Eye-popping prairie blooms

The prairie popped with new flowers this week. Many  sent me scurrying back to my Tallgrass Prairie Wildflower book for help with identification.

This lilac beauty is one I knew - Wild Bergamot, Monarda fistulosa. Wild Bergamot bloomed in profusion along the trail I often walked when we lived in West Des Moines. It's a member of the mint family. Good for making tea.

This exotic bloom - a triple decker that looks more like a Carmen Miranda hat - is Spotted Bee Balm, Monarda punctata - a relative of the Wild Bergamot.  The colors will be more intense as the flower matures and I'll post another photo as it happens. For now, just know that the true flowers are the pale yellow petals with purple spots that are tucked under the larger leaves, which are the flower bracts.

Canadian milk vetch, Astragalus canadensis, looked a lot like Partridge Pea before it bloomed.  Not surprising since they're both in the bean family (Fabaceae). The leaves are fern-like.

Just as a reminder, here is a Partridge Pea. These delicate little annual plants grow in abundance throughout the prairie and this week have come into bloom.

Another plant that is showing it's color is the Gray-headed coneflower, Ratibida pinnata.  This flower caused me to question my first identification. The cone is definitely gray at the outset, but as the seeds fill in, it becomes more brown. You can see this phenomenon on the flower at the bottom. There is a Yellow coneflower, Echinacea paradoxa, so I wondered.  At least one difference, though, is height. Yellow coneflowers are 2-3 ft. tall. Gray-headed coneflowers are taller. The book says 4 ft. The ones in my prairie are 5ft.+. So I'll keep looking for Yellow coneflowers.

Sweet Black-eyed susans are also blooming this week. In a photo, you can't tell them from Black-eyed susans. In person, the Sweet variety is much taller - 6 ft. - and the blooms are much smaller - less than 2 in. across.

With all these new blooms, the prairie is well on its way to showing all its color, but there's much more to look forward to. I've identified only 9 of the 37 species I planted last year.

Prairie friends - old and new

What a delight to see Partridge Peas in my prairie this week!  Partridge Peas were the first plant to bloom in my prairie last summer - the only one, really, if we forget the one sunflower that bloomed late in the season.  Partridge Peas were the only plant I could, without any doubt, name.

Seeing the fern-like leaves of Partridge Peas this spring is like seeing an old friend after a long absence.  I am excited to renew the acquaintance, eager to learn how things have gone since we last met, keen to see what is new.

Compared to some of the other forbs that  populate the prairie this spring, some standing more than a foot tall, I am surprised the Partridge Pea is so tiny. Apparently, Partridge Peas start anew each year. But, plants - like people - can be surprising. Though it looks delicate, I know the Partridge pea will persist against pervasive crab grass. It will flower throughout the season. It will grow tall and strong in a single season. It will hold its own. Plus, this little plant alone gave me hope last summer, hope that my prairie would take hold, would become something.

It is important to me to be able to call the plants by name. To recognize them for who they are, with their unique attributes. I imagine they like it when I do.  Just like people. It is an honor to be called by name. It shows respect to remember and call others by their names.

As the summer progresses, I trust I'll learn the names of other plants in the prairie (like these plants - what are they?!). And they'll become friends I welcome back year after year.

It's not too late

At this time of the year, I think of the end of the garden, the end of flowers. Roll up the hose, clean off the spent flower stems, bring house plants back inside. Fall coming on. Even winter. Who would not think this way after the cold, wet, wind of the past few days?

Most of the prairie has turned brown. The crab grass has sown its millions of seeds. The barnyard grass, too. But my prairie is full of surprises and not ready to give up yet.

This flower popped open just in time for my October prairie update. It is, to the best of my flower identification ability, a Common Sunflower. When I am so eager for, and excited by, each new flower, I am dismayed to find someone has labeled my latest pleasure 'common.' To me, it is anything but, coming as it does when I am chomping at the bit for each new plant, each colorful bloom.

Speaking of chomping, this plant has several buds. It had even more before some foraging night creature nibbled a few stems. Ah well. All God's creatures have to eat.

Remarkably to me - most likely because I don't know any better - the Partridge Peas, those first yellow flowers on fern-like stems to appear in my prairie back in June, are still putting out new blossoms. A pretty delight.

Though I may be moving along in my mind to the next seasons, fall and winter, it is fun to see that my prairie does not think it is too late for flowers. Yet another prairie reminder not to rush ahead too quickly. It's not too late to enjoy this moment.

Who's in control?

I just spent an hour and a half in the prairie, pulling seed heads off the crabgrass. I've been doing this for a couple of hours every day. It is a futile, exercise, I know. The prairie has turned a hazy brown - the color of crabgrass going to seed. My efforts have created little islands of green, but there is no way I can remove all the stems before they burst open to spread a new crop of seeds. Even so, I do not consider my efforts a waste.

My time in the prairie has given me new appreciation for the persistence of these native plants. Even though the crabgrass appears to have the upper hand, spreading like a thick carpet across the ground, hogging all the sunlight, coneflowers, Partridge Peas, Big Bluestem push their way through. Were I only to pass the prairie at a clip on my morning walk, I would not see these tiny plants.

When I spot a seedling, I clear away as much of the crabgrass as I can, hoping to encourage the newest plant by allowing it a full day of sun. I was rewarded this week when the Partridge Peas began to bloom. Hurrah! My first native flower blossoms.

Today, I also began to appreciate the persistence of the crabgrass. Did you know that every single crabgrass leaf produces a seed head? It does. I observed this as I pull off one after another until every leaf is stripped. And each seed head has a million seeds. Okay, I haven't become so obsessed that I actually counted, but it sure looks like it. Crabgrass would only go to this length if many of those seeds were destined never to germinate. All those seeds by one plant just to ensure survival of one.

Leaving the prairie today, I took a look back at the tiny green area resulting from my hour and a half of labor. I chuckled as I thought, 'I am NOT in control here.' I am doing what I can. Enjoying the effort. Hoping to make a tiny difference. But, I am not in control. And remarkably, that feels okay.

Prairie - By any other name

This weekend marked the second month for my prairie. In spite of the crabgrass and barnyard grass, I have begun to spot native plants: Big Bluestem, Partridge Pea, many coneflowers. That's a Partridge Pea in the photo, surrounded by crabgrass before the crabgrass really took off.

People tease me - Isn't crabgrass a native plant? What about nutsedge? And how about that fireweed (Erechtites hieracifolia)? All native, but considered weeds. Which reminds me that the definition of a weed is any plant where you don't want it.

As I look back on the last two months, I marvel at the roller coaster of emotions I've been through in such a short time. Now I've adopted a longer view, wait and see, attitude. My efforts with Roundup were futile. The crabgrass is going to seed. My efforts to rip off the seed heads before they scatter are futile. Which doesn't mean I don't spend hours each day out there trying. It gives me something to do and in the process I build a personal relationship with my prairie.

Getting 'up close and personal' with the crabgrass opens my eyes to the prairie seedlings that are taking root and pushing through in spite of the competition. I put my faith in their prairie ruggedness, trusting that they will keep on and in another month claim their own space.

This weekend, I had the pleasure of walking in a four-year-old prairie established by some friends. I have seen the future and it is beautiful.