about re-creating oak savanna—one seed at a time—in a state park. In our lead story, Star Tribune columnist Dennis Anderson tells the tale of how a home-grown conservation group set to work to revive the state’s vanishing pheasant population and eventually turned into a national force in farmland politics.

In many ways, the 20-year-old Pheasants Forever has realized anthropologist Margaret Mead’s frequently quoted assertion: "Never doubt that a small group of thoughtful, committed citizens can change the world. In fact, it is the only thing that ever has." Since April 15, 1983, when a small band of organizers hosted some 800 hunter-conservationists at a fund-raising banquet, Pheasants Forever has grown to more than 100,000 members nationwide. Minnesota’s 69 local chapters have raised more than $15 million to protect and improve wildlife habitat. Locally, members work closely with farm neighbors. Nationally, the group lobbies for strong conservation provisions in federal farm programs.

From native wildflower gardens in city boulevards and back yards, to replanted prairies and woodlands, to restored lakeshores, Minnesotans are working to revive natural plant and animal communities. In Minnesota a coalition of conservation groups, including the DNR, is restoring wildlife corridors with an $11.7 million grant from the Legislative Commission on Minnesota Resources. In the Twin Cities, battalions of volunteer conservationists are cutting down buckthorn and other invasive exotics and planting native trees, wildflowers, and grasses.

At Wild River State Park along the St. Croix, scores of volunteers have divvied up the chores in a decades-long project to restore old fields and pastures to pre-European settlement oak savanna. In "One Seed at a Time," Leaf likens the project to refurbishing a trashed house. Her essay raises questions: Can humans hope to heal a wounded landscape? Can we make it as good as new? And when was it new anyway?

Restoration is hard work. Anyone who has ever bought fix-up property knows renovation can be tedious, time-consuming, and seemingly endless. Building something new might be easier. Yet people persist in trying to recapture bits of lost paradise.

Like our responses to the arrival of spring, our reasons for undertaking restoration are symbolic and emotional as well as practical. Leaf imagines wild lupines stretching along a riverside corridor, luring Karner blue butterflies from the lupine-rich meadows on the Wisconsin side to the replanted patches in Wild River State Park. A state-endangered species, the Karner blue symbolizes revitalization of oak savanna, just as the shimmering ring-necked pheasant stands for rejuvenation of grassland. Ecologists like Leaf long to see an explosion of butterflies, just as hunters like Anderson yearn for a million or more pheasants to explode across their Minnesota range.

As conservationists, we focus on the promise of healthy plant and animal communities, then set to work. At some point, we gauge our success and decide whether or not to continue. Continuing our efforts depends on how we measure our success in practical and personal terms. Just as important, our commitment depends on faith in the restorative powers of nature.

Kathleen Weflen, editor

kathleen.weflen@state.mn.us