Three Minutes of Hope on the Prairie

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

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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.

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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.

An Ovation for Orchids

March roared in like a lion today–a sleet-covered, blustery lion. Despite the wintery mix that showers the tallgrass prairie, it’s the first official day of meteorological spring. It’s a day to think about the prairie bloom season ahead. A day to think about … orchids.

Wait a minute. Orchids? On the prairie?

When most of us picture orchids, we envision the hothouse blooms of the tropical greenhouse …

 

… their alien-esque furry buds seemingly right out of a sci-fi movie.

 

We picture crazy shapes  …

 

… and wild diversity.

Chicago Botanic Garden always gives visitors a blast of hues each February when it hosts its orchid show. A walk through the 10,000 orchids on display feels like a spin through a kaleidoscope.

The colors! What a broad-ranging palette orchids have.

 

Their ruffles and frills take us straight down memory lane to our high school proms.

 

The patterns!

 

The pizzazz!

Our Illinois tallgrass prairie orchids might not dazzle us with neon brights. Yet, perhaps the subtle elegance of the prairie orchids have more staying power than their flashier tropical cousins.

What the ladies’ tresses orchid lacks in color, she makes up in architecture.

 

The sweet, light fragrance of the ladies’ tresses is almost imperceptible on a warm September’s day. It’s worth lingering close by to catch the scent.

 

We should give standing ovations for the white lady’s slipper orchid. It’s one of the spring prairie’s serendipities.

 

This past June,  I stumbled over the eastern prairie fringed orchid. Literally. It was almost directly under my feet.

It was a moment to savor. And it happened only because I was out hiking at the right time, in the right place.

I still have quite a few prairie orchids on my must-see list. The purple-fringed orchid. The snake-mouth orchid. The grass pink. They’re out there — just waiting for me to find them. But to see them, I will need to make time to be there. To wander around, enjoying the prairie. Paying attention.

 

Don’t get me wrong. I love the tropical orchids. I have a shelf of them in my south-facing window; all castoffs or gifts from friends.  When backpacking up north, seeing pink lady’s slippers and other showy orchids in bloom along the trails is another delight.

But none of the orchids I’ve seen in the greenhouses here or along the trails up north are quite as magical as the ones I unexpectedly find when out hiking the Illinois tallgrass prairie.

Who knows what surprising discoveries are waiting for us this season?

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): First six orchids, Chicago Botanic Orchid Show, Glencoe, IL; ladies’ tresses orchid (Spiranthes cernua), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; ladies’ tresses orchid (Spiranthes cernua), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; white lady’s slipper (Cypripedium candidum) , Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; eastern prairie fringed orchid (Platanthera leucophaea), Nachusa Grasslands, Franklin Grove, IL; white lady’s slipper (Cypripedium candidum), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; pink lady’s slipper orchid (Cypripedium acaule)  with blue bead lily (Clintonia borealis)  and Canada dogwood (Cornus canadensis), Isle Royale National Park, Michigan.