Flower Chasers

After the Fire

June 12, 2023

Author: Phyllis Root
Photographer: Kelly Povo

When we drive toward Yellow Bank Hills Scientific and Natural Area (SNA) we always watch for the curve of hill against sky–sometimes green with new spring growth, sometimes brown with late summer grasses. Monday what we saw was a black silhouette across the horizon. Clearly part of the prairie had been burned since we’d visited last fall, and, from the lingering smell of smoke, burned recently. Fire is an integral part of prairie life, and after our first startled view of the blackened hills we were glad to know that old, dried grasses and invasive shrubs had been cleared away by a managed burn.

We wandered the unburned part past greening grasses, yellow sundrops, wispy prairie smoke gone to seed, and a glorious explosion of prairie roses. Then we headed for the blackened ground, ash stirring under our feet as we climbed to the top of the hill and our favorite gravelly blowout. Glacial erratic rocks stood out starkly, deep holes marked burrows, and what looked like a tiny volcanic crater was alive with ants.

A few grasses grew in the ashes, but it wasn’t until we reached the top that we found a scattering of almost unburned patches where milkvetch plants with fat pale seed pods had escaped the flames and curly green milkweed leaves were even curlier than usual, thanks to the fire’s heat. We promised ourselves to come back throughout the summer to watch the prairie return after fire.

Mound Spring Prairie SNA wasn’t far away, and as we drove toward it we joked about how we might find that it, too, had been burned. A few weeks previously we’d visited Frenchman’s Bluff SNA and found large swaths of it black from burning. Perhaps the western prairies were being renewed by managed burns one by one?

Perhaps they are. Whatever the reason, what looked like half of Mound Spring Prairie’s undulating hills in the southern unit had been recently burned. Once again we walked through the unburned section identifying false gromwell, leadplant, Lambert’s locoweed, prairie alum root, and the occasional bright puccoon.

We had hoped to find scarlet gaura in one of these dry hill prairies, a plant whose four-petaled flowers open white early in the morning, then gradually turn deep pink before withering away. Just as we commented that it was too late in the day to catch the flowers changing color, we looked down. There at our feet scarlet gaura bloomed. Several flowers high on the stem were still white while lower flowers were shading deeper into pink. Celebration and photos ensued.

On the western edge of the state, prairies have been burned so that new life can grow, and we’ve seen scarlet gaura flowering. A very good prairie day.

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A Pair of Parks

May 26 and 27, 2023

Author: Phyllis Root
Photographer: Kelly Povo

Springtime flowers are well underway in southern Minnesota, so we headed out to see what was blooming farther north, stopping along the way at Banning State Park. The forest floor along the road into Banning was abloom with large-flowered trillium, the first sign that we had turned back the wildflower calendar a week or so. The sun shone, the river ran noisily over rocks as we hiked along the Quarry trail, and a helpful breeze blew away most of the mosquitoes that had attacked us as soon as we got out of the car.

But what are a few (well, a lot) of mosquitoes when there are wildflowers to be seen? We passed mossy, massive rock walls where little spikes of Canada mayflower blossomed, a few yellow large-flowered bellwort dangled, and wood anemone and starflower bloomed in constellations of white. Most of the Virginia spring beauty had already closed for the day, but several still showed their delicate pink and white flowers. And everywhere we looked we saw trillium upon trillium upon trillium stretching away through the trees.

It was hard not to linger, but the day was getting late. On our way out of the park we drove past even more trillium–a trillion of them, we were sure. Clearly spring had headed north. And so did we, to our home for the night in a camper cabin at Jay Cooke State Park.

The next day began briskly, beautiful and chilly. An early morning hike took us across the Saint Louis River footbridge where the water roared quietly around rocks below and foamed into bubbles that sparkled in the sun. Here, too, spring was making an appearance with both large-flowered bellwort and sessile-leaf bellwort, nodding trillium, fly honeysuckle, serviceberry, yellow wood violets, and wild ginger flowers. Among a crowd of trout lily leaves a few flowers still drooped gracefully.

Then we were off for what we thought would be a quick stop at Minnesota Point Pine Forest Scientific and Natural Area (SNA), located across the lift bridge in Duluth on the longest fresh water sand bar in the world. At the end of the road we crossed over to the lake side where waves lapped calmly, American beach grass grew in clumps, and large patches of bearberry spread across the sand. A sand cherry bush alive with pollinating bees smelled sweet, and starry false Solomon’s seal leaves, a few with foamy flowers, grew everywhere. Once in the shade of the SNA’s pines, we decided we’d just walk quickly to the end of the trail where we’d heard that another of Minnesota’s many berries grew. After all, the SNA was only 18 acres. How long could that take?

Long.

Each time that we thought we might be nearing trail’s end, the trail stretched on. Was the SNA one acre wide and eighteen acres long? One-half acre wide and thirty-six acres long? But once headed for trail’s end we were determined, and at last we saw open water and Wisconsin on the other side. We had set off for a quick walk, not bothering to bring water or snacks, and now we were thirsty and hungry. Figuring that the walk back would go more quickly on the packed sand at the edge of the lake, we trudged along wondering which distant landmark might be where we had parked the car. Finally the car came into sight, and we devoured sandwiches and long drinks of water, promising to remember to bring food and water with us every time, no matter how short we thought the hike might be. (We’d promised this before, but this time we promised not to forget the promise.)

Later a look at the map showed that the SNA covers only part of the point’s end–we had unknowingly walked well beyond those eighteen acres to get to the end of the trail. We promised to look more closely at the map next time, but, well, promises, promises….

After a few short stops as we drove along the shore we turned inland to a place where we’d heard uncommon wildflowers grew. We found the place but not the uncommon flowers. Still violets, pussytoes, bilberry, bearberry, and blueberry were in bloom, and a fat bumblebee buzzed from flower to flower. We wandered along this richness of roadside until we came to a mossy, hummocky stretch of forest where Labrador tea grew and more leatherleaf that we’d ever seen bloomed with rows of dangling, bell-shaped white flowers. We would have lingered longer and wandered deeper into the woods, but once again we had miles to go. Supper, beds, and family were all waiting at the end of a splendid wildflower searching day.

Spring had made it north, and so had we.

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A Pair of Prairies

Author: Phyllis Root
Photographer: Kelly Povo

May 21, 2023

The haze from Canadian wildfires turned the sunrise vivid as we headed out for a day of wildflower chasing. First stop: Oronoco Prairie Scientific and Natural Area (SNA) where part of the prairie had been burned since our last visit, leaving the ground clear for thousands of rattlesnake master to make their pointy appearance. Grasses shimmered with dew, hoary puccoon bloomed yellow-orange, prairie violet punctuated the new green, and lousewort spun its spirals of yellow petals.

We hiked past the burned-over hillside and across to the unburned side where we hoped to find a horse gentian we’d seen last fall. Could we find the plant again, we wondered. Would it be blooming?

Minnesota has two kinds of horse gentian, early and late, that are actually members of the honeysuckle family. Both kinds grow two to four feet tall in similar habitats, both have pairs of opposite leaves, and both bloom in May and June with clusters of purplish brown flowers in the axils where leaf and stem meet. Early horse gentian’s flowers ripen into red fruit while late horse gentian’s fruit is yellow, but without fruit the best way we know to tell them apart is the leaves. Early horse gentian’s leaves connect to the stem but not to each other, while late horse gentian’s leaves join together to encircle the stem as though the stem is growing right through them.

We found the plant we’d seen last fall easily, and a look at the leaves told us it was late horse gentian. And yes, there were flowers, tiny bits of color tucked into the leaf axils, just opening their dark velvety petals.

By the time we arrived at Kellogg Weaver Dunes SNA the sun burnt down, heat radiated up, and the ground crunched underfoot. How, we wondered, could anything grow in such dryness?

But grow it did. Bird’s foot violet bloomed, bunches of blue-eyed grass blossomed like little bouquets, more puccoon (hairy this time) shined yellow, and starry false Solomon’s seal’s feathery white flowers perched at the top of gracefully opening leaves.

We had come to search for bearberry, a ground-hugging shrub with small pinkish flowers. We’d first seen bearberry up north in Badoura Jack Pine Woodland SNA last summer and were doubtful we’d find it in southern Minnesota dunes, but we set off faithfully following coordinates we’d found of a sighting. The farther we trekked up and down across sandy blowouts, though, the more we thought, “No way these coordinates are right.”

And yet they were.

On the far side on a sandy blowout, nestled in among springtime-red poison ivy leaves, a population of bearberry hugged the ground, not yet blooming but definitely in bud. The bearberry wasn’t the only surprise: we also came across two blowouts full of beach heather with a few tiny yellow flowers scattered among the small leaves. Near the road where we’d parked we found a plethora of Carolina anemone leaves and one white flower blooming.

What had looked at first like an almost barren landscape turned out to have an abundance of native wildflowers, some blooming, some already done blooming, and many more in bud with a promise of flowers to come. A place to delight sunburned wildflower chasers.

In the wildlife management area across the road sandhill cranes called.

It was time to head home.