Spring Arrives on the Prairie

“The first day of spring is one thing, and the first spring day is another. The difference between them is sometimes as great as a month.” –Henry Van Dyke

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Ephemerals. It’s what we call spring wildflowers. Why? Ephemeral simply means “fleeting,” “transitory,” or “quickly fading.” Most years, they are here and gone like a whisper in a dark room. You only have a moment to try and register their presence, and then—well—you wonder if you imagined them.

Here in the Chicago region, I’ve been teaching wildflower field classes, despite the recent snow-covered landscape and the late prescribed prairie burns. Up until this weekend, there haven’t been a lot of blooms to see.

On the prairie, rattlesnake master is singed; its emergence paused temporarily by the fires.

Give it a week or two, and it will perk back up. Same for the tiny loose cabbages of pale Indian plantain, persevering through the cold and snows of last week.

Leaves don’t excite most folks much, but I feel a thrill of seeing the earliest sign of a prairie wildflower. It’s fun to see the pale Indian plantain at this stage, knowing it will be as tall as I am this summer.

If you look closely, there are a few wildflowers in bloom on the prairie proper. Pasque flowers are the stars of the burned prairie—if you can find them. Camouflaged perfectly against the bare soil. The spider hiding in the bloom is an added bonus.

Pretty big shadow for a tiny insect, isn’t it?

Because of the snow and the prescribed burn, my wildflower “field classes” ended up with a lot of  PowerPoint to supplement our trail time. Even if the blooms aren’t cooperating on the woodland and the prairie, we can always have blooms on the screen, right? But, cheerful looking and necessary as those images may be, no PowerPoint image substitutes for the real thing. I can’t duplicate the smell of damp earth and leaves as we brush them aside to appreciate the new growth of Dutchman’s breeches in bud…

…or the delight we feel when we see the green of hepatica leaves that survived the winter.

The delights of a hike include finding the tiniest hepatica blossoms I’ve ever seen…

…or  the serendipity of discovering pollinators flying their spring reconnaissance missions. Bloodroot makes the perfect landing pad.

There’s joy watching the play of light and shadow on bloodroot blooms…

…and stopping to admire the various stages of a trout lily’s emergence, backlit by the afternoon sun.

This week, we watch—with our fingers crossed—as the temperature climbs. 35 degrees. 40 degrees. 50 degrees plus.  You can see the hope on people’s faces. Anticipation is building. Do you feel it?  This is going to be a big week in the wildflower world. When the blooming starts, it will be like rush hour on the Dan Ryan Expressway in Chicago.

Will you be there to see them bloom? Make your plans now. Block your lunch hour. Set your alarm to get up early. Plan an outing in the evening after dinner. But don’t put it off. Once these spring ephemerals begin blooming, nothing will stop them. They are only here for a moment…and this year, their moment may be especially fleeting.

Get ready. Spring is here. For real, this time.

And it’s a beauty.

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The opening quote is from Fisherman’s Luck and Other Uncertain Things by clergyman and writer Henry Van Dyke. (1852-1933). His books included The Other Wise Man, and his most famous sermon focused on hearing God’s voice through nature. A poet himself, he also wrote literary criticism, including a volume on Alfred Lord Tennyson’s poetry. He was Professor of English Literature at Princeton University (1900), and served as ambassador to the Netherlands and Luxembourg under President Woodrow Wilson. He and his wife had nine children.

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All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): wild geraniums (Geranium maculatum), East Woods, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Schulenberg Prairie eleven days after the prescribed burn, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; rattlesnake master (Eryngium yuccifolium), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; pale Indian plantain (Arnoglossum atriplicifolium or Cacalia atriplicifolia), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; pasque flower (Pulsatilla patens or Anemone patens), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Dutchman’s breeches (Dicentra cucullaria), East Woods, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; hepatica (Hepatica nobilis acuta), East Woods, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; hepatica (Hepatica nobilis acuta), East Woods, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis) with unknown pollinators, Schulenberg Prairie edges, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis) bloom, Schulenberg Prairie edges, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; trout lily (Erythronium albidum) emerging, Schulenberg Prairie Savanna, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Dutchman’s breeches in bud (Dicentra cucullaria), East Woods, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; spring beauties (Claytonia virginica), East Woods, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL.

Spring Fever on the Prairie

“It’s spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you’ve got it, you want—oh, you don’t quite know what it is you do want— but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!” –Mark Twain

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Spring? It’s giving us the cold shoulder on the prairie.

What a wacky, wicked April. Many prescribed burns were done late or not at all. Snowy days. Frigid nights. Wild winds. Plants stubbornly stay put under the blackened soil of the burned prairies. They know what’s good for them.

On the edges of the prairie, the trees look dormant and colorless. What happened to the flush of green buds, the chatter of birds? Looking and listening, you’d think it was November instead of April.

It’s enough to make you weep.

 

There’s hope.

Look carefully, under the fallen autumn leaves moldering in the woodlands and savannas surrounding the prairie. You’ll see the seasons are changing.  Spring beauties tentatively open in the infrequent sunny hours, pinstriped with pink. Euell Gibbons, best known for his books on wild food foraging and for appearing in  Grape-Nuts commercials, lauded the joys of the edible tubers, known as “fairy spuds.” He also cautioned that they were much too pretty to eat. I agree.

Spring is in the half-dressed bloodroot blooms, unfurling cautiously, testing the air.

If you look hard, you may find some blooms.  In the past, various concoctions of bloodroot have been used medicinally, including to control dental plaque, but today, those uses come with a lot of cautionary talk.

Spring is in the hepatica blooming along the edges of the prairie, its persistent leaves worn and ragged after being nibbled during the winter. First the furry buds appear.

And then…

Wow, that color!

We need hepatica in bloom this week! It’s a morale booster.

Spring is in the tender new leaves of Dutchman’s breeches.

The fringed growth promises delicate flowers, just days away.

Spring is in the pasque flowers which escaped the flames of a prescribed burn. The buds look furred against the cold.

In my backyard prairie planting, shooting stars green up, ready to take off…

…and skyrocket into bloom. Imagine that pink! Soon.

Sure, the April skies are gloomy. And we’re winter-weary.

Hang on to hope.  Look for the clues. Bright spots in the landscape—if you pay attention.

Everything is about to change. Do you feel it? Spring is coming.

Believe it.

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Mark Twain (1835-1910), whose quote opens this post, is the pen name for Samuel Clemens, an American writer, riverboat pilot, failed gold prospector, and inventor.  He grew up in Hannibal, Missouri, on the Mississippi River, and his pen name, Mark Twain, is steamboat slang for “twelve feet of water.” One my favorite Twain quotes: “The secret to getting ahead is getting started.”

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All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): Pasture thistles (Cirsium discolor) in the April snow, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; just-burned Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; bare trees in April with an unknown hawk, Kankakee Sands, The Nature Conservancy, Morocco, IN; spring beauties (Claytonia virginica), The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; bloodroot emerging, Schulenberg Prairie Visitor Station, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; bloodroot in bloom, Schulenberg Prairie visitor Station, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; hepatica (Hepatica nobilis acuta) emerging, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; hepatica (Hepatica nobilis acuta) in bloom, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; hepatica (Hepatica nobilis acuta) in bloom, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Dutchman’s breeches (Dicentra cucullaria) emerging, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Dutchman’s breeches (Dicentra cucullaria) in bloom, Franklin Creek Natural Area, Franklin Grove, IL; pasque flowers (Pulsatilla pantens), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; shooting star (Dodecatheon meadia) emerging, author’s backyard prairie planting, Glen Ellyn, IL; shooting star (Dodecatheon meadia) in bloom, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Kankakee Sands in the middle of April, The Nature Conservancy, Morocco, IN; goldfinch (Spinus tristis), Schulenberg Prairie, the Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL.  Note: Please don’t pick, consume, or use wildflowers without permission and/or expert knowledge. Many are toxic and almost all are best left alone for us to conserve and enjoy. Happy spring! 

The (Prairie) Pause that Refreshes

“Now is the winter of our discontent.”–William Shakespeare

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Pause: a “temporary stop” according to the Merriam Webster Dictionary. The Oxford Dictionary defines “pause” as an interruption.  Pause seems like a good word to describe spring on the prairie this past week. Stopped. Interrupted. Although we know this spring pause is temporary in the Chicago region, some of us are feeling cranky about it.

Spring, with all its flirtatious promises, has seemingly gone AWOL.  The surge and bloom of wildflowers screeched to a halt. And just when spring was beginning to look like it was underway, right? All those tiny green wildflower leaves!

The sandhill cranes migrating north. The chorus frogs calling. Just days ago. Such a big push spring made; such clamor and green and even some blooms!  And now, sunshine and blue skies have regressed to the soft patter of snowflakes and grayest gloom. 

The signature song from the Disney movie “Frozen” plays relentlessly in my head (“Let the storm rage on! The cold never bothered me anyway!”) But it’s difficult to let go of my impatience for the new season to arrive.

You can spend your life wanting whatever is just out of reach, or wish for things over which you have no control. Or you can appreciate the joy of what is right in front of you and already yours. Contentment can be hard-won at this time of year. But I know what I need to do.

I quit grumbling and go for hike on the prairie.

Flakes sift into my hair; melt on my face. As I hike, the snowflakes turn into tiny icy balls. Graupel.  Small white pellets of supercooled raindrops. We’ve had a lot of it this past month. The perfect transitional precipitation—not quite rain, hail,or snow.  Graupel is water that just can’t make up its mind. Sort of like spring. 

Under snow and ice, the familiar prairie, still unburned, takes on a transitional look of its own.

The grasses and forbs wear their winter colors, stripped to the architecture of stems and seeds. But the snow caught in their scaffolding seems a foreshadowing of the flowers to come.

The red-winged blackbirds remind me that it’s April, and not winter.

 

The air smells of mud, snow, and decay. Sharp. Cold and invigorating.

My head clears as I breathe in the icy air. During this past week,  I’ve sampled some of the pleasures of winter again: hot drinks, a warm afghan, and a big stack of library books. Mulled over seed catalogs, but not felt any urgency to get the garden ready.  There’s a sense that everything can wait. 

It’s been restful, this breath of winter.  This pause.

For another day or two, I’ll try and savor the stillness that a “pause” brings. Leave my garden tools in the shed.  Put some whipped cream on my hot chocolate. Enjoy these last days of snow and cold.

You heard that right. Enjoy. 

The weather forecast calls for temperatures in the seventies later this week. 

I’m looking forward to the warmer days of spring. You too?

I’ll believe it when it happens.

Until then, I’ll try to appreciate the pause. 

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William Shakespeare (1564-1616), whose quote opens this blog post, was a British playwright, actor, and poet. He’s considered the world’s greatest dramatist. Few of us will make it through life without having read a play or watched a performance written by Shakespeare. Many of his phrases have fallen into common use such as “green with envy,” or “pure as the driven snow.” Check out this fun article from Mental Floss for more:  21 Phrases You Use Without Realizing You’re Quoting Shakespeare.

All photos and video copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): west side prairie planting and the northern Europe Collection, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; toothwort (Dentaria laciniata or Cardamine concatenata) seedling, West Side woodland, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; bridge to upper prairie, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; wild bergamot or bee balm (Monarda fistulosa), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; bridge over Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  pale Indian plantain (Cacalia atriplicifolia or Arnoglossum atriplicifolium) with snow, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; video of Schulenberg Prairie in the snow with red-winged blackbirds (Agelaius phoeniceus) singing, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Canada wild rye (Elymus canadensis), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; tangled vines and brambles, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prairie and savanna, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; compass plant (Silphium laciniatum) with snow, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; big bluestem (Andropogon gerardii) and snow, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; big bluestem (Andropogon gerardii) with snow, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL. And thanks to Karen Burkwall Johnson for her observation about “snow flowers” — love that! 

Rumors of Spring

“Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up…” –Woody Guthrie

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There’s a rumor in northern Illinois that it’s spring. But not a lot of anecdotal evidence to support it. Talk to anyone and you’ll hear the usual early April grouching about gray days, unexpected snow, and temps barely nudging 30 degrees.

Natural areas managers scramble to get in their last prescribed burns before spring commences in earnest.

On most prairies,  fire has kissed the tallgrass and gone, leaving the earth stripped and covered with ash. If you don’t look closely, it can all seem a bit melancholy.

But look again.

The prairies are awakening. You can see it in the juxtaposition of what was lost, and what is green and new.

Listen as April releases her icy grip on the tallgrass and wakes up the streams and springs.

The prairie knows it’s time to get moving.

Wake up, wood betony!

Just one glimpse of your crinkly maroon leaves reminds me that your lemon-colored blooms are not far behind.

Come on, April wind and rain! Topple the old compass plant stalks that escaped the fires; let them meld with the earth, covered by new growth.

Wake up, Virginia bluebells!

I can’t wait until you color the woodlands around the prairies with your impossible blue.

Pincushion the burned ground with green, prairie dropseed.

Let’s get this season underway!

I want a front row seat…

…as the prairie swings into a slow crescendo…

… as the spring frogs chorus their approval…

…as from the ashes, the prairie is renewed.

It’s time. Wake up!

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“Wake Up,” the lyrics of which open this post,  was written in 1954 by folk musician Woodrow “Woody” Wilson Guthrie (1912-1967). During his Oklahoma childhood, Guthrie’s older sister died in an accident, his family became bankrupt, and his mother was institutionalized. These tragedies—and later, the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl—gave him empathy with people who suffered, and heavily influenced his music. Guthrie, who died of Huntington’s Disease, wrote everything from children’s tunes to political protest songs. Read more about him here.

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All photos and videos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): gray skies on the prairie, Fermilab Interpretive Trail, Batavia, IL; prescribed burn, East Woods, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; video–the prairie greens up, Fermilab Interpretive Trail, Batavia, IL; snail shell and unknown green sprout on the prairie, Fermilab Prairie Interpretive Trail, Batavia, IL; video–water running through the prairie, Fermilab Prairie Interpretive Trail, Batavia, IL; wood betony (Pedicularis canadensis) leafing out, Fermilab Prairie Interpretive Trail, Batavia, IL; compass plant (Silphium laciniatum), Fermilab Prairie Interpretive Trail, Batavia, IL; Virginia bluebells (Mertensia virginica) leafing out, West Side Woodland, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Virginia bluebells (Mertensia virginica) in bloom, Schulenberg Prairie Savanna, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prairie dropseed (Sporobolus heterolepis), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; bench on Fermilab Prairie Interpretive Trail, Batavia, IL; switchgrass (Panicum virgatum) Fermilab Natural Areas, Batavia, IL; frog calls at Crowley Marsh, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Nachusa Grasslands at the end of March, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL.