Where the Prairies Begin

“I like to think of landscape not as a fixed placed but as a path that is unwinding before my eyes, under my feet.” –Gretel Ehrlich

****

Spring comes to the tallgrass prairie with rains that soak and flood the newly-burned earth, urging wildflowers to bloom. Illinois’ state flower, the blue violet, is one of the first to color the prairies and woodlands.

Pussytoes on the prairie are not far behind.

On the wet prairies, marsh marigolds butter the streams and ponds.

Water is the key to this lush profusion of prairie color. Illinois receives almost 40 inches of rain in a good year, nourishing the wildflowers and giving the grasses and wetlands a boost.

But the story of prairies and rain begins almost a thousand miles west of Illinois, high in the Rocky Mountains. April here is full of precipitation of a different sort.

 

Mule deer forage in the snow-glazed grasses for something green and nourishing.

Birds scan their surroundings for insects and seeds.

As the storms move over the Rockies, snow and rain water the western slopes.

As storms move west to east over the mountain range, the eastern or leeward side is in the “rain shadow.” Simply put, a “rain shadow” means less precipitation falls here. The prairie grasses on this side of the mountains adapted to drier conditions.

As the weather systems move further east…

…more precipitation falls across the Great Plains, eventually with help from the moist Gulf of Mexico air.

Mixed grass prairies grow where there is increased rain, taller and more robust than the shortgrass prairies in the rain shadow. As rains become more abundant, they help nurture the rich tallgrass prairies of the Midwest.

These tallgrass prairies seem a long way from the Rocky Mountains of Colorado.

So different. So separate.

Yet, they’re connected. Mountains and tallgrass. For it is here, in the snow-capped Rockies,  that we begin to understand what shapes our prairies.

***

The opening quote is from “Landscape,” introduction to Legacy of Light by Gretel Ehrlich (1946-). Her book, “Solace of Open Spaces,” movingly chronicles her life on the rural Wyoming prairie.

All photos and video clips copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom) blue violet (Viola sororia) plantain-leaved pussytoes (Antennaria plantaginifolia), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; marsh marigolds (Caltha palustris), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; marsh marigolds (Caltha palustris), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; April snowstorm video clip, Divide, CO; mule deer (Odocoileus hemionus) in spring snowstorm, Divide, Colorado; mountain bluebird (Sialia currucoides) Divide, Colorado; storm coming in over Divide, Colorado; rescue grass (Bromus catharticus), Divide, Colorado; spring snowstorm in Divide, Colorado; spring snowstorm in Divide, Colorado; blazing star (Liatris aspera) Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; Wyoming ground squirrel (Urocitellus elegans), Divide, Colorado; Pike’s Peak, Divide, Colorado. 

In Praise of Grass

“I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.” — Walt Whitman

Grasslands and prairies are some of the most imperiled natural systems in the world, says The Nature Conservancy. With this idea tucked into the back of my mind, I left the Midwestern tallgrass prairie this week for my first taste of New Mexico’s grasslands.

At first glance, the Southwest grasslands seem completely unrelated to the Midwest prairies I know so intimately.  Yin and yang. The plants, birds, and even the animals kept me reaching for my field guides to try and ID them.

Different birds. Different mammals. And what are these thousands of electrified false eyelashes?

Ahhh. Blue grama grass. Got it.

This grass? Native? or invasive?

Love this golden grass– but what is it?

I asked the rangers and staff at various nature centers and National Parks we hiked through about my “mystery grasses,” but they seemed surprised at the question. Birds? Here’s a field guide. Mammals? Let me give you a checklist for our site. Grasses? Ummmm. Even here — in these dedicated natural places — grasses are overshadowed by their more charismatic botanical companions.

Although many of the grass ID’s remain a puzzle (I’ve got some ID work to do when I return home), I discovered a few familiar tallgrass prairie friends. Canada wild rye bristles its way through the mountains just outside Santa Fe.

Little bluestem, a stalwart of the Illinois tallgrass prairies…

… brushes color into the mountains around Bandelier National Monument…

…and paints the Santa Fe National Forest grasslands with scarlet.

Hello, old friends. Good to see you here.

It’s almost 1,500 miles from Chicago to Santa Fe, New Mexico. Despite some similar grasses, the Southwest landscape could not be more different. Mountains, mesas, and plateaus instead of flat fields of corn and soybeans. Elk, instead of bison. Mule deer, rather than white-tails. The grasslands here, however, share the same status as our Midwestern prairies.  In need of protection.

In the northern part of New Mexico —at Valles Caldera National Preserve — the grasses fill an ancient crater of a volcano. Elk bend their heads to drink from this stream winding through the fields of short grasses, quenching their thirst.

In the southern part of the state, November paints the marsh grasses at Bosque del Apache National Wildlife Refuge in dazzling rusts, tans, and golds. Together, the grasses weave a colorful carpet that underlies deep blue skies brimming with migratory birds. Hundreds of thousands of them — ducks, snow geese, sandhill cranes — use this refuge as a corridor each fall.

Perhaps learning to love something as seemingly simple as leaves of grass comes from seeing grasses in all their variety. Knowing some of their names. Spending time and work to name those new to us.  Feeling grateful when we find similarities. Exploring the differences.

Realizing that blades of grass — so often overlooked — stitch together a rich tapestry of colors, shapes, and smells.  A backdrop that creates context for the world we live in.

How, then, can we not pay attention?

All photos by Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): Wilderness trail, Bosque del Apache Wildlife Refuge, San Antonio, New Mexico; snow geese at BDAWR; blue grama grass (Bouteloua gracilis), Randall Davey Audubon Center, Santa Fe, NM; blue grama grass, Bandelier National Monument, Los Alamos, NM; unknown grass, RDAC;  unknown grass, RDAC; Canada wild rye (Elymus canadensis glaucifolius) BNM; little bluestem (Schizachyrium scoparium) , Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; little bluestem, BNM; little bluestem, Santa Fe National Forest, Los Alamos, NM; grasslands, Valles Caldera National Preserve, Jemez Springs, NM; grasslands, VCNP; marsh grasses, BDAWR; sandhill crane, BDAWR; mule deer, BDAWR.

The quote, “I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars” by  Walt Whitman is from “Song of Myself” from Leaves of Grass.