Stories from the Tallgrass

Walk with me on the prairie.

 

Listen. For the prairie is a storyteller.

 

After a baptism by fire each spring…

 

 

…it appears to be defeated. And yet.

 

 

It reminds us that resurrection from the darkest night of the soul is possible.

 

We learn from the prairie about reliance. The grasses and flowers depend on prescribed burns each season to keep the tallgrass open. The frequent fires make make the prairie the best it can be: over the long haul.

 

The prairie tells us stories of resilience.

 

The prairie grasses and wildflowers plunge their roots deep into the black soil. Anchored and nourished through drought, wind, fire, and flood, they survive–and thrive.

 

The prairie tells us about the value of diversity. That nothing is too small, ignored, or overlooked to be important.

 

We need every grass and flower.  Each shaggy mammal.

 

Every tiny insect. 

 

There is violence and suffering on the prairie…

 

but we see the bigger picture. Redemption.

 

 

Listen to the prairie. Draw from it strength and the courage to keep moving forward.

 

Discover what stories the prairie has for you. 

 

And in the listening, find comfort and peace.

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): bridge with Culver’s root (Veronicastrum virginicum),  Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; meadow anemone (Anemone canadensis), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prescribed burn, Glen Ellyn, IL; after the burn, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; after the burn, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prairie dock (Silphium terebinthinaceum) Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  wild white indigo (Baptisia alba macrophylla), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prairie willow (Salix humilis humilis), Schulenberg Prairie right before the burn, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prairie plantain, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; regal fritillary, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; bison, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; , Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  12-spotted skimmer, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; storm over the Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; cloud break over the author’s backyard prairie, Glen Ellyn, IL; boardwalk over prairie fen, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; path through the Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL: pale purple coneflower (Echinacea pallida), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL.

Beauty for Ashes

The first day of spring has come and gone.

Bees buzz about. Gardens green up. Blooms open.

While out in the tallgrass, volunteers burn the prairies.

Do you hear it? The crackle of flames, the pop-pop-pop of tallgrass igniting.

 

Do you feel the heat? A line of fire that licks along the edges of the charred prairie.

Do you smell the smoke?  It rises from  tinder of last year’s grasses and flowers. The prairie as we once knew it  is gone in a matter of minutes.

The ashes and destruction of all we have known come before resurrection.

And with it: Beautiful blooms…

 

Lush growth…

 

Colors so bright you need sunglasses to look…

 

And wings to fly.

 

Look! Something new is on the way. Built upon the work of years before; it begins to push up out of the scorched earth. It’s familiar, yet not quite the same.

There are surprises in store. Adventures, just around the corner.

 

Will you be there for them?

 

The prairie is waiting.

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby: (Top to bottom) viburnum (Viburnum farreri) with bee, Ground Cover Garden, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  prescribed burn, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prescribed burn, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; gray-headed coneflower (Ratibida pinnata); prairie coreopsis (Coreopsis palmata) and common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; butterflyweed (Asclepias tuberosa) with insect, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboreum, Lisle, IL; bees and beetles on prairie blazing star (Liatris pycnostachya), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;   fritillary on rosin weed (Silphium integrifolium), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; reflections of prairie grasses on Meadow Lake, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; sandhill cranes migrating across sun halo, author’s backyard prairie patch, Glen Ellyn, IL; interpretive prairie trail, Fermilab, Batavia, IL; pale purple coneflower (Echinacea pallida) and vervain (Verbena hastata) Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL.

The Message of the Cranes

Last week, I dreaded picking up a newspaper; despaired of the suffering and unkindness that seemed to permeate the world. Everything seemed off-kilter. Unpredictable.

 

And then, they came. Waves and waves of sandhill cranes.

 

Each spring, they cover Chicago’s skies, headed north. Late each year, often after the snow flies, they wing their way back south.

 

The cranes bookend the prairie growing season.

 

 

They arrive at the same time as fire; the prescribed burns that sweep the tallgrass clean, and create a clean slate…

 

…ready for the sums of a new year to be chalked upon it.

 

As I struggle to count the cranes flying over this week– 25, 50, 100, 2,000–I feel the excitement of what lies ahead.

 

But I know when they leave, I’ll feel a sense of loss.  In some ways I take them for granted.

There was a time when I thought of the ash trees in the woodlands around the prairies as merely part of the landscape. I believed they would stand, year after year.

Today, decimated by a tiny insect, they are cut down and piled up as rubble: wiped from woodlands, streets, and our part of the world.

 

Only the scribbled messages left by the emerald ash borers remain.

 

My grandchildren will never know a world with ash trees. And I wonder. Like the ash trees, will the cranes be here one season, then suddenly gone? Leaving an empty sky behind?

 

The cranes are something we count on in Illinois. Like the sunrise and sunset; the blooming of spring bulbs…

 

…and the coloring of autumn leaves.

 

We depend on the cranes to mark the passing of the seasons.

 

Rather than worry about their loss, I’m going to store away the magical moments they bring. When I hear the loud cries of the cranes–like the erratic purr of a cat magnified thousands of times– I’ll remember to listen for the harmony around me, not the discord. The kind voices; not the strident or cruel.

 

Despite their whirlwind choreography, the cranes know where they are going. The present disorder of the world, I tell myself, doesn’t mean we’re headed for long-term chaos.

 

I’ll let the cranes remind me to be grateful for  beauty, compassion, and grace; even when those things seem difficult to find in the world.

And I’ll count the days. Until the return of the cranes.

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): switchgrass (Panicum virgatum), Meadow Lake, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; sandhill cranes, prairie interpretive trail, Fermilab, Batavia, IL; sandhill cranes, author’s backyard prairie patch, Glen Ellyn, IL; lupine (Lupinus perennis), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; grasses in prairie planting, Meadow Lake, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; hiking the prairie interpretive trail at Fermilab, Batavia, IL; great St. John’s wort (Hypericum pyramidatum), switchgrass (Panicum virgatum), wild quinine (Parthenium integrifolium), Meadow Lake, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; gray-headed coneflower (Ratibida pinnata), author’s backyard prairie, Glen Ellyn, IL;  pile of ash logs and other trees, prairie interpretive trail, Fermilab, Batavia, IL; ash log with emerald ash borer gallery, prairie interpretive trail, Fermilab, Batavia, IL;  yellow crocus, author’s backyard, Glen Ellyn, IL; purple and white spring crocus, author’s backyard, Glen Ellyn, IL; autumn color, East Woods, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; tree and shrub, prairie interpretive trail, Fermilab, Batavia, IL; red-winged blackbird, Meadow Lake, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; sandhill cranes migrating north over the prairie interpretive trail, Fermilab, Batavia, IL; prairie interpretive trail, Fermilab, Batavia, IL.

Beginnings

Morning dawns on the prairie.

A lone red-winged blackbird calls. No breeze rustles the brittle, bleached out stands of little bluestem; the dry stalks of prairie switchgrass. The seedpods of of St. John’s wort and other bloomers have long since cracked open and dropped their seeds. There’s the promise of something new ready to germinate.

 

Few flames from prescribed burns have touched the tallgrass here in Illinois … yet. But there is the rumor of fire.

 

The temperatures have warmed. The wind whispers “it’s time.”

 

Time for everything to begin again.

 

To burn off the old; to spark something new.

 

With the flames will go our memories of a season now past. What waits for us  …

…will build on what went before, but is still unknown.

There is a sadness in letting go of what we have.

 

Yet to not move forward– to shy away from that which that will seemingly destroy the tallgrass– is to set the prairie back. To keep it from reaching its full potential.

So we embrace the fire.

 

We accept that things will change.  

 

We realize there will be surprises. Things we don’t expect.

 

We strike the match. Say goodbye to ice and snow.

 

Watch the prairie go up in flames.

 

We wait to see what will appear.

On the other side of the fire.

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby: (top to bottom) sunrise, Meadow Lake prairie planting, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prairie grasses and Great St. John’s Wort (Hypericum pyramidatum), Meadow Lake prairie planting, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prescribed burn, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; Willoway Brook, The Schulenberg Prairie, Lisle, IL; eastern cottontail, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;   prescribed burn, The Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prescribed burn sign, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Meadow Lake prairie planting, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prescribed burn, The Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; July on the Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  twin fawns, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Meadow Lake prairie planting, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prescribed burn, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; two-track through Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL. 

 

An Ovation for Orchids

March roared in like a lion today–a sleet-covered, blustery lion. Despite the wintery mix that showers the tallgrass prairie, it’s the first official day of meteorological spring. It’s a day to think about the prairie bloom season ahead. A day to think about … orchids.

Wait a minute. Orchids? On the prairie?

When most of us picture orchids, we envision the hothouse blooms of the tropical greenhouse …

 

… their alien-esque furry buds seemingly right out of a sci-fi movie.

 

We picture crazy shapes  …

 

… and wild diversity.

Chicago Botanic Garden always gives visitors a blast of hues each February when it hosts its orchid show. A walk through the 10,000 orchids on display feels like a spin through a kaleidoscope.

The colors! What a broad-ranging palette orchids have.

 

Their ruffles and frills take us straight down memory lane to our high school proms.

 

The patterns!

 

The pizzazz!

Our Illinois tallgrass prairie orchids might not dazzle us with neon brights. Yet, perhaps the subtle elegance of the prairie orchids have more staying power than their flashier tropical cousins.

What the ladies’ tresses orchid lacks in color, she makes up in architecture.

 

The sweet, light fragrance of the ladies’ tresses is almost imperceptible on a warm September’s day. It’s worth lingering close by to catch the scent.

 

We should give standing ovations for the white lady’s slipper orchid. It’s one of the spring prairie’s serendipities.

 

This past June,  I stumbled over the eastern prairie fringed orchid. Literally. It was almost directly under my feet.

It was a moment to savor. And it happened only because I was out hiking at the right time, in the right place.

I still have quite a few prairie orchids on my must-see list. The purple-fringed orchid. The snake-mouth orchid. The grass pink. They’re out there — just waiting for me to find them. But to see them, I will need to make time to be there. To wander around, enjoying the prairie. Paying attention.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I love the tropical orchids. I have a shelf of them in my south-facing window; all castoffs or gifts from friends.  When backpacking up north, seeing pink lady’s slippers and other showy orchids in bloom along the trails is another delight.

But none of the orchids I’ve seen in the greenhouses here or along the trails up north are quite as magical as the ones I unexpectedly find when out hiking the Illinois tallgrass prairie.

Who knows what surprising discoveries are waiting for us this season?

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): First six orchids, Chicago Botanic Orchid Show, Glencoe, IL; ladies’ tresses orchid (Spiranthes cernua), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; ladies’ tresses orchid (Spiranthes cernua), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; white lady’s slipper (Cypripedium candidum) , Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; eastern prairie fringed orchid (Platanthera leucophaea), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; white lady’s slipper (Cypripedium candidum), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; pink lady’s slipper orchid (Cypripedium acaule)  with blue bead lily (Clintonia borealis)  and Canada dogwood (Cornus canadensis), Isle Royale National Park, Michigan.