“Heck of a spring day here,” Trent Verquer says.
A wry smile breaks across his face. The damp, icy breeze chases down his words.
Trent chuckles along with Bruce Rosenbach and Ed Gorman. Bruce and Ed are with the High Plains Land Conservancy, and Trent is Colorado Parks and Wildlife’s Grasslands Habitat Coordinator. The three of them are standing near the edge of a rolling farm field on Colorado’s Eastern Plains.
The sky above them is marbled slate and ivory. A cold wind sweeps across the land. Coat pockets provide some respite for exposed skin and stiff fingers. Low clouds stretch from horizon to horizon, promising no escape.
“Yesterday was a helluva day. It was 75. Not so much today,” Ed says, his voice trailing a bit.
“The March forecast is extremely warm and dry, which is what we don’t need,” Bruce pipes up with a nervous chuckle.
“A little sprinkle here and there would be nice,” Ed says.
Among the oldest of traditions held near and dear by folks with dirt under their fingernails and a favorite pair of work boots: talk of the weather, the seasons and the need for just a little more rain. Today’s meeting is no exception to this ritual.
With the formalities aside, it’s time to talk business –– which looks a lot like farming on this cold mid-March day. Flanking a dirt road intersection with worn-out stop signs, an expansive block of farm country awaits.
This 29-acre parcel is the latest property to enter the Corners for Conservation program (Corners). CPW operates Corners in partnership with the High Plains Land Conservancy and private landowners like farmers and ranchers. The Corners program has two goals: Create healthy native grassland habitat across the Eastern Plains, and provide public access for pheasant hunters in the fall.
Trent, Ed and Bruce are here to welcome this field into the program. But there is no grand ribbon cutting or confetti. Celebrating isn’t on the calendar. Right now, it’s all about keeping their head down and getting another property added to the roster. These guys are here on a mission.
This project is substantial. Converting an old farm field of that size into robust grassland habitat is nothing to dismiss. It takes time, patience and partnership above all else.
“That’s the fun part of it. It’s a true partnership,” Trent says. “Everybody is bringing something to the table and all working together, trying to pull the rope in the same direction.”
“It’s mostly just teamwork,” Ed says. “Just work to your strengths. Everybody works to their strengths, you can get a lot done.”
Partners like the High Plains Land Conservancy and other local conservation organizations are a tremendous help with Corners. CPW also relies heavily on private landowners. Without them, these projects (and the habitat they provide) would not be possible.
Bruce fondly recalls the early days of this partnership. Now in his 70s, he has the authority of recalling memories that are more likely to appear on faded film strips or black and white newspaper clippings.
“Well, it’s almost 35 years ago I met Warren Snyder at the Paoli Gun Club, which was the whole start of it,” Bruce says. “We did trees for about 15 or 20 years, and then we switched over to pollinators.”
The old-timer with a soft voice and sharp blue eyes is talking about the early days of planting tree rows across the prairie. He linked up with Warren Snyder, the Division of Wildlife’s avian researcher at the time, to start everything. In the years since, that habitat-restoration practice has evolved into the Corners program. Now, colorful and vibrant strips of native wildflowers and tallgrass dominate the work being done.
With a slow, wrinkled hand Bruce reaches for his coat pocket. From it he produces a small piece of folded cardstock. It’s a warm pastel color with crisp golden embossing. On the cover, the golden lettering spells out a special message –– “Thank You.”
“I got a card in the mail this year,” Bruce says. He sounds proud, and slightly surprised. “First time anybody’s ever went through the effort of figuring out where they were hunting.”
The card changes hands and Trent flips it open. Neat black penmanship adorns the white cardstock.
“That’s pretty cool,” Trent says, passing the card back to Bruce.
“That’s the cool part about [habitat restoration]. Working together to make economic sense on the farm, and we talked about the economic value of Corners, but how do you put a price on that?” Trent adds with wonder. “That meant enough to those folks that they took the time to send a card out.”
For the three conservationists, the card is an aide-memoire of their mission. It seems to breathe a little extra life into them, warding off the cold, dreary day.
As Bruce pockets the card, focus returns to the real reason they’re gathered here today –– to plant native tallgrass prairie.
Behind the trio is a big green tractor with the classic bright yellow trim. Hooked to the back of it, there’s a bulky, boxy farm implement with fading red paint. It’s got large wheels and an array of sharp disks on its belly, barely making contact with the ground. There’s three narrow bins atop it, running lengthwise above the disks. In some ways, it looks like a massive triple decker piano on wheels.
This piece of equipment is called a seed drill (or drill for short). It’s the star of the show. Ed climbs into the cabin of the tractor and it thrums to life. Then it loudly slinks across the farm field. The drill lurches forward, following closely behind the tractor.
Under the drill, sharp rotating disks score the earth. Cutting only a fraction of an inch deep, these blades make space in the soil for seeds. Behind the blades, a row of tubes drop down from the large, narrow bins. Each bin contains thousands of native grass and wildflower seeds. These seeds tumble down the tubes into the newly sliced ground. Then, smaller lightweight wheels gently tamp the ground behind the seeds, sealing them in.
With the first few feet done, there’s only 29 more acres of planting left.
On a chilly spring day north of Yuma, enrollment in the Corners for Conservation program crests 13,000 acres total.
That number, which is equivalent to roughly 20 square miles, is years in the making.
Thanks to the hard work of Bruce and his organization, the High Plains Land Conservancy, each year more and more acres of less productive or unprofitable farm land are enrolled in Corners. This increasing enrollment speaks to a concept Trent calls “farm the best, conserve the rest.”
What Trent’s referring to is a growing practice on the Eastern Plains among agricultural producers. Farmers are becoming highly selective in choosing where they operate. Only the best, most productive fields are planted or worked. The remaining land can be set aside for wildlife habitat. Doing so allows farmers to save money while contributing to conservation in their communities.
In many ways, this field is the perfect example of what Trent wants to see in the Corners program. It’s a large, contiguous chunk of land. It isn’t economically productive for the farmer who owns it. And it’s right in the heart of Colorado’s pheasant country.
The field was previously planted with wheat, which is another notch in its belt for being a prime Corners field. Old wheat stubble is the perfect base to plant grasses and wildflowers into. Last season’s plant material helps keep the soil moist, allows sunlight to reach the seeds, and protects everything from wind erosion.
Back in one of their trucks, Trent and Bruce duck out of the cold weather. They chat about old hunting stories and all the habitat work they’ve done through the years. As this next season of planting rolls in, timing is at the top of Trent’s mind.
“It’s the most critical time of year, and it’s the time that most folks aren’t really thinking about [pheasants]. The hunting seasons are over. People aren’t really thinking about it, it’s not really in the prime nesting season. It’s the ‘quiet season,’ but it’s really not,” Trent says with a laugh. He throws up some big air quotes over “quiet season.”
When it comes to Corners, and the habitat they provide, mid-spring is a crucial time period. Trent wants to make sure everything is timed right and done correctly. Then, it’s a waiting game.
“From a habitat standpoint this is go-time. This is when everything happens in order to give Corners the best chance of success,” Trent adds.
All Trent and his partners can do is get their work done, and then watch the forecast.
“Mother nature is really driving the boat here, all we can really do is set the table,” Trent says.
“The weather’s gonna play a fairly large role in the numbers of birds we have this next fall. None of us can control that. But what we can control is getting the habitat into the ground and getting it done right,” he adds.
Inside the tractor, Ed slowly guides the steering wheel around with his palm. The lumbering machine is averaging between 3-4 mph, slightly faster than a walking pace. Driving slowly keeps things precise, and it protects the drill from getting beat up in a bumpy field.
With a slight twist of the steering wheel Ed maneuvers the equipment around a large badger hole. Nearly 3 feet wide and a couple feet deep, running the drill into the den’s maw would certainly do a bit of damage.
Once past the crater, Ed breaks the rhythmic song of mechanical purring and thrumming.
“This is actually kind of sandy here, I’m kind of surprised it’s so sandy,” Ed says. “But that’s a good thing … Super sandy stuff is the best soil.”
For the most part, the wildflower and grass mix being planted on Corners takes to seed exceptionally well. Very few fields need to be replanted, and some of them seem to be supercharged. A lot of their growth depends on rainfall, soil moisture and soil type.
In this part of the state, the Corners seed mix takes really nicely.
“I think it’s just due to the fact that the sand particles don’t hold the moisture as tightly so it’s more available for the plant to take up … Most of the species we plant do really, really well in sandier soils,” Ed says.
In the tractor’s wake, the hulking drill squeaks and rattles a bit. It’s busy spitting down seeds and tucking them in for the season. The oddly piano-shaped implement is sewing the seeds of a song that will take several years to piece together. Ultimately, it’ll be a full orchestra of diverse textures and colors.
The seeds being planted now will all have their moment to shine.
First, tender green shoots and stems will emerge. They’ll eventually be bigger and command more attention, but for now they will share a spot with tougher, more pushy and prickly weeds. After a couple of seasons, more colors will emerge and the grasses grow stronger. Pops of fuschia and yellow, blue and emerald, royal purples and gold.
In the later years, when the Corner reaches maturity, the full symphony is on display. All the colors are rich. The grasses tower chest and head high. Vegetation seems to explode like bursts of fireworks. A sea of native plants will dance and weave with the breeze.
An impressive abundance of wildlife will flock to these spots to partake in the concert as well. Pollinating insects and migrating songbirds are drawn in droves. Pheasants, quail and rabbits will seek their shelter and food. Rodents, snakes and even deer will call these spaces home.
It truly is a sight to see.
The clamorous tractor and seed drill make one more pass around the field. The steely cloud blanket from earlier gives in to an azure sky. Sunshine appears in little disco-ball patches across the land. Spring is certainly here.
Underfoot, another change is also taking place. Tiny black, brown and flaxen specks wait beneath the soil’s surface. From the shelter of skeletal wheat stubble, the music is just starting to hum.
Written and photographed by Forrest Czarnecki. Forrest is a Colorado hunter and angler and a Digital Media Specialist for Colorado Parks and Wildlife.
