Prairie: Up close and personal
Prairie is from the French, a word defined as a treeless, grass-covered plain. But I would add and so much more. Prairie provides us with a solid sense of place, as in this is our natural heritage. Try to imagine the entire central U.S. and Canada covered in grasses and forbs—millions of acres—alive with animals great and small, above and below ground. Prairie is the epitome of rootedness, as in we are not going elsewhere, as in we’re adapted to harsh winters, fierce winds and punishing summers. And in spite of losing most of this historic vegetation to the plow, we still have excellent examples of tallgrass prairie close by to experience up close and personal.
There is mystery here, in the shapes of grass,
in the dim movements of an inland sea,
connections to an earlier time.
Spring Creek Prairie—just minutes southwest of Lincoln near Denton—is perhaps my favorite place on earth. To think: It was preserved by luck—never plowed—by folks who raised cattle and horses on native pasture. I can only imagine the lucky kids who once played and rode on its hills, waded in its ponds, hid in the tree-filled gullies and marveled at its natural springs, same as other rural children. And lucky for us that the National Audubon Society recognized this place of biodiversity and now operates Spring Creek as a prairie preserve and education center on some 800-plus acres. The visiting students are lucky, too—grade school to college to adult—because of its excellent hands-on experience in an unspoiled place. Families will soon be able to check out prairie discovery backpacks to enhance their experience on its trails and wetlands. A new prairie immersion program through the Lincoln Public Schools will bring 1,300 lucky fourth-graders to the prairie each fall; just imagine. The green-constructed education building and Spring Creek’s knowledgeable, dedicated staff enhance prairie interpretation. But the vistas from inside soon beckon, inviting you outdoors to experience the prairie and walk on its historic wagon ruts. Fall is the prime season to visit the prairie, when the warm-season vegetation turns into a sea of golds, reds, purples and tans, temperatures mellowing into cooler evenings. A well-kept secret of prairie is that it changes throughout the year. At Spring Creek, I have tromped through snow with friends on New Year’s Day, witnessed migrating birds in spring and marveled at meteor showers on a summer night. Spring Creek Prairie boasts about 360 species of plants, 214 species of birds, a host of mammals and aquatic creatures and untold species of insects. When you walk, explore or simply sit on the prairie, the air is alive with wind and buzz and birdsong. Its effluvium is the essence of Earth: Your breathing deepens and your senses heighten. There are endless opportunities here for creativity, for relaxation and restoration. The prairie invites you to discovery in every season.
Often we are strangers to Earth, stumbling over the thorns
of our days. Here, sky sets fire to the silk sleeves
of its clouds.
Prairies are highly adapted to harsh weather and fire, with roots extending as deep as 15 feet in a complex ecosystem—once ranging from the Rocky Mountains to east of the Mississippi River, and from Saskatchewan to Texas—in distinct plant communities: shortgrass, midgrass and tallgrass. Spring Creek Prairie is part of the eastern tallgrass region, dominated by grasses such as big bluestem, Indiangrass and switchgrass. Only about 1 percent of the historic tallgrass prairie area remains, making it one of the most endangered ecosystems in the world. The key to its survival is because the majority of its biomass is below ground; just imagine. To stand on prairie is to connect with a living ecosystem that has evolved through the millennia. This vast area once supported a diverse array of plants as well as creatures, and its dense, fibrous root system formed some of the richest farm soils in the world; in fact, we owe the region’s wealth to its soils. In my undergraduate soils class at the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, Dr. Sorensen once said, “We’re treating our soil like dirt!” Even though I was raised on a farm, it took some time for these words to sink in. In 150 years of farming, half of our topsoil has been lost; that is an article for another time. In the meantime, thank prairie soils each time you eat local food.
Below ground is where all can happen,
anchor and breakdown and bedrock, processes
of gritty explosion and darkened decay, the consonant
of winter and the blessing of rain.
My first prairie experience was in the early 1980s with a small group led by Wachiska Audubon prairie advocate Ernie Rousek on a tour of Nine Mile Prairie northwest of Lincoln. Ernie recognized the irreplaceable value of this 230-acre tract—studied in the 1920s by University of Nebraska ecologist John E. Weaver and his students—and worked to preserve it for the future. Ernie and Wachiska continue to preserve prairie remnants in southeast Nebraska today. To think, Nine Mile Prairie was preserved by accident thanks to the federal government: The land served as a buffer for World War II bomb storage bunkers near the Municipal Airport. Even to a farm gal, my first connection to prairie—land that had never been plowed—had a profound effect on my sensibilities and my sense of place, all shaped by connection to the land. I grew up in rural northeast Nebraska on land that had been farmed by my grandparents, at a time before widespread use of synthetic chemicals and pesticides. But expanses of native tallgrass were not part of my early surroundings. My grandparents had heard of opportunities from relatives and emigrated from Denmark in the late 1800s. They were successful on a few hundred acres of rich soil around the turn of the 20th century. My father said his mother was often lonely here, longing for the familiar wooded hills and family of the homeland. This strange, treeless area inspired writers like Ole Rolvaag and Willa Cather, who by luck and circumstance found themselves on the prairie. The prairie that remains still inspires writers and artists today.
Sun, wind, rain, drought, fire. Travel this
frayed land where tall grass rules, learn
the buckle of deep time. Flora and fauna,
sky and soil: let them blaze the mind.
Walking, sitting, observing the experience of prairie involves the senses. Luckily, there are no neon or blinking signs anywhere proclaiming “PRAIRIE! TURN HERE!” with circles and arrows. Simply go to the prairie anytime and breathe it all in. Even when I am not physically on the prairie, I can close my eyes and picture its hills, grasses, wildflowers, birds, turtles and insects. I can imagine the sun flaming down, shadows deepening, birds scattering before nightfall. Night brings out hiding mammals, moths and the stars. Prairie is calming and renewing, worthy of study and contemplation, and allows us to connect with the land. Artists, naturalists and even scientists are often lucky to find connections that lead to discoveries. The secret is to nurture that luck by paying attention. In a hurried world, we must actually take time, even schedule time, in order to nurture creativity. William Stafford, former U.S. Poet Laureate, once said that a poem is a special kind of paying attention to language. Chicago poet Gwendolyn Brooks once said that poetry is life distilled. And I would add: prairie is all of these, and so much more.
Let the wheel of your singular mind unwind,
Imprint your body with each phase of the moon.
Be open to the unexpected, expect to be amazed.
Poem excerpts are from “Prairie Suite: A Celebration” by Twyla Hansen and Paul Johnsgard, 2006, Spring Creek Prairie Audubon Center.
Prairie facts are from the “Encyclopedia of the Great Plains,” 2004, editor David Wishart, University of Nebraska Press.
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Spring Creek Prairie (the most popular Prairie Fire article ever, as of the publishing of this issue.
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