Tag Archives: grasses

A Prairie Valentine

How important it is to walk along, not in haste but slowly, looking at everything and calling out Yes!”– Mary Oliver

*****

Ask for their top 10 list of February destinations, and most of my friends would tell you “anywhere warm.” I agree. Toward the end of a Chicago region winter, I’m  ready to shed the shivery cold for a few days and escape to some far-flung beach down south.

Sanibelbeachumbrellas2014WM.jpg

But the beach in February is not my number one destination. I include walking trails through prairie remnants in winter a little higher on my list.

BelmontPrairiemaxsunflowers2919WM.jpg

Tonight, Jeff and I are walking the Belmont Prairie in Downer’s Grove, Illinois. It’s small, as prairies go, but as a remnant—part of the original Illinois tallgrass prairie which escaped development and the plow—it’s special.  Writer John Madson wrote in Where the Sky Began that his “feeling for tallgrass prairie is like that of a modern man who has fallen in love with the face in a faded tintype. Only the frame is still real; the rest is illusion and dream.” Remnants remind me of those “faded tintypes.” Ghosts.

Canada Wild Rye BelmontPrairie2919WM.jpg

Very little of our original prairies have survived; about 2,300 high quality acres are left in Illinois. Another reason to be grateful for Belmont Prairie’s 10-acre remnant.

belmontprairieduskfenceline2919WM.jpg

The grasses are weather-bleached and flattened now. You can imagine how references to the prairie as a sea came to be. Walking the trails here, amid the waves of winter tallgrass, can leave you unsteady on your feet, a little like wading through the surf and sand.belmontprairiegrasseswaves2919WM.jpg

A creek glistens. Puddles of snowmelt glow.  I’ve been re-reading Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings series this winter, and the creek puts me in mind of Galadriel’s silver elvish rope that helped Frodo and Sam continue their quest to darkest Mordor. Magical. A tiny sliver of creek is also iced in on the right—can you see it in the grasses? Barely visible, but the setting sun sets it alight.

BelmontPrairieCreek2919WM.jpg

As we hike, Canada geese begin to settle in, pulling their V-string necklaces across the twilight overhead.

GeeseBelmontPrairie2919WM.jpg

Geese have a bad rap here in the Chicago suburbs, but I admire their sense of direction, their seamless ability to work as an aerial team, their perfectly spaced flight pattern. Their confidence in knowing the way home.

Honk-honk! The soundtrack of dusk.

compassplantbelmontprairie2919WM.jpg

A crescent moon scythes its way across the burgeoning gloom.

crescentmoonbelmontprairiecorrectWM2919.jpg

Still enough light to see. The reflections of ice spark the last light.

belmontprairieicecapades2919WM.jpg

Poke around. In the mud and snow pockets, trapped in north-facing crevices, there are signs of spring to come. A few spears of green. Water running under the ice.

BelmontPrairiesnowmelt21019WM.jpgLook closely, and you may find a few tracks. Mammals are out and about in the cold. Birds.  In my backyard, close to the prairie patch, we’ve been feeding the birds extra food during the bitter temperatures, and they, in turn, have graced us with color, motion, and beauty.  As I scrubbed potatoes before having some friends over for dinner this weekend, my mundane task was made enjoyable by watching the interplay at the feeders outside my kitchen window. Scrubbing potatoes became meditation of sorts. Outside were squabbling sparrows.  The occasional red-bellied woodpecker. Juncos–one of my favorites–nun-like in their black and white feathered habits. The occasional burst of cardinal color.  Darting chickadees. Nuthatches, hanging upside down, zipping in for a peanut or two. Downy woodpeckers, like this one.

WoodpeckeronashfeederWMbarkbutter12719.jpg

The seeds on the ground attract  more than birds. There are gangs of squirrels, well-fed and prosperous. If I wake early, I might spot a large eastern cottontail scavenging seeds, or even a red fox, whose antics with her kits have delighted us in the neighborhood over the years (and kept the resident chipmunk herds in check). Once in a while, over the years, we’ll surprise her on our back porch.

REd Fox Backyard GE 2017.jpg

Another backyard visitor through the year is the opossum, who finds the seeds under the bird feeders a nice change of diet.

possum-WMbackyard.jpg

The opossum’s face looks a bit like a heart, doesn’t it? It reminded me that Valentine’s Day is Thursday. Time to find or make a card, and perhaps shop for a book or two for my best hiking partner. Speaking of him….

As Jeff and I head for the parking lot at Belmont Prairie, the great-horned owl calls from the treeline that hems the tallgrass. I hear the soft murmur. Who-Who- Hoooo.

Belmont Prairie Sunset 2919WM.jpg

Jeff and I once found a great horned owl here—perhaps this very one— in daylight, high in a tree on the edge of the grasses. I owl-prowl sometimes through the woods, hunting for bone and fur-filled scat pellets under trees. Find a pellet under a tree, look up, and you’ll occasionally get lucky and see an owl.

belmontprairietreelinesunset2919WM.jpg

I think about Mary Oliver’s poem, “Little Owl Who Lives in the Orchard,” which begins….”His beak could open a bottle… .” As someone who teaches  nature writing in the Chicago region, I love to read this poem to my students. The sounds of Oliver’s word choices  (“black, smocked crickets”), her contrasts of terror and sweet, and her descriptions  (“when I see his wings open, like two black ferns”) remind me of the joy of words, images, and our experiences outdoors.

goldenrodandmilkweedpappusBelmontP2919WM.jpg

Oliver’s poem about the owl ends; “The hooked head stares from its house of dark, feathery lace. It could be a valentine.”

The owl calls again. I think of the people and prairie I love. And, the joy that sharing a love of wild things with others can bring.

It’s a happiness not quite like any other. Try it yourself. And see.

*****

Mary Oliver (1936-2019), whose words from Owls and Other Fantasies opens this blogpost, was a Pulitzer Prize-winning American poet (1984, American Primitive) and winner of the National Book Award (1992, New and Selected Poems). Her admonition, “Pay attention. Be astonished! Tell about it.,” is some of the best advice I know. She died in January.

.***

All photographs copyright Cindy Crosby, from Belmont Prairie Nature Preserve, Downer’s Grove, IL, unless noted (top to bottom): beach umbrellas, Sanibel Island, Florida; sawtooth sunflowers (Helianthus grosseserratus); Canada rye (Elymus canadensis); parking lot at sunset;  grasses on the prairie;  creek through the prairie; Canada geese (Branta canadensis) heading home; compass plant (Silphium laciniatum) at sunset; crescent moon over the tallgrass; ice in the grasses; creek ice with new growth; downy woodpecker (Dryobates pubescens), author’s backyard, Glen Ellyn, IL; red fox (Vulpes vulpes), author’s backyard, Glen Ellyn, IL; Virginia opossum (Didelphis virginiana), author’s backyard, Glen Ellyn, IL; sunset over the prairie; Belmont Prairie treeline;  treeline at the edges of the prairie; Canada goldenrod (Solidago canadensis) with common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca) pappus.

Making Sense of November’s Prairie

“Don’t you know, some people say, the winter is the best time of them all…”–Neil Young

*****

I like a good challenge, don’t you? So this mid-November, I’m challenging myself to discover what’s lovable about my least favorite month of the year on the prairie.

Can there really be anything good about November? Every where I see signs of loss. Leaves dropping. Days shortening. Temperatures plunging. I’m not going to lie—I’ve been pretty grumpy about the whole change of seasons so far.

Morton Arboretum NovemberWM leaves (1).jpg

But what I found as I hiked reminded me of why this season has its own charms, its own distinctiveness. Need convincing? Read on….

Belmontprairienaturepreserve12917snowypath

The sounds of the November prairieare so different than the sounds of late summer and early autumn. Sound travels farther and more clearly in cold weather if conditions are right; check out this interesting article here. Next time you’re hiking through the prairie on a frosty morning, listen. See if you agree.

 

SPMAbench111218WM.jpg The wildlife noises are also different than the summer orchestra of insect songs and bee-buzz. Woodpeckers suddenly become the stars of the savanna show after hovering in the background most of the summer. They hang out on the edge of the prairie; their sharp calls pierce the cold air and their drumming adds a staccato beat to the gray days. Nuthatches chatter companionably to each other. Their calls remind me of clown bicycle horns (listen here).

whitebreastednuthatchSPMA111218WM.jpg

This week in the Chicago region, the sandhill cranes are scrawling their calligraphy across the skies, migrating south. Their appearance signals a seasonal transition.  What are they saying to each other? Arguing over directions, maybe? If you have never heard sandhill cranes bugle from high overhead, it’s an other-worldly sound that speaks of movement and change. Intrigued?  Listen to them here. 

p1050204

A touch-y, feel-y kind of season… November is a wonderful time to engage that tactile side of your personality. Consider a compass plant leaf. Rub your fingers across the rough surface.  Notice the texture. The leaf gracefully arcs, bowing to the inevitable, concentrating its energy in the plant’s deep roots for winter.

compassplant111218WMSPMA.jpg

Slide your fingers along the big bluestem “stem.” Feel that polished smoothness? It’s said that early settlers found these stems made a great substitute for lost knitting needles. No word on what gauge size.

bigbluestem111218WMSPMA.jpg

Mmmm… those smells!… Go on, inhale. Wakes you up, doesn’t it? These damp, gray days of mid-November have their own particular scent. Earthy. The sharpness of cold. A whisper of plant decay. A tang of the last wild bergamot, which smells of a cross between Earl Grey tea and thyme. When I sniff the gray-headed coneflower seeds, it brings lemons to mind; maybe even a bit of licorice. The hot buttered popcorn scent of prairie dropseed is long gone; the sweet floral smell of the common milkweed is memory.

But November has its own perfumery.

novemberprairieSPMA111218WM.jpg

Tasty!  Ah, the last leaves of mountain mint. You can still find a few green-ish ones, if you look. They aren’t as pliable as they were back in July, but they retain a little minty zing.  The crumbly rosin of compass plant is still pleasant in the mouth; a bit piney and not as problematically sticky.

compassplantWMSPMA111218.jpg

And of course, there is plenty to seefor those who look closely.  The first serious snowfall—you know, where there’s actual white stuff on the tallgrass and not just flakes in the air—can’t help but spark delight. Sure, you’ll hear people  moan, “I’m not ready for this,” but seeing the first real snow on the ground is comforting. Despite politics, shootings, wildfires, and global tragedies, the seasons keep rolling along.

IMG_5358.JPG

The often-gray skies of November are a foil for the metallic colors of the grasses, which are a backdrop for the silhouettes of spent seedheads

prairiecinquefoilWMSPMA111218.jpg

It’s a different way of seeing at this time of the year. More difficult to find the beauty. But it’s there.

butterflyweedCRosbybackyardWM11518 (1)

Don’t forget…as you use your five senses to explore the November prairie, there is “the sixth sense.” Making the connection of the heart to what we experience. November reminds us of our own mortality—of the cycle of great abundance and heartbreaking loss; growth and rest—that we experience during our short time on this planet.  November on the prairie is homely, humble, and quiet. It reminds us, as that great prairie writer Paul Gruchow wrote in Grass Roots: The Universe of Home,the work that matters doesn’t always show.”

bundleflowerSPMAWM111218.jpg

Like all months, November has its own experiences to offer. New things to teach me. A time for reflection.

p1010935

If I have the courage to look November squarely in its seasonal face, instead of avoiding it, maybe I’ll learn something.

So. Bring it on, November. I’m really to learn from you, and experience all you have to offer.

What about you?

******

The opening epigram is from Neil Young’s song “Little Wing,” from his much-maligned album, Hawks and Doves. Despite mockery from my friends, this is one of my favorite Young albums. It will grow on you. Promise.

***

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom) mixed November leaves, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; trail with light snow, Belmont Prairie Nature Preserve, Downer’s Grove Park District and The Nature Conservancy, Downer’s Grove, IL; bench overlooking Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; white-breasted nuthatch (Sitta carolinensis), Schulenberg prairie edge, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  sandhill cranes  (Antigone canadensis) over author’s backyard prairie patch, Glen Ellyn, IL; compass plant leaf (Silphium laciniatum), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; big bluestem (Andropogon gerardii), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; November grasses and forbs, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; compass plant (Silphium laciniatum) rosin, Schulenberg Prairie,  The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  little bluestem (Schizachyrium scoparium), Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie, United States Department of Agriculture/Forest Service and The Nature Conservancy Illinois, Wilmington, IL; prairie cinquefoil (Drymocallis arguta), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  butterflyweed (Asclepias tuberosa), author’s backyard, Glen Ellyn, IL;  bundleflower (Desmanthus illinoensis), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Willoway Brook, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL.

Fall Comes to the Prairie

“Delicious autumn! My very soul is wedded to it, and if I were a bird I would fly about the earth seeking the successive autumns.”–George Eliot

******

The Canada geese are quarreling. I watch them elbow each other out of the way in mid-flight; honking and diving. Maybe they are arguing the mysteries of matter, or particle physics? After all, they’re at Fermilab, a government facility for particle physics and an accelerator laboratory just down the road from my house. The facility grounds are a  mosaic of beautiful natural areas, including prairies and wetlands. fermilabWMwilsonhall10118.jpg

The bison grazing nearby on the grounds seem more placid than the geese, untroubled by neutrino experiments or accelerator science.

bisonFermi10118WM.jpg

You can almost imagine their thoughts. Hey geese! Keep it down. What’s all the fuss about? At any rate, I’m not here to bison watch, and I have little patience for quarrels today, geese or otherwise. My destination is a prairie trail.pathatfermiprairie10118WM.jpg

Approximately one thousand acres of Fermilab Natural Areas, surrounding the government world of equations and physics, promises endless adventures. And today, there’s not a soul on the prairie path. Although it’s obvious I’m not alone.

Overhead, green darner dragonflies hover high above the tallgrass. Are they migrating south? Or waiting out their lives here? Hard to tell. But this late in the season I suspect they’re on their way to warmer places. Lately, a black saddlebags dragonfly, also migratory, has hung around my backyard, slow and torpid in the colder weather. Imagine those wings taking it thousands of miles! Close up the wing veination reminds me of ferns.

WMblacksaddlebagsbackyard92718CROSBYP1240744.jpg

I continue hiking, stepping in coyote scat on the trail. Oops! Better watch where I’m going. An insect sings a single note, as if struck from a tuning fork. Everywhere, there are tiny crackling sounds. Mice eating seeds? Birds rustling in the grasses? Leaves drying in the  sun? Part of the prairie’s mystery.

The dogbane or Indian hemp, as it is sometimes called, is gone to seed in places. Its soft silks contrast with the crisp, browning leaves of neighboring prairie plants and their tinker-toy stems.dogbaneindianhemp10118WM.jpg

Wildflowers are mostly of the goldenrod and aster variety, with a few exceptions. Some mountain mint. A last pale prairie Indian plantain bloom or two.

The stiff gentians, those party girls of the fall, are out in full regalia. Looks like a weevil might be crashing the fun.

stiffgentian10118WM.jpg

So many gentians! They are abundant here, like amethysts scattered deep in the tallgrass. Nearby, goldenrod galls create their own sort of green “flowers” everywhere I look.  Sometimes called “bunch galls” or “rosette galls,” they are formed by insects. Check out more about goldenrod galls here.

goldenrodrosettegalls10118FermiWM.jpg

You could enjoyably spend several hours searching for the different goldenrod galls (ellipse, ball, rosette, small bunch…), and reading up on their buggy creators. See one bunch gall, and suddenly the others come into focus.

bunchgallsatFermiprairie10118WM.jpg

The rosin weed blooms are past, but their seedheads look like floral bouquets, don’t they? As pretty in seed as in flower.

rosinweedFermi10118WM.jpg

Everywhere there are riots of asters; including many species of white aster that I struggle to name. More easily ID’d is the ubiquitous New England aster, poised on the prairie like a satellite dish with fringe.

newenglandaster10118WM.jpg

It’s not all prettiness and pleasantry.  The tall coreopsis is in seed, towering over my head, and  I can’t resist pulling down a seedhead and digging into it with my fingernail even though I know I’ll be repelled. And I am. It oozes a smelly, oily substance—and I quickly let the stem spring back. Of all the seeds we collect each fall on the prairie, this is my least favorite. So pretty in bloom! So stinky in your hands.tallcoreposisWMFermi10118.jpg

Rot and decay, the calling cards of October, are juxtaposed with these last flushes of bloom and seed. A giant puffball lies shattered and corrupt, broken up by small mammals and now fodder for insect life.

giantpuffballfermi10118WM.jpg

And in proportion to the slow decline of plants, the insects seemingly flourish. You don’t notice them so much at first, except for the mosquitoes who won’t be ignored. But take a moment and look—really look—at the grasses and flowers, and all at once, you realize they are teeming with insect life. So much diversity!

partridgepeaFermiWM10118.jpg

Decay can be beautiful. The turn of the prairie dock leaf…

prairiedockleafFermi10118WM.jpg

The compass plant seedheads, dry and full of promise for new life.

compassplantseedsfermi10118WM.jpg

Wild quinine, its silvered seeds perhaps more lovely than the flowers themselves were.wildquinineWMFermi10118.jpg

In autumn, the balance of light to dark shifts, tipping ever-so-slowly toward darkness as the days go by. Change is in the air. Bloom to seed. Flourishing to decline. All this change is in evidence here this morning.

fermiWM10118.jpg

So much to see in one short morning hike here! Who knows what other adventures will unfold this October on the prairie?

*****

The opening quote about autumn is from Mary Ann Evans (1819-1880), a Victorian-era English novelist and poet who wrote under the pen name George Eliot. She chose a man’s name to escape being thought of as a romance writer. Among her books are Middlemarch, The Mill on the Floss, and Silas Marner.

*****

All photos taken at Fermilab Natural Areas Interpretive Trail, Fermilab Accelerator Laboratory, Batavia, IL, unless otherwise indicated: Wilson Hall and prairie grasses; bison (Bison bison); prairie trail; black saddlebags dragonfly (Tramea lacerata), author’s backyard pond and prairie, Glen Ellyn, IL; dogbane or Indian hemp (Apocynum cannabinum):  stiff gentians (Gentianella quinquefolia); Canada goldenrod (Solidago canadensis) with probable bunch gall midge (Rhopalomyia solidaginis); Canada goldenrod (Solidago canadensis) with probable bunch gall midge (Rhopalomyia solidaginis); rosin weed (Silphium integrifolium) seedhead; New England aster (Symphyotrichum novae-angliae); tall coreopsis (Coreopsis tripteris) seedheads; decayed puffball (possibly Calvatia gigantea); partridge pea (Chamaecrista fasciculata) and an unknown species of ant; prairie dock (Silphium terebinthinaceeum) leaf; compass plant (Silphium laciniatum) seeds; wild quinine (Parthenium integrifolium); sky and grass in October. 

Once in a Blue (Prairie) Moon

“In winter, the stars seem to have rekindled their fires, the moon achieves a fuller triumph, and the heavens wear a look of a more exalted simplicity.”–John Burroughs

*****

Lately, I’ve been waking up much earlier than I’d like. For no good reason. Usually, when this happens, I’m frustrated.

But last Wednesday, I was glad I woke early.

lunareclipse13118 copy.jpgThe first customers were lined up for their java fix at the coffee shop when I arrived around 7 a.m. “Did you see the lunar eclipse?” I asked the barista. “Wasn’t it beautiful?” He looked puzzled. “Eclipse?” He had no idea what I was talking about.

It’s difficult to untangle ourselves from the web of responsibilities we have in order to pay attention to the natural world.

P1120222.jpg

There’s a lot going on in the night sky that we miss because we’re asleep.; for that matter, there is plenty we don’t see in the bright light of day because we’re not intentional about it. Sometimes, we see interesting things because we show up at the same place again and again.

P1120635.jpg

Or we were lucky: we were at the right place, at the right time. Woke up early. Which is how I experienced the “Super Blue Blood Moon Eclipse.”

P1160037.jpg

The moon—such a mysterious part of the night sky! It pulls tides. Casts shadows.  The Ojibwe gave each full moon a specific name appropriate to the season. Wolf Moon. Snow Moon. Hunter’s Moon. Cold Moon.

Made of green cheese, right? Or hum along: Shine on Harvest Moon. Try to find the “man in the moon.” Or shiver as you hear, “Cold hearted orb, that rules the night, removes the colours from our sight… .”

NG-ThelmaCarpenter2016.jpg

So…what’s all the hype behind last week’s event? After the fact, I wanted to deconstruct “Super Blue Blood Moon Eclipse” to understand what I saw. I discovered super refers to the the moon’s proximity to earth. Its size on the horizon this past week was gasp-worthy. There’s a term for this phenomenon—perigee—which simply means it’s the point in time when the moon is the closest to the Earth in its orbit.

P1120632.jpg

Blue moons are just a name for full moons that occur twice in a calendar month.  This happens more than you might think. We’ll have two blue moons this year; the one last Wednesday, January 31, and another March 31. It’s common to have one blue moon in a year; two blue moons in a year occur about every 19 years. I found these facts and more on www.earthsky.org; there’s a list with all the forthcoming blue moons.

Back to “Super Blue Blood Moon Eclipse.”

P1160082.jpg

Blood refers to the coloration of the moon as the moon passes through the Earth’s shadow.  For a few hours last week, the moon appeared reddish orange, rather than pale blue or gold.  And eclipse refers to the darkening of a celestial object by another in the eyes of the viewer; in this case, the moon was darkened by the Earth’s shadow, cast by the sun.

One more quick bit: The term for three celestial objects that line up for an eclipse is syzygy.   Great word.

full moon over SP.jpg

For a blue moon and a lunar eclipse to occur together as they did is a rarity.  The website  www.space.com tells us that before last week’s eclipse, the last occurrence happened 150 years ago.

Belmont Prairie Gall Ball 118.jpg

Did you miss it? Catch another “blood moon eclipse” January 21, 2019.  Not a super blue one, but still. Check it out here.

P1150885.jpg

The prairie sky is always full of wonders, some dramatic like an eclipse, others less so. But of course, we have to make time to look.

P1140232.jpg

“…Beauty and grace are performed whether or not we will or sense them. The least we can do is try to be there,” writes Annie Dillard.

IMG_3656.jpg

Why not mark some of these eclipse dates on your calendar right now so you don’t miss them? Better yet, whatever time of day or night you are reading this, go outside and take a look at the sky. See what’s happening. Marvel.

Show up. Be there.

*****

The opening quote is from John Burroughs (1837-1921),  a “literary naturalist” who was born in New York state. He briefly taught school in Buffalo Grove, IL, and later worked in finance in New  York. Burroughs was a contemporary of Theodore Roosevelt, Thomas Edison, and John Muir. The  “John Burroughs Medal” is awarded to an outstanding book of natural history each year by an Association bearing his name. Take a look at some of the winners here.

The Moody Blues, whose poem/lyrics from “Morning Glory–Late Lament” appear in this post, will be inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in April, 2018. Annie Dillard’s quote about “being there” is from Pilgrim at Tinker CreekIt won the 1975 Pulitzer Prize for general nonfiction.

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby: (top to bottom): super blue blood moon eclipse, Forest Preserve District of DuPage County headquarters prairie, Naperville, IL; orb weaver spider (Neoscona spp.), Asheville, North Carolina; big bluestem (Andropogon gerardii) and  the moon, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; super blue blood moon eclipse, author’s backyard prairie patch, Glen Ellyn, IL; road to Thelma Carpenter Prairie, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; moon in daylight, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; super blue blood moon eclipse, Forest Preserve District of DuPage county headquarters prairie, Naperville, IL; full moon, author’s backyard prairie patch, Glen Ellyn, IL; ball gall, Belmont Prairie Nature Preserve, Downer’s Grove Park District, Illinois DNR, The Nature Conservancy, Downer’s Grove, IL; rattlesnake master (Eryngium yuccifolium) leaf, Belmont Prairie Nature Preserve, Downer’s Grove Park District, Illinois DNR, The Nature Conservancy, Downer’s Grove, IL; prairie skies, Schulenberg prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; grasses and clouds, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL. 

Note: If you want to keep up on eclipses and other fun sky happenings, I like these websites. Much of the eclipse information today came from them: Sky and Telescope (skyandtelescope.com), EarthSky (earthsky.org), and Space (space.com). Check them out!

October on the Prairie

“The sea, the woods, the mountains, all suffer in comparison with the prairie…The prairie has a stronger hold upon the senses.”– – Albert Pike

When you think of October, what comes to mind?

Pumpkins?

P1120475.jpg

Spectacular changing leaves?

sugarmaplespma1017.jpg

The prairie, which has lost most of its blooms, isn’t on most people’s radar.

Perhaps it should be.

IMG_1450

A few blossoms persist in the tallgrass, magnets for insects.

beewithpasturethisleandafriend1017spma.jpg

chicoryandpollinatorspma1017.jpg

The flowers gone to seed may be as beautiful as the blooms.

compassplantseed107masp.jpg

tallcoreopsisspma1017.jpg

Colorful grasses are easily overlooked, but no less worth our attention.

bigbluestemspma1017.jpg

bigbluestemwithdewspma1017.jpg

Plant structure has its own beauty.

beebalmspma1017.jpg

latefigwortspma1017.jpg

As do plant silhouettes.

Pasturethistlespma-1017.jpg

Although the prairie is outwardly in senescence, its sensory pleasures continue. The play of light on prairie dock.

prairiedockleafshadowsspma1017.jpg

The smell of damp earth. Decaying leaves. The unexpected flight of a buckeye butterfly as you hike a trail.

IMG_0241

Soft puffs of seed clusters, which foreshadow the snowflakes, only weeks away.

snakerootspma1017.jpg

paleindianplantainspma1017.jpg

Unlike the flashy reds and oranges of the autumn woodlands, the prairie is nuanced.

littlebluestemspma1017.jpg

spma1017wildrye.jpg

As the year wanes…

waxingmoonspma1017.jpg

…much of this prairie season will be forgotten, fleeting. A blur of colors, textures, fragrances, and sounds.

sumacunfocusedspma1017.jpg

So let’s walk the prairie trails.

pathspma1017.jpg

Experience what each day in October has to offer. Soak up every detail. And be grateful that we are here, present in this moment.

***

The opening quote is from Albert Pike’s Journeys in the Prairie ((1831-32). Pike (1809 –91) was a soldier, poet, newspaper journalist, and early explorer.

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby and are from the Schulenberg Prairie at The Morton Arboretum in Lisle, IL, unless noted otherwise: pumpkin patch, Jonamac Orchard, Malta, IL; maple in October (Acer spp.), Sterling Pond, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; sumac (Rhus glabra), grasses and forbes at Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; pasture thistle (Cirsium discolor) with unknown bee and insect; non-native chicory (Cichorium intybus) with unknown pollinator;  compass plant (Silphium laciniatum); tall coreopsis (Coreopsis tripteris); big bluestem (Andropogon gerardii); big bluestem (Andropogon gerardii); bee balm (Monarda fistulosa), late figwort (Scrophularia marilandica); pasture thistle (Cirsium discolor); prairie dock (Silphium terebinthinaceum); buckeye butterfly (Junonia coenia), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; white snakeroot (Ageratina altissima); pale Indian plantain (Arnoglossum atriplicifolium), little bluestem, Canada wild rye (Elymus canadensis); waning October moon; sumac out of focus (Rhus glabra); trail through the prairie in October. 

August’s Opening Day on the Prairie

“The first week of August hangs at the very top of the summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning.” Natalie Babbitt

***

You can feel summer pause for a moment, catch its breath.

July is over.

P1110193.jpg

August is here.

The fireflies wink their Morse Code at night. On. Off. On. Off. They’re abundant this summer. People talk about it, wonder out loud. Speculate: “I haven’t seen this many fireflies since I was a kid. Must have been the wet spring? Maybe all the rain?”

Clear Creek Nachusa Grasslands 7:17.jpg

The fireflies light up the yard, the old field by the railroad tracks, the parks after dark.  Listen! The soundtrack for the fireflies is the buzz saw and hum of the invisible cicadas, crickets, and other fiddling insects tuning up in the dark.

 

We sit on the back porch and watch the fireflies twinkle in the prairie patch. Remember catching them as kids? The mason jars with a bit of grass tucked in and holes punched in the lids. Fireflies. We’ll enjoy them while they last.

On the bigger prairies, the more delicate wildflowers back off a bit as the grasses push themselves skyward and elbow them out of the way.

P1110054.jpg

Some of the heavyweight bloomers are tough enough to compete with the grasses:  stocky cup plant, rough-and-tumble rosin weed,  bristly compass plant.

P1110148.jpg

The curiously smooth prairie dock stems throw periscopes of flowers across the prairie eight feet high.  Its fists of blooms uncurl at last. They vie with the compass plants for supremacy.

IMG_7329.jpg

If it wasn’t for its eye-popping purple color, you might miss the low-growing prairie poppy mallows.

purplepoppymallowkickapoonaturecenter72917.jpg

Also short but eye-catching is the bright white whorled milkweed. Doesn’t look much like milkweed at first glance, but check out the individual flowers. Yes! That’s milkweed, all right.

P1100003 (1).jpg

The bison move slower in the heat, graze a little, then look for a shady spot to cool off. The spring babies are getting bigger. They seem to put on weight as you watch.

P1090490.jpg

The prairie ponds shimmer under the August sun. July rains have filled them to overflowing. Dragonflies fly across the water in a frenzy. It’s now or never for laying eggs to make future generations happen. Everywhere, it seems, there are insect hook ups; winged romance on the fly.

The purple and white prairie clover has gone to seed and created perches for the eastern amberwing dragonflies.

P1110020.jpg

Blue dashers, too.

P1110052.jpg

The wings and bodies of the widow skimmer dragonflies take on a blue-ish powdery look that indicates age, called “pruinosity.” Old age, for a dragonfly, is a matter of weeks. If they are lucky, a few months. And with age and pruinosity, the widow skimmers become more beautiful.

P1100980.jpg

Flowering spurge has gone crazy this summer.

IMG_7367

It fills in the spaces between the grasses like baby’s breath in an FTD floral arrangement.

IMG_7364.jpg

The first breath of silky prairie dropseed grass in bloom scents the air with the smell of buttered popcorn.

IMG_7332.jpg

Blazing stars spike across the prairie. With their flowers comes a sense of inevitability.  Asters and goldenrods will be right on their heels, and with them, the close of the warm weather season.

P1000033.jpg

Everything on the prairie is poised for the downward plunge into autumn. But for now, summer in the tallgrass reigns supreme.

P1110135.jpg

August’s opening day on the prairie is here.

***

The opening quote is from “Tuck Everlasting,” a novel by Newbery Medal Award-winning children’s book writer and illustrator Natalie Babbitt (1932-2016). It’s worth reading the lines in context, reprinted here: “The first week of August hangs at the very top of the summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color.”

***

All photographs and audio clip copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): sunset on Russell Kirt Prairie, College of DuPage, Glen Ellyn, IL; flood debris on a tree by Clear Creek, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; crickets and other fiddling insects audio clip, author’s backyard prairie patch, Glen Ellyn, IL;  grasses, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL: compass plant (Silphium laciniatum), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prairie dock (Silphium terebinthinaceum), Schulenberg Prairie, author’s backyard prairie patch, Glen Ellyn, IL: purple poppy mallow (Callirhoe involucrata) , Kickapoo Nature Center, Oregon, IL: whorled milkweed (Asclepias verticillata), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; herd of bison (Bison bison),  Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL: eastern amberwing dragonfly (Perithemis tenera), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  blue dasher dragonfly (female) (Pachydiplax longipennis), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  widow skimmer (Libellula luctuosa), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL: flowering spurge (Euphorbia corollata), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; flowering spurge (Euphorbia corollata) in the tallgrass, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prairie dropseed (Sporobolus heterolepis), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; blazing star (Liatris spp.), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; tallgrass prairie, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL.

Travels with Prairie

“I could not know it for sure then, but somehow I felt it, understood that this country was in my bones already and would remain so.” –Gary Holthaus

****

Once the tallgrass prairie is part of you, it remains in your memory wherever you go.

As I travel through Sicily this week, all around me are natural wonders. The arid mountains…

P1100774.jpg

…the sky and sea.

 

P1100411

Yet, even as I appreciate and enjoy Italy, the Sicilian landscape reminds me of the tallgrass prairie back home.

The dragonflies of Sicily are all new to me, like this broad scarlet.

P1100370.jpg

I see it, and think of the American rubyspot. Is it is flying low over the prairie creeks and streams?

P1080936

The flowers of Sicily are blindingly colorful.
Hibiscus…

P1100353

Bougainvillea.

P1100389

 

Yet, I remember the prairie bunch flower that was blooming when I left on my travels. Almost colorless, but still compelling. Is it finished blooming? I wonder.

Bunch flower Schulenberg Prairie (Melanthium virginicum) 7817

The scarce swallowtail in Sicily…

Scarce Swallowtail Caronia Sicily 72017.jpg

…causes me to become nostalgic for the monarchs of Illinois.

P1090303.jpg

The grasses, so different in Italy…

P1100763.jpg

…yet evocative of the bottle brush grasses of the prairie savanna.

P1100040

At sunset in Sicily….

P1100244 (1).jpg

… I think of the tallgrass prairie. Wherever I go, no matter how beautiful….

P1100139

…the tallgrass prairie is my landscape of home.

***

Gary Holthaus is the author of Wide Skies (1997) from which this quote is taken. He lives in Minnesota.

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby. Because of limited internet in rural Sicily, locations and ID will be added at a later date.