A Conversation with Walter Schroeder, Mapper of Missouri's Presettlement Prairies

This is a short post. I'm just sharing a video with you. I hope you enjoy it.

I sure did.

For those of you who don't know, while I was in elementary school and junior high, my dad spent a decade meticulously researching the original handwritten descriptions of Missouri's landscapes made by the original land surveyors, who worked before Missouri was opened up to settlers, who plowed up the prairies, cut down the woods, suppressed natural fires, introduced cattle, etc.

From the surveyors' notes, he created a map (in the days before computers) of what parts of Missouri had been prairie (grassland) and which were wooded. The map was published by the Missouri Department of Conservation in 1981 and is still incredibly useful for conservationists and others who want an idea of how a piece of land was vegetated before settlers came in and altered it.

My dad's had a long career in both physical geography (landforms) and historical geography (especially settlement patterns). Many people in Jefferson City know him only from his popular books about the capital city and its German immigrant community—books he's written in retirement.

In this video, he touches on a lot of these subjects. A longer video, incorporating more parts of the interviews, is in the works, so stay tuned.

Also, be sure to check out the Missouri Prairie Foundation at moprairie.org.

I'm really pleased that the nice folks at MPF saw fit to do these interviews with my dad. I'm biased—I know he's a big deal—but it's nice to see others honor him, too.

Fun fact: my Grandma Schroeder was a charter member of the MPF. She and the other Garden Club ladies viewed native prairie conservation as integrally related to their gardening and landscaping interests. It seems that Grandma always spoke gushingly about the beauty of the prairies. She always pronounced it puh-HRARE-ie.

Stone Hill Ozark Hellbender Red: A Great Wine for a Greater Cause

Hey, I want to remind you to pick up a few bottles of Ozark Hellbender next time you’re out buying wine.

Now if you’re going, “whatever is she talking about?” then you need to read on, because this is really cool.

In 2018, Hermann, Missouri’s own Stone Hill Winery—the historic 1847 winery that, with its restoration in the 1960s, almost single-handedly started the renaissance of Missouri’s wine industry—started producing a dry red blend they call Ozark Hellbender.

Why the weird name? A portion of the profits go to help fund the research and restoration efforts of several conservation organizations to restore the Ozark hellbender, an endangered native Missouri aquatic salamander.

Actually, in the past year, both of Missouri’s subspecies of hellbenders have been declared federally endangered, so restoration efforts are more critical ever.

Here are some links to learn more about hellbenders, their conservation status, and the Saint Louis Zoo’s captive breeding and restocking efforts.

In a nutshell—as if you could fit one into such a small place—hellbenders are huge, slimy, brown salamanders with small eyes and loose skin. They spend most of their time hiding under big flat rocks in cool, fast-flowing Ozark streams. Adults can be 11 to 20 inches long, making them the largest salamander in North America (three relatives in the giant salamander group are larger and live in East Asia; all of them range from threatened to possibly extinct in the wild). Missouri is the only state to hold both subspecies of North American hellbenders.

The reasons for their decline are numerous and are compounded by the fact that females usually don’t breed until they’re about seven or eight years of age. And even then, they may only breed every two or three years. They typically live for three decades in nature, but that’s assuming their streams remain habitable for them, and even then, their small, vulnerable offspring need to have a decent shot at surviving to breeding age. One hellbender was documented as living to age fifty-five—no wonder they don’t breed until they’re seven or eight; they’re kinda like us.

And so there’s a captive breeding and restocking program, which, combined with efforts to improve and protect their natives streams, might bring them back to the point where their populations are stable.

A personal reverie: MU’s legendary zoology professor Dean Metter used to keep the university’s herpetology collection (enclosures with live snakes, lizards, and such) in a hallway on the second floor of Stewart Hall. My dad, with the rest of the geography department, had their offices in the basement of that building. Often, when we were there to pick up Dad after work and there was a delay of some kind, I’d go upstairs and visit Doc Metter’s herps.

As a pigtailed Campfire Girl, and before, as a tagalong little sister with my brother’s Cub Scout den, we had a guided tour of the collection by Doc Metter himself. I’ll never forget him gently removing a speckled kingsnake from its cage and letting me hold it.

Along one, rather dark wall was a big, long, galvanized tub about waist-high. It must have had a chiller on it, in addition to the circulation/filtration. It was always humming and moving the water around. And there, in the tub, was a fourteen- or sixteen-inch-long hellbender. It never seemed to move, except to kind of waver a little with the current; it just rested in there like a shadow. It was there forever, it seemed. Knowing what I know now, it’s sad to think of that creature living in a galvanized tub in a lonely university hallway, educating those of us too young or citified to discover hellbenders on our own.

Nature had designed it for a life creeping around on Ozark stream bottoms, exploring amid boulders and bunches of watercress, crawling under large flat rocks, hunting crayfishes. Of living as one with the quick freshness, in the higher oxygen content of springfed sections of the river, and the richness and quietude of the pools.

. . . Anyway, there’s something primordial and shadowy about hellbenders; something uncanny and otherworldly. Very fascinating. It’s heartbreaking that something so . . . so . . . seemingly eternal could become extinct, wiped from existence forever.

So, this wine helps raise funds to help the hellbenders.

But it does a few other things, too.

It shows the maturation of Missouri’s wine industry, when one of its leaders is able to step well beyond the tried-and-true, by now rather formulaic marketing angles of “quaint local winery,” “historic ethnic German winery,” and “have your wedding receptions here, folks!”

I really like how Stone Hill, with this project, is connecting with Missouri's natural history and showing a dedication to its future. The “German heritage” angle is an obvious focus and starting point for most Missouri wineries, but this is showing Stone Hill's maturity as an institution.

Also, German immigrants brought a tremendous love of nature with them to the New World. While the English-derived Americans liked trees, grass, and gardens when they were trimmed, mowed, or planted in rows, the Germans held romantic feelings about wild places, where plants and animals grow free and take the forms and patterns innate to them. Yes, many German immigrants were (or became) master horticulturalists, but alongside their love of cultivation, they held a deep love of untamed nature. So this project, which celebrates an aspect of wild Missouri that many Missourians would feel squeamish about, continues that Germanic love of wilderness.

When I communicated this idea recently on Stone Hill’s Facebook page, I got this nice reply from someone at the company: “Thanks for the kind words! We are really glad we can play a small part in continuing that tradition and supporting this special Missouri species! As farmers, it is so important to keep our natural world healthy for the future.” . . . To which I say, Right On!

I don’t think they’ll mind me flat-out copying their descriptive text for the 2018 Ozark Hellbender wine:

BLEND INFORMATION: Since the Ozark Hellbender spends most of its life secretively hiding under rocks in the bottom of Ozark streams we are keeping our blend a secret as well. But we’ll give you some hints! All variety of grapes used are grown in the Ozark Mountain AVA. Some grapes aged for one year in neutral oak barrels to bring out complexity, softness and drinkability. Then just before bottling, like any good family recipe, we add the final variety which is held secret only for our winemakers to know.

TECHNICAL INFORMATION: Alcohol - 13%; Residual Sugar - 1.5%

TASTING INFORMATION: A smooth red blend with aromas of sweet cherry, blueberry and a touch of toasted oak. Creating a soft, complex and very drinkable wine, made from grapes all grown in the Ozark Mountain AVA. *A portion of the proceeds from every bottle of Ozark Hellbender wine sold is donated to the Saint Louis Zoo and hellbender conservation. (750ml)

AWARDS:

Bronze - 2019 Missouri Wine Competition

Yes, it's an award-winning wine! In fact, just recently, the 2019 Ozark Hellbender won "Best of Class Semi-Dry Red," and the 2018 Ozark Hellbender received a gold medal, at the 2021 Missouri Wine Competition. Way to go, Stone Hill!

Seriously, what are the grapes, you wonder: Here’s what they told me (in response to my Facebook question, subtly hinting if Merlot was one of the ingredients): “No Merlot in it! It is a blend of three grapes: Norton, Chambourcin, and #3 is a secret. [Finger-to-lips "shh!" emoji.] All three are grown on our own vineyards though.”

Norton is the strongest part of the blend. Have you ever tasted Norton wine? It’s distinctive. It’s North America’s native, sophisticated dry red grape variety. It’s Missouri’s premier wine grape. It has a fascinating history; if you want to read more, I heartily suggest Todd Kliman, The Wild Vine: A Forgotten Grape and the Untold Story of American Wine.

Norton isn’t for everybody. It has a distinctive flavor. It’s like this: If you’re hankering for oranges, a grapefruit will taste just wrong; it’s so close, it seems almost an insult to oranges; so close, well—just give me an apple. But the fun of wines is their variety. Thank goodness wines aren’t all the same! There are many really good wines—you simply won’t like all of the types. In his insightful essay “Knowing Nothing about Wine,” John Thorne described it like this: “Needless to say, wines with the same rating don’t taste equally good (Malbec, for instance, is a varietal that tastes rather like ink; a highly rated one tastes like delicious ink).”

But Thorne goes on to talk about how really good wines, highly rated ones—even if you don’t end up liking the variety—will still be worth trying, because you can usually see why some people really like them. They offer food for thought. They’re interesting. I suggest trying Norton with this in mind.

I heard somewhere that Ozark Hellbender red became the top-selling red at Stone Hill Winery in Hermann when it was released (apparently, it still is). That’s pretty remarkable, because the average Missourian typically prefers sweet wine. That Hellbender Red is selling so well could mean that Missourians have suddenly become conscientious consumers, choosing products that give back to good causes . . . or it could mean that Missourians have suddenly developed more cultivated palates . . . or it could mean that Ozark Hellbender red is a deviously clever blend that offers enough berry flavor to satisfy the average palate but enough complexity to make it good for people who prefer dry reds. And serving it chilled makes it smoother for red-wine newbies. Indeed, this blend can be kind of a “gateway drug” for Norton, and even “dry red” appreciation. Or it could be a combination of all three.

I think lot of people would like to drink dry red wines because of their purported health benefits and because, as you sit among your friends, a glass of deep red wine simply looks groovier than white—but many can’t make the leap in terms of flavor. I can see someone trying a Norton varietal and thinking, “I can’t enjoy this.” But after a few weeks enjoying Ozark Hellbender red here and there, you could easily acquire an appreciation for Norton: “Oh, this is that unique flavor I’ve come to enjoy in my Ozark Hellbender red, only more of it.” . . . And if this is what Hellbender red achieves for Stone Hill, then bully for them! Smart-smart-smart-smart-smart.

I hope you will go out and try a bottle of Ozark Hellbender red—for the tasting experience . . . and to help the hellbenders.

Boat Ramp Scavenger Hunts

Here’s a new summertime activity that works well with pandemic-inspired desire for social distancing: collecting boat ramps!

Just kidding, sort of. Here’s what it actually is. As some of you know, I’ve been working for several years as a freelance contractor for our state conservation agency providing writing and editorial services for one portion of its website. As I’ve used the site over the years, I’ve noticed that of the hundreds of conservation, natural, and fishing access areas that appear among the “Places to Go” on their website, several don’t have a representational photo—like, not even a thumbnail image to appear as you scroll through the lists of search results. (And a few are kind of lame—like a closeup photo of the area’s sign.)

Mostly, the ones that don’t have photos are access points along rivers (boat ramps—so not very compelling, photographically), and community lakes where the state agency has a partnership with the local government (so, not 100 percent the state agency’s job to promote). Still, it’s the web, and you know . . . pictures!

Anyway, since I have a camera that takes pretty okay pictures (good enough for web, anyway, and in some cases equal or better than the ones used on the website) . . . and since I can edit that part of the site (although I’m not in charge of it), I’ve been adding pictures here and there for the areas that need them. Yeah, for free. In fact, until recently, they invited users to upload their own photos, so it’s not like I’m going crazy here.

It started a few years ago, when I’d use the site myself to find directions and noted there was no image. Well, since we would be there, I might as well take a few clicks and provide a pic here and there.

And so Sue and I have been taking little excursions on weekends. I make a list of places that don’t yet have pictures, we figure out an itinerary, and off we go. We see how many boat ramps and backwoods public lands we can visit in an afternoon. It’s been quite an adventure, connecting these dots, going places we’ve never been before, occasionally missing a turn from one gravel county road onto another because the road sign has been knocked over and is laying in the weeds (Osage County, I’m talking about you) . . . but you know. Adventures.

We’ve seen a lot of beautiful places.

And a lot of boat ramps.

LOTS of boat ramps.

. . . All manner of boat ramps.

We usually have a picnic while we’re at it. It’s easy to find a pleasant place to sit.

It’s nice to get out of the house and do something together. We take pictures of all manner of beautiful and strange nature things. Then we go home and try to identify what we've seen, if it's something new.

Fun fact: this is a lot like something else we did when we first moved back to Missouri—we were living in Columbia, and Sue had never lived there before, and I thought she should get to know the university better. So many buildings! So we made a scavenger hunt out of visiting and entering every campus building we could. Why not? Those are public places, and we’re Missouri residents and taxpayers! Also, many of the buildings at the University of Missouri are beautiful examples of nineteenth- and early twentieth-century public architecture, so it’s a treat to step inside them.

We had a campus map and a checklist. Also, irreverent but in a nondestructive way, we had a roll of adhesive paper dots that we used to mark our conquests. In multiple-story buildings, we sought to put one dot on each floor. We made sure no one saw us while we were marking the buildings this way, and we’d stick the dots in odd, not-quite-conspicuous places. The tops or sides of door frames. The side of a light fixture. The top edge of an elevator door. A few times, in plain sight, but on a surface where the heads of screws, for example, created a pattern where one more little round circle wouldn’t draw notice. I think we might’ve put one above a switch on a classroom’s light-switch plate, which looked like someone might have marked “this switch” as somehow special.

We only put the dots onto metal or painted stuff, nothing that was finished wood. . . . I wonder how many of those are still there. I wonder if other people discovered these dots and wondered about their significance. Hah. We ought to make a new project of going back to those buildings and looking for the dots. We even put them on the parking structures.

We didn’t finish our little project—we didn’t conquer the University of Missouri. But we had fun walking around that beautiful campus in a lot of majestic buildings, marking them as “ours” in an exceedingly mild way. Just like we're having fun visiting all these boat ramps.

I hope you're having a fun summer, and that you're all staying safe and well.

You Say To-MAY-tuh, We Say La PLAY-tuh

Sue and I had been working up to a day trip to La Plata, Missouri, for months—Sue longer, because she’s the one who discovered the Virtual Railfan’s La Plata webcam this spring, when it came up as a suggestion while she was watching some other video.



Just in case you haven’t heard of Virtual Railfan, here’s the deal: it’s a group of people (with a YouTube channel) who are all about watching trains: “Virtual Railfan is the premiere provider for live train cams all over the United States [plus Revelstoke, B.C., Canada] providing live views from some of the most iconic railroading spots on earth.” They have webcams in 21 locations, and La Plata is one. Here's the camera that faces east:



Here's the view west . . .



And here's the view east . . .



The VR folks work with the different railroad companies and set up live webcams at various places—usually stations or crossings where there’s a pretty large amount of train traffic each day. And the webcams let us witness things like the sounds of far-off train horns, the sight and sound of railroad crossing gates, a widening glare of headlights (if it’s night), and then the thunderous succession of engines and cars roaring by. Like this.

In many places, there are two webcams set up, so you can view both directions of the rail line. You can “rewind” the video back for 12 hours, to see what you’ve missed, or just to see a train, if you don’t want to wait for the next one to arrive. Also, live commenting is allowed, but it is moderated effectively, so it’s actually a pleasant experience. Like, you could let your kids watch it. The chitchat reveals actual camaraderie.

So why La Plata? La Plata’s a small town in northern Missouri with a population of 1,366.



You’d think there’d be a Virtual Railfan webcam set up here in Jeff City, with our attractive Amtrak station in the historic Union Hotel, at the Jefferson Landing State Historic Site, with the Missouri State Capitol in the background. Seems like we’re always hearing train horns!

But apparently, La Plata gets much more train traffic. While Jeff City is on the Union Pacific line and has the Missouri River Runner Amtrak lines, little ol’ La Plata averages between 50 and 70 BNSF trains every 24 hours, plus Amtrak’s Southwest Chief comes by twice a day. And although BNSF owns the line, Union Pacific (BNSF’s main competitor) has trackage rights and often runs about 6 of its trains through each day, too. So although at times it might seem about as interesting as watching paint dry, it’s actually rather entertaining—with the messaging, it’s sort of like waiting for a train with somebody. And at any given time in an evening, there may easily be some 500 to 1,000 people watching.



So, yes, La Plata’s history is tied with the railroad. The WPA’s Missouri: A Guide to the Show Me State (1941) offers a snapshot of 1930s Missouri. It noted that La Plata had a population of 1,421 and was positioned “at the junction of the Wabash and Santa Fe railroads.”

In the town’s early days, it carried both the Wabash line (which later became the Norfolk Southern, which today doesn’t go through the town), AND the Atchison, Topeka, and Santa Fe (ATSF, or “Santa Fe” for short). The ATSF ran through La Plata as it made a beeline from Chicago to Kansas City (bypassing St. Louis). The ATSF later merged with the Burlington Northern to became BNSF, and that’s the line that carries so much freight (both container and bulk cargo such as grains) now.

La Plata cherishes its railroading history. A motel in town, called the Depot Inn, has indoor and outdoor displays of railroad memorabilia and amounts to a small railroad museum. It is absolutely worth seeing, even if you don’t intend to stay the night.

And of course, we spent some time at the La Plata railroad station itself—after watching La Plata vicariously through a webcam, it was fun to see it in real life. The train station is definitely a historic structure, and it’s undergoing some restoration.



The current station is Art Deco style and dates back to a major remodel after a fire in 1945. In the late 1990s, people started working to renew the station: coalitions of town boosters and preservationists, railroad clubs, railroad restoration foundations. and other nonprofits. Money has come from grants, from a U.S. Department of Transportation matching-funds program, and even some money from the Missouri legislature—plus, of course, volunteer work and private donations. The American Passenger Rail Heritage Foundation (APRHF) continues to work to find grants, organize fundraisers, and so on, to maintain the historic station.

So if you look at the La Plata webcams these days, you’ll probably see workers improving the walkways, railings, and other facilities at the station. They’re doing a nice job!



The station is closed most of the time, and although they don’t sell tickets there, a caretaker is at the station every day to open its doors and offer customer service and information during Amtrak train times. Amtrak’s Southwest Chief has thirty-two stops, including one at little ol’ La Plata, Missouri, as it runs from Chicago to Los Angeles. Judging from the live chat comments, I guess there are railfans who are especially interested in watching Amtrak trains.



So, we had a fun time snooping around the (closed) station, waiting for and seeing several trains go by, and driving around the town. We had lunch at the Santa Fe Espresso restaurant in downtown La Plata. After another visit to the station, we looked at the Depot Inn museum and then walked over the Brown Street bridge that crosses over the train tracks east of the station. No, there’s no decent sidewalk or even shoulder for pedestrians to be safe on that bridge, but on the baking hot Saturday afternoon there was hardly anyone on the roads, so we got our pictures in relative safety. Don’t tell anyone.

I also got a video of that. (You’re welcome!)

More on our La Plata excursion soon. Did I mention that Sue was really excited to see the La Plata railroad station in real life?

Springtime Crayfish Happiness

Okay, here’s a real “Opulent Opossum” subject for you: the glory of crayfishes in early spring! Plus, the Missouri Department of Conservation has just published a new booklet to help you learn to identify our state’s 36 crayfish species!



Chris Riggert, the Volunteer Water Quality Monitoring Coordinator for the Conservation Department’s Stream Team program, headed up the project. The new booklet is an excellent introduction for identifying the state’s crayfishes—a good “jumping in” place to get you started in learning about (and thus appreciating) our beloved crawdads.



I love to see rocky creeks come alive in early spring.



In early spring, with the leaves still off the trees, light penetrates through the bare branches of the forest canopy and shines on the creekbeds. This light creates a short-lived “bloom,” first, of a matlike brown algae (I think it’s a diatom), and then of a wispy filamentous green algae—like flowing green tresses, wafting in the current. That algae is to creeks what bloodroot, trilliums, and spring beauties are to the springtime forest floor.



And though the water’s pretty cold, it’s no longer frozen, so the animals start getting active. I have spent hours and hours by streams, watching the snails crawl around on the rocks, minnows glide and dart hither and thither, and crayfish explore the miniature aquatic caves and canyons.



It’s our midcontinent version of tidepooling, and it’s a fun as all get-out.



Last weekend, when we had some really nice weather, Sue and I visited Clifty Creek Conservation Area (which is fast becoming my favorite hikin’ place; click here for the MDC web page on it).



When we were there, we saw lots of golden crayfish (Orconectes luteus) scooting around in that crystal clear water. They were nearly all about one and a half inches long.

See?



One of the things that the new MDC brochure (and their other printed crayfish publications, and the online Missouri field guide) emphasize is that crayfish identification involves more than just colors, spots or stripes, and body shape. First, you narrow your search by habitat and geographic range.

Although a handful of our crayfishes are found nearly everywhere, most are restricted to certain parts of the state, and certain watersheds within those regions.

Some crayfish species occur only in the glaciated and unglaciated plains of north and northwest Missouri, where they live in streams that are rather sluggish and turbid, or where they tunnel clear down to the water table in prairies. Others occur only in the Ozarks, where the streams tend to be clear, brisk, cool, and rocky. And others are found (in our state) only in the Bootheel, where swamps and ditches prevail.

And within those broad ranges and habitat types, many crayfish species are confined to certain particular river drainages. An example is the Neosho midget crayfish, which occurs only in the Spring River and Elk River systems, so in our state, you probably won’t find it anyplace besides our far southwestern corner.

So if you want to identify a crayfish, first, identify the region, habitat, and watershed, and then start looking at the color, the spots or stripes, and peculiarities of pincer shape and so on. The new brochure organizes our crayfishes by location: Ozarks, Prairie, Lowland (Bootheel), and Statewide, and each entry has a distribution map showing watersheds, which helps you immediately narrow down your search.

This, by the way, is the same situation when you’re trying to identify fish, particularly minnows and darters, which are also numerous and diverse—unless you know where they’re from, they can be kind of a pill to identify to species.

I love being able to identify plants and animals. It’s not so much that knowing the name has some kind of magic (though it helps me remember)—it’s that the process of identifying forces me to look, really look, at the organism, and see things I might not notice before. That’s the value; that’s the fun.

For example, did you know that one of the keys to identifying crayfish can be the shape of the rostrum? Crayfish bodies are quite different from ours, so you have to learn a little “Crayfish Anatomy 101.” The rostrum is the triangular little beaklike structure between the eyes. It’s shaped differently in different species of crayfish—pointier or less pointy, long or stubby, ridged or furrowed (or furrowed with a little ridge within), with or without spines flanking the tip . . . Isn’t that fascinating? Now, you can really see it!

Anyway . . . these and many other thoughts pass through my mind as I peer into a creek like Clifty, watching the crayfish explore like little armored vehicles among the rocks and crannies. Crayfish happiness!

It’s my happiness, too.

Do you want a copy of this nifty booklet? It’s hot off the presses, so it hasn’t been promoted much yet. Send an e-mail to pubstaff@mdc.mo.gov, and ask for “A Guide to Missouri’s Crayfishes FIS011.”