Though the bulk of prairie seed gathering occurs in August and September, I have begun gathering a few of the early blooming species as they become ready. What a difference a year makes! Last year was a bit cooler than average and very wet. This spring and early summer’s rainfall is less than half of average and perhaps only 25% of last year. Temperatures have been about 2-3 degrees above average. The effects of a warm dry year are accentuated by the lack of water storage in the gravel hills of my prairies. I was spoiled last year by large seed crops on many wildflower species which this year are failing to bloom. The corn and soybeans in the area, primarily on deeper soils with significant water storage are suffering, though still growing, and withering on light soils. My crop is no different in needing water, but native prairie plants evolutionary history has weathered many droughts more significant than this, and it is interesting to see how the different species respond.

1976 and 1988 are the two serious droughts in my memory, when there was no life visible, and all good prairie plants were cowering at or under the ground, hiding from the relentless heat and drought. This is not 1988, however, and the different species are engaging in a wonderful balancing act: how to divide up the limited carbohydrates they are able to make. Do they risk putting scant resources into showy flowers and expensive seed or do they hunker down and feed roots or new meristematic tissue. That contrast is very noticeable in comparing the blooms this year of the black samson (Echinacea angustifolia) to last year.

If you look closely at the hills this year the relationship becomes obvious. Judging by the ubiquitious nature of black samson in my prairies they are a winner in the “Who gets to live on the gravel hills?” sweepstakes. Evolution has created a plant which responds to the clues of the year and makes a proper decision. this year a majority of the plants look like this.

Note that the plants look healthy and vigorous, not drought stricken. In business its called conserving working capital. Do I spend money (stored carbohydrates and new photosynthate) on a dicey business proposal (making seeds during a drought) or do I hold on to my working capital to take me through hard times (drought) and have it available for a better business opportunity ( such as making seed next year). The penalty for a business which uses too much capital on a losing proposition is bankruptcy; not fun, but you live to try again. A plant that is unwisely profligate with its resources dies. It loses in the evolutionary race to pass it’s genes down. Human genotypes which make unwise business decisions still pass on their genes, perhaps to another generation of bad decision makers. Much less pressure.

Of course the calculation is different for every species in every year. A long lived species like black samson can afford to wait a year to make seed. A short lived perennial like blanketflower (Gaillardia aristata) is under more pressure to make seed and unlikely to give up on blooming. I am gathering blanketflower seed right now and while there is far less seed than last year there are plenty of seedheads to pick.

Many other forbs are reacting to the weather the same way. Here are a couple other examples,

Finally, I will mention one of the few successes I have had in collecting seed this year. Porcupine grass (Stipa spartea) has had a great year, a cool season grass which made wonderful growth from stored soil water and our few spring rains. One could say the same thing, however, about smooth brome (Bromus inermis), which is competing for resources in most of the areas that harbor porcupine grass. Perhaps its the warm spring; perhaps it was the drought tolerance of the native grass. In any case it was dangerous to walk through the gauntlet of spears, but with time and patience I was able to gather a significant amount.

It was easy to gather by grabbing 5-10 heads and slide the heads through my gloves coming up with 10-20 seeds at a time. There is the down side of having the little spears sticking out of me and working their way through my shoelaces and into my socks. A small price to pay. I hope to have that kind of experience with some other species this summer. We shall see.