Flower Chasers

August 28-29, 2026

Author: Phyllis Root
Photographer: Kelly Povo

Even though August and high summer are both at an end, many of Minnesota’s native wildflowers are still in full bloom–sunflowers, asters, and goldenrods light up the prairie. Luminous blue gentians lurk in the grasses. On the last weekend in August we set out for some of our favorite prairies in northwestern Minnesota in hope of late blooms and butterflies–especially monarchs preparing for their long migration. And not just the prairies but the ditches alongside them as well, where often a wealth of flowers grows in the slightly wetter soil.

First stop:  Bluestem Prairie Scientific and Natural Area (SNA) where in a roadside ditch we’d once seen many Great Plains ladies’-tresses. We found plenty of late bloomers–American grass of Parnassus like little striped stars, bottle gentian, Kalm’s lobelia, stiff goldenrod, and Riddell’s goldenrod. But no sign at all that Great Plains ladies’-tresses had ever grown there.

At Twin Valley Prairie SNA we found Great Plains goldenrod, heath aster, Maximilian sunflower, prairie onion, and fringed gentian.  At Sandpiper Prairie SNA we found sawtooth sunflower, Maximilian sunflower, and giant sunflower.

From ditch to ditch we drove, scanning the roadsides, delighted whenever we spotted native wildflowers. Late in the afternoon we came to one of our favorite places where a few years ago we’d first found pleated gentian growing.  Pleated gentian is rare in Minnesota because it’s at the very eastern edge of its range and also because it grows in saline prairie, a rare habitat in our state. We’ve returned to this clump of pleated gentian for several years now.  The first time we found five plants with multiple blooms, easy to spot in the prairie grasses.  And each year that we returned, those five plants looked healthy. 

Until last year when, instead of five plants, only three had grown up. This year, although we scoured the small prairie, we couldn’t find any sign at all of pleated gentian. Just as we were giving up, we spotted a tiny blur of blue buried in the grass, so small I thought at first it might be fringed gentian. But these flowers had five petals instead of fringed gentian’s four, and the insides of the petals were spattered with pleated gentian’s tell-tale polka dots. We were glad to find them but sobered by their sorry appearance.

We drove on to our last stop apprehensive about what we might (or might not) find.  We knew we were too late for the hooded ladies-tresses that grew there, but we hoped to find a starry field of Kalm’s lobelia and at least a hint of ladies’-tresses leaves.

But this place, too, was “wicked dry, popcorn dry” as a passing resident told us it had been all summer.  A few scattered Kalm’s lobelia bloomed, plenty of sticky false asphodel had gone to seed (someday we’ll catch it blooming), and a few slender false foxglove flowered. 

That night at the hotel we considered.  We know seasons cycle through changes, but were the stunted pleated gentians the result of just a dry year in a dry land, a flower at the very edge of its eastern range struggling to survive, a consequence of human-caused climate change?  Or all three?

What if, we wondered, we abandoned the next day’s itinerary and just wandered this area of wildlife management areas (WMAs) and SNAs that we’d dubbed the “Fertile triangle” for all the riches of native wildflowers growing there? What if we looked for more saline prairie?  We might find another patch of it, might even find a pleated gentian growing.  We knew the chances were slim to none, but it had been a while since we had simply explored an area without specific coordinates for specific flowers.

The next morning we scrapped our previous plans, deciding instead to crisscross the  “Fertile triangle” to see what we might find.  Our first stop not far from “our” pleated gentian also had saline prairie listed so it seemed possible we might find some, but a ditch dense with cattails higher than our heads blocked the way.  Thrashing our way through like a bull moose might, we emerged onto the prairie into a glory of fringed gentians growing in a wide swath everywhere we looked. The usual late-summer suspects grew there, too: heath aster, prairie blazing star, northern plains blazing star, Kalm’s lobelia, and what we identified as Nuttall’s sunflower, the last sunflower species we had yet to positively identify.  In the cattail-free ditch across the road we found more fringed gentian, grass of Parnassus, prairie onion, bottle gentian, Maximilian sunflower, and seaside arrowgrass, an indicator plant of saline prairie.  But no pleated gentian.

Ditch by ditch and area by area we drove, stopping whenever a place looked interesting. In a ditch by the Nature Conservancy’s Pankratz Memorial Prairie we were ecstatic to find several Great Plains ladies’-tresses still in bloom. Whoops, hollers, and a brief orchid-finding dance followed.  Farther along at a wildlife management area we climbed a long hill, wondering if perhaps this was a beach ridge left behind by Glacial Lake Agassiz thousands of years ago.

We continued along dusty roads, and the day continued mostly overcast with a sweet breeze blowing, sandhill cranes calling, a pair of pelicans passing overhead, monarch butterflies flitting.  Our last stop was at a site we’d been the day before where power lines crossed the road.  Today, though, the power lines seemed to have moved to a different road.  Had we entered into another dimension or had crisscrossing so many road simply crisscrossed our brains? Finally we found our way to both the power lines and a rich ditch with shriveled leaves of small lady’s-slipper (white? yellow?) and showy lady’s-slipper along with sticky false asphodel gone to seed, Kalm’s lobelia, grass of Parnassus, and yet more fringed gentian. Up from the ditch, we wandered the prairie before heading  home and found three more Great Plains ladies’-tresses in bloom. 

Those pleated gentian we were hunting?  We never did find another population, but we had a splendid, wandering, ditch-diving day bursting with wildflowers, including two new-to-us populations of Great Plains ladies’-tresses.  You never know what you might find while you’re looking for something else. 

We’ll come back next year to check on the pleated gentian, and we’ll do some research on locations for saline prairie in the hope of seeing another population.  We’ll hope, too, that the last couple of hot dry summers haven’t completely done in the pleated gentians we’ve been visiting in the little roadside prairie.

Seeing native wildflowers is part of why we go out looking.  The thrill of unexpected discovery, the surprise of wonder, is another reason.  But who needs more reasons when the prairie (or woods or bog or rocky outcrops) are full of native wildflowers calling to us?  Just being out among them delights our flower-chasing hearts.

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July 24, 2026

Author: Phyllis Root
Photographer: Kelly Povo

For some wildflower chases that we go on we might not know exactly what we’ll find, or whether the flowers (if we do find them) will be freshly blooming. For other wildflowers chases we go with coordinates that we’ve researched, information from friends, a fairly precise idea of where we might find what we’re looking for. 

Either way, we know that wildflowers don’t keep an exact calendar.  What we see at a certain time one year may not be blooming yet the following year or may have already gone to seed. We know, too, that the flowers we do find may not always be in prime condition for a beauty shot photo. Still, we go for the flowers whenever we can.

Last weekend we set out to find three flowers we’ve been yearning to see this year:  tesselated rattlesnake plantain, round-leaved pyrola, and tall white bog orchid. We knew the tesselated rattlesnake plantain would be past prime and that the round-leaved pyrola would already be gone to seed, but we hoped for tall white bog orchid in full flowering glory. 

Our first stop was down a narrow one-lane sandy road to a place where we’d once seen tesselated rattlesnake plantain leaves. The day was overcast, and the pine trees made a sound like rain that never reaches the ground.  No sooner were we out of the car than we saw the white spires of two northern (very) slender ladies’-tresses with their wispy spiraling flowers already going to seed. We’d seen northern slender ladies-tresses only once before, so jubilation ensued to see them again in this new-to-us location. We also found plenty of tesselated rattlesnake plantain, mostly heading to seed but still happily growing. 

Next stop:  Badoura Jack Pine Scientific and Natural Area (SNA) where we were on the hunt for round-leaved pyrola, the last of the state’s seven pyrola/shinleaf that we had yet to positively identify. We’d found the coordinates in an online search in the University of Minnesota Herbarium records, and we followed them down a sandy track to where we planned to veer off into the trees. Jack pine woodland often has an open understory, but as we peered into the woods it was clear that some serious bushwhacking would be required. We can bushwhack with the best of them, but the day had turned hot and humid, and our enthusiasm for bushwhacking was at an ebb. Besides, we had not brought along our colored plastic ties, for us a bushwhacking essential.

Perhaps we could come at the coordinates from a different direction by taking a trail we had passed earlier and then heading into the woods.  We backtracked to the trail and hiked past tesselated rattlesnake plantain, pipsissewa, and Hill’s thistle. But when we reached the place where we needed to turn into the woods again, bushes and undergrowth still blocked our way.  

Surely, we reasoned, if round-leaved pyrola grew somewhere deep in bushwhack territory, what’s to say it didn’t grow elsewhere, too, in this part of the jack pine forest? We’d scoured the trail as we hiked, but now as we retraced our steps we looked more closely in open areas alongside the trail.  Which is where, down in the pine needles and grasses, we found several stems of seed pods and the long-stalked shiny leaves of round-leaved pyrola. All seven pyrola/shinleaf seen and identified in one year–check!

Our last stop of the day was Iron Springs Bog SNA where, just at the coordinates where we’d once before seen tall white bog orchid long past prime, two tall white spires bloomed beautifully, almost as though they were waiting for Kelly to take their picture.

Our targeted searches had paid off, but we also had the thrill of an unlooked-for flower find. We might set out with maps, coordinates, helpful hints–and then, just beyond the car door, we might find two unexpected northern slender ladies’-tresses growing.

Which is one of the reasons we do what we do: for the surprise of delight.

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