“If the world seems cold to you, kindle fires to warm it.” —Lucy Larcom
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I’ve been looking up words in the thesaurus to describe the Chicago region’s prairie temperatures this week.
Here’s what I’ve found so far: Chilly. Freezing. Icy.
Frigid. Frosty.
Piercing. Numbing. Sharp.
Biting. Bitter.
Glacial. Wintry. Raw.
Stinging. Subzero.
Penetrating. Hypothermic. And did I say…. cold?
And….refreshing. These temperatures are a wake-up blast that jolts you clear down to your toes. Until you can’t feel your toes anymore.
What do you think? How would you describe the cold this week?
After I hiked the prairie this weekend in the snow, rising temperatures and a misty rain laid an icy glaze across the sidewalks and driveways; shellacked the front steps to our house. It looked as if Mother Nature got down on her hands and knees and buffed the snow to a high gloss.
Monday’s sunshine helped melt it a bit. Now everything is slick with ice. It’s treacherous out there.
I can see my backyard prairie patch from the kitchen window. What solace! The prairie dock leaves are brittle and brown; the compass plants curl like bass clefs. Wild bergamot satisfies my need for aesthetics as much in winter as it does in full bloom during the summer. Rattlesnake master’s spare silhouette is more striking now than it was in the warmer seasons.
Along the side of the house, prairie dropseed pleases in its mound-drape of leaves. What a pleasure this plant is. Every home owner should have it. So well-behaved.
But it’s the rough and tumble of joe pye, goldenrod, asters, swamp milkweed, cup plant, culver’s root, mountain mint and other prairie community members as a whole that I appreciate as much as parsing out a single species.
I’m reminded that underneath the snow is a world of color and motion and growth, just waiting to happen at the turn of the temperatures toward warmth. These bitter temperatures are a necessary pause in the life of the prairie.
Meanwhile, I’ll wait for the ice to melt…
… and remind myself that one of the reasons I planted prairie in my yard is for days just like this one. Is my backyard prairie good for the environment? Absolutely. Essential for pollinators? You bet. And…
…it’s a winter pleasure that warms my spirits, as I look through the window on a brutally-cold, iced-in day.
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Lucy Larcom (1824-1893) was a writer, abolitionist, and teacher. As one of nine children, whose father (a sea captain) died when she was eight, Larcom worked with her mother to run a boardinghouse to keep the family afloat in Lowell, Massachusetts. She worked in Lowell’s mills at eleven years old, where the “mill girls” established a literary circle and she became a friend of the poet John Greenleaf Whittier, who was a support and encouragement. At twenty, she moved with an older sister to the Illinois prairies, where she taught school. She later moved back East and wrote for such magazines as the Atlantic. Her poetry collections include Similitudes, from the Ocean and Prairie (1853). She is best known for her autobiography, A New England Girlhood, Outlined from Memory which the Poetry Foundation calls “a richly detailed account of gender, and class in mid-nineteenth century New England.”
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Join Cindy for a program in January!
“100 Years Around the Morton Arboretum” — Wednesday, January 26, 6:30pm-8:30 pm. Watch history come to life in this special centennial-themed lecture about The Morton Arboretum. Celebrating 100 years, The Morton Arboretum has a fascinating past. Two of the Arboretum’s most knowledgeable historians, author Cindy Crosby and the ever-amazing library collections manager Rita Hassert, will share stories of the Mortons, the Arboretum, and the trees that make this place such a treasure. Join us in person, or tune in via Zoom from the comfort of your home. (Please note changes in venue may be made, pending COVID. Check the day before to ensure you know the most current details of this event). Register here.
I’ll describe the past week as ice-clad, mind-numbing and ethereal! The cold didn’t keep me indoors as much as the ice but the ice WAS pretty – from indoors. As in your photos, I can see some of my garden plant tags from the back windows and I know that as surely as the snow and temperatures fall, spring will return. Stay warm, looking forward to the 100 Years program!
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I love your “ice-clad!” It has been, for sure. Mind-numbing — yes! And ethereal is such a great word. Looking forward to “seeing” on online for that program — take care, and stay warm! Cindy 🙂
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I wrote a blog about Lucy Larcom when I worked as an archivist at the Armstrong Browning Library at Baylor University. https://blogs.baylor.edu/armstrongbrowning/2013/10/15/giving-nineteenth-century-women-writers-a-voice-and-a-face-lucy-larcom-1824-1893/
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Oh — this is so lovely! I will check it out. I love it when someone can expand on something in the blog. Thank you for reading, and for sending me the link. Cindy 🙂
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The snow looks like it’s waxed, it reminds me of my mom and her electric buffing machine that she would use after waxing the kitchen floor….How far we’ve come! Thanks for the photos and inspiration during this cold cold week!
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Wow! I hadn’t thought about those electric waxing machines in ages; what a great memory! Take care, Cathy, and as always, I appreciate you reading and dropping me a note. Cindy 🙂
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I always love your blog, but this was particularly welcome with all the slippery ice and brutal wind. Molly, West-Central Illinois
On Tue, Jan 11, 2022 at 6:57 AM Tuesdays in the Tallgrass wrote:
> Cindy Crosby posted: ” “If the world seems cold to you, kindle fires to > warm it.” —Lucy Larcom ***** I’ve been looking up words in the thesaurus > to describe the Chicago region’s prairie temperatures this week. > Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL. ” >
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Hi Molly — Thank you for your note, and especially, thank you for reading! I do feel a sense of community through the blog with all who read, especially during these bitterly cold months. Stay warm! Cindy 🙂
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Thank you for another great take on the prairie. The prairie needs the rest and so do we. My word is “anticipation.” Anticipation about good things to come & the beauty of the awakening prairie is one of them. Happy Winter, Cindy.
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Hi Cathy — I love “anticipation” — yes! YES! Thank you for that word choice, and thank you, as always, for reading and for your encouraging words. Cindy 🙂
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“Bone chilling” works for me!
Thanks for the reminder that underneath the prairie snow and ice,
Spring will be arriving before we know it.
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Bone chilling is exactly it! Brrrr! And more of the same this week! Take care, and thank you for reading and for dropping me a note, Kathy. Stay warm! Cindy 🙂
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Most people would describe the winter landscape as depressing and dead. But “underneath the snow is a world of color and motion and growth” – we need to get the word out so they can see winter with new eyes. Thank you for this prairie tour!
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Hi Paula —You are so welcome! Thank you for reading, and for taking time to write me a line or two. Stay warm out there! Cindy 🙂
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