August at Nachusa Grasslands

“I love to roam over the prairies. There, I feel free and happy.”—Chief Satanta

*****

It’s one of those picture-perfect days for a quick trip to Nachusa Grasslands. Sunny, cool; a few puffy cumulous floating in the sky. Bison graze around the corral area, or rest in the tallgrass.

Bison (Bison bison), archives.

I’m not looking for megafauna today, however. I’m looking for small stuff. My hope is to walk three of my dragonfly routes and see if anything is flying. Odonata season–the time of year I chase dragonflies—is winding down.

On one route, I see nary a damsel or dragon. There are plenty of wildflowers, like this Common Boneset.

Common Boneset (Eupatorium perfoliatum).

Boneset was once used medicinally to reduce fevers, both by Native Americans and early European settlers. It’s nectar and pollen attract bees, butterflies, and other pollinators, and it serves as a host plant for several moth caterpillars, including the Ruby Tiger Moth.

Nearby, Ironweed laces the prairie with purple.

Common Ironweed (Vernonia fasciculata).

The crunch of plants under my feet are a reminder of the drought we’ve experienced in parts of Illinois this summer. Even when I strike out on seeing dragons and damsels, and my data sheet is empty, the hike is never wasted. There is so much to see!

Showy Goldenrod (Solidago speciosa).

Every route, every trail leads to new discoveries.

Nachusa Grasslands in late August.

Still, I’m a bit discouraged by that blank data form. I head for the next route. The pond is almost empty…

Pond and stream with adjacent wetlands at Nachusa Grasslands.

…only a Common Green Darner and a pair of Twelve-Spotted dragonflies hanging around. A couple of Common Whitetails. A damselfly or two. And then—I spot it! This pretty little damselfly: the Citrine Forktail.

Citrine Forktail (Ischnura hastata).

Look at those colors! Like a dish of sherbet ice cream. Later, at home, I read up on this species in my “Dragonflies and Damselflies of Northeastern Ohio” (a good field guide for Illinois!) and learn that the Citrine Forktail may be “irruptive” and “appear at newly mitigated wetland sites.” Notice the orange stigma, in a unique place for damselflies. At only .9 inches long, these tiny damsels blend in well with the rushes and sedges in our prairie wetlands.

Citrine Forktail (Ischnura hastata).

I also read in Dennis Paulson’s “Dragonflies and Damselflies of the East” that there is a population of this damselfly in the Azores that consists only of females. They lay eggs which are all female! It is the only parthenogenetic Odonata population in the world. Cool! Supposedly, they can remain into November in the Midwest, if temperatures stay warm. I find two more as I hike. I hope they’ll hang out here for a while longer.

Big bluestem (Andropogon gerardii).

There are other treasures to be found today. Deep in the wetlands, as I search for damselflies, I find the tiny skullcap in bloom. There are three different species at Nachusa—I’m not sure which one this is.

Scullcap (Scutellaria spp.).

I admire it for a bit, then continue my route. The American Cornmint, crushed under my rubber boots, sends out a delightful tang. The air is refreshed with the fragrance of menthol.

American cornmint (Mentha canadensis).

As I hike, I almost stumble over a monkeyflower.

Monkey Flower (Mimulus ringens).

I crouch to take a closer look. The bees are working it over.

Unknown bee on Monkey Flower (Mimulus ringens).

Not far away are stands of Purple Love Grass. What a great name!

Common Water Plantain (Alisma subcordatum).

I scan around it for damselflies, but come up empty.

As the day gets hotter, and I continue walking my routes, my steps slow. The better to notice the hummingbird working the jewelweed.

Ruby-throated hummingbird (Archilochus colubris) on Spotted Touch-Me-Not or Jewelweed (Impatiens capensis).

Or the Springwater Dancer Damselflies in the mating wheel.

Springwater Dancer damselflies (Argia plana).

A Variegated Meadowhawk patrols a stream, moving at such a fast clip I can barely get the ID, much less a photo. These are one of Illinois’ migratory species, and also, as Kurt Mead notes in his field guide Dragonflies of the North Woods, one of the most difficult to net. I content myself with having a stare down with a male Springwater Dancer damselfly.

Springwater Dancer damselfly (Argia plana).

Along the shoreline, a cranefly sits motionless.

Cranefly (Family TIpulidae, species unknown).

Sometimes, people mistake them for dragonflies. You can see why! But look closely. Nope.

The last portion of my final route involves climbing to a high overlook. Look at that view!

View from Fame Flower Knob.

My legs ache, and I’m hot and sweaty despite the cooler temperatures. It’s been a good day. So much to see.

Fame Flower Knob.

After a week of depressing headlines, a few frustrating work issues, and crazy heat and humidity, today has been a respite. I came to Nachusa feeling empty. I’m leaving with a sense of peace.

Wildflowers and prairie grasses in August.

Thanks, Nachusa Grasslands.

*****

The opening quote is from Chief Satanta, Kiowa Tribe (1820-1878). Read more about him here.

*****

All photos in this week’s blog were taken at Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL.

*****

Join Cindy for a class or program!

September 9, 9:30-11 am– in person–“The Tallgrass Prairie: Illinois Original Garden” Oswego Hilltoppers Garden Club, Oswego Public Library. Please visit the club’s Facebook page for guest information, event updates pending Covid positivity in Illinois, and Covid protocol.

September 27, 7-8:30 p.m.–in person–“The Tallgrass Prairie: Illinois Original Garden” Arlington Heights Garden Club. Please visit the club’s website here for guest information, event updates pending Covid positivity in Illinois, and Covid protocol.

If you enjoy this blog, please check out Cindy’s collection of essays with Thomas Dean, Tallgrass Conversations: In Search of the Prairie Spirit. Order from your favorite indie bookseller, or direct from Ice Cube Press.

Tallgrass Conversations

Early May at Nachusa Grasslands

“There is nothing like looking, if you want to find something. You certainly usually find something, if you look, but it is not always quite the something you were after.”–J.R.R. Tolkien

******

Spring. At last! It’s come to the prairies and savannas in full flush.  Welcome back, prairie trillium.

Hello, Virginia bluebells!

A few days of warmth and sunlight followed by rain and cool nights keep the wildflowers fresh and vibrant. And as always, there is the promise of more to come.

*****

With the first days of May come good news. Our dragonfly data collection efforts at Nachusa Grasslands, restricted in April because of COVID-19,  could now—cautiously—begin. Saturday, Jeff and I drove to Franklin Grove, IL, so I could walk several of my regular routes and see what was flying.

The day started out fair and sunny but gradually turned overcast and windy as we traveled. Yet the thought of being back at Nachusa–taking on a task that felt “normal” for spring—was a lift to our spirits. It felt odd to travel an Interstate highway again. Strange to stop and put gas in the car—our Suburu has gotten about eight weeks to the gallon lately. It’s bizarre to see many businesses shuttered; to pass a shopping outlet mall turned COVID testing center, lined with cars. What was so familiar only months ago is now changed.

Arriving at Nachusa, I hop out of the car to maneuver the heavy metal bars of the bison gate open and drive into the bison unit,

Jeff and I scan the prairie ahead. The bison are noticeably absent. How such massive animals can disappear into the prairie is a mystery. I know that this spring, at least nine bison calves have been sighted. I look again. Nada. I remember previous summers and the joy I felt when the mamas and new babies appear.

We continue to look for bison—and dragonflies—as we travel the gravel two-track to one of my route locations. Normally, the first dragonfly monitoring hike of the season is in April, although not much is flying at that time. Common green darners (Anax junius) will have arrived from the south. Freshly-minted  dragonflies and damselflies should be emerging from the ponds and streams, ready to participate in the ancient dance of pairing up and creating new life.

Although we’ve driven this two-track many times, it looks different this spring. Nachusa is known for prescribed fire; this is the first time I’ve seen its approximately 3,500 acres untouched by flames at this time of year. If you didn’t know it was May—and ignored the temperature —it could easily be January. But look closer, and you see that underlying carpet of emerald.

Our first stop is a large pond I’ve monitored since 2013. But wait!

Where is it?

What? It’s gone! Oh no…I can’t bear looking.

It was in this pond that I saw my first Northern pintails, migrating through Illinois and stopping for a quick paddle and a bite to eat. It was here I had my one and only face-off with a mama bison; me, carelessly walking my route without paying attention to their movements. This pond is where the great egret would stop to rest on its hunting expeditions. So many memories. What could have caused such a change?

I remember the pond as it was in previous years.

I look again. Wow.

Later, I learn what’s happened. Beavers! They’ve spent the past months re-sculpting the prairie landscape to be more to their liking. Who would have thought? At Nachusa, I usually think about the thousand pound-plus bison and the changes they may make to the places I frequent. Amazing what a few 50-pound beavers can do in a matter of months. Such a big changes from a small animal. I think of Mary Oliver’s poem “Little Owl Who Lives in the Orchard”: “It’s not size, but surge that tells us when we’re in touch with something real…” Although the beavers’ work was slow and gradual; the end result brings about a surge of emotion. The beavers have upended my idea of a place I thought I knew. I feel unsettled.

Onward! Next monitoring route. Once a stream, then re-shaped by beavers several years ago as a pond, now a stream again. It’s fascinating to see the different types of dragonfly and damselfly species change over time with the habitat changes; some dragonflies prefer running water, others choose still water.  Jeff sets up his camp chair and pulls out a book while I pick my way alongside the stream, watching for any insect movement.

The skies fill with clouds as the wind picks up, although the temperature remains in the 70s. A great blue heron flies over.

After 30 minutes, it’s clear no Odonates are out and about; at least none I can find. Not surprising at this time of year. I log my times and mark the data sheet with a big fat zero. We pack up, and move to the next route.  Around a curve, over a bridge, and across the prairie on the gravel two-track.  Still no bison. But—stop the car!— I shout. Jeff quickly pulls over, and we get out and marvel over a carpet of wood betony—Pedicularis canadensis—more than I’ve seen in all my years as a prairie steward.

Wood betony is a hemiparasite which can draw nutrients from other plants, especially prairie grasses. For this reason, it is coveted by prairie stewards who want to open grass-dominate areas for prairie wildflowers. I love this wildflower for its crazy flowers and crinkly leaves.

The bumblebees are working the pinwheeled blooms, sampling one after another.

I read on Illinois Wildflowers website later that long-tongued bees are the primary pollinators, including queen bumblebees and mason bees.

We watch the bees for a while, then clamber back into the car and continue to the next site, a small pool I call the “Power Line Pond.”

Except…not so small anymore.

The beavers strike again!

This pond is flooded almost beyond recognition.

When bison came to Nachusa Grasslands, their hooves changed the shoreline of this watering hole, making it difficult to get close to the water in places. Last year, I re-rerouted my data collection hikes in an ever-widening arc to stay on solid footing. Today, I’m grateful for my knee-high rubber boots. Looks like I’ll be wading.

As I slosh through the water, I see them. Common green darners!

My first dragonfly data for the season. Delighted, I mark my tally sheet.  Jeff and I watch them zip across the expanded pond, occasionally stopping to oviposit, then flying to a new spot to start again. Another common green darner appears, flying solo. One of the best moments of dragonfly season is making the first hash mark on your data sheet. Today is that day. The season is off and running. At last.

There are several small ephemeral pools nearby, perhaps bison-made, that sometimes shelter damselflies of various species. Today, all I see are a few water-striders, admiring themselves in the mirror of the sky-reflected water.

One of my all-time favorite novels, Crow Lake, tells the story of three children unexpectedly orphaned in rural Canada. The oldest son, about to leave for college, chooses to invest in his siblings and stay home so they won’t be parceled out to various relatives. By doing so, he comes to terms with his losses, including a promising future derailed. Mary Lawson uses the life of a pond—-in particular, its surface tension—as a way to consider how sudden change may re-route our plans; cause us to reinvent ourselves. The outcomes aren’t always what we’d expected, or even hoped for. It’s how we choose to respond to sudden change that shapes us and our future, she shows through her story.

This trio of common green darners  turned out to be all we’d see for the day. A spatter of rain begins, and our hopes of more sightings disappear. We drive out of the bison unit, and head for home. But on the way, we pass Clear Creek, one of my routes I’ve not gotten to today. We swing in and park. The chances are slim to none to see any dragonflies or damselflies, but who can resist one more hike?

As we walk, we glimpse the quick touch-down of a mourning cloak butterfly. This spring, I’ve only seen the cabbage white butterflies and red admirals. Mourning cloak butterflies are unusual in that they often overwinter, then mate in the spring. This one refused to turn around and give us the full glory of its coloration.

But I had seen this species in bright sunlight the previous spring, and marveled.

It is exciting to see the first butterflies of the season. But I want dragonflies. I wade into Clear Creek and scrutinize the shoreline, slowly walking the edges. Later in the season, Clear Creek is populated by ebony jewelwing damselflies and springwater dancer damselflies and shadow darner dragonflies. But today, no damselfly or dragonfly is stirring under the steel gray skies.

I pull a few garlic mustard plants, then wade back to the trail. Jeff has already hiked to the top of  Fame Flower Knob, overlooking the creek.

I follow the trail to the top, scrutinizing the new growth as I hike. No dragonflies on the trail…but look!

Sand phlox. An unexpected delight. And over here…pussy toes.

Such unusual flowers. Like a cluster of shaggy Q-tips.

And over here….a small patch of birdfoot violet. So tiny!

I spend some time admiring them up close. Then, I join Jeff.

Together we’re silent, taking in the view. It’s familiar, yet changed by circumstances — the lack of prescribed fire, the work of prairie creatures such as bison and beavers, the temporary lack of stewardship activity over the past weeks during Illinois’ quarantine. Witnessing these changes to a place I care about is part of building a relationship with it.

What other changes will 2020 bring?

There’s no way to know. But I do know this. I’ll be back here, to watch them unfold.

******

J.R.R. Tolkien is best loved for his “Lord of the Rings” trilogy, and the delightful prequel,  The Hobbit. The lines that kick off this post are spoken by the dwarf Thorin to young dwarves in The Hobbit as they look for shelter in a rainstorm on their way to burgle treasure from the fearsome dragon Smaug. Instead of shelter, the dwarves find… well, if you haven’t read the book in a while, this is a great time to revisit it. Read more here.

******

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby and taken at Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL, unless otherwise noted (top to bottom): prairie trillium (Trillium recurvatum recurvatum), College of DuPage Natural Areas, Glen Ellyn, IL; Virginia bluebells (Mertensia virginica), College of DuPage Natural Areas, Glen Ellyn, IL; smooth Solomon’s seal (Polygonatum biflorum), College of DuPage Natural Areas, Glen Ellyn, IL; Fame Flower Knob;  Nachusa in early May; bison (Bison bison) with their little ones (taken in a previous year); pond in early May; Nachusa Grasslands in early May; dried out pond in May; great egret (Ardea alba); pond in 2017; former pond in 2020; stream; great blue heron (Ardea herodias); wood betony (Pedicularis canadensis)); wood betony ((Pedicularis canadensis) with unknown bumblebee (Bombus spp.);  wood betony (Pedicularis canadensis) with unknown bumblebee (Bombus spp.) ; wood betony (Pedicularis canadensis) with unknown bumblebee (Bombus spp.)’ Power Line Pond; Power Line Pond; common green darner dragonflies (Anax junius) at Busse Woods (taken in a previous season), Forest Preserve of Cook County, Schaumburg, IL; water strider (possibly Aquarius remigis); two-track gravel road to Clear Creek; mourning cloak butterfly (Nymphalis antiopa); mourning cloak butterfly (Nymphalis antiopa), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Clear Creek in early May; Fame Flower Knob in early May; sand phlox (Phlox bifida); field pussy toes (Antennaria neglecta); field pussy toes (Antennaria neglecta); birdfoot violets (Viola pedata); Fame Flower Knob in early May, red-winged blackbird (Agelaius phoeniceus). Thanks to the Kleimans for their help in understanding how beavers are changing Nachusa Grasslands.

*****

Several of Cindy’s classes have moved online! For updates on classes and events, please go to http://www.cindycrosby.com.

If you enjoyed the “Wild and Wonderful Illinois Wildflowers” webinar, please join me for the new “Enchanting Spring Prairie Wildflowers,” an online webinar this Friday, May 8 1-2:30 p.m. CST, through The Morton Arboretum. Spring on the prairie is a story of color, pollinator pizazz, and native  plants that shaped North American history through their value as  edibles, medicine, and even love charms! Enjoy colorful  photos of some of Illinois’ most beautiful blooms—and a few native  grasses, too!  Click here to register.  

The next “Tallgrass Prairie Ecology” class online on May 4 through The Morton Arboretum is SOLD OUT.   See more information and registration for our June class  here.

Want more prairie while you are sheltering in place? Follow Cindy on Facebook, Twitter (@phrelanzer) and Instagram (@phrelanzer). Or enjoy some virtual trips to the prairie through reading Tallgrass Conversations: In Search of the Prairie Spirit and The Tallgrass Prairie: An Introduction.

Coming in June! Chasing Dragonflies: A Natural, Cultural, and Personal History. Pre-order now from your favorite indie bookstore, or online at bookshop.org and other book venues.

November Prairie Perspectives

“A woods man looks at 20 miles of prairie and sees nothing but grass, but a prairie man looks at a square foot and sees a universe… .” –Bill Holm

******

November is here. Right on the heels of the end of October’s temper tantrums. Out like a lion. We woke up Halloween morning to discover snow had sledgehammered the garden, frosted the pond, and drained the last emeralds from the prairie patch. The world seemed to have gone from color to monochrome.

It was a new perspective. Tracks everywhere. So much activity in our little backyard prairie patch and pond! Birds quickly swarmed the feeders and I doled out seed like candy to trick or treaters.

Trees along the streets, stubbornly clutching their leaves, sighed and released their grip. Birds nests suddenly went from invisible to visible on my neighborhood walks and my prairie hikes.

The snow threw its wet blanket over the Chicago region, then melted under a temperature swing in the 50s over the weekend. On the Schulenberg Prairie and prairie savanna, Willoway Brook overflowed.

Pools of water stood on the trails. I was grateful for my rubber boots. Other than a flutter of sparrows low in the grasses and a hammering of woodpeckers in the prairie savanna, the tallgrass was quiet.

Sunday, Jeff and I drove to Nachusa Grasslands, 90 minutes away, for their annual Dragonfly Monitor’s end of the season celebration. As we traveled west, the wind brushed the clouds eastward and the sun appeared. We took a few moments to stop on the bridge over Franklin Creek, a diverse and lovely area just a hop, skip, and a jump from Nachusa.

On the west side of the bridge, the skies had mostly cleared.

Turn around. On the east side, the clouds shattered into a thousand pieces. One creek, one bridge, one moment, two different perspectives.

After the party, we hiked Fame Flower Knob, one of Nachusa’s prettiest hiking areas and also one of my dragonfly routes.

Of course, the dragonflies are long gone. But the prairie plants had made the turn to November after the cold snap, with their own new profiles, colors, and textures.

Blazing star is as pretty in seed as it was in flower.

Cup plant’s square stem is now in sharp relief. Its leaves have ruffled into dry decay.

Pale purple coneflower seedheads stand empty, mostly stripped of their future progeny by goldfinches and other seed-loving birds.

Bright fruits of Carolina horsenettle sprawl in the grasses. Toxic, but beautiful.

And look—common yarrow, still in bloom at the top of Fame Flower Knob!

Yes still blooming—despite the recent snow and frigid temperatures. Tough little wildflower. Clear Creek is just barely visible from our perch,  running full and fast. I love this perspective of Nachusa Grasslands. So often, I’m focused on the individual, whether it is a dragonfly, or a prairie plant, or even a bison. This high perspective gives me context for those individuals. It also reminds me of the farming community in which the prairie restoration is enveloped.

The ledge where we sit is covered with twin colonizers, lichens and moss. Bright color. Life on the rocks.

As we leave the knob, we see the bison grazing in the distance, close to their corral after the recent round up. It’s difficult to remember that bison were brought here about a half dozen years ago. They seem integral to this place now. In their short time here, they’ve changed the way we move through this landscape (always aware of where the herds are); how we see the prairies here, and—of course—they’ve changed the prairies themselves through their movements across the grasses.

It’s time to go. It’s always difficult to say goodbye to a place you appreciate; just as it is to transition from one season to another.

New adventures lie ahead. There’s plenty to anticipate. New members of the prairie community wait to see in all their variations, all through the colder weather.

Bring it on, November!

We’re ready.

******

Bill Holm (1943-2009) was the author of more than a dozen books of poems and essays, including Prairie Days, from which the opening quote was taken. A native of Menneota, MN, and a descendant of Icelandic immigrants, he died at 65.

****

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): backyard prairie patch and pond on a snowy morning, Glen Ellyn, IL; bird’s nest, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Willoway Brook, Schulenberg Prairie Savanna, Lisle, IL; bench on the Schulenberg Prairie in early November, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Franklin Creek State Natural Area, Franklin Grove, IL;  Franklin Creek State Natural Area, Franklin Grove, IL; Fame Flower Knob, Nachusa Grasslands (The Nature Conservancy), Franklin Grove, IL; Clear Creek Unit, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; blazing star (Liastris spp.),  Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; cup plant (Silphium perfoliatum), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; pale purple coneflower (Echinacea pallida), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; possibly Carolina horsenettle (Solanum carolinense), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; common yarrow (Achillea millefolium), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; view from Fame Flower Knob, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; mosses and lichens, Fame Flower Knob, Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; Jeff hikes Nachusa Grasslands in November, Franklin Grove, IL; big bluestem (Andropogon gerardii), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; St. Stephen’s Prairie in early November, Carol Stream, IL.

*****

Share Prairie Through Books!

Shopping for the holidays? Please think about books as gifts! Share prairie with the people in your life through words and images by ordering these through your favorite bookseller:

Tallgrass Conversations: In Search of the Prairie Spirit (with co-author Thomas Dean, full color photography throughout). Discover the prairie in a new way through “conversations” about its relevance to themes such as home, loss, restoration, and joy. Read more here.

The Tallgrass Prairie: An Introduction.  Perfect for the prairie lover in your family, your favorite prairie steward or volunteer, or your family members that wonder why in the world you care about the tallgrass! Read more here.

******

Join me for these upcoming events:

Tallgrass Prairie Ecology online wraps up this month! Watch for the next course in March. Registration opens on November 19 here.

Nature Writing continues at The Morton Arboretum, on-line and in-person through November 20. Next session begins March 3, 2020. Watch for registration soon!

Saturday, December 7, 1:30-3 p.m.—Sterling Stories from the Arboretum Stacks: Grab a friend and spend a lively hour together sipping hot beverages while you enjoy little-known stories about the Morton Arboretum. What’s that old fountain doing in the library? Why was there a white pine planted in the May Watts Reading Garden? Who is REALLY buried in the Morton Cemetery—or not? What book in the Sterling Morton Library stacks has a direct relationship to a beheading? Why does the library have glass shelves? How has salt been a blessing —and a curse—to the Arboretum over its almost 100 years? Listen as 33-year Arboretum veteran library collections manager Rita Hassert and  Cindy Crosby spin entertaining tales of a place you thought you knew….until now.   Register here. A lovely afternoon enjoying little known Arboretum’s stories, and a quiet respite from the holiday hustle and bustle.

Sunday, December 8, 2-3:30 p.m.: Tallgrass Conversations at Prairieview Education Center, 2112 Behan Road, Crystal Lake, IL 815-479-5779 Book signing after the talk! Free and open to the public.

See more at www.cindycrosby.com

Purple Prairie Haze

“No matter how chaotic it is, wildflowers will still spring up in the middle of nowhere.” — Sheryl Crow

********

There’s a plethora of prairie purple right now. (Say it three times, very fast.) The pinky purple of wild geraniums color the prairie edges.

Here and there–but much more rare–the bird’s foot violet.

And its close kin, prairie violet.

Go plum crazy over fragile blue toadflax.

Do some whoopin’ over purple prairie lupine…

Seek out the violet wood sorrel, dabbed here and there across the prairie.

Look up! May skies are often the purple-blue of a storm.

After the rain, amethyst-colored long-leaved bluets are splattered with grit.

The rain encourages wild hyacinth’s lavender blues to open. Inhale their fragrance. Wow!

Sunset prairie purples close many May days on the prairie. Not fiery. Not spectacular. But in true purple form…peaceful.

No matter how chaotic the world seems at any given time, an hour on the May prairie–with its purple moments–puts things into perspective again.

An hour that is always well-spent.

***

Sheryl Crow (1962-), whose quote opens this blogpost, is an American recording artist perhaps best known for her hits, “Every Day is  a Winding Road,” and “All I Wanna Do.”  She has won nine Grammy Awards, and been nominated for a Grammy 32 times. Her album, Wildflower, has sold almost a million copies.

***

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): wild geraniums (Geranium maculatum) East Woods area, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; bird’s foot violet (Viola pedata), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; prairie violet (Viola pedatifida), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; blue toadflax (Nuttallanthus canadensis), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; lupine (Lupinus perennis), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; violet wood sorrel (Oxalis violacea), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; storm over Fame Flower Knob, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; long-leaved bluets after the storm (Houstonia longifolia var.longifolia), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; wild hyacinths (Camassia scilloides), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; sunset over Willoway Brook, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL.

Special thanks to Bernie Buchholz for his restoration work, and for introducing me to several new wildflowers at Nachusa Grasslands.

Fire and Rain

“I’ve seen fire, and I’ve seen rain… .” –James Taylor

Those relentless March rains! Now it’s April—pushing the envelope for fire.

The prairie waits.

Wildflowers and grasses, urged to life by spring showers, push up through the damp earth. Oblivious to the fire still to come.

The prescribed burn crew gathers. Light the match! The drip torch ignites.  A crackle and pop… the dry grasses catch.

Smoke rises; smudges the sun.

Trees are cast into sharp relief;  wraith-like shadows haunt the grasses.

Flames devour the prairie; lick the savanna. Whispering. Growing closer.

Listen. Can you hear the fire advancing? A sound like rain.

 

Last year’s prairie vanishes in moments. Becomes only memories.

More rain falls. The prairie fizzes over, all chocolates and emeralds.

Life-giving fire. Life-giving rain.

The beginnings of something new emerge.

Hope. Anticipation. Wonder. So much is on the way. Right around the corner.

***

James Taylor (1948-) is a five-time Grammy Award winner who was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 2000. His albums have sold more than 100 million copies. Although it only went to #3 on pop charts (1970), his single, “Fire and Rain,” is considered Taylor’s breakthrough song.

All photos and video copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; spring beauties (Claytonia virginica) Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; Schulenberg Prairie and Willoway Brook, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Schulenberg Prairie Visitor Station area, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Schulenberg Prairie Visitor Station, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Schulenberg Prairie and Savanna, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; video of Schulenberg Prairie and Savanna, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Russell Kirt Prairie in my side view mirror, College of DuPage Natural Areas, Glen Ellyn, IL; Fame Flower Knob, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; sunset over Russell Kirt Prairie, College of DuPage Natural Areas, Glen Ellyn, IL;  red admiral butterfly (Vanessa atalanta) on marsh marigolds (Caltha palustris), author’s backyard prairie pond, Glen Ellyn, IL.

A Prairie Kaleidoscope

“Life would be dull if we had to look up at cloudless monotony day after day.” –-Gavin Pretor-Pinney
****

If April showers bring May flowers, my little corner of Illinois is going to be a blaze of blooms next month. So much rain! The skies have been gray more than blue.

The western chorus frogs at Nachusa Grasslands are one of my favorite soundtracks to gray, drizzly days like these. Can you see the bison in the distance in the video  above? They don’t mind the rain much. And look! Scattered among the bison dung are…

…pasque flowers! Wildflowers are beginning to pop up on the prairie, creating pastel spots of color.

When you think of a prairie, you may imagine colorful flowers like these, tallgrass, and perhaps a herd of bison grazing.

Bison and wildflowers are two prairie showstoppers. But what you may not think about is this. Look at the photo above again. One of the joys of a prairie is the seemingly unlimited view overhead. The prairie sky! It’s a kaleidoscope; a constant amazement of color, motion, sound, and of course—clouds.

Sometimes the sky seems dabbed with cotton batting.

Contrails made by jets are teased out into thumbprinted fuzzy ribbons.

Other afternoons, the sky is scoured clean of clouds and contrails and burnished to an achingly bright blue.

You can’t help but think of the color of old pots and pans when the clouds boil over in a summer storm.

Look up! The prairie sky is full of wonders. Scrawls of sandhill cranes by day…

… the moon by turns a silver scimitar or golden globe at night.

You may catch amazing light shows like sun haloes…

Or sun dogs…

The changeable prairie sky offers something new to view each moment.

Will you be there to see what happens next?

****

Gavin Pretor-Pinney, whose quote opens this blog post, is the  author of The Cloudspotter’s Guide and The Cloud Collector’s Handbook. He writes with wry British humor and a love for all things cloud-like.  In 2004, Pretor-Pinney founded “The Cloud Appreciation Society” (https://cloudappreciationsociety.org/) to “fight the banality of blue sky thinking.”

All photos and video copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): western chorus frogs singing (Pseudacris triseriata) with bison (Bison bison) in the distance, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; pasque flowers (Pulsatilla patens) and bison (Bison bison) dung, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; pasque flowers (Pulsatilla patens), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; cloudy with a chance of bison (Bison bison), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Fame Flower Knob, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; Fermilab prairie, Batavia, IL; summer storm, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; sandhill cranes (Antigone canadensis) over author’s backyard prairie; full moon over author’s backyard prairie; sun halo and sandhill cranes (Antigone canadensis) over author’s backyard prairie, Glen Ellyn, IL;  sundog over Lake Michigan, Benton Harbor, MI; Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL.  

Three Minutes of Hope on the Prairie

“Truly we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood.”–Mary Oliver

***

Forget politics for a moment. Take three minutes to walk with me. Focus on the wonders of the tallgrass prairie in November.

I need a hike where it’s quiet today — don’t you?

November’s Indian summer sighs, then turns and marches toward the cold. Little bluestem throws its confetti of seeds across the tallgrass  in an extravagant last hurrah; a marvel of color and light.

Look at the sky, a kaleidoscope of clouds forming and reforming in different patterns.

It’s an ever-changing painting, so easily taken for granted. Put there…for what? For our joy? For our amazement? The least we can do is take time to look.

Lose yourself in the architecture, colors, and texture of a prairie dock leaf. It is one unique leaf in an infinite number of leaves in the tallgrass, in an infinite number of prairies. Each is its own work of art. Does your mind boggle at the artistry so lavishly displayed?

Old tree stumps have stories to tell, weathered by the rains and sunshine of thousands of  days. But you have to stop for a moment. Take time to read. And to listen. What story will they tell you?

In November, the prairie does a strip tease, shedding seeds and leaves. What’s left are the essentials for the perennials to survive the winter, much of their life invisible underground. The seeds promise hope for the future.

Even the fuzzy caterpillars that slouch and slinky their way through the tallgrass remind us of future transformation. Moth, you wonder? Or butterfly?

In November, plant structures are more evident, bleached of their summer and early fall colors.

Trees silhouette themselves against the sky. You admire them, shorn of the distraction of colorful leaves.

It may feel lonely in the tallgrass in November. You’re aware of your smallness in the grand scheme of the universe.

The shaggy bison look tough and well-suited to the coming chill. We, however, sometimes feel fragile wondering what the world may have in readiness for us.

Listen. There is the sound of water. The prairie creek rushes headlong on its way to some far-flung sea. Everything is connected. We’re not alone.

Under the surface of the cold water, the drab, beetle-like dragonfly nymphs wait for warmer weather. They listen for the signal to stretch out their wings; don their dazzling array of bold hues. The signal for change is months away, so they concentrate on growing. Soon enough all will be warmth and light.

When we shake our heads over the state of the world, remember. These prairie skies, this grass, the wildflowers, the seeds, those large shaggy creatures and small flying winged ones–and furry ones, too–are also the world.

And what  a beautiful and hopeful place the world can be.

****

The opening quote is from Mary Oliver’s “Mysteries, Yes.” The next lines of the poem read as follows: “Truly, we live with mysteries too marvelous to be understood/How grass can be nourishing in the mouths of the lambs/How rivers and stone are forever in allegiance with gravity/ while we ourselves dream of rising.” Mary Oliver (1935-)  is winner of the Pulitzer Prize for Poetry and writes extensively about the importance of paying attention to the world around us. The complete poem is included in her book: Evidence: Poems.

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): Little bluestem (Schizachyrium scoparium), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; Schulenberg Prairie in November, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prairie dock (Silphium terebinthinaceum), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; old tree stump, Fame Flower knob, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca) seed pod, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; great leopard moth (Hypercompe scribonia) caterpillar, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; silky aster (Symphyotrichum sericeum) in November, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL;  trees in November, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; Fame Flower Knob, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; bison (Bison bison), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL;  Clear Creek, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; white faced meadowhawk (Sympetrum obtrusum), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL.

Reflection, Rather than Reaction

“Alert to the slow rhythms of nature, we can appraise more soberly the hectic rhythms of the headlines.” — Scott Russell Sanders

On this first day of November, we find ourselves in a mess. Perhaps it comes from paying  too much attention to angry voices in the media pre-election, polarized around money, sex, and power. It’s easy to be reactive to the headlines, and then let our anger spill out onto people, through our words and actions. To respond with venom to the those who disagree with us, instead of love.

The rhythm of the seasons helps dispel this tendency toward reacting without really listening. Walk, quiet your mind, turn off your phone. Let the wind blow away your frustration. Breathe. Issues will come and go. Politicians will explode into the spotlight for a brief time, then fade away. Yes, issues are important. But so are other things in the world.

Look around. See the colors of the prairie at the beginning of November! Scarlet and gold leaves are everywhere to delight us, although they are fading fast. It’s so easy to forget the miracles all around us and focus on the tense voices loudly clamoring for our attention.

There are more subtle washes of color in the grasses now, with few wildflowers to punctuate it with bright color.  The tallgrass community is entering a season of rest.

Quiet.

“All people are like grass, and all their glory is like the flowers of the field; the grass withers and the flowers fall…”

Sit for a while on the rocky outcrops of St. Peter’s sandstone, overlooking the prairie. Do  you feel the ageless stability of rock in the face of change?

It’s easy to lose sight of what is real, and what is hype; what is true and what is fabrication; what is worth believing, and what is deception. There are no easy answers, nor have there ever been. But there is reflection.

Then, action. However, action without reflection often feeds hate, distrust, and ultimately, regret. Any time we feel certain that we are right, we need to stop. Think. Make time for reflection. Listen. And stay open.

It’s easy to get caught up in what everyone “like us” is thinking or doing, to follow the dictations of a group we identify with…even to the point we feel mud-slinging is somehow justified.

We are not somehow more “in the know” than others, in daily life or in politics. We are imperfect humans in community with our families, our towns, our states, our nation, our world.  We work toward the common good with others we don’t always agree with –indeed, others we plain just can’t stand!–but can learn from, no matter how much they are different from us. There is room at the table for everyone.

We strike poses on social media to show we are the right thinkers; we aren’t like the “other side.” What has happened to civil discourse? To a willingness to agree to disagree? Polarization brings with it the fear of others, or a need to distance ourselves in public from other points of view, rather than acknowledgment of what we have in common and what we share. When we stop listening and reflecting, we close ourselves off to any hope of understanding.

A walk in the tallgrass is a way to give ourself space. Alone, we reflect on our place in the greater community. We listen, yes–and then, begin to sort out what we believe. What is wisdom? What do we want to discard? It’s a time to think about the legacy we want to leave for future generations. A legacy of fear and suspicion of each other? Or a legacy of love? How will I act?

“Do not wait for leaders,” said Mother Teresa. “Do it alone, person to person.”

What time will you make this week to reflect on the world and your place in your community–wherever you find yourself?  What small things will you do that make a difference, even to one person? How will you treat those you disagree with who are part of your community, no matter how much you dislike their personal choices? Will you speak with love? Or will  your voice be strident and secure in the knowledge that “I know what is best?” What can we learn from each other in our differences? How are we alike?

Let the slow rhythms of nature quiet your mind, open your heart, and allow you to pay compassionate, non-judgemental attention to what is happening in the world.

Reflect. Then act –and choose your words with love.

*****

The opening quote is from Scott Russell Sanders (1945-) in Writing from the Center. Sanders is the winner of the John Burroughs Natural History Essay Award. He lives in Bloomington, IN, and writes compellingly about the importance of community.

The quote from Mother Teresa of Calcutta (1910-1997), an Albanian-Indian Catholic nun, is paraphrased, and sometimes said to be a mis-attribution. It’s powerful, no matter what the source. The quote “All people are like grass” is taken from  1 Peter 1:24.

All photographs copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): Full moon over author’s backyard prairie spot, Glen Ellyn, IL; common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca) in seed, Franklin Creek Grist Mill prairie, Franklin Grove, IL; sumac (Rhus spp.) , Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; Fame Flower Knob, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; Willoway Brook, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; figwort (Scrophularia marilandica), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; clouded sulphurs (Colias philodice) and orange sulphurs (Colias eurytheme) puddling in the mud, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; Tuesdays in the Tallgrass prairie work group, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  seeds drying in the barn, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; hand in hand at Silver Lake, Blackwell Forest Preserve, Forest Preserve District of DuPage County, Warrenville, IL;  finding perspective in the tallgrass, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL.

What Coyotes Teach Me

“Whenever the pressure of our complex city life thins my blood and numbs my brain, I seek relief in the trail; and when I hear the coyote wailing to the yellow dawn, my cares fall from me – I am happy.” –Hamlin Garland

****

What is it about worry ? Lately, I sense a low-level anxiety from people wherever I go, whomever I talk with. You too? And no wonder, you might say, given the state of so many things in the world.

So. Come, sit with me on the tallgrass prairie in the early morning while the dew beads the grasses. Chances are, before too much time has passed, we will see a coyote.

What? See a coyote? Is that supposed to be calming?

Well. I understand your concern. Few animals have been freighted with the emotional and symbolic baggage as the coyote. For some Native Americans, the coyote is trickster. Pioneers called coyotes “brush wolves,” with all the terrifying connotations implied at the time. (Wolves have their own public relations problems, but that’s for another essay.) For Chicago suburban homeowners, the coyote is often hated and feared.

Taker of pet dogs and cats. Garbage stealer. Stealth operator.

Coyotes are also portrayed as cartoonish. Watch the old Road Runner episodes, and Wile E. Coyote is continually outwitted (Beep! Beep!), or falls off a cliff, or is blown up with dynamite. Even my local wildlife center dresses up their taxidermied coyote.  Coyote becomes something comical.

But there’s nothing funny in the animal kingdom about the coyote. If you are a deer mouse or squirrel, the coyote is a ferocious predator. Mighty hunter. Their fear is well placed.

But I went to a lecture on coyotes recently, and listened to an outpouring of worry by people who attended.  What if…?  What should I do when the coyote..? Could this happen? Could that? No coyotes have attacked humans in Illinois in 30 years. We spend a lot of time worrying about what could be. What might happen. What we would do if. Our anxiety  over things we can’t control roams in every direction. Coyotes are only one example of this.

Think of what we could do with the time we spend worrying! Imagine, if instead, we payed attention and fully lived in each moment. What beautiful patterns we might weave in the world!

Seneca, a Roman statesman (5 BC-65 AD)  wrote: “There are more things to alarm us than to harm us; we suffer more in apprehension than in reality.”

So true of my own fears. I am not afraid of coyotes–but I often fear the future. Usually, my fears are of something that never materializes.  My worries often close me off to the richness–and yes, sometimes fearsomeness and wildness–of the world all around me, in all its diversity and wonder. When I look back at how I spent my days, will worrying about the unknown  be how I remember them?

It would be a lonely world without coyotes.

On the prairie, the coyote is often ghost. Present, but unseen. But if you sit and wait and listen, you feel a coyote is there, even when it is invisible. For me, this is comforting. That the wild exists, whether I witness it or not.

Coyotes are part of our collective imagination. They remind us that the world is not ours to control.

When I do see a coyote, it will usually meet my eyes for a moment. Then, it slips away; unconcerned. The coyote’s world does not include me. It is indifferent to my presence. But my world–and the prairie world I visit–is always made richer by the knowledge of the presence of coyotes.

I’m going to think more about coyotes the next few weeks, and what I saw at that lecture. Sure, I tsked tsked at the worry the listeners expressed about coyotes –but. What do I worry about that is unneeded? What energy do I expend on concern for events beyond my control? I will let go of my own worry about the future, and appreciate the amazing world around me each moment. I will try to weave something beautiful out of each day. Be at peace with the things I can’t control.

I hope you will find peace as well.

*****

Hannibal Hamlin Garland (1860–1940), whose quote about coyotes opens this essay,  was a Wisconsin-born Pulitzer Prize winning writer. He married sculptor Lorado Taft’s sister, Zulime, and lived in Illinois for a time as well as many other places. Among his writings were Prairie Songs, Boy Life on the Prairie,  and Prairie Folks, as well as numerous works of fiction, short stories, non-fiction, and poems about Midwestern farm life.

Want to know more about coyotes?  http://web.extension.illinois.edu/wildlife/directory_show.cfm?species=coyote

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): Hunter’s supermoon over author’s backyard prairie patch, Glen Ellyn, IL; dew drops, Clear Creek at Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; coyote (Canis latrans) tracks in the snow, Schulenberg Prairie at The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; holiday coyote (Canis latrans), Willowbrook Wildlife Center, Forest Preserve District of DuPage County, Glen Ellyn, IL; coyote (Canis latrans) hunting, Hidden Lake Forest Preserve, Downer’s Grove, IL; compass points, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; spider web, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; the top of Fame Flower Knob, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; leaf on the water, Hidden Lake Forest Preserve, Forest Preserve District of DuPage County, Downer’s Grove, IL; mist over the Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; two coyotes (Canis latrans) on the trail, Hidden Lake Forest Preserve, Forest Preserve District of DuPage County, Downer’s Grove, IL; coyote in the tallgrass, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL.