Mice in the Freezer, Owls on the Porch: The Lives of Naturalists Frederick and Francis Hamerstrom

19 Fran

I spit into the face of Time That has transfigured me —William Butler Yeats The Hamerstroms remained somewhat aloof from activities on the marsh after they left the DNR. Fran maintained that “It was simply too painful for us to abandon the project.” Yet in 1990 she wrote to represent Hammy’s concerns as she saw them to Jim Keir, the manager of the Buena Vista, Leola, and Paul Olson management areas. Keir had called a meeting with Ray Anderson, Jim Hale, Dick Hunt, Ron Westemeier , Ray Anderson, and some of the council of chiefs of the Society of Tympanuchus Cupido Pinnatus to discuss year-round management. Fran’s memo objected to excessive disturbance of the grassland. Cattle were grazing too early and too long. Fences, trees, old foundations , and thickets—essential for winter roosting—had been removed. Plowing sod for productive farm units limited permanent grassland. “The management plan,” she fumed, “is ‘by the numbers.’” Planning seventeen years in advance ignored likely changes. “No three-year droughts or disastrous fires, etc. for the next seventeen years! . . . I recommend built in flexibility.” She felt deeply about preserving Hammy’s legacy, and she was worried about the next population low. Her real priorities were living abundantly and fulfilling her own long-term goals. “Now I can do the things Hammy wouldn’t do. He hated the tropics—the damp, the mold, the fungus infections, and the parasites. I like hot weather and jungles.” So she went to Zaire, where she hunted with the Pygmies, and then to Peru, where a guide took her deep into the jungle. The Gulf War delayed for a year her visit to a 290 19 Fran former gabboon, then the well-paid falcon keeper for one of the sheiks. She went to Italy (where she ended up in the hospital) and visited the European children and a gabboon or two. She hoped to write another book, one about the reactions of a Pygmy, or of a rain-forest inhabitant to the North American boreal forest. She ended up remembering her childhood and distilling meaning from the exceptional life she had drawn from those unlikely roots. Fran was full of contradictions. Sometimes autocratic and hasty, she could be measured and a considerate listener. She might seem selfabsorbed , yet she loved to make people happy. She was alternately abrupt and thoughtful. She might smooth over a gaffe with gentle good humor, yet she often corrected a trivial error vehemently. No wonder that this paradoxical woman inspired love and respect—as well as irritation or resentment—and sometimes all of these, and in one person. She demanded more of women than of men, indeed, it was her habit to cosset males. It was troubling to see her occasionally demanding approach to Elva; and sad that she could not show her granddaughters the same perceptive encouragement that had so suited the European children. It seemed wrong-headed that she sent back early letters from Elva’s twin girls with grammatical and spelling errors underlined in red. But I loved and admired Fran. I knew the kindness and delicacy of which she was capable. She was a true friend, especially generous with time and materials as I wrote this book. She had a different vision of the product than I, but I treasure the memory of the day she walked with me through the kitchen, put her hands on my shoulders, looked me in the eye and said emphatically, “Remember, Helen, it will be your book.” Should I digress from my task, with talk of difficulties with one of our children or their choices, she listened with absolute attention, offered a trenchant, comprehensive comment—and we’d go back to work. In those years after Hammy’s death she often spoke of his unflappable reactions or his thoughtfulness. “Hammy set up a trust fund for me so that I wouldn’t have to bother with all those accounts.” Yet she maintained a firm stance of independence; she clung to life, and as certainly she found enjoyments and satisfaction. When, after a broken hip, she had to be in a nursing home in Oregon for a couple of months, Fran 291 Elva watched her become “the queen of the place. They loved her stories and her spirit. She would really have liked it there, except for the everlasting rain.” Even after the broken hip, the door to their old home...