“When I was a freshman, one evening my date handed me the first violet of spring. I looked at it, told him its Latin name and then I ate it. It was our last date.”

—Frances Hamerstrom, American ornithologist, Wild Food Cookbook, 1989

The year was 1990 at the Madison Book Fest. I was nervously awaiting my turn to present, when I heard another presenter telling the violet story. I worked through the crowd and saw Fran Hammerstrom for the first time. Her bare legs were folds of wrinkles, but her eyes had a youthful glint.

Fran told how she was born to a prominent, wealthy Boston family, but she refused to fit the high society mold. No fancy ballroom dances, balancing a book on her head, or tedious sewing or embroidery for her. Rebellious and determined to be her own person, she became a cigarette smoker at age six, the same year she captured a hare which became her first pet. 

In her book “My Double Life,” she describes how she took a dead bluejay to the tree where she hid her razor blades and cut it open. The budding naturalist studied its heart, lungs, and liver. By age eleven, she was reading Charles Darwin and had an impressive collection of mounted insects. She built hideaways in treetops and had a secret garden, which she guarded from adults by planting poison ivy around its entrance. The plant didn’t affect Fran and helped keep her wild pets (snakes, mice, birds, fish, turtles, and squirrels) a secret.

She also covertly acquired a BB gun and a .22-caliber rifle, which she hid from grown-ups. This Boston-raised high society girl would often sneak out of her bedroom window, too. She’d bring a blanket and sleep out under the stars, where she could listen to the sounds of small creatures.

As a young woman, she found and married the perfect mate, a fellow naturalist. Frederick (or Hammy to use his nickname) and Fran became friends with Aldo Leopold. In a YouTube interview, https://bit.ly/3DH9Xig, Fran explains how she and helpers, upset with Leopold’s shabby office in a potting shed, secretly moved his things into a much larger office at the nearby university. Leopold was delighted and, channeling Fran’s boldness, called the director to say he was staying. They didn’t argue.

Fran was one of the first female wildlife biologists, and she and Hammy are well-known for their extensive work with prairie chickens. The Hamerstroms noted that the disappearance of grasslands affected the prairie chickens and set out to save them. They fixed up a farmhouse with 240 acres of land in Plainfield, Wisconsin. The house had a large attic that served as a bunkhouse for the 7,000 volunteers who, over many years, collected data on raptors or prairie chickens during the booming season. Because of their efforts, prairie chickens and many other grassland species were saved.

After Hammy died, Fran continued her work. She journeyed to the Congo several times where she “hunted with pygmies,” to use her phrase. She was fascinated with their hunting practices and started collaborating on a book. But she made sure to return to Wisconsin each spring to continue her work with the prairie chickens.

I doubt I’ll ever get to hunt with a skilled African tribe or invite 7,000 volunteers into my home to study wildlife, but I am considering renting a blind at the Buena Vista Marsh (it’s 1 1/2 hours away) so I can view the impressive booming and dancing of the male prairie chickens. I’d get to see the males stomp their feet, inflate their bright orange air sacs, and hear their deep, pulsating ‘whoooos’ boom out in the morning air.   

If I get there and find the first spring violet, I might take a nibble. It would be a fitting tribute to Fran Hamerstrom, one of the most fascinating people I ever met.