By the time I get this post up we will probably be officially done with summer, approaching the fall equinox. I could make some analogy about entering the autumn of my life, but that probably happened a few years ago, with my winter fast approaching.. Anyway, it was a good summer, though I didn’t spend as much time as I wanted to on my restorations. The reasons for that are legion, but one of them is that a little over three weeks were devoted to my grandkids from Chicago, Agastya and Aashna, time well spent. Agastya had just turned 8 and Aashna was soon to turn 6 when they were here, young enough to be quite homesick (Aashna) and old enough to want to spend all their time on tablets watching videos and playing Minecraft (Agastya). They both have the ability to immerse themselves in other activities, however, and the visit was a success. This was facilitated by our close friends, the Holtquists, who have a lake cabin which had hundreds of hungry small bluegills around their dock that were very ready to snap at anything attached to a fish hook. Below is a picture of them prepared for the first day of school. They are big fans of Calvin and Hobbes, to whom a successful school picture was pulling a weird face, thus the interesting expressions.

Otherwise, the summer looms as a large empty space behind me, so I will refer back to my last two posts for guidance. My last post, “Decoding Spring”, referred to dilemmas in the manner several forb species were developing this spring. Specifically, the lack of flowers and resultant potential seeds of several species contrasted with the abundance of others. The winter and spring had been very dry, with only a couple nice bouts of precipitation to encourage the plants. This continued through the summer. June was dry; July had a couple big rains sandwiched around a stretch of hot weather, and August was warm and very dry. We recently (September 14) received the first rain of more than 0.2″ since July. All this meant that there has been very little seed to gather from most of the wildflowers. With a couple exceptions wildflower species decided to take the year off to see if conditions were more conducive to seed production next year. This wasn’t a serious drought by any definition, but the nearest weather station was about 5″ behind average (30%) before the rain last week. As always, though, interesting things occurred in the plant community. Here’s a few examples below.

One of those interesting things was the ubiquity and vigor of the flodmans thistles (Cirsium flodmanii). Thistles are usually not looked upon kindly, with Canada thistle the most impactful invasive species in my restorations, but this is a native thistle that plays nice with others and is a significant component of the dry mesic areas of the native prairies along the sides of every hill. I have never gathered its seed, as I was relying upon the wind to blow seeds over into the restoration (and I have found a few established there) and I perhaps harbor a little prejudice toward the entire genus. Like most prejudices that lump every member of a certain class together with the more troublesome members, this is unwarranted and unhelpful. On the other hand some of what I saw was easy to enjoy.

Almost every year there are a few wood lilies that show their beautiful blooms in early July. Had I been asked how many lilies occurred in my prairies a couple years ago I would likely have answered 5-10, an amount implying their presence in these prairies was unlikely to last. Last year, with excellent moisture, I was amazed to see perhaps 30-40 individual plants putting up flowers. Though 2026 was a dry year I again saw almost that many, and if I trust my memory, I believe that many were in different locations than last year. Might we have 60-80, or even 100 plants? That’s still not what anyone would call a robust population., but it’s a damn sight better than 5-10. In addition there are 40-50 seedling plugs in the South Dakota State University greenhouses, started by my friend, Dr. Lora Perkins, a little seed left over from last year, and a grand total of three pods I was able to gather from this year. I thought I might get 50, but unfortunately, a stretch of hot, dry weather after the bloom and pollination were complete caused the plants to kill and reabsorb the nutrients from the seed pods and stalks. After a couple weeks in the 90″s with no rain most of the plants decided they had been unwise to risk those resources and simply sucked them back into their crowns, as shown by the dead stalk to the right of the flag.

An even more surprising and pleasing occurrence in early July was the appearance of a wildflower I had never seen before, a total surprise, a group of bracted spiderworts (Tradescantia bracteata).

Seventy years I have been on this earth, and I likely have been over that area of prairie hundreds of times. Obviously, none of those times had been in early July in a year when the spiderwort felt inspired to bloom. They are a clonal/rhizomatous species, so the number of blooming stalks, perhaps 40-50, may have only been 10-12 discrete plants, and even those may go back to a single founder plant. Or perhaps, in the past, before my grandfather homesteaded, there were many more, and the half acre where they occur now is the remnant of a larger, genetically diverse population. In either case, they are a small, isolated population now, and certainly a candidate for local extinction in the future. I have a new species for the seed bank; a new passenger on my ark: a new child to nurture. Ben and I gathered what seed we could and I hope to devise a plan for its increase and establishment over a larger geography. It was growing in an area of mesic soils in the midst of a thick stand of smooth brome, in itself a surprise, as brome doesn’t allow many neighbors. I hope some of the seed is viable and that we can develop a plan to expand its territory. It may or not be a coincidence that we began some grazing here 3 years ago, after over a century of its use as hayland. This year the cows were in there for a couple weeks in May, and returned for some late grazing a few days ago. Perhaps the disturbance was necessary for the spiderworts and lilies to bloom. Finally, the last in a set of somewhat random observations is illustrated below:

Over the past several years I have periodically lamented that there are areas of the restoration that for a variety of reasons are less diverse that I desire. Specifically there is a substantial area of perhaps 30 acres of the better soils that likely received a double or triple helping of seed from the original seeding in the spring of 2018. A portion of this area had so many plants starting out in 2019 that I spread very little of the gathered seed there, saving it for the empty areas of the restoration. Thus, there are only a few of the species I’ve gathered here, perhaps 4 or 5. This isn’t land that will be contributing to the present image I have of the “seed bank” stocked with locally adapted genetics. On the other hand, even at my most curmudgeonly I have to admit that it looks pretty good, and after 8 years the plants are well on their way to convincing me of their adaptation The complaint in many restorations is that the big bluestem takes over and the forbs disappear. Look at the picture below; it appears that the forbs, particularly the rhizomatous growth of the Canada milkvetch (Astragalus canadensis) is outcompeting the grass. There are about twenty five species of wildflowers common through most of the 30 acres, most purchased seed of uncertain provenance put in with the Conservation District drill, with bits of 5-10 more species from seed that I spread later. Much of the seed that I have gathered over the years is from my adjoining native prairies which are much more xeric. Those seeds were never adapted to these mesic soils, and in most cases I didn’t spread them over these 30 acres. That doesn’t mean that none of them will ever end up here, but that it may take decades for natural movement to accomplish that.

As I’ve written many times, I’m trying to set this restoration up for long term success, and the question is whether these 25-30 wildflower species are enough, or the right species. Areas like this will look very different in ten or twenty, or fifty years. That will especially be true after grazing is re-introduced here, likely in 2028. I need to prepare the various areas in both the native and restored prairies to have the best chance to continue to adapt and change. I admit that it’s hard at my age to internalize the thought that I will not see many of those changes. At 70, almost 71, I hope to have a few years to guide and monitor this restoration, but probably not more than that. I may talk a good game, but at my core I am not a humble man. I think I know a few things and that I have the ability to make things happen. Who else can do what I have done? I have a good start with my friend Ben, but we may need a deeper bench. The most important thing for me to make happen, however, is to continue working with Linda to create the structure that will outlive us. That structure will first help our daughters continue adaptive management of our prairies, both here and on Linda’s grazing system 30 miles east of here. It will help find the people to populate that management “bench”. And, if well put together, it will help Anna and Diane move it on to the next generation. I close with a picture of the third member of that next generation, my granddaughter Lily. What will she see in fifty years out here? What will she think about it? She is already on the right track; she made sure that my daughter Diane, her Mom, was actually an animal so that she could include her in the summary of her favorite things. People are integral to the restoration and to all the life we hope to provide on that land. It will be up to you, Lillian, and Agastya and Aashna, to carry this forward. One look at that bright, intelligent face and I am very confident in that future.