Prairie Architecture

Walking through the prairie today, the word that came to mind was architecture. During the summer, I  never looked past the swathes of yellow, dots of pink, pinpoints of blue in the blooms that blanketed the prairie. But now, the bright colors of flower petals are gone. What's left is the bones of each plant - the architecture - the framework that held all that brilliant color.

I looked up architecture and found one definition - "the complex or carefully designed structure of something." That's the prairie all right. Complex. Carefully designed. Structure. 

With the color stripped away, the view is spare but no less dramatic in its own way. The Carmine Miranda flair of the Dotted Mint has given way to the skeleton of a skyscraper. Without the bright yellow, a black-eyed Susan is almost ghostly. When leaves of broadleaf plants give way after the frost, the more simple structure of the grasses stands out, with a structure to draw the eye and birds throughout the winter.

Subtle brown tones. Almost black seed heads that were once regal purple coneflowers. Without the fancy, bright clothes, we see the character of what's underneath.

The Past & The Future - An Iowa Prairie

Returning part of our acreage to native flowers and grasses has been on my mind since we moved to this acreage four years ago. Interviewing sources for the article I wrote recently on Iowa's endangered species spurred me to action.

My research led me to Ion Exchange in Harpers Ferry, Iowa. The helpful folks there walked me through site selection and preparation and choosing the right kind and quantity of seed.

Though my husband has made it clear that this is my project, I knew he would never be far away. I staked out an area 40'x80'. He moved the flags to 20x40. We compromised at an area roughly 30x60. Applications of glyphosate and several weeks later, the existing lawn and weeds were effectively dead.

We planted our prairie garden this past Memorial Day weekend. David tilled the ground. I firmed up the seedbed by running the tractor over it. The biggest task was mixing the seed in 10 times the volume of wet sand and spreading it by hand. This action was, I believe, also the most satisfying.

As I walked over my plot, broadcasting the seed/sand mixture in one direction and then another, I thought about bringing the land back to what it was 200 years ago - or trying to. Who knows which of my seeds will grow? Or if they'll be the same plants that once grew here? Regardless, this bit of prairie will be unique to our land preparation and the randomness of my seed scattering, and the vagaries of today's weather and wildlife.

I am eager to see the result, but I'll have to practice patience. Prairie gardens do not establish quickly; three years to reach maturity. I'm in it for the long haul - remembering the past and looking to the future - on my own little piece of Iowa prairie.