And then I wrote...

by Dick Schilling, "Editor Emeritus"

... that it sometimes seems as though there is a conspiracy to force one to think about things now in common, but which were not at the time of their origin.

This Fourth of July weekend was one of those times for me.

I know I have discussed some of these things here before, so I apologize for repeating myself. I’m told we senior citizens sometimes do a lot of that!

Anyway, the Iowa Natural Heritage magazine which came out recently has a nice article about the Iverson Bottoms Wildlife Area along the Upper Iowa River in northwest Allamakee County. I have been an INHF member for several years, and because of that I suppose I am on the mailing list, which recently included two notices of things taking place in that area, having to do with trees and harvesting of native plant seeds, as I recall. They wanted volunteers to help.

One of the attractions of the area is its collection of goat prairies. Those are steep hillsides which have never been farmed, and so contain many native plants, plus some “invaders”’ which are not welcome.

For many years on the Fourth of July, my parents and I met my uncle and aunt from nearby Minnesota for a picnic at the bottoms. Those who fished fished. I caught the two largest smallmouth bass I had ever caught on a couple of crawdads which accidentally got into our little seine while looking for minnows in the creek which ran through Waukon’s park. We built a fire and did hamburgers and hot dogs to go with things each family brought from home.

And, thinking of today’s gun debate, my uncle always brought his rifle, semiautomatic which shoots .22 long rifle ammunition. A tube the length of the barrel holds a number of shells, and each time the trigger is pulled, the next cartridge moves into place for firing. Hmm! That pretty much describes the “automatic assault weapon” gun opponents want banned, doesn’t it? Even the size of the lead projectile is about the same, I believe. But the only thing that rifle (which I now own) has ever assaulted is a target on a stump or a beer can floating down the river.

Perhaps a quarter century ago, I was invited to represent this newspaper in photographing a controlled burn on a goat prairie there, to get rid of those invading plants. I grew up hunting squirrels and ruffed grouse on those river bluffs. But that day, after climbing the steep hill to where the fires were being started, I thought I might die there! My heart was threatening to jump out of my chest and the pounding was fierce. I took a few pictures and then literally slid back down to my car, and drove home. I told them at the office I wasn’t feeling well and went home. Next day, I was fine. I did not consult a doctor. I should have. Shortly thereafter I was diagnosed with mitral valve prolapse, then atrial fibrillation, and 23 years ago had open heart surgery to put in a metal heart valve.

Memories, all but one good, of Iverson Bottoms.