Serving the High Plains
Serving the High Plains
Sorted by date Results 1 - 1 of 1
What I remember most about that dark early morning of crouching on the prairie is the rhythmic sound of pounding. It was so loud, I wondered if someone had put a microphone near the skinny legs of the dozen birds dancing on the turf. As the sun rose above the horizon in southeastern New Mexico, the male lesser prairie chickens continued their ritual performance, each hoping to entice a female. They strutted, leaped in the air with feathers spread, and bowed, but the greatest thrill was watching them puff up the garish, red-orange air sacs on ei...