systems and patterns, and I marvel at seemingly mundane everyday happenings between sunrises and sunsets.

If my personal library of natural history books is any clue to what I like to read and research, then you may get a quick blink at the wide variety of inspirational themes I have tried to convey in all past editions of Outdoors Today. It is enjoyable to bring you each week another tiny glimpse into Nature’s World.

So how did this kid who grew up on a Bremer County dairy farm get to where he is today? It is a question I get often from people I meet.

They are curious about what drives me to produce a weekly T-R story, and they look forward to another episode of an outdoor adventure. Well, I’ll try to be brief — or maybe not — in the hows and whys that brought me into a weekly Times-Republican contributing author position.

As many of you already are aware, I served a 32 year long career as director at the Marshall County Conservation Board (1972-2004). To obtain that position was only possible after a four-year long series of college level course work at Iowa State University, to obtain a BS degree in Fish and Wildlife Biology, with a minor in botany. I graduated in November 1971.

Prior to my ISU course work, I had served in the U. S. Air Force from 1963-1967. That was an interesting undertaking for which I am very proud to have done.

Those four years allowed this farm kid to mature in mind and body and to learn important disciplines required of goal setting and team work to accomplish tasks. My travels in the Air Force took me to Texas, Colorado, California, Thailand, South Dakota, Guam and back to South Dakota.

At the end of my four-year enlistment, GI Bill benefits assisted immensely in tuition costs at Iowa State University. I entered ISU as a 23 year old freshman, much older than all the contemporary classmates, but prepared to follow a dream of going to college to study things of intense interest to me, namely wildlife and wild land habitats.

Looking back at my nearly eight decades of life, I can now more clearly understand those initial hints my mind was trying to wrap around at age 10, when farm life seemed so routine, when life was easy, yet responsibilities were expected to help with labor related to milking cows and other farm labor.

Dairy farm labor was work with a capital W. All other chores were hard, and fun, as I was learning how to drive and operate farm tractors. Work expectations were clear, and earned

rewards were cherished.

During slack times, especially in the fall, all the talk among my school classmates revolved around hunting pheasants. Pheasants were very plentiful as every farm operation had hay lands, pastures, corn and soybeans in a wide variety of small field sizes. It was impossible to

mow alfalfa hay and not injure a pheasant or two with a sickle mower.

Dad would stop to pick up the pheasant. If its body was still well intact, it was brought home for cleaning and a future supper meal.

Meat we did not have to purchase with cash was very tasty, and of course, over time, I let the thought be known to my parents that I should be allowed to go hunting for pheasants. They wisely must have already discussed that possibility privately as to my maturity level and need for safe shotgun handling experience.

I think it was at age 12 that a single shot 20 gauge shotgun became a Christmas present. My instructor was my father, who also liked to hunt when he found time to do so — a challenge with all the continuous duties of farm life taking priority. But he made time for me to learn how to hunt.

Over time, I was allowed to eventually go on bird hunts by myself. If I timed the day just right, I would get off the school bus, run to the house for a quick change of clothes, ask mom if it was okay to walk the brushy and weedy fence line to try for a pheasant. Yes was the reply, but be back in time to help start all the pre-milking chores.

Zoom, I was out the door, 20 gauge in hand, a pocket of shells, and a very excited farm dog that somehow knew it was going to be a good day. Off we went with high hopes and lots of determination.

When I did return to the house, many times without a pheasant or rabbit, I had added experience to my brain of what went well and what didn’t. My dog was a silent witness to a young boy growing up.

When I did connect with a well placed shot to knock down a bird, I thought I was finally going to make it into hunting’s record book. Dream on, young man.

Dad subscribed to outdoor magazines like Sports Afield and Outdoor Life. I read many of those stories and marveled at the experiences of hunters pursuing game birds or big game animals all over America, and even to far away places like Africa.

Dreams were set in my mind that I could only satisfy by reading about the experiences of others. Doing so on my own time and my own finances were totally out of the realm of possibilities.

I read stories written by conservationist leaders in those days about the importance of using science to study wildlife related habitats and issues. It occurred to me that it may just be possible to make a living working for a conservation department — some day, somewhere — if I could obtain the needed prerequisites to even qualify.

All these thoughts were going on within my early teenage years, and most of my dreams and possible aspirations were hit by solid doses of reality. I had a long way to go to qualify at that stage of life.

Life turns on lots of factors, and my parents told me to not let dreams die. Keep a positive attitude of what can be and apply yourself toward that end.

Looking back, my hunting journeys on that quarter section of farmland to a little patch of native prairie in the middle of the section were going to be more important than I could ever have imagined. That prairie remnant had escaped the plow. It had unique plant types and unique smells, and it seemed to always have a few birds.

So did a large portion of my parent’s farm at the north end of our 160 acres. Here tall and wild big bluestem native grasses grew tall enough to hide our cows. Pheasants loved it.

From a farming standpoint, my dad did not agree. He was trying hard to make a living on 160 acres of land by growing crops and milking cows. That was a tough combination to overcome in the 1940s, 50s and 60s.

Which brings me back to how I started this little reminisce. Graduating from high school in 1963 was a turning point. Military service of my choosing seemed best. College was not my thing — at that time.

I was not ready to hit the academic challenges, so the Air Force won out. It was during my last year of enlistment that my life’s vocation goals came into focus.

It had started with a simple rural farm life experience, of learning responsibilities and a can-do work ethic, of learning how to hunt, of learning from the written word of others of what could be, or dreaming about making a future fit for me, by me, and on my own nickel. My inquisitive nature about everything nature has to teach was the path I took.

Now it has been more than 20 years since I retired from the Marshall County Conservation Board. But my “second career” of taking over the T-R’s Sighting Upstream in October 1991 has evolved into a much anticipated and well read adventure column titled Outdoors Today, a now almost 33 year long adventure I must admit has gone very well and quickly.

Mother Nature never disappoints. She always provides inspiration for lifelong learning and memories made from natural history moments. That is a good thing.

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Garry Brandenburg is the retired director of the Marshall County Conservation Board. He is a graduate of Iowa State University with a BS degree in Fish & Wildlife Biology.

Contact him at:

P.O. Box 96

Albion, IA 50005