A Cool Hike on a Hot Day

This blog tells

what a steward notices

in the balmy cool of 6:00 AM to 8:00 AM

on a later-to-be 95-degree day.

My basic mission is to look for purple loosestrife and white sweet clover, malignant invasives that, thanks to hard work, are now uncommon at Somme.

But in the first wetland, 

rather than any loosestrife, 

I find the very rare American slough grass. 

(There’s extra info on this endangered-in-Illinois plant at the end of this blog.) 

Here I’ll merely cite the thrilling fact that you can recognize it 

by its unusual seeds, flat and round, and arranged on the stalk like stacks of coins.

I found this handsome grass 

in six spots, 

but the counts per patch were low: 1, 1, 4, 1, 3, 1. 

Some years we find hundreds. Other years we find none. 

It was good to see some. 

The classy scientific name of American slough grass is Beckmannia syzigachne.

As I head up a wet swale, I find no evil invasives but do see signs of restoring biodiversity.

Where an ash died from the emerald ash borer, the flush of light enables a riot of now-uncommon plants. Starry campion, Joe-Pye-weed, tall coreopsis, ox-eye sunflower.

Another good sign 

is many "new" populations 

of Michigan lily – 

a species that didn't bloom 

at Somme 

for many years 

when the deer population 

was disastrously high.

Right by the lily, 

what to my wondering eyes should appear, 

but three blooming plants of the rare 

glade mallow, 

Napaea dioica. 

The ones at Somme 

may be the only glade mallows in Cook County. 

We’ve never found 

even one large, healthy, 

blooming plant at Somme before now. 

But more and more 

in recent years 

we’ve found bigger and bigger specimens. 

The problem for many years is that overpopulated deer 

had been too hard on them. 

This morning I find two patches – the first with three plants and the second with two. 

Five happiness.

Of course, 

if I look down 

below the flowers, 

I find that many 

of the leaves 

have been grazed off. 

But just finding 

five glade mallows 

big enough to bloom 

is a great step 

in the right direction. 

And it’s a beautiful day.

As I walk, 

I’m conflicted 

about my 

big human feet 

treading on 

the richness. 

Always I keep 

to the trails 

in the growing season, except when 

I’m stalking weeds 

or doing seeds. 

Being empowered 

as a steward 

gives me an odd privilege. 

When hunting 

sweet clover, 

I see beauty 

and surprises 

I wouldn’t otherwise allow myself.

Plants here:

Butterflyweed.

Culver's root.

Early goldenrod. 

Mountain mint.

Dropseed grass. 

What are these golden threads 

creeping through the vegetation? 

Numerous times we’ve gotten warnings 

from well-meaning people that a sinister demon plant 

was devastating the vegetation. 

But it’s just our friend dodder, Cuscuta glomerata, 

a weird but natural parasitic morning glory. 

Strange plant: it has no leaves or roots. 

When the seeds germinate, the shoot immediately attaches to nearby vegetation and sucks out nutrients. 

Soon its waxy white flowers 

will bedeck the graceful flaxen stems. 

For a while the whole plant will be just stems 

and flowers. Later it will be stems and seed.

Does it do harm? No.  It creates a disturbance. 

A beautiful disturbance, if you look close. 

The ecosystem is adapted to it. 

Other plants will take the places of the ones 

it sets back, and a diverse cycle will proceed.

Ooops. 

Next I do 

finally find 

the evil sweet clover. 

See the white sprays 

of pea flowers? 

Does it look threatening here? 

If not, know that 

twenty years ago, 

acres here were blighted and degraded 

by solid waist or chest-high stands of it.

Now I pull out 

the 48 plants 

in this first patch. 

A large plant can make 60,000 seeds. 

Good riddance.

The soil is damp, 

and the roots 

come out easily. 

Seeds haven’t formed yet, 

so I don’t need to haul plants 

out of the preserve.  

I toss piles 

where they'll do the least harm - 

in this case 

into a patch of 

the somewhat aggressive 

saw-tooth sunflower. 

I come across a pile we made

a few days ago, drying on a log. 

The Somme Team rousted them 

one cool morning. 

I love to do this work with friends, trading thoughts. I also love to follow up for later bloomers, alone in wilderness reverie. It’s all good.

This dead pile, near the trail, 

could be ugly to passers-by. I hope many will see it as an indication of the commitment that results in the whole being so increasingly beautiful, year after year.

In fact, 

I find five 

clover patches.

I map them 

and file it, 

so we can 

remember to 

check these spots 

on some beautiful 

July morning 

next year.

This one is 

great St. John’s wort, taller than I. 

Fat ovaries 

with five sticky stigmas on top of each... 

hiding under 

a tangle 

of pollen-y stamens.

I find bugs too. 

But I don’t try 

to photograph them 

with my little cell phone. 

To represent them, 

this is one of Lisa Culp’s 

recent daily masterpieces. 

What kind of strange flies 

are these? 

What’s their role in the ecosystem? 

I pass a skunk, 

a crayfish, 

a plains garter snake, 

and countless 

engaging bugs. 

But now it’s getting hot, 

so off I go to other work.

But hey! If you get cabin fever from air-conditioning, try mornings in nature. They’re pretty nice.

  

Post Script

  

Here are promised tidbits 

on American slough grass, Beckmannia syzigachne.  

The light-shaded counties show where it’s known from. 

Not many places in Illinois. 

Most populations are now gone. 

The grass is an annual. 

It’s adapted to something. Fire? 

Most marshes don’t get burned much. These at Somme do. 

We’ll see if it can survive here.

Illinois is far from the main populations of this grass. Our plants may have genetic adaptations that don’t exist elsewhere. At some point in history, human culture may need something from this plant that could save some other grass (for example corn, wheat, rice, or oats) from a devastating disease or pest. Or these plants may have some nutrient that could be bred into grains to help our food make us healthier – or smarter for that matter. 

So we’d be smart 

not to just let it 

go extinct.

The thoughts of a steward on a cool walk at the start of a hot day. Peace.