A lesson in diversity: Learning about prairies one seed at a time
Posted 14 May 2011, by Randall Downing, The Journal-Standard, journalstandard.com
Ten years later I still pick prairie seed on fall weekends. Surprisingly, in the intervening decade of seed picking I have never been back to the prairie where I first picked seed, yet it still remains fresh in my mind. It is a remnant hill prairie that sits high on an exposed point of a south facing bluff overlooking the Mississippi River Valley. Our little group of prairie fans called it “Falling-Down-Prairie” because falling down is what you usually did several times over in order to reach this prairie because of its inhospitable location. It is believed that this remnant prairie, surrounded by woodlands, remained a prairie because Native Americans burned it frequently to keep it open and free of woody vegetation so that it would remain useful as an observation point.
Indeed the view of the valley below is big, broad and beautiful. As a novice seed picker standing on this high prairie, I was in awe. I could not help but imagine that I was an Indian standing on Lookout Prairie watching over our valley below thinking “this is how it was meant to be and all is right with Mother Earth.”
But I digress; I really want to talk about seed picking. My first assignment was to pick Side Oats Gramma, simply called “Side Oats.” Side Oats is a relatively short grass with oatlike seeds that hang at roughly quarter inch intervals from single blades of grass starting at the top. An experienced picker showed me a Side Oats plant. I examined it for a minute, thought “this should be easy,” and then stepped out into the prairie. Where did the Side Oats go? I don’t see any, then I see something that might be, but I am not sure. “Is this Side Oats?” “It’s not, well it sort of looks like it.” Renewing my search, “Oh here’s one for sure.” Receiving confirmation from my experienced partner, I pick my first prairie seed and drop it in my 5-gallon bucket whereupon it seems totally insignificant. I am pleased nonetheless. Continuing, I find another plant and with confirmation pick the seed. Soon I find another, then another, and after a bit, it becomes easy to spot Side Oats plants. After a half-hour or so I can spot Side Oats plants and groups of plants from considerable distance. My enthusiasm soars and I begin to cover the bottom of my bucket and even produce measurable quantities of Side Oats seeds. And so the afternoon goes. I become a Side Oats expert, I can quickly spot them from some distance and my prairie world now contains two identifiable plant species: Side Oats and “Other.” I end the day tired but happy that I have become a contributing member of our seed picking team.
The next time out I take on a new assignment, Black-Eyed Susan. Black-Eyed Susan is a bit more of a challenge in that to the inexperienced, a lot of plants have seed heads that sort of look like Black-Eyed Susan. The seed head is rounded, about the size of a dime, faded black to dark brown. But the distinguishing characteristic is that the brown-black head has a small silver “halo” surrounding it, all that remains from its faded yellow petals. The Side Oats experience is repeated. “I can’t find any.” “Oh here’s one.” Then another and another till suddenly the prairie is filled with Black-Eyed Susan as your mind’s eye becomes trained to spot your new conquest. This time I filled my bucket fairly quickly and moved on to another species.
Monarda, actually Monarda fistulosa, with the common name of Bergamot. All plants have a scientific name and one or more common names. Many of our experienced pickers know both. I am struggling to pick up what I can. What’s interesting to me is that most of the plants have a commonly used handle that for some plants is the common name, sometimes the scientific name, or frequently a shortened version of the scientific name. So Black-Eyed Susan (Rudbeckia hirta) is usually called Black-Eyed Susan but sometimes Rudbeckia. Bergamot is always called Monarda and never Bergamot and rarely Monarda fistulosa. (Are you confused yet? And, we are only up to three plants.) Nevertheless, I soon become trained to spot Monarda. Its seed head is slightly larger than Black-Eyed Susan’s, a more reddish brown in color, and missing the silver halo. Monarda also adds another dimension to plant recognition, it has a distinctive odor. A very pleasant “spicy” odor that you can smell on your hands and in your seed bucket as you clip seed heads and build up your cache of harvested seed. The same learning process happens, but probably a little faster with each new species. Again at the end of this second day I am a tired but happy picker knowing that I have made a contribution and that my prairie world now consists of four species: Side Oats, Black-Eyed Susan, Monarda, and “Other.”
And so it goes, through this fall and on into succeeding years. The list of plants that you can identify, name (if you can remember), recognize by smell, and harvest successfully continues to grow. You can strip, clip, pluck, and twist-snap seed heads depending on the type of plant. Your sense of prairie has now expanded to 40 or 50 different species as well as the omnipresent “Other.” At this point you begin to notice other things about prairie; some plants seem to grow singularly while others tend to grow in colonies, most plants seem to have a preferred home-base on the soil scale of dry-mesic-wet. You begin to notice that when you find Downy Sunflower, you frequently see Rattlesnake Master also. You notice that Sneezeweed is often found with Blue Vervain and that Nodding Wild Onion seems to enjoy the company of Heath Aster.
Finally you begin to sense that a prairie is like a coarsely but carefully woven tapestry. It has a vertical texture to it, as well as a horizontal dimension defined by the differing plants themselves. Most prairie restorations have their seed mix broadcast fairly uniformly, yet the resultant prairie is far from uniform in appearance. Native remnant prairies are even more variable in appearance, having been around much longer in time. The plants themselves and other forces of nature decide which plants grow where. Their preference for micro-climate, tendency to grow singularly or in clusters, ability to compete for available resources, and just pure chance are some of the parts of the loom that weave this colorful living tapestry. Diversity is the word that comes naturally to mind, though ecologists like to use the word biodiversity. A large selection of plant species with wildly different gene pools, appearances, and growth characteristics come together and create a living tapestry that has much more visual appeal and meaning than can be had from just summing up the individual plant assets. Take the same seed mix and broadcast it at a different a site and a different looking prairie will develop. This is the miracle of diversity.
Picking prairie seed is a wonderful experience. You can get totally absorbed in a prairie, and easily lost in your own thoughts, especially on a warm sunny fall afternoon. I often do that. So I am thinking about how diversity in prairies relates to diversity in human societies and I conclude that the same benefits should avail. Bringing together people of different races, ethnicity, religions, and other characteristics should create a society much more interesting, capable, and resilient than would be the case with less diversity. I believe that, and I believe that more and more of our world believes that, but not everyone. Then as the afternoon sun begins to warm me even more, I begin to daydream.
In an instant I move back in time 200 years. It is 1804, the year Lewis and Clark began their famous voyage. I am now a Sauk Indian standing tall looking out over the Mississippi Valley from our Lookout Prairie. The view from my vantage is totally unspoiled vast and awesome. I scan the horizon and all below for any signs of activity. Out of the corner of my eye I spot some movement and begin to focus on that movement. I soon recognize the movement as that of a small boat on the river. I watch carefully and see that the boat is occupied by two white men headed upriver, probably to set up a beaver trapping operation further upstream. I am anxious. What will their presence mean to me? What will it mean to my people? Should we drive these strangers from our lands or should we welcome them? Then I think about the vast diversity of the prairie upon which I stand, and I think about how that diversity ought to apply to man as well, and so I begin to relax. And I say to myself, “This is how it was meant to be and all is right with Mother Earth.”
Randall (Randy) Downing, member of the Northwest Illinois Green Team, has lived in Jo Daviess County since retiring from AT&T Bell Laboratories in 1989. He lives with his wife Sylvia in the rural Stockton area. Their property includes a 5-acre tallgrass prairie that was seeded mostly from seeds that were picked from local prairies.
