March 14- April 3, 2025
Author: Phyllis Root
Photographer: Kelly Povo
We’ve been chasing spring for several weeks now, searching for snow trillium and pasqueflower, both very early bloomers. On a sunny, warm day in the middle of March we found the tiny green tips of two snow trillium plants poking up along a trail in Bloomington, one shoot no bigger than a grain of rice. Soon, we told ourselves, soon it would be spring.
Heartened, we headed on down to River Terrace Prairie Scientific and Natural Area (SNA) near Cannon Falls where pasqueflowers bloom each spring on a sandy and gravelly hillside. Dried grass almost hid the trail up to the pasqueflowers, where we found tiny, huddled nests of furry, brown buds (the hairiness help hold in heat). A few greening leaves of prairie smoke peeked through the dry grasses, and what looked like the stalks of last year’s kittentails scattered down the hillside. Almost spring, we told ourselves. Soon those pasqueflowers would bloom.
Two weeks later on a sunny day we returned to River Terrace Prairie SNA, certain that those little nubs we’d seen would now be blossoming. When the road curved toward the SNA, however, we knew at once that we would not find anything blooming: the hillside and lower field were charred black, the only color the orange remnants of burnt cedar trees. Clearly a prescribed fire, a necessary part of prairie life, had burned away the old grasses. Still, we hopefully climbed the hill as clouds of ash rose up around our feet.
Those little brown furry beginnings of pasqueflowers we’d seen earlier now looked like little charred nests of noses poking up from the burned ground. Nearby, prickly pear cactus pads were shriveled, yellow, and needle-less. It will be interesting to come back later (much later) to see how everything responds to the fire. But for now, we still wanted pasqueflowers.
McKnight Prairie wasn’t far away, so we headed over and climbed to the top of the hill where several of the delicate flowers opened purple petals to the sun, delighting our flower chaser hearts.
Surely if pasqueflowers were blooming, those snow trillium sprouts had had time to unfold leaves and flower. A quick check on a cold and windy Saturday to Minnesota Valley Wildlife Refuge proved us wrong: leaves were bigger, buds were forming, but no flowers to be seen.
The next few days snow fell, melted, then fell again, draping tree branches with wet lacy piles of white. Snow trilliums bloom in the snow, so once again we headed down to the trail where they grew. Although the sun had barely risen, snow on overhead branches was already melting, leaving little pockmarked holes in the snow on the ground. Some of the melting snow had refrozen into tiny icicles, but most of it fell on our heads and down our necks like rain. The snow trilliums, true to their name, were undaunted by snow. But they still hadn’t progressed from buds to blooms.
One day later, after forty-five degree weather, no trace of snow remained, so once again we headed down to the Minnesota Valley trail. Most of the snow trillium were still in bud, but one brave blossom bloomed brightly.
Slow-walking or not, spring has arrived.
