Hard times are coming. Time is short. Be ready or accept the consequences.

I am not trying to riff on a revival style preacher, but I had the opportunity to spend several days last week on my prairies and there is almost an ominous feel to the countryside. The growing season is not over; hopefully we have a month or more with green, but the landscape is tired. The native grasses are turning various shades of tan and bronze; leaves have damage from diseases, insects and hard weather. Most wildflowers are done blooming, and many have senesced and are disappearing. Goldenrods and asters, the flowers of fall, are still blooming, along with a few sunflowers and gentians, hurrying to develop viable seed. With time short some plants just put their heads into the harness collars and pull for the finish. With some luck, there will still be blooms for 2-3 more weeks and the season won’t slip away too soon.

Some other denizens of the prairie are also feeling the weight of the oncoming hard times. For much of August our hills were covered with blooming stiff sunflowers (Helianthus pauciflorus). It appeared that I would be able to pick many bushels of heads for seed, but the maturing heads become an opportunity for some residents.

I had always assumed that deer were the culprit, fattening up for winter by filling their stomachs with sunflower heads; and that may be true, but then I saw evidence of another, unknown suspect.

Most likely, pocket gophers are storing the heads, or shelling out and storing the seeds, as there are usually mounds nearby, but my friend Ben Lardy suggested Franklin’s ground squirrels. Whoever or whatever is clipping and gathering the seedheads does so without harming the plants, which are still waving in the breeze, headless. Waiting for Ichabod Crane, I guess. In any case, I still hope to gather a substantial amount of stiff sunflower heads, though they aren’t ready yet. We will see what is left in a couple weeks.

This mystery of the sunflower thief is a good example of what draws me to these hills. I am increasingly protective of my time at the prairies and sometimes almost desperate for the opportunity to immerse myself in prairie life. My mortality is like a garment I wear these days, and fall has become very poignant to me. My breathing, and thus my stamina, are touchy. My trach means that I am always a half step from pneumonia. The days I spent at the prairie last week were warm and sunny, but now we are in for several days of cold fall rain reminding me of summer’s loss. But even with the rain I am drawn to the prairie hills. They call me with a gentle song: “Come to us. Abide with us. Join with our warmth and our life. Commune with us and become whole”