Tag Archives: schulenberg prairie

Evening of a Prairie Year

“Now is the time to understand more, so that we may fear less.” — Marie Curie.

Lately I’ve been reading the poetry of Jane Kenyon, which somehow seems to match these gloomy November days. “Let evening come,” she wrote in a poem by the same name, and it does come, doesn’t it? Whether you welcome it or not, we’re hurtling toward the winter solstice on December 21. Now, in November, it feels like the evening of the year is here.

HH-WBprairie11917Iowa

In this seasonal twilight, November on the prairie can seem a desolate month. Perhaps the vivid color and bright birdsong of late summer and autumn are still freshly imprinted on our minds.

NG817

There is plenty of beauty in the November prairie. But it has a different sort of allure than previously found. It’s more of the way you feel drawn toward a much-loved person, all wrinkled and worn, and call her beautiful, even though others may call her plain.

It’s in the spirit of the place…

HerbertHooverPrairieWestBranchIowa11917

…the familiarity of that place; its grace—perhaps more evident now in this season, without the fripperies of wildflowers or pageantry of butterflies; with less of a backdrop of birdsong.

spma-bigbluesky111317.jpg

November is more about the beauty that comes from the love you have for a place that you’ve invested in. A place that has given back to you in a thousand intangible ways. This is, perhaps, what makes the prairie enchanting in your eyes, even in November.

P1140366.jpg

I remind myself of this as I walk the tallgrass trails in that classic November weather which makes it so difficult to be outside this month. The paths are by turn limned with ice or sloppy with mud depending on the vagaries of the temperature. Big snow flurries slapped us in the face with winter last week. Quickly melted.  Winds—cold winds that slice through your warmest jacket—made a howling appearance. Sunshine warms up the day for a few hours then disappears.

SPMA2017.jpg

Oh, November. At times, the gray days bring with them an unshakeable gloom. As the daylight hours become shorter, so does my temper. I have less margin. Motivation dwindles. Hibernation begins to sound attractive. Tallgrass-WBHHprairieIowa11917

November will never be July, or May, or even September, no matter how much I wish it to be sometimes. I love the sun! These gray days try the spirit.

HHWB-Iowa11917gray-headed coneflower

But experiencing November will take me a long ways into understanding December and January… and these experiences will make me a different person — one that is tougher, more appreciative, more open to change. More resilient.

Leaves-SPMA111317g.jpg

November has its own rhythms.

SPMA-beebalm111317.jpg

Its own astonishments.

commonmilkweed1113117.jpg

Its particular slants of light and patterns.

HerbertHooverWestBranch11917.jpg

Rather than sigh and tuck myself indoors with a book, I’m going to meet November halfway.

Iowa-WestBranchHerbHoov11917.jpg

Off I go. Unafraid of the gloom and even darker days ahead. Trying to embrace November.

SPMA-savanna111317

How about you?

****

Scientist Marie Curie (1867-1934), whose quote opens this post, was Polish in a time when being Polish was to be persecuted, and a scientist in a time when women were not welcomed as scientists. Unable to pursue higher education as a woman in her home country, she completed a PhD in France, and became the first person to win two Nobel prizes.

Jane Kenyon (1947-1995), whose poem “Let Evening Come” is mentioned in this post, writes unsparingly about the joys and terrors of the world. To read more about her and her work, look here.

All photographs copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): Herbert Hoover Historic Site Tallgrass Prairie, West Branch, Iowa; Nachusa Grasslands in late summer, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; Herbert Hoover Historic Site Tallgrass Prairie, West Branch, Iowa; big bluestem (Andropogon geraradii) Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Indian grass (Sorghastrum nutans), Herbert Hoover Historic Site Tallgrass Prairie, West Branch, Iowa; prairie dock (Silphium terebinthinaceum), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Herbert Hoover Historic Site Tallgrass Prairie, West Branch, Iowa; gray-headed coneflower seedhead (Ratibida pinnata), Herbert Hoover Historic Site Tallgrass Prairie, West Branch, Iowa; leaves and acorns on the trail, Schulenberg Prairie Savanna, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; bee balm (Monarda fistulosa), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca) pod, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; tall goldenrod (Solidago altissima) Herbert Hoover Historic Site Tallgrass Prairie, West Branch, Iowa;  bluebird house with tall coreopsis (Coreopsis tripteris), Herbert Hoover Historic Site Tallgrass Prairie, West Branch, Iowa; Schulenberg Prairie Savanna , The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL.SaveSaveSaveSave

SaveSave

Space and Place on the Prairie

 

“How long does it take to know a place?…Abstract knowledge about a place can be acquired in short order if one is diligent. The visual quality of an environment is quickly tallied if one has the artist’s eye. But the ‘feel’ of a place takes longer to acquire. It is made up of experiences, mostly fleeting and undramatic, repeated day after day and over the span of years. It is a unique blend of sights, sounds, and smells, a unique harmony of natural and artificial rhythms such as times of sunrise and sunset, of work and play. The feel of a place is registered in one’s muscles and bones… . Knowing a place, in the above senses, clearly takes time. It is a subconscious kind of knowing.”– Yi-Fu Tuan

****

I have the good fortune to live next to a respected taxonomist, whose suburban yard overflows with hundreds of native plants. Once, I asked him the best way to go about increasing my own knowledge of the natural world. He thought for a moment, then said, “Look at your backyard, Cindy. Each day, learn a different plant you find there.”

Such simple advice. So difficult to take. Because of course, it requires…time.

whitewildindigo-sp1117.jpg

Dr. Yi-Fu Tuan, University of Wisconsin-Madison professor of geography emeritus,  writes, “How long does it take to know a place? Modern man, he says, is so mobile “that he has not the time to establish roots; his experience and appreciation of place is superficial.”

SP-trailthroughspring2017.jpg

Time. We race around, doing things, going other places. Knowing where we live is one of the the casualties.  How often I have heard people say, “I wish I had more time… ” “I just don’t have enough time… ” “If only I had time to… ” “There aren’t enough hours in a day… ” “If only I didn’t have to sleep… .”  I’ve said most of the same things myself. With hours in such short supply, should we despair of ever finding time to really “know” where we live? Much less, even something as seemingly simple as the names of the plants in our backyards?

Yes, it takes time to know a place. But, as Tuan also writes, even “an intense experience of short duration…can alter our lives.”

SP-tallcoreopsis1117.jpg

All of us may attest to the power of short but memorable outdoor experiences that helped us know a place. My list of those experiences might include memories as simple as a childhood playspace under a forsythia bush.

A particular sunset.

P1140232.jpg

The coyote on a prairie trail in the rain, going about her business, oblivious to me sitting a few feet away. Sandhill cranes unexpectedly landing all around me in a field. An unexpected cloud of ebony jewelwing damselflies arising from a stream bank. Finding a fawn.

nachusa.JPG

You soak these moments into your bones; they permeate your subconscious mind, they echo through your dreams. These intense experiences inform the way you feel about a place. You don’t forget.

Switchgrass-SPMA2017.jpg

But, you have to be there to have the experiences.  You have to show up. Even if it is only to sit in your backyard to key out plants, a field guide in one hand, the unknown green leaf in the other. You set aside time to let those moments happen. Or, at the very least, you cultivate an awareness that allows you to be awake to those moments when they do happen. To stop and pay attention to the moment.

Easternamberwing-SP2017.jpg

These moments are often unscripted. One evening, more than a dozen years ago, I sat in my car in the high school parking lot, waiting for my children’s band lessons to end.  I turned the ignition off and rolled down the window. The parking lot was unusually quiet. I watched geese lift off the football field and pull together the scarf of the sunset with their black, bowling pin shaped bodies, on their way to Hidden Lake nearby.  A few clouds scrolled across the sky. The hot asphalt, the tic-tic-tic of the car cooling down, and drift of music from the band room were unlikely elements of anything special. The high school parking lot is a bland spot to have any intense experiences about place. But I can still frame that sky, those geese, that place in my memory, more than a decade later. There was an intensity of that moment, and one that was unplanned. It helped wake me up to where I lived at a time when I was struggling to pay attention to my life.

littlewoodduck-nachusa2017.jpg

Now, when I become cynical or jaded about the natural world, I’ll go looking for those moments intentionally. Usually, I head to my favorite prairie trail nearby, and take a walk.  If this fails to wake me up, I’ve found seeing the prairie with a child often often opens it to me in a new way again.

sumac-sp1117.jpg

If you’ve walked with a child, you know they don’t feel the press of time as we do. In summer, they are perfectly content to stop and watch bees work flowers for a good long while, or in winter, explore the holes prairie voles make in snow—look for the entrance and exit spots, mark them with sticks. A child thinks nothing of taking a net outside to catch butterflies in November. And why not? To a child, nothing is yet impossible.

IMG_9293.jpg

I need these reminders to slow down. To pay attention. To remember what it was like to be a child, to not use a calendar, to not have a to-do list. To feel time in the way a child does. Recapture that feeling that nothing is impossible, even in November.

I walk the prairie alone today—in November, yes, when much of what is going on in my life does seem impossible and completely unsolvable. This place, this prairie where I walk, is woven into my muscles and bones; it runs in my blood. I’ve walked it almost 20 years now. In my memory are the fires of prescribed burns I’ve helped set that have kept the tallgrass alive and vibrant.

IMG_2069

Ahead months away, in my imagination, are the blooms and grasses of summer, those rather iconic stereotypical pale purple coneflowers and Culver’s root; bright orange butterfly weed and yellow coreopsis; all the colors and pageantry of a landscape gone wild and rich with buzz and bloom; diversity and joy.

Culversroot-SP2017.jpg

Today, in real time, I hike a more subdued November prairie, its life ebbing; someone seemingly stepping on the brakes; the winds tinted with chill; the sun slanted toward the horizon; blackened stalks stark against the color-drained grasses. And yes. Seedheads shattering into the promise of something new. At least I tell myself this. I believe it because I’ve been on this trail at this time in this place before. And I’ve seen the cycle happen, again and again.

SPMA-11-17.jpg I’m content knowing I’m storing this walk, this sunset, this experience away in my memory. Building my relationship with the land. Continuing to develop a “feel” for a place I’ve loved for a long time, and still want to know better.

Time well spent.

****

The opening quote is taken from Dr. Yi-Fu Tuan’s (1930-) Space and Place: The Perspective of Experiencewhich offers fascinating glimpses into our relationship with both the natural and built environment. His book never fails to provoke me to thinking more deeply about the places where I spend my time and how and why I spend it as I do.

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): white wild indigo (Baptisia alba), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; two-track in spring, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; tall coreopsis (Coreposis tripteris), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; sunset, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; white-tailed fawn (Odocoileus virginianus) Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; switchgrass (Panicum virgatum), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; eastern amberwing dragonfly (Perithemis tenera), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; little wood duck (Aix sponsa), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; smooth sumac (Rhus glabra), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; netting butterflies in the off season, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prescribed burn, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; summer on the Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; sunset, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL.

Prairie Ghosts

“O lost, and by the wind grieved, ghost, come back again.” — Thomas Wolfe

***

Prairie restoration often seems a paradox.

We set the prairie aflame, to bring life out of the ashes.

Schulenburg Prairie 417.jpg

We learn to weld fences—in hope of the return of wild things.

P1080615.jpg

Although we are organic gardeners; we take tests, earn licenses to spray herbicide to keep aggressive plants at bay in the tallgrass.

P1120979.jpg

We listen to plants which have no voices; ask them to tell us their stories.

Evelyn Pease 2016.jpg

We construct beautiful buildings to tell the message of open spaces.

Evelyn Pease Interpretive Center-Glen Air Prairie 2016.jpg

We look for traces of the past in order to create a different future. Ghosts. They linger in out-of-the-way places. A certain wildflower, perhaps. An endangered bird. A rare butterfly. Do they still exist? Or have they vanished forever?

Schulenberg Prairie 417.jpg

Even as we search, we wonder at the absurdities. Past generations labored to change these prairies into fields of corn and soybeans. We patiently endeavor to return fields to  prairie.

P1050650.jpg

Why did we lose so much before we realized its value?

P1070291.jpg

We envision a different future for the acres we care for. A future that might be possible through the work of our hands, the strength of our longing, the power of our imagination…and a little luck.

SP-bloodroot2017.jpg

We recognize that the prairie restoration work we do is in part, our desire to know that we can make a tangible difference. That change is possible.  That it is never too late to try.

P1060049.jpg

We pray that what is now fragile and  broken…

NG2016.jpg

…and once almost erased…

P1050890.jpg

…will return again. A shadow of what it once was, perhaps. An echo.

But worthwhile, all the same.

MASP2017.jpg

Because we recognize that when we heal the land, in many ways, we heal ourselves.

P1100078.jpg

As for how we accomplish both—we make peace with the paradoxes.

****

Thomas Wolfe (1900-1938) was the author of Look Homeward, Angel (1929), from which the first quote in this post was taken. This quote is also included as a stunning conclusion to John Madson’s classic book, Where the Sky Began: Land of the Tallgrass Prairie

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): Schulenberg Prairie prescribed burn, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; bison (Bison bison) herd, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; interpretive sign at Kent Fuller Air Station Prairie, Glenview, IL; the stunning Evelyn Pease Tyner Interpretive Center, Kent Fuller Air Station Prairie, Glenview, IL; prairie burn, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  pale purple coneflower (Echinacea pallida) seed head, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; small white lady’s slipper orchid (Cypripedium candidum), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; bloodroot (Sanguinaria canadensis) in bloom, Schulenberg Prairie Savanna, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; pasque flowers (Pulsatilla patens), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; broken eggshell in a nest, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; icy bison track, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; pale purple coneflowers (Echinacea pallida), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL.

Thorny Prairie Issues

“Our goals can only be reached through a vehicle of a plan, in which we must fervently believe, and upon which we must vigorously act. There is no other route to success.” –Pablo Picasso

****

Although traditionally the New Year is when we set goals, October seems a good time to begin thinking about what’s next.

commonmilkweedSPMA1017.jpg

This week finds me thinking about the management plan for the 100 acre prairie where I’m a steward supervisor. It’s a chance to work with the staff and consider what was accomplished or still needs finished as I wind things up in autumn.

Carion flower1017SPMA.jpg

Much of the plan was made at the beginning of the year and concerns invasive plant removal—particularly, non-native plants. To name a few: sweet clover (Melilotus spp.), reed canary grass (Phalaris arundinacea), and garlic mustard (Alliara petiolata). There are others, of course.  But this trio comprises the chief invaders that threaten the diversity of this particular prairie.

SPMA-octobergrasses1017.jpg

In the early years of stewarding, weeding out these three invaders pretty much comprised the whole of my management plan. But with the maturing of the prairie (55-plus years!) and the hard work over time by volunteers and staff, this season was different. No, we  didn’t conquer those three. But at last, they were knocked back enough that I could turn my eyes to some other problem plants that threatened the tallgrass.

CompassplantleafSPMA1017.jpg

A “native plant” — one that evolved in Illinois—is usually thought of as a “good plant.” However, even good plants can go bad. Given our vigorous removal of non-natives over the years, a few native plants became bullies.  The extent of their rogue advancement across the prairie took me by surprise. It was so gradual, I hadn’t noticed.

palepurpleconeflowerlittlebluespma1017.jpg

So. Out they came. Wild plum (Prunus americana).  Gray dogwood (Cornus racemosa). I discovered Illinois bundleflower (Desmanthus Illinoensis) had conducted a stealth slide along the banks of Willoway Brook, then slithered across the stream. Once I noticed, I found a solid wave of ferny leaves. We attempted to slow this species down by defensive seed collection; stripping the plants so they couldn’t add to their numbers. We’ll find out next season just how successful our efforts were.

PalepurpleconeflowerSPMA1017.jpg

Today, I’m wrestling with brambles. Wild raspberries and blackberries are native to this part of Illinois where I’m a prairie steward. Normally, they are not a big deal, just a prickly part of the prairie landscape. But in the past several years, they’ve sent cane tentacles across the tallgrass, spreading throughout an area previously full of diverse, high-quality plants and shading them out. In short, becoming undesirable.

P1120969.jpg

Removing native brambles is a difficult proposition. Because they are surrounded on this prairie by high-quality native prairie plants—butterflyweed, gentians, prairie sundrops— no collatoral damage is acceptable.

grayheadedconeflowerSPMA1017.jpg

So, our prairie volunteers cut each bramble cane by hand. An applicator then paints the raw cut on the cane with the minimum amount of herbicide to knock it back. Our goal is not to completely eliminate the brambles, rather, to halt their aggressive spread.

This opens up room for other prairie plants to grow.

Compassplantseedhead1017SPMA.jpg

Whitewildindigo1017SP.jpg

Work like this is always part of a bigger plan on a restored or reconstructed tallgrass prairie. Each season, stewards and staff evaluate the prairie community. Are we allowing a wide variety of plants to become established? How are our prescribed burns affecting the insect and bird community?

P1120957.jpg

Is there a particular invasive plant—native or non-native—on which we should focus our efforts? If so, can we accomplish its removal by hand weeding? Or do we need to consider other methods?

SPMA-indiangrass1017.jpg

These are the conundrums that will keep us flexible, constantly making adjustments in management as we care for a vanishing biological community. One that we hope to keep vigorous and healthy for future generations.

littlebluespma1017.jpg

Setting goals. Having a plan.

Reflecting on the past. Thinking about the future.

All good occupations for anyone in the month of October.

***

Pablo Picasso (1881-1973), whose quote opens this blog essay,  was a writer and artist from Spain. One of his many notable works is The Old Guitarist from his Blue Period, owned by The Art Institute of Chicago:  “… the image reflects the struggling twenty-two-year-old Picasso’s sympathy for the plight of the downtrodden; he knew what it was like to be poor, having been nearly penniless during all of 1902. ”

This week’s photos copyright Cindy Crosby all taken on the Schulenberg Prairie at the Morton Arboretum in Lisle, IL  (top to bottom): common milkweed (Asclepias syriaca); carrion flower (Smilax spp.) fruit; October on the Schulenberg Prairie; compass plant (Silphium laciniatum); October on the Schulenberg Prairie; pale purple coneflower (Echinacea pallida) seedhead;  black raspberry cane (Rubus occindentalis); gray-headed coneflower (Ratibida pinnata); compass plant (Silphium laciniatum); white wild indigo seedpods (Baptisia alba macrophylla); two jagged assassin bugs (Phymata spp.) eating an unknown fly on a pasture thistle (Cirsium discolor); Indian grass (Sorghastrum nutans);  little bluestem (Schizachyrium scoparium). 

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. 

Autumn Prairie Delights

“It’s hard to grasp at first the density, the specificity with which the world has been named. This is a planet of overlapping lexicons… . Name upon name, terms of identity in endless degrees of intricacy. And all at hand, if you look for them.” — Verlyn Klinkenborg

***

The prairie saves some of its best surprises for September. Gentians. So many gentians.

Tiny stiff gentians budding in blue.

SPMA-stiffgentianthree9517

Maturing to lavender.

IMG_8668.jpg

Cobalt blue prairie gentians on the brink of opening.

IMG_8666.jpg

Each interior a delight.

SP917.JPG

Or some gentians tightly closed in bloom. But no less delightful, for that.

bottlegentians-sp2014 2

Color is overrated, say the cream gentians.

IMG_8038 (1).jpg

And what joy to find a cross between the cream and the blue.

P1110753.jpg

Sure, there are other spectacular prairie blooms in September besides gentians.

Turtleheads. Like this one.

P1110794 (1).jpg

(Not this one. Although it’s a welcome surprise, too.)

P1120001.jpg

The wild white ladies’ tresses orchids, drilling themselves deep into the grasses.

IMG_8509.jpg

Inhale. Mmmm. Such a lovely, light scent!

IMG_8659.jpg

Even a few of the weedy non-native flowers, like chicory, give us pleasure.

IMG_7098.jpg

Like chips off the September sky, aren’t they?

The month is more than half over.

P1000710.jpg

Yet the prairie offers new blooms and other delights in September wherever we look.

P1020027.jpg

If… we take time to look.

****

The opening quote is from Verlyn Klinkenborg’s book, Several short sentences about writing (2012). Klinkenborg (1952-) grew up on a farm in Iowa. He teaches creative writing at Yale University, and has written reflections on the rural life for the New York Times editorial pages. Read NPR’s interview with Klinkenborg here.

***

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): Stiff gentians (Gentianella quinquefolia), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; stiff gentians (Gentianella quinquefolia), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prairie or downy gentians (Gentiana puberulenta), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prairie or downy gentians (Gentiana puberulenta) Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; blue bottle gentians (Gentiana andrewsii), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL;  cream gentian (Gentiana flavida or sometimes, Gentiana alba), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; possibly pale-blue gentian (Gentiana x pallidocyanea), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; white turtlehead (Chelone glabra linifolia), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; eastern painted turtle (Chrysemys picta), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; nodding ladies’ tresses (Spiranthes cernua), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; nodding ladies’ tresses (Spiranthes cernua), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; chicory (Cichorium intybus), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; sky over the Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; sky over prairie grasses at Hidden Lake, Forest Preserve District of DuPage County, Downer’s Grove, IL. SaveSave

September Prairie Reflections

“Happily we bask in this warm September sun, which illumines all creatures… .” –Henry David Thoreau

***

That certain slant of light.

P1110951.jpg

The fierce blank blue brightness of a cloudless sky.

P1120003.jpg

The scrabble of motion on (so it seems) every leaf and grass blade.

P1110872.jpg

September moves in and sets up housekeeping on the prairie. It’s a month that seems obsessed with metallics. Gold sawtooth sunflowers.

P1110886.jpg

Rusts of aged prairie dock leaves.

PrairiedockSPMA9917.jpg

Drifts of every possible variation of silver, gold, copper and pewter.

NG91017.jpg

September brings with it sharp contrasts: bright seeds of Jack in the pulpit in primary colors…

P1110799.jpg

Softest airbrushed pastels of prairie dropseed.

prairiedropseedSPMA9917.jpg

Summer-only tallgrass residents are shopworn, like tourists who have overstayed their welcome. The non-migrating dragonflies look a bit bedraggled; their season about to end.

whitefaced meadowhawk91017.jpg

Monarchs and hummingbirds are already on their way south; other birds like this green heron won’t be far behind.

Green heron NG91017.jpg

October is only a few weeks away. But for now, it’s enough to pause and enjoy the season. Soak up its diversity of sound, motion, and colors.

blackwalnuttreesWillowayBrookSPMA9917.jpg

Reflect on where we find ourselves.

Read the pages of the September prairie without missing a word.

Jeff in the tallgrass 917.jpg

Then, prepare for the next chapter.

***

Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862), whose words begin this essay, is best known for his book Walden.

***

All photos copyright Cindy Crosby (top to bottom): unknown insect on bur marigold (Bidens cernua), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL;  cloudless sky, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; praying mantis (Mantis religiosa) in the tallgrass, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; sawtooth sunflower (Helianthus grosseserratus), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; prairie dock (Silphium terebinthinaceum) leaf, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; Nachusa Grasslands in September, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL;  Jack in the pulpit (Arisaema triphyllum) seeds, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; prairie dropseed (Sporabolus heterolepis), Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; white-faced meadowhawk dragonfly (Sympetrum obtrusum), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; green heron (Butorides virescens), Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL; reflection of black walnut (Juglans nigra) leaves turning gold in Willoway Brook, Schulenberg Prairie, The Morton Arboretum, Lisle, IL; reading in the tallgrass, Nachusa Grasslands, The Nature Conservancy, Franklin Grove, IL.

Thanks to Susan Kleiman for her help with plant ID.