Vanishing Prairie, The (1954)

[bunniefuu]

NARRATOR: On the map of North America,

the Mississippi River
and the Rocky Mountains

roughly divide the continent
into three parts.

Before civilization
made its mark on the land,

all the territory east of the great river
was virgin forest and rolling meadow.

West of the Rockies lay pinewoods,
rugged peaks and barren desert.

And down the middle of the continent

stretched a broad treeless plain,
the American prairie.

Through all this vast area flowed
a network of streams and rivers,

making it an immense grassland,

green and flourishing.

On this sea of grass,

the pioneers launched
their white-topped prairie schooners.

Their destination was Oregon.

And the route they followed

took them across the entire width
of the trackless plain.

Under broad blue skies,
they pushed off toward the far horizon

into the great unknown.

It was an incredible journey
where distances

were measured in months instead of miles.

Now and again a timeless landmark
would rise abruptly

to break the monotony
of the prairie scene.

Such was Courthouse Rock.

Against the evening sky, the silhouette
of Chimney Rock was unmistakable.

But between the scattered guideposts
there was always the prairie,

days of prairie, weeks of prairie.

Then, after two months of weary travel,
Scotts Bluff, miles from home.

Yet the journey was just beginning.

The sight of a prairie river
cutting through the grassland

was always a welcome relief.

Here, the pioneer and his trail-worn oxen

refreshed themselves
in the silvery waters.

A thousand miles out
stood Independence Rock.

This was the halfway mark,
the point of no return.

Another in the long succession
of milestones was Devil's Gate.

Beyond, the Continental Divide.

And beyond that, Oregon and journey's end.

Here and there, deep-grooved
in the face of the prairie,

some of the old wagon trails still remain
to mark the passing of an era.

But long before the wagon trains
rolled west toward the setting sun,

it was the red man who claimed
this vast domain as his own.

To him it was a land of plenty,

and in his primitive way,

he kept a record
of the abundance nature gave him.

He tells of tatanka, the buffalo,

who roamed the prairie
in numbers beyond counting,

providing hides for his tepee,

meat for his campfire, sinew for his bow.

And of the fleet tahheencha sandla,
the antelope,

and kichi waabooz, the rabbit.

He speaks of the little dog who barks,

the prairie dog, his friend and neighbor.

And there was a legion of others,
furred and feathered.

Some the Indian held in awe and reverence,

and some he hunted to survive.

For this was his paradise
to use as he chose,

his happy hunting ground created on Earth.

But all this was only yesterday.

There was an earlier time,
a time without record or remembrance,

when nature alone held dominion
over the prairie realm.

Of the teeming millions of wild creatures
that thrived in that bygone day,

only a few scattered remnants survive.

Still, it's enough for us
to gain a glimpse of the past,

and for a little while
in this True-Life Adventure,

recreate the wondrous pageant
that was nature's prairie.

It's a day in early spring,

and high above the grassland
along the ancient flyways,

the homecoming birds wheel and turn
in a processional of the sky.

(CAWING)

Some of these migratory birds
will merely pause here

on their way to the Arctic tundra.

Others will stay over for the season

and make the prairie marsh
their nesting grounds.

The ducks are among the first to arrive.

With careless grace they swoop down

for a routine landing
on the placid waters,

but soon find this is a trip
that ends in a slip.

(QUACKING)

These early birds were a little too early.

Most of the ponds are thawed, however,

and latecomers make
a more dignified arrival.

To these marshes come fowl
of every description.

Wild geese, many species of ducks,
cranes, grebes and swans.

All join in a lighthearted hubbub
of gossip and chatter.

(SQUAWKS)

Once the greetings are over,

the birds begin to regroup and pair off
for the spring courtships.

Each species follows
its own peculiar mating ritual.

But year in, year out,

the weird wooing of the western grebes
is always an outstanding performance.

When the time comes for homemaking,

the red-necked grebe
builds a floating nest

with the pond as a protective moat.

This year, as usual,
the grebes face a predicament.

Since hatching occurs at odd intervals,

they have the double problem
of incubating their eggs

and feeding their chicks at the same time.

Still they have a system.

They simply divide their duties.

And while Mother sits on the nest,
Father takes care of the food supply.

Or sometimes it's vice versa.

At the home of the pied-billed grebes,

it's Father who's presiding
over the unhatched half of the family.

Like most males, he's rather careless
about domestic chores

and wanders off with an egg
still clamped in his chest feathers.

Well, that's typical.

Perhaps, if he had to lay these eggs,
he'd be more careful.

Mother makes a hurried check.

"One, two, three... Oh, here we are.

"I declare these husbands,

"always leaving things
for someone else to pick up."

Among the vanishing species,

the whooping cranes
are nearest to total extinction.

Only a few dozen of these birds
are known to exist.

Contributing to their decline is the fact
that they lay only one egg a year.

Each mating season, in keeping
with their physical grace and beauty,

they perform a stately dance.

Their relatives, the sandhill cranes,

add an extra gesture to the family dance.

For the male, in a burst of enthusiasm,
tosses a beak full of twigs into the air

to express his admiration for his lady.

For some reason
this sets her all a-dither,

and soon they're both walking on air.

(BIRDS WARBLING)

When the grouse goes a-wooing,
it's usually early morning,

and his soulful serenade
can be heard for miles around.

This is the male sage grouse.

(WARBLING)

To create this odd effect, he expels air
from the chambers on his neck.

(COOING)

The trysting place of the prairie chicken
is called a booming ground.

And he sounds off in much the same manner.

And so does the sharp-tail.

The Indian knew the grouse as mushkodasa.

And in his tribal dances
he imitated these eccentric rhythms.

The symbol of the vanishing prairie
is the buffalo.

And yet there was a time
within the memory of man,

when million and more
grazed on the open range,

literally blackening the plain.

But with civilization
came a wave of destruction,

and now only a few remnant bands remain.

But each spring, with the new grass,
there comes a time of hope.

For the grass means good pasture
and each season, another generation.

The arrival of a buffalo calf
is always an important event,

another guarantee
that the species will survive.

Instinctively, the cows
seem to understand this,

for their newborn receive
the best of maternal care.

It's an event as old as time,
yet always new,

the mysterious moment of birth.

And here is the actual drama,

the coming into the world
of a buffalo calf.

This is a time of suspense,
this bringing into being of a new life,

for the calf is helpless
during the first few seconds.

His fate hinges
on his mother's immediate response

to ancient instincts.

As quickly as possible,
she must remove the membrane

masking his face
or the calf will suffocate.

Instinctively, she consumes
the tissue for two reasons,

because there must remain no vestige
of this scene to attract predators

and, since the tissue
helps induce her milk supply,

it becomes a direct benefit to her calf.

Next, she stimulates circulation
with a vigorous massage.

In these next few seconds

lie the delicate balance
between life and death.

Should the calf live,
he must be healthy and strong,

for the herd will not tolerate
cripples or weaklings.

At last Mother's devotion
has its reward.

Her baby will live.

"Now, let's see.
Four legs, two ears, one head.

"Why, he's a perfect baby.
No need to worry about him."

Within minutes after his birth,
the youngster begins to shift for himself.

Like all new babies, he's born hungry.

But before he can nurse,
he has to stand.

And first he must concentrate

on getting these wobbly legs
under control.

In the process, he discovers
that life has its ups and downs.

He needs lots of encouragement
and he gets it.

Indeed, all the mothers
in the neighborhood

seem anxious to help the new baby.

A few more wobbles and he makes it.

But all this effort has left him
badly in need of nourishment.

He knows by instinct that he must nurse

but the question is where?

He begins by tackling the problem
wrong end, too.

Then he tries the right end
of the wrong mother.

"This is downright discouraging.

"Wonder how a fellow
gets his breakfast around here.

"Oh, so that's how it's done."

And so, with a little cooperation
from Mother,

he takes his first meal.

When the calves are strong enough,
the herd moves on.

As they travel from river to river,
from waterhole to waterhole,

the buffalo use the same trails
over and over again.

Centuries later
when man, the invader, came,

these were the indelible trails
that guided him in his search for water.

Vanishing, too, from the prairie scene

are the great herds of pronghorn antelope

that once made the grassland their home.

Native to the American plain,

the pronghorn can be found nowhere else.

Graceful, agile, fleet of foot,
they can outrun the fastest horse.

To protect himself from the relentless
advance of civilization,

the bighorn sheep
literally took to the hills.

When he deserted
his ancestral range on the prairie

he developed an uncanny skill
in adapting himself to his new home.

The bighorn is a true mountaineer.

Even the lambs seem to defy gravity
as they scale the sheerest cliffs.

Here, in his rocky outpost
on the Continental Divide,

the bighorn sheep makes his last stand.

This inaccessible high country

is the final stronghold
of another vanishing species,

the mountain lion.

He plays an unexpected but
legitimate part in the prairie pageant,

for there was a time when he roamed
far and wide over the plain.

Now he's the wanderer of the hills,

never staying long in any one place.

And sometimes the range of a single animal

will cover several hundred square miles.

He has many names,
puma, panther, catamount, cougar,

but the more common name,
mountain lion, perhaps fits him best.

In some localities,
he wears the brand of outlaw.

But nature labels
no creature either good or bad.

To her, all are equal

and must be given
an equal chance to survive.

The cat family faces
the same problems as all the others,

self-preservation
and protection of the young.

The den offers only
temporary shelter to the kittens

for they are born nomads

and soon forsake their birthplace
to follow the mother on her travels.

The female, devoted to her young,
rarely leaves them unguarded.

But now and then,
she must make a hunting trip

to provide the family with food.

A mature lion is a marvel
of coordination and power.

Two hundred pounds of sinew and muscle.

Here is animal grace unsurpassed.

In spite of her prowess, however,

the mountain lion must work hard
at her role of family provider.

Nothing comes easy, even for her.

The mountain lion kills for one reason,
that she and her young may live.

And a deer passing through
her territory must reckon with her need.

The deer, sensing this
is dangerous ground, treads lightly.

The cat always tries to move in close
so the chase will be short.

Now the deer catches the scent,
but for a split second hesitates,

a fatal mistake.

For the lion can close the final ground
with amazing speed.

To the kittens watching nearby,

this is an object lesson
in the technique of the hunt.

Someday they must learn
to do this for themselves.

And now that the youngsters
have begun their training period,

Mother will spend much of her time
schooling them in the art of survival.

Here she makes them understand
that dinner is waiting

and leads them toward the k*ll.

Since mountain lions
have no permanent home,

the family will settle
near the food supply

for as long as it lasts and then move on.

When all have had their fill,

the mother cat covers the remainder
saving it for another meal.

For the lion is by no means
a bloodthirsty marauder.

As long as there is food at hand,
she will not k*ll again.

Kittens are kittens, whatever the kind,

and young mountain lions have
all the usual traits of the cat family.

Oftentimes, during school hours,
Mother will call recess

to let them have their moments of play.

Naturally, one of their favorite pastimes
is tree climbing.

Mother leaps to the rescue.

But just a shakeup, no harm done.

Until the kittens lose their spots,
their badge of babyhood,

Mother will continue
to fuss and worry over them.

But the time comes
when Mother cuts the apron strings

and the youngsters are put on their own.

The newfound freedom
often begins with a frolic.

(FROG CROAKING)

Actually, they're entering
the most trying period of their lives.

For they soon discover that food,
any food, isn't easy to come by.

Like all cats, they have
an inborn distaste for water.

But a fish dinner isn't to be sneezed at.

So they wade right in.

Luckily they've picked
the spawning season,

and as the fish work their way
through the shallows,

the young anglers manage to snag a meal.

In the art of hunting, these youngsters
still have much to learn.

At this stage of the game,
they'll chase anything, even a squirrel.

Now it obviously takes a good cat

to out-climb a squirrel
on his home grounds.

In fact, it takes much better cats
than these to even stay in a tree.

Like some tawny ghost,
the mountain lion patrols her range.

In all the wild, no other creature moves
with such silent grace.

Her keen sense of sight and smell

keep her sharply aware
of all that surrounds her.

Now, directly in her path,
a newborn fawn lies hidden.

Sensing his peril, he knows by instinct
he must lie perfectly still.

And nature has given him
another defense.

His spotted coat is a natural camouflage

that makes him almost invisible
in the thick foliage.

The lion knows there's something
somewhere nearby,

but as yet she can't see it.

She watches for a telltale stir.

Listens for the slightest sound.

But the fawn stays put.

Finally, the lion decides
it was all a mistake and moves on.

A puzzle in this game of life and death

is the fact that the lion
never caught the fawn's scent.

But this is still another way
nature protects her young.

At this age, the fawn
has no scent to give it away.

In nature, breathless moments
and narrow escapes

are all part of the daily routine.

Sometimes there are tragic endings.

But just as often there's a happy reunion,

and danger passed is soon forgotten.

In contrast to the many footloose animals

that wander far and wide over the plain,

the prairie dogs are permanent settlers,
the original homesteaders.

They build whole cities underground

and every spot of newly turned earth
means another family residence.

Once these subterranean towns

honeycombed the plain
for hundreds of square miles,

and the population
was counted in the millions.

Cousin of the ground squirrel,

these little rodents
have a dog-like habit of barking.

(HIGH-PITCHED BARKING)

Thus the name prairie dog.

With each family, the maintenance
of the underground home

is a matter of constant concern.

They practically never stop digging,

but are forever building new burrows
or repairing old ones.

In their diligence
there's always a design,

for each project is carefully planned.

A major item is the flood-proof dike
that surrounds each entrance.

This protective collar of earth
is quite an engineering feat,

where a fellow has to use his head.

Tamping the dirt firmly in place
gives it strength and permanence.

Then there's grass to be gathered,
lining for the underground bedrooms,

for there's no denying that a prairie dog
loves his comfort.

This is his home and his haven,

protection from his enemies,
refuge from the rigors of winter.

Here his young are born,

and sometimes
the nursery gets a little crowded.

Still, there's always a quiet corner

where little sleepyheads
can catch their winks.

(SNORING)

By this time, however,

most of the youngsters
have heard spring's alarm clock

and are bubbling over with animal energy.

About six weeks old now,

they've yet to see
the strange world upstairs

and they're curious.

The burrow is a maze
of complicated passageways,

intersections, entrances and exits.

It practically takes a prairie dog
roadmap to find one's way around.

"Hmm, dead end.

"Well, back to the crossroads.

"Hey, Mom, which way is up?"

Mother's planned an outing for today,

so it's everybody upstairs
for the first trip above ground.

"All ready? Let's go.

"Gangway.

"One side, please.

"Oops. Sorry."

(SQUEAKING)

And so out they come into the bright
new world of fresh air and sunshine.

Soon it's time for a picnic lunch,
and what a lunch.

All kinds of new and exciting flavors.

Actually, Mother's weaned them
in preparation for this diet of greens

and they take to it with gusto.

Suddenly, they make
an incredible discovery.

There are other things in the world
besides prairie dogs.

A family of cottontails
has moved in next door.

When the new neighbor
has a little trouble washing his face,

the youngsters are only too glad to help.

As a rule, the prairie dog
is friendly and peace-loving.

But like all homesteaders,
once he stakes out a claim,

he jealously guards it
against trespassers.

Sometimes it's another prairie dog
from a nearby colony.

In these skirmishes,
the home guard is usually victorious.

But there are other trespassers
not so easily discouraged.

And from one day to another,

the prairie dog
never knows who they will be.

Today, it's a family of burrowing owls.

They've moved into the community
to take over an abandoned burrow.

Here, in this readymade lodging,
they raise their young.

As fledglings,
the owls are still earthbound.

So this becomes a sort of proving ground
where they spend hours learning to fly.

(WARBLING)

Sometimes it's a question

of whether the premises were truly
abandoned by the original owner.

(CHITTERING)

It's the age-old argument

of the homesteaders
versus the claim jumpers.

(WARBLING)

So far it's a standoff.

But when mother owl arrives,
the issue is settled once and for all

in favor of squatter's rights.

Along with the burrowing owls
comes another intruder,

the rattlesnake.

(RATTLING)

All creatures
seem to fear the rattler instinctively.

And young as they are,
the owls sense he's not to be trusted.

(HOOTING)

The birds are relatively safe, however,

for the snake much prefers
a diet of rodents,

a gopher or perhaps a baby prairie dog.

It's a wise mother who keeps
a close watch over her brood.

If the reptile moves in too close,
she tries to head him off.

(HIGH-PITCHED BARKING)

To protect her young,
she'll face anything.

Out here in the open,
the rattler is on borrowed time.

He can't stand too much direct sun.

Soon he's forced to call it quits
and look for shade.

And whenever he moves in,
another prairie dog is dispossessed.

(RATTLING)

The favorite prey of the rattlesnake
is the pocket gopher.

To protect himself, the little rodent

rarely travels
on the surface of the ground

but feels much safer when he's dug in.

The young prairie dogs aren't aware
that he's a chronic worrier

and try to strike up an acquaintance.

They soon discover
he's decidedly antisocial.

Once the tunnel entrance
is properly plugged,

he's free to go below.

But this time he loses his bearings

and blunders into the prairie dog tunnel.

"I say, don't remember digging this."

When the tenant on the floor below
discovers his roof is leaking dirt,

he starts to tidy up.

"Easy there, partner,
these are private diggings."

It's the unhappy fate of the prairie dog

to be forever plagued
with just about everything

that walks or flies, creeps or crawls.

Indeed, he's become a vanishing species

simply because so many predators
make a career of pursuing him.

Worst of all is the black-footed ferret.

A relative of the weasel,

this is another species fast
disappearing from the American scene.

Nature designed this animal
for hunting underground.

Thus, he's a particular threat
to prairie dogs.

He can follow the twists and turns
of even the most elaborate burrow

with no trouble at all.

Still, the chase is always a guessing game

with every crossroad another dilemma.

Sometimes, when the quarry
heads for the attic,

his pursuer decides to look in the cellar.

(PANTING)

And in the confusion, the frantic ferret

is apt to find himself
right back where he started from.

Among the prairie dwellers,

the coyote stands out
as a figure familiar to all.

Theirs is a rugged life,
especially for a mother.

Providing food for her young
is a full-time job.

For the pups, the problems of the hunt
are of small concern.

They let Mother do the worrying

while they pass the day
in odd coyote contests,

such as who can sit
on the ants the longest.

(BARKING)

Of course, all this exercise
leads to bigger and better appetites

and Mother is continually forced
to redouble her efforts in the field.

The coyote hunts mostly small rodents,
including prairie dogs.

It takes some doing, however,

to break through
their elaborate alarm system.

(BARKING)

It isn't often that a prairie dog
is taken by surprise.

These near misses
are an old story to the coyote.

But with all her patience, she's quick
to take advantage of any opportunity.

And sometimes, quite by accident,
the badger becomes her accomplice.

This is the female badger,

and she, too, is a persistent hunter
of prairie dog.

Powerful in build
with feet designed for digging,

she could make short work
of a burrow with one exit.

So the farsighted prairie dog always
provides his home with several exits.

While the badger is devoting
her efforts to one hole,

the prairie dog is apt to be
calmly watching from another.

But too much self-confidence
can be dangerous.

Now the coyote's strategy pays off.

Still, cornering a prairie dog
and catching him are two different things.

Moreover, the rodent's razor-sharp
teeth are formidable weapons,

enough to make even a coyote pause.

He may be small in size
but there's no limit to his courage,

especially when it's a fight for life.

The coyote tries to outmaneuver him,
catch him from behind.

But the wily prairie dog
always faces the danger.

For the coyote,
it's just another one that got away.

All part of the day's work.

Since she always hunts
on a percentage basis,

so many failures for each success,

the coyote's willing to take her chances

with just about anything that comes along.

Given half a start,
she'll even take on a jackrabbit.

Finally, with further pursuit sheer folly,
the coyote gives up the chase.

But this was one miss too many,
even for a coyote.

And when she happens upon
an ancient enemy,

she's in a proper mood for trouble.

Members of the dog family
share an intense dislike for reptiles,

and the coyote's no exception.

She considers
the elimination of a rattlesnake

both a duty and a pleasure.

(RATTLING)

The snake is quick, but he can't see
movement directly behind his head.

The coyote keeps darting in,
aiming for the blind spot.

Then one quick, short snap and it's over.

Still there's no use taking chances,

so she adds a few more nips
and a flip just for good measure.

Meanwhile, the badger's still hard at work
trying to dig out that pesky prairie dog.

By this time, she's attracted
quite a group of spectators.

Now it looks like the digging crew
is going to be doubled.

But the newcomer proves to be
a moonstruck male

bent more on romance than hard work.

One look at this burrowing beauty
is all he needs.

He falls in love, head over heels.

To take her mind off her work,
he invites her for a stroll.

She quickly agrees.

After all, you can dig
for prairie dogs any day.

And now for the prairie dogs
comes a rare moment,

peace and quiet settles over
their home on the range.

It's a time for rejoicing.

(WHISTLING)

On the sidelines, the prairie falcon
seems to have an ear for music.

Or maybe it's an eye for a meal.

(PRAIRIE DOGS WHISTLING)

In any case, when he takes to the air,
the concert's automatically over.

Now it's, "Down the hatch, everybody.
This bird means business."

On silent wings
the falcon hovers, waiting.

And sure enough, there's always somebody
just a little more curious than cautious.

"All right, mister,
just try that once more... That do..."

For the most part,
the prairie dog does a good job

of protecting his home and family
against all comers.

But when he has to contend
with a herd of buffalo,

he's ready to admit
he's at a slight disadvantage.

The buffalo like to wallow in soft earth.

And the pile of dirt
around a prairie dog burrow

is just made to order.

This bothersome habit
not only flattens his protective dike,

but sometimes it nearly flattens
the prairie dog.

Finally, the prairie dog
loses all patience

and determines to drive
the monsters out by force.

(BARKS)

When this fails,
he resorts to a w*r of words.

(BARKING)

But it's no use,
you just can't insult a buffalo.

In nature's range wars,
the prairie dog is so often a contender

he rarely gets a chance to be a spectator.

But in midsummer,
during the buffalo mating season,

he has a ringside seat
for the heavyweight battle of the bulls.

(BELLOWING)

Two tons of bone and muscle meet head-on.

(GRUNTING)

The objective here is to catch
an opponent on the downhill slant,

then hurl him to the ground and gore him.

This is the age-old struggle for survival
on an epic scale.

And now nature supplies
a fitting accompaniment.

(THUNDER RUMBLING)

(THUNDER RUMBLING)

The sound of the summer storm

is the one thing that strikes terror
into the heart of the buffalo.

(RUMBLING)

(THUNDER RUMBLING)

Lightning lashes the parched plain.

The prairie, like a giant tinderbox,
bursts into roaring flame.

In blind panic, a rabbit
runs straight into the wall of fire.

And, by some miracle,
emerges singed but safe.

At the prairie dog colony,

the burrow itself
acts as a natural firebreak.

But there are others not so fortunate.

For them there's only one place
of refuge, a prairie pond.

But wherever nature sets the spark,
she can always quench the flame.

Now she opens her floodgates

and drenches the prairie
with a driving cloudburst.

Her remedy is effective but harsh.

For down the barren slopes
rivulets begin to broaden and spread.

The gullies fill to overflowing.

And soon, all across the prairie,
the deluge rolls on unchecked.

At first the rains were welcome,

but now they become another catastrophe.

And yet, as always,

nature endows her creatures
with the ability

to meet any crisis and survive.

In this case,
one must simply know how to swim.

It's an accomplishment
nature gives all her species.

When their life depends on it,

even confirmed landlubbers
manage to keep afloat.

When the rising flood
reaches the prairie dog town,

it seeks out the burrows
built in the low places.

Then, throughout the colony,

wherever a family has failed
to make a dike,

the water attacks the unprotected homes.

It's a hard decision to make,
leaving the old homestead,

but they have no choice.

Nature has decreed a change.

They must build their homes
somewhere else.

Some of the diehards
need a lot of convincing.

But eventually, wetter and wiser,
they strike out for higher ground.

And so, on nature's prairie,
everything has its place,

even catastrophe and disaster.

And the raging flood is as much a part
of her mysterious plan

as the wind and the grass

and the howling of the coyotes
at a prairie moon.

(HOWLING)

In the high country
that lies along the fringe of the prairie,

a strange sound ricochets
from peak to peak

and signals the last act
in nature's drama.

It's the rutting season
of the bighorn sheep.

Here on these wintry slopes,

occur the strangest of all mating combats,

the resident rhapsody
of the battering rams.

(BANGING)

(BANGING CONTINUES THROUGHOUT)

And now, from out of the misty past,

the pendulum of time
swings back again to the present,

where the prairie
of the pioneer and the Indian

lives only on the pages of history.

But nature's prairie,
in part at least, still survives.

The buffalo still plods
the primeval plain.

The prairie dog sleeps in his burrow.

These and many others have endured.

For nature preserves her own,

and teaches them how to cope with time

and the unaccountable ways of man.

Mankind, in turn, beginning
to understand nature's pattern,

is helping her to replenish and rebuild

so that the vanishing pageant of the past

may become the enduring pageant
of the future.