Lost local news problem

Sarah Spicer is a news editor for the Committee to Protect Journalists. Prior to this, she was the last reporter in Kansas to report on climate change, working for the Wichita Eagles through the U.S. report. Fernando Salazar is an award-winning photojournalist in Wichita. This story takes place in neighboring Harvey County (population 34,000), which has a weekly newspaper Harvey County Now and a newspaper that is printed six times a week, Newton Kansan.

Lorna Harder walked carefully through the dewy grassland in Kansas' backyard, avoiding flowering plants. In the early morning, the earth was bathed in blue light. On either side of her, tall, thin, large blue stems (a grass species native to the Great Plains) were more than a foot above her head.

"That's why we are here," she said, holding a stalk in her hand. Underground, the roots of the large blue stems will extend nearly 12 feet deep, leaving sediments, enriching the soil and keeping it in place in the strong winds of Kansas. "This is what makes our soil strong enough that we can live here."

The grasslands may look barren and uninhabited. But the low and steady insect choir and occasional songbird solo confirm what Harder already knows: the land is full of life. It is difficult to understand this from the window of a high-speed car or the seat of an airplane. Must experience the grassland.

The health of the grasslands is very important. It maintains the watershed of the state and supports the export of two main agricultural products: cattle and wheat that become the national bread. Grasslands that were once the largest ecosystem in North America are now shrinking rapidly: According to the National Park Service, less than 4% of tall grasslands still exist, most of which are located in Kansas, a state with few public land.

This means that protecting the grasslands depends on private landowners like Harder as well as farmers and ranchers. Harder and her husband Bob made conservation as their life mission. In the past 30 years, they have transformed 40 acres of more than 100 acres in south-central Kansas into a native prairie reserve in the backyard. Biology students visit their property to learn about the grassland flora. The local botanical garden, Dyke Plains Botanical Garden, relies on the local seeds donated by Harder to diversify its products. Brad Guhr, head of grassland restoration and education at the Botanical Garden, said: “The state has hardly used local ecological seeds to completely restore grassland plants.”

Harder, who has taught environmental science and biology at nearby Heston College for 25 years, retired in 2014 and often volunteered in the Botanical Garden. In front of the 12-acre prairie in the botanical garden, a piece of fired ceramic clay hung her sentence: "When I saw the prairie for the first time, it was like seeing a group of strangers," the inscription reads. "But now I know a few faces in the crowd. It has changed my entire experience and perception of the grassland."

Before Harder and her husband bought their 100 acres of land, they rented their own house and several acres of land. The rest is leased to local farmers. "In the eight years before we bought the farm, we observed the land, but we couldn't do anything," Harder said. "It has too many livestock. The trees were not removed. It was rubbed into small pieces."

Once they bought the entire land, they began to build the grassland. This is a time-consuming process: they cut down trees and other non-native plants from uncultivated land, and use fire to clear the space so that the sun can reach the remaining native plants. With the open space and plenty of sunlight needed by the grassland, plants grow from there.

Drew Bennett, a professor at the University of Wyoming, said that private conservation efforts like Harder are key. He studies how conservation, private land ownership, and agriculture work together. Bennett said the division of conservation and private land created "artificial silos." "If you don't have private land, you can't protect it in Kansas."

Politics often interfere with protection issues, but Bennett believes this situation is changing. "Not long ago, if I mentioned climate change to ranchers, I would be driven out of this land," he said. "Now I heard about climate change from some conservative landowners. They saw it. They recognized the problem and are working hard to find a solution."

Researchers at Kansas State University realized 25 years ago that if protection was to be implemented in their state, it would be in the hands of rural landowners. Through research funded by state and federal agencies, they began to teach farmers and ranchers how to practice conservation. Daniel Devlin, director of KSU's Kansas Agricultural Research and Environment Center, said that management rights are now proliferating in the hands of landowners and farmers in Kansas, partly because of KSU's influence. "If you only look at some of these landowners, they may never profit from these practices," Devlin said. "This is really about the next generation. This is about protecting land resources."

But protecting the grassland is a great burden for the landlord. Some people believe that the time for the government to intervene as a protection leader has passed, even if it was an unpopular decision. "It's scary when anything can happen on private land," said Jason Schmidt, owner of Grazing Plains Farm, a small dairy and cheese cream factory in south-central Kansas. He is a member of the board of directors of the Kansas State Farmers Union and one of the growing number of Kansas farmers and ranchers with a sense of conservation. He is also a former student of the Harder Environmental Science class at Heston College. "There needs to be an alliance between private landowners and federal agencies," he said.

When she tried to breathe new life into the grassland, Harder worried that her time was running out and determined to impart her knowledge. Every year, she opens her property to Heston students, who use it as a living laboratory to understand the importance of the grassland and appreciate the diversity of the grassland. Their professor Marelby Mosquera took Harder's environmental science course 18 years ago. Now she teaches the same courses as Harder. "You don't need to be a conservation expert," Mosquera said. "You don't need to have millions of dollars. But you need to be eager to understand what is around you and your role in protecting those around you."

"We consider land from the perspective of possession, as if it is something we can use as we wish, rather than thinking that it is our management for the future," Harder said. However, her mission is not only to protect the grassland for future generations, but to commemorate the generations before her. Less than 150 years ago, the Kanza people of the Kaw ethnic group-who were not recognized as official tribes by the country after them-lived here and took care of this land. In 2019, a retired local Mennonite priest paid compensation to the Kanza Heritage Association. Harder now plans to do the same thing, leaving compensation in her will to help the Kansas Heritage Society protect Kansas' historical sites. So far, the state has purchased nearly 150 acres of land. "We protect so that we don't become invisible," said Pauline Sharp, secretary and treasurer of the Kanza Heritage Society. "So that people understand our culture and our story, and how it relates to Kansas history."

All of these make Harder more responsible to care for this land. "This is a way for us to pay tribute to them," she said. "We destroyed this land. Taking care of it is a form of compensation."

Since 2005, approximately 2,200 local newspapers across the United States have closed. The following are some stories told by local reporters that may be lost.

Margaret Sullivan: What happens to society and our democracy when community and regional news dries up