Signs of Spring

It’s coming. Have you noticed?

 

Forget the scraps of snow still visible in the shadier corners of the prairie.

 

Overlook the still-cold temperatures.

The first signs of spring are everywhere. Sunrises are earlier.

 

Sunsets are later.

 

In our gardens and yards, daffodils, crocus, and hyacinths knife up their bundles of leaves.

 

Temperatures tease us by briefly climbing into the upper 50s. Snowdrops heed the signal; offer their first blooms. Who will break the news to them that a winter storm is in the forecast, only days away?

 

All our glimpses of early spring are not sweetness and light. This week, warm winds howled up to 60 mph across the prairie. A spring tantrum, more than a winter storm.

 

No longer frozen, the prairie paths shout “mud season!” Go for a hike, and your boots slurp, slurp, slurp with every step.

 

The ice that limned the creeks and streams has disappeared …  temporarily, anyway. Water runs fast with snowmelt; cold and clear.

 

Faintly familiar, but long-gone birds reappear and begin adding notes to the tallgrass soundtrack. Killdeer. The first tentative notes of red-winged blackbirds.  Winter’s juncos still hang around, not getting the spring memo. But give them a few weeks and they’ll pack their bags and head north. Soon the dickcissels and bob-o-links will be back on their regular tallgrass perches.

 

In the last days of February, I study the prairie sky for migrating snow geese. I see them thick as storm clouds on weather radar reports. Yet, the sky remains empty, except for a few ubiquitous Canada geese.

 

Nonetheless, I like knowing the snowies are flying somewhere above me. A sign of spring. On the move north.

 

On the move, like the life of the prairie. The end of one season;

… the beginning of something new.

Yes, there will be more snow and ice. February’s full moon is named by  Native American’s as the “Full Snows Moon.” I watched it rise last night; a harbinger of more snow and cold on the way.

But we’ve gotten our first whiff of spring.  And it is good.

 

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom):  Rice-Lake Danada prairie planting, Forest Preserve District of DuPage County, Wheaton, IL; trail, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; sunrise looking east from author’s backyard prairie patch,  Glen Ellyn, IL; sunset, Nachusa Grassland, Franklin Grove, IL; crocus shoots, author’s backyard, Glen Ellyn, IL; snowdrops, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; storm over the Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; muddy trail, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Willoway Brook, Schulenberg Prairie savanna, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  dickcissel, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; Canada geese over the Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; snow geese and Ross’s geese, Bosque del Apache, San Antonio, New Mexico; sunset, Russell Kirt Prairie East, College of DuPage, Glen Ellyn, IL (looking west); full moon, author’s backyard prairie, Glen Ellyn, IL.

In Praise of Snow

What is it about snow? We moan when we see the forecast. Act as if we are personally offended that the white stuff is coming down. Shrug as we salt our driveways and sidewalks for the umpteenth time.

 

We seem surprised. Although—isn’t February in Illinois usually about snow?

 

The prairie reminds us that snow can be beautiful.

 

Snow paints still life after still life, using a limited palette.

 

Without the full range of colors available, the prairie in February relies heavily on getting the structures right.

 

Tallgrass blanketed with falling flurries offers  both stillness and motion.

 

February’s snowy prairie is not so much about growing.  

 

True, the deep root systems that plunge beneath the soil line spell life for the season ahead.

 

Yet, the prairie’s icy surface tells the story of life on pause; at rest.

 

Observing this, we are reminded to take stock of where we have been—and what has been— no matter how painful or difficult it is to look.

 

To contemplate who and where we are in the here and now.

 

To dream about what the landscape of our future might be.

 

It’s this yearly rhythm of growth and rest …

 

… that gives us space to reflect. To remember. To imagine.

 

It’s  a lot to think about …  the next time we’re shoveling snow.

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): savanna, Hidden Lake Forest Preserve of DuPage County, Downer’s Grove, IL; squirrel in the snow, author’s backyard prairie, Glen Ellyn, IL; old field with prairie planting, East Side, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca), East Side prairie planting, The Morton Arboretum; asters (Aster spp.), East Side prairie planting, The Morton Arboretum;  Queen Anne’s lace (Daucus carota), East Side prairie planting, The Morton Arboretum; goldenrod (Solidago spp.), East Side prairie planting, The Morton Arboretum; Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum;  Nachusa Grasslands in winter, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; brambles and snow, East Side prairie planting, The Morton Arboretum; Queen Anne’s lace (Daucus carota), East Side prairie planting, The Morton Arboretum; the path, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum; switchgrass (Panicum virgatum) on the snow, Meadow Lake, The Morton Arboretum; East Side prairie planting, The Morton Arboretum;  prairie plants and savanna at Hidden Lake Forest Preserve of DuPage County, Downer’s Grove, IL.

 

Sun, Surf, and Tallgrass

Like many Midwesterners, I migrated south this week. I’m temporarily trading tallgrass for beaches and waves, warmth, and a change of pace.

Florida sunsets are legendary.

 

No more exotic, however, than prairie sunrises. So much color! From tangerine, rose, and purple …

 

…to solid gold.

 

Prairie sunsets are also in a class of their own. Often, they close the day with a smooth pastel coda.

 

Other evenings, they bring the day to an end with texture and movement.

 

Between sunrise and sunset, the prairie skies are a prime canvas to thumbprint a sundog.

 

A sundog’s fleeting rainbow luminescence is a pleasant, unexpected bonus; especially after a bone-chilling February day hiking the tallgrass.

 

This week, I’ll walk the beach each night, enjoying the light show over the Gulf of Mexico.

On one evening the spectacle is in neon …

 

… on another, the display may be more subdued.

 

But—for a Midwestern girl like myself—nothing beats the winter kaleidoscope of Illinois’ prairie skies.

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): sunrise, Captiva Island, Florida; sunrise, author’s backyard prairie, Glen Ellyn, IL; sunrise, Hidden Lake, Forest Preserve of DuPage County, Downers Grove, IL; sunset with tent, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; sunset, Hidden Lake, Forest Preserve District of DuPage County, Downers Grove, IL;  sundog, Cook County Forest Preserves; sundog, Russell Kirt Prairie East, College of DuPage, Glen Ellyn, IL; sunset, Sanibel Island, Florida; sunset, Captiva Island, Florida; sunset, author’s prairie, Glen Ellyn, IL.

To Make a Prairie (With Apologies to Emily Dickinson)

“To make a prairie, it takes a clover and one bee.” So begins Emily Dickinson’s well-loved poem. It’s doubtful that Dickinson ever saw a tallgrass prairie, of course; cloistered for years in her bedroom in Amherst, MA. Nonetheless, her verses on prairie live on.

But are “a clover and one bee” enough to make a prairie?  With apologies to Dickinson, here are a few more suggested ingredients. What would you add?

 

To make a prairie, it takes a clover and one bee (tle)…

 

A bison, or two or three (and bulls)

 

And a butterfly or two, if bees are few.

 

To make a prairie, it takes a clover and one bee (fly)…

 

Perhaps a tree or trees (nearby)

 

 

A prescribed burn or two, to keep the trees so few.

 

To make a prairie, it takes a clover and one bee …

 

Someone who cares enough to see

 

A volunteer or two,  ensures that weeds are few.

 

To make a prairie, it takes a clover and one bee (balm) …

 

Swirling clouds, perhaps a breeze (calm)

 

A pond or stream or two, if drops of dew are few.

 

To make a prairie, it takes a clover and one bee …

 

Egrets and birds,  all feathery

 

Tall grasses bright of hue, if birds are few.

 

To make a prairie … it takes you.

 

Poetry excerpt from Emily Dickinson’s Complete Poems (1924) Part Two: Nature XCVII. Complete poem: To make a prairie/ it takes a clover and one bee./One clover, /and a bee. /And revery. /The revery alone will do, /if bees are few.

All photographs copyright Cindy Crosby: (top to bottom) Beetle on white prairie clover (Dalea candida), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; bison (note that males and females both have horns), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; buckeye butterfly, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; bee fly on pale purple coneflower (Echinacea pallida), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; stand of trees, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; prescribed burn, Schulenberg Prairie savanna, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; bee on common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; volunteer Tricia Lowery shooting photos, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; a few members of the Tuesdays in the Tallgrass prairie work group, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; silver-spotted skipper on bee balm (Monarda fistulosa) Schulenberg Prairie, Lisle, IL; overcast sky, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; pond, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; bee on white prairie clover (Dalea candida), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; egret, Busse Woods, Forest Preserve of Cook County, Schaumburg, IL; tallgrass, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL;  Autumn on the Prairie, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL.