Tallgrass prairie

The tallgrass prairie dominated this part of Texas two centuries ago. Most of it is gone now, turned into suburban backyards and parking lots, with only a small amount held safe in prairie preserves. But we're lucky enough to have a tiny bit of mostly native prairie, about four acres, on our property. And this year, the grass is really, really, really tall. Bill is 6'1", and he's looking up at the tip of this bluestem, which makes that grass, oh, maybe 6'5". And that wasn't the only stalk that high--there was plenty more. So the next time you read that on the native prairies, the grass was as high as the horses' backs, believe it.

Actually, what Bill is looking at in this photo is a non-native bluestem, King Ranch (KR) bluestem, that was brought to Texas from China, by way of California. It's more aggressive and more drought-tolerant than the native turkeyfoot bluestem or the little bluestem and might eventually crowd them out. But for the moment, they're healthy and holding their own. There's even a big patch of yellow Indiangrass that I hadn't seen before. We've never mowed this pasture. When we bought it, seven years ago, it was the home of a pair of burros, who had eaten every scrap of grass down to the root. We could never have guessed it would make this kind of a comeback, especially given the droughts of 2003-2006. But we've already had something like 40" of rain this year (it's hard to tell, exactly, because the rain gauge only holds 6", and a couple of times during the July rains, it overflowed). I think we'll have to mow it now, though, or we'll have a fire hazard when the grass freezes back and dries out.

But in the meantime, I'm enjoying morning walks with the dogs. It's been foggy the past several mornings, and as we wade through the sea of constantly moving grasses, the only sounds are the cheerful chirps of the mockingbirds and the long calls of the mourning doves. A lovely way to start the day.

Reading note. See how nature - trees, flowers, grass - grows in silence; see the stars, the moon and the sun, how they move in silence...we need silence to be able to touch souls.--Mother Teresa

Comments

[Paulette Schubert]

Whoever said Kansas is flat and boring has never experienced the Flint Hills in central Kansas, covered with native bluestem. I love this area and enyoy my drives through, regardless of the season. A native of Wichita, I enjoyed several seasons of camping in the heart of the Flint Hills. The grass, not so high as that shown in the photo of Bill in Texas, is burned off each year in awesome, but carefully controlled, fires. In Spring, between Emporia and Matfield Green, on the Kansas Turnpike, one may encounter smoke too dense to drive safely through, requiring one slow to a crawl or to stop by the roadside. I once read that our bluestem is particularly nutritious as well as hearty, something about the mineral content of the soil, due to the flint rock which gives the area its name. During the dustbowl days of the 30's, cattle were sometimes brought in from as far as Texas to graze this land in order to survive. The roots run deep, and even when dry and brown on top, the grass survives and retains nutrients for grazing animals. Firebird, a fine novel by Kansas author, Janice Graham, pays homage to this area, the land and its inhabitants. A grass fire that rages out of control gives the book its name.

[Karen Beshears]

We have a patch of native bluestem on our farm in Illinois, which is a wilderness of hardwood trees as well as those trees that seem to grow out of the air. It is the wildest place in our county, located in northwestern Illinois. I have no idea how the pioneers rode through it. We do burn it off every year, which is what happened in earlier times as nature's way of renewal. Too bad that we have pushed too far into nature in California and elsewhere ... thus we have burned property in what once was a natural process. Thanks, Susan for writing so eloquently of your life.

[Ranchwoman]

Anyone who loves the land and the things that grow on it should read "Home Ground," edited by Barry Lopez. It is a dictionary of sorts, in which authors give their definitions of landscape words. Poet Michael Collier describes grassland thus: "It was not long ago that bluestem and Indian grass rippled horse high from horizon to horizon in many of these areas, frightening and asonishing early settlers with its oceanlike vastness."
--Glenda

[Marti Johnson (aka Sock Queen)]

Somewhere I read about the Bluestem grass and the little line of blue in its center ... Was that in one of your books? Seems like a natural to me. I love seeing the native grasses and plants return to areas where you would think it was wiped out. Maybe its Mother Nature's way of telling us what really belongs in certain areas!