Wherein is discussed how the Limberlost Swamp, Grand Kankakee Marsh, and Great Black Swamp share a past history and future prospects 

By Curt Burnette

The Limberlost Swamp was a large wetland. It was roughly two miles wide and ten miles long, stretching from northeast of Geneva (Rainbow Bottom) to several miles southwest of town (Loblolly Marsh), and spanning 13,000 acres (20 square miles) before its destruction. The Limberlost contained swamp and marsh interspersed with higher, drier forest and seasonally flooded bottomland hardwood forest. But compared to two other wetlands that existed at the same time in Indiana and Ohio---it was tiny.

In northwest Indiana, not far south of Lake Michigan, was one of the largest freshwater marshes in the United States--the Grand Kankakee Marsh. It covered almost 500,000 acres. The Kankakee River was the heart of this great wetland. The Kankakee was 240 miles long before it was channelized, with around 2000 twists and turns along its length contributing to the wet, marshy nature of the area. Because of its vast size and outstanding quality of habitat, it was sometimes referred to as the "Everglades of the north." Sportsmen from all over the United States, and even the world, came to hunt the bountiful waterfowl that lived there, and resorts sprang up within it to cater to the citizens of the great city of Chicago, not far to the northwest.

The Great Black Swamp was located mostly in northwest Ohio, but extended into Indiana. It was enormous. The Black Swamp was almost 120 miles long and up to 40 miles wide at spots, covering about 1500 square miles or 980,000 acres. It stretched from just east of Fort Wayne to southwestern shore of Lake Erie. It was much like the Limberlost in that it was a network of swamp, marsh, forest, and grasslands. The Great Black Swamp was more infamous than it was famous. At certain times of the year--local residents declared--only adult men could withstand the rigors of traveling through it, and water levels would be up to the bellies of horses on the few roads that traversed it.

These three mighty wetlands were a result of the retreat of the last glacier that covered parts of Indiana and the upper Midwest. Another commonality was their destruction at the hands and machines of humanity. The felling of trees for lumber and land clearing, the ditching and rivers combined to lead to the demise of these titans of nature. They also have a common future. Grass-roots organizations--such as Limberlost Swamp Remembered, The Nature Conservancy (Kankakee Sands Restoration), and the Black Swamp Conservancy--are helping to restore and preserve relatively small, but valuable, remnants of each. These former natural wonders can never return to their glory days of the time before the Midwest was settled and tamed, but they can continue to be an important part of the Hoosier and Buckeye landscapes for a long time to come.

Curt Burnette came to Limberlost in January 2012. In November of that year, he wrote his first column for the Limberlost Notebook in the "Berne Tri-Weekly" (now the "Berne Witness"). We thought it would be fun to take a look back at Curt's first column.

The Limberlost Notebook
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Wherein a Swamp Man Heeds the Call of the Limberlost
By Curt Burnette

"Eh labas! Comment ca va?" ("Hey there! How's it going?") This is how I was greeted by my Cajun co-workers years ago when I worked at a swamp tour outside of New Orleans. To which I would reply, "Ca va bien or comme si, comme ca or ca va ma! ("It's going well or so-so or it's going badly") - depending on how I felt. 

My Cajun co-workers were the captains of the boats that took tourists down the bayous and into the swamps southwest of New Orleans. My job was to do educational programs under the tent where the tourists waited before they loaded onto those boats. I had interacted with Cajuns many times when I was the curator of the Louisiana Swamp Exhibit at the Audubon Zoo in New Orleans, but had never worked so closely with them on a daily basis before. I was embraced by them an accepted into their world, so in a way I became an honorary Cajun - Cajun Curt, the Hoosier on the bayou. I even own a Cajun dictionary and a Cajun canoe known as a pirogue.

I spent many years exploring and learning about the swamps and marshes of southern Louisiana. They are fascinating, legendary, famous places: the Atchafalaya, Honey Island Swamp, Manchac. I missed them when I returned to Indiana after Hurricane Katrina. When I got back to Indianapolis I re-entered the zoo world by working at the Indianapolis Zoo for several years. During that time, the closest I came to fulfilling my love of swamps and wetlands was using baby alligators while doing education programs. After I quit the zoo, I thought my swamp days were completely over. 

But then, as I searched for new work, I discovered a job possibility that actually involved a swamp - a swamp made famous over 100 years ago by an Indiana writer. The Limberlost State Historic Site was looking for someone to fill their naturalist and program developer position opening. I was intrigued. A fascinating, legendary, and famous swamp seemed to be calling me. I applied for the job, was interviewed and offered the position. I took it and so I came to the Land of the Limberlost.

By the time it had become famous, the Limberlost was mostly gone. During the time Gene Stratton-Porter was writing about it, it was disappearing. But the Land of the Limberlost survives and the local citizens of that land still care about it. When I arrived I saw the on-going effort to bring back a version of the legend that fit the current world and I was impressed. After 10 months on the job I am still impressed. Next month I will tell you more about whey I like what I see and why I like where it is going Au mois prochain, mes amis (see you next month, my friends).    

Curt Burnette as Paxson and Bill Hubbard as Limber Jim

A Shy Killdeer Family
By Gene Stratton-Porter

The killdeer nest was in the middle of a cornfield. It was not much to boast of. The four tan-colored eggs sprinkled with dark brown and black lay on the bare earth surrounded by a few bits of bark and cornstalk. The mother bird was young and extremely shy and nervous, and , though I dreamed of having her perch on my hand like other killdeers I have known, it was only with the greatest difficulty that I was able to take a picture even of the young birds.

After a week or so of patient waiting I was compelled to miss one day's visit to the nest and when I went back it was deserted. Before I could decide whether or not there had been a tragedy I heard a faint cry which I recognized as that of one of the young birds. We gave chase, my daughter and I and finally, breathless, hot and disheveled, secured a picture of him as he mounted a rock.

He was the quaintest baby bird I have ever handled, with his downy black and white, pink and tan suit, his slender beak, his long legs and the big prominent eyes which showed plainly that he was able to fly by night as well as day. 

Photos by Randy Lehman.