Flower chasing in the time of Covid-19

Author: Phyllis Root
Photographer: Kelly Povo

April 11, 2020

From a distance Grey Cloud Dunes Scientific and Natural Area (SNA) rises high above the Mississippi River flowing below.  Up close, these sand dunes that are products of glaciers forming and thawing are home to prairie grasses, flowers, and several rare species that we have yet to see. On a 60-degree sunny day we head to Grey Cloud Dunes to see how the prairie smoke and violets we saw there last year are coming along. We are careful to stay on the paths so as not to disturb this fragile community.

We find plenty of prairie smoke leaves and lots of pink buds but no blooms yet.  In the blowout where last year we saw an explosion of violets we identity the leaves of both bird’s foot violet and also prairie violet, which makes us happy—we are slowly learning how to know plants even when they are not blooming.  On a tucked away slope we find an Easter surprise:  pasqueflowers blooming!

What surprises us most, though, is the number of people out at an SNA:  we see more people today than in all the times we’ve come here before, perhaps in almost all the SNAs we’ve ever visited. We’re deliriously happy ourselves to be outside surrounded by open space, birdsong, bullfrogs calling, woodpeckers hammering, and native plants finding their way into flower.

A quick stop at another site reveals a wealth of snow trilliums where before we found only a few small buds.  Hepatica, too, is in bloom, and Dutchman’s breeches are beginning to unlock their buds while the grey green leaves of wild ginger are unfolding from thick roots.  Springtime flowers are busy at their brief and beautiful appearance.

The day is too nice to go home yet, so we make one more stop at McKnight Prairie, where pasqueflowers, from bud to full-blown blossom, dot the hills.  Here, too, we find prairie smoke in bud along with both kinds of violet leaves and know that when we return in a few weeks, more of the prairie will be awake.

Thursday it snowed, more snow is forecast, but on the Saturday before Easter we are grateful for the gift of open spaces and wild places, especially in these days of corona virus quarantine.  We are mindful, too, when we go out to maintain social distancing, take masks to wear if we can’t stay six feet from others, stay on paths, and avoid any places or state parks where keeping our distance from others might mean stepping off a boardwalk or trail onto delicate native plants. (A full parking lot is a good indication to us that the park is at capacity or beyond for maintaining social distance, so we drive on.) We’re grateful for all the people who are being cautious and considerate, and if we see you soaking in the beauty and joy of sunshine and springtime, we’ll wave—from a distance.


 

Hope

March 31, 2020

Author: Phyllis Root
Photographer: Kelly Povo

On the last day of March under a clear blue sky full of sunshine we head out to look for some of our earliest wildflowers.  It’s been three weeks since we saw the beginnings of skunk cabbage and two weeks since we found the first tiny buds of pasqueflower. Days since then have been chilly, rainy, snowy, sunny–surely something must be blooming.

We drive, socially distant, to a hillside in Hastings to see if snow trilliums have made their brief appearance.  At first, it looks as though we are still too early, but a closer look reveals tiny white-tipped buds emerging, a few ready to open on the next sunny day or two.

Snow trillium and pasqueflower often bloom at the same time, so our next stop is River Terrace Prairie Scientific and Natural Area, where on a gravelly hillside we find one perfect pasqueflower blooming, and we cheer for it.  More buds raise their furry heads, and farther along the ridge of this gravelly hillside we find a few more blooms just opening into the sunshine.

It’s too splendid a day to go inside so we make one last stop at Nine Mile Creek, where so many skunk cabbage have sprouted that they look like a colony of aliens, protected by squelchy, wet mud that sucks at Kelly boots and pulls her down as she shoots a picture. What’s a little mud on your jeans and sweatshirt, though, to a dedicated flower chaser?

In the wider world we are in the midst of hard times.  People are dying.  People are afraid.  But on a sunny last day of March people are also venturing out, socially distant, into the solace of springtime and of wild (or somewhat wild) places.  We went looking for spring on a day of firsts: first snow trillium blossoms, first opening pasque flowers. This is what hope looks like, and now is a time to take hope wherever we find it.

 


 

Making the most of social distancing!

Author: Phyllis Root
Photographer: Kelly Povo

March 15, 2020

Last week’s 60 degree Saturday prompted us to go out and find skunk cabbage just emerging, so one week later we headed out to look for more wildflowers.  Snow trillium, perhaps, or pasqueflower? The weather had turned cold during the week and the ground was still mostly solidly frozen, but we went anyway just for the delight of being outside.  And what better place to practice social distancing than a woods or a prairie?

At our favorite place to find snow trillium (actually, the only place we know besides Eloise Butler Wildflower Garden or the Minnesota Arboretum) we found snow still lingering under the trees and earth as hard as rock, but no trilliums.  We usually make this trip too early, even though we know the snow on the sheltered hillside is late to melt, and we’ll be back at least once (if not more) to catch these rare and delicate ephemerals when they briefly bloom.

Next stop, River Prairie Terrace Scientific and Natural Area, where we found the first few greening leaves of cinquefoil, alumroot, and prairie smoke.  We carefully folded apart last year’s curled brown pasqueflower fronds to find just a few small, furry, brown buds poking up, then carefully covered them again, glad to know that in another week or two they’ll be cheerily blooming away.

McKnight Prairie, our last stop, offered more tiny pasqueflower buds and green prairie smoke leaves, along with many seed heads of round-headed bush clover.  When we glanced over at the nearby tree farm, we wondered if we were hallucinating. The pines trees were a riot of colors.  Turquoise, pink, red, purple—colors never seen in nature’s forest—grew scattered among the green trees.  We’d come looking for spring color, true, but these trees were not what we had in mind.

It’s early, we know, to find wildflowers but never too early to get out into the woods and onto the prairie where we can rest in the reassurance that spring is on the way, that native flowers still have places to grow, and where we can let go of everyday worries and  breathe deep in open spaces where the world goes on.