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Sand Ridge Nature Preserve

So far, so good–second week of January and I’ve visited my second nature preserve toward my goal of visiting 50 this year. As many times as I’ve been to Sand Ridge Nature Center, I’d never gone five minutes further to Sand Ridge Nature Preserve. Today I did.

Along with Camp Shabbona Woods and Green Lake Woods, Sand Ridge Nature Center and Nature Preserve comprise a complex of protected lands measuring about one mile square. For the geography geeks among us, the federal Land Ordinance of 1785 created a system for mapping “western lands” (Illinois then was considered “the west”) for future development. Each township consisted of 36 sections, each section measured a square mile. That’s why, if you’re wondering, this particular nature complex is pretty much shaped like a square.

About 10,000 years before the Land Ordinance of 1785 was passed–for the geology geeks among us–Sand Ridge Nature Preserve was about 40 feet under the waters of Lake Chicago. As the waters retreated and advanced, and ultimately settled at their current Lake Michigan level, they left behind a series of beach ridges, alternating with low-lying lands. This “dune and swale” habitat was–and is–incredibly rich in the diversity of plants and animals it supports.

Most of the beach ridges were bulldozed, of course, and the low-lying lands filled in to make flat land for farming and development. However, the sandy soils were not that great for farming. So, in 1962, the Forest Preserved District of Cook County built a nature center on its section of former farm land. Three years later, in 1965, the Illinois Nature Preserves Commission dedicated the best of this land as its 9th dedicated nature preserve.

Unlike Sand Ridge Nature Center, there are no trails in Sand Ridge Nature Preserve. But that’s OK because what interested me most on my visit today was the utility corridor that runs alongside it. At first blush, you may not think there is much in common between a nature preserve and a utility corridor, but they share a powerful bond. As I point out in the book:

“The underlying strength of the Illinois Nature Preserves system lies in its being anchored in two powerful common law doctrines: dedication and public trust. According to common law, ‘a dedication is the deliberate commitment of land to a public use by the owner, with the clear intention that it be accepted and used for some public purpose.’ The doctrine of public trust dates back even further to Roman law and underpinned the tradition of the public commons in medieval European towns and the earliest towns in America. The doctrine, the essence of which is that the public has a legal right to certain lands and waters, is in evidence today in our nation’s innumerable parks, preserves, and public rights of way,” including utility corridors.

As you can see from this photograph, there is another powerful bond between nature preserves and utility corridors. Within the Chicago region, ComEd’s utility corridors encompass about 40,000 acres. That’s a lot of land. In fact, it rivals the 58,000 acres of dedicated nature preserve lands throughout the entire state of Illinois. For a number of years now, ComEd–in partnership with Chicago Botanic Garden, Prospect Heights Natural Resources Commission, and many others–manages its utility corridors using native plants. This helps buffer nearby nature preserves, expands habitat for rare and endangered species, such as Blanding’s turtles, and provides critical connections between our region’s nature preserves, forest preserve district lands and other natural areas.

Ever seeking to improve its natural areas program, this past year ComEd refined its mix of prairie grasses to help protect Illinois’ monarch butterflies. And in partnership with Openlands, ComEd annually provides grants to municipalities and park districts that focus on conservation, preservation and related open space improvements. In 2016, Our Green Region awarded 22 grants of $10,000 each.

Even on a cold, cold day, I love walking through Sand Ridge, with its icy swales reflecting the late afternoon sun, the crisp air occasionally punctuated with the “peep” of downy woodpeckers and the “eep” of a white-breasted nuthatch.

But I also enjoy this walk for the beauty of the human interface. Certainly, we have destroyed most of our natural land–less than one-tenth of one percent remains. But here, in this place, I find beauty not only in the preserved land, but also in the engineering of a transmission tower, as well as in the commitment of a public utility–working with many different partners–to protect and buffer and care for our biological heritage, our remnant natural area gems.

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Thornton-Lansing Road Nature Preserve

I’ve never been one to make New Year’s resolutions. But this year, to celebrate the publication of the George Fell biography in April, I resolve to visit at least 50 Illinois Nature Preserves in 2017.

Today, on the first day of the new year, Susan and I take a mid-winter walk at Thornton-Lansing Road Nature Preserve. A lot of folks think that nature is something far away. But Thornton-Lansing is only 15 minutes from where we live on the south side of Chicago. Way back in 1965, two years after George Fell successfully advocated for the passage of the Illinois Nature Preserves Act, it was the 12th area to be dedicated as an Illinois Nature Preserve. Today there are nearly 400 Illinois Nature Preserves, each of which has virtually iron-clad permanent protection thanks to George Fell.

Even longer ago, between 11,000 and 13,000 years, Thornton-Lansing and much of the south suburban region was under the waters of Lake Chicago, the glacial-era ancestor of Lake Michigan. As the ancient lake waters receded, they left in their wake a flat lake bed with a succession of beach ridges, sand dunes, spits and bluffs. By the time people started settling the area in earnest, the site boasted prairies, fens and marshes, alternating with scrub-oak forests on sandy ridges.

Most of this kind of habitat was filled, timbered, plowed or paved over in the steady march of the Chicago region growing into the third largest metropolitan region in the United States. However, soon after its establishment in 1914, the Forest Preserve District of Cook County began buying land along Thorn Creek, a 21-mile Tributary of the Little Calumet River. Eventually, Thorn Creek Forest Preserve–comprised of several different units–grew to nearly 6,000 acres, of which 440 acres was dedicated as the Thornton-Lansing Road Nature Preserve.

Some may think that winter is a bleak time to visit nature preserves, but not so, as George Fell well knew: “Everywhere we look in the natural world we perceive beauty in form and color, whether in magnificent scenery or in the subtle patterns formed by bare branches against the winter sky…”

Bare branches afford other delights as well, such as this bird’s nest–a kind of solitary ornament atop a spindly, Charlie Brown Christmas tree of a sapling.

The absence of leaves makes it much easier to spy winter birds, such as blue jays, white-breasted nuthatches, downy woodpeckers, and red-bellied woodpeckers. But they remained too high up in the branches to get a good picture.

On the ground, however, the lack of greenery reveals the burn scars on trees–evidence of the stewardship necessary to maintain the health of this rare sand savanna ecosystem, a fire-dependent natural community that requires periodic burning.

Some of the trees also bear numbers, spray painted in bright orange, evidence of the effort underway to open up the tree canopy to help encourage healthy populations of rare woodland flowers. In fact, so important is Thornton-Lansing Nature Preserve that the Forest Preserve District has identified it as its #2 priority restoration site. 

Next time out, we’ll be sure to visit Jurgensen Woods North Nature Preserve, a 120-acre sister site, located just across the road within the same forest preserve. But, for now, both Susan and I are perfectly content to soak up the last rays of the late afternoon sun before heading home to a New Year’s Day Dinner of Hoppin’ John.

 

 

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Publishing a First Book

As of today, I am done. Done with writing, re-writing, copy edits, indexing, photo releases, and yet more copy edits–all the various steps that go into the process of turning a manuscript into a physical book. It’s been a little over a year. What a learning curve. What fun.

It  all starts with finding a publisher. Some writers are fortunate to have publishing agreements in advance. Most of us, however, write “on spec,” on speculation, in the hope that someone out there will deem what we’ve written worthy of putting into print.

I’ve written a number of articles on assignment from various magazines and journals, but I wrote the Fell biography on spec. Initially, I had been commissioned by the Natural Land Institute to write a short biography of Fell for inclusion in its 50th anniversary publication, A Legacy of Natural Lands. But I found Fell such a complex, fascinating man, and the backstory of his many accomplishments equally complex and fascinating, that I believed he deserved a full-length book. I spent several more years digging into Fell’s life and career, expanding on the original 25-page biography several-fold to 200 pages.

After the manuscript was accepted for publication, the editing process included trying out a lot of different titles.

In a way, writing the manuscript is the easy part. Next comes querying publishers, which requires first reviewing their submission guidelines to determine which ones publish the kind of thing you’ve written. Among the various commercial and academic presses I researched, the University of Wisconsin Press seemed the best fit for having published biographies of big name conservationists such as John Muir and Aldo Leopold, as well as lesser-known but equally important conservationists such as Frederick and Frances Hammerstrom–a husband and wife team not unlike George and Barbara Fell.

As with any publisher, you have to make your pitch. What is the book about? Why is it important? Does it advance the field of knowledge? And, of course, is there an audience–a book-buying market–for the book? You submit your answers to these and many other questions, along with a sample chapter and some additional requirements, and then you wait.

Fortunately, it wasn’t too long before the University of Wisconsin Press got back to me, requesting the full manuscript. This, they sent out for peer review to academics in the field, seeking their take on the value and publishability of the manuscript. Fortunately, again, the reviewers gave the manuscript the thumbs up.

I was thrilled when the University of Wisconsin Press offered me an agreement to publish the book, pending certain revisions based on the peer reviews. While I began final revisions to the manuscript, I also joined the National Writer’s Union, which offers a service to freelance writers to review publishing agreements.

This past summer, following my submission of the final manuscript, it was sent to a copy editor. All I can say is thank god for copy editors. Mine saved me from countless silly mistakes, as well as several of considerably more consequence had they gone unnoticed and unaddressed. In any event, it was my job to review and accept, amend or decline all the suggested copy edits, and then forward the marked-up manuscript back to the senior editor at the Press for final copy editing.

Oh, and then there was the tracking down of photos and maps (and securing permissions) to provide a short, visual narrative of Fell’s impressive life and career.

Just this morning, I have finished my final review of the final page proof–last chance to catch any wayward punctuation, etc.–which required me to become conversant with something else entirely new: standard proofmarks.

Along with the final page proof, tomorrow I will send to the senior editor the index, the compilation of which I had hired a professional. Compiling an index is another facet of book publishing I had taken for granted until it became my responsibility either to learn how to do it myself (there is, of course, as much art as there is skill in this) or at least be informed enough to be able to choose among a number of exceptional candidates. In addition to providing a sound roadmap for those seeking particular information, the indexing process also surfaced a few more errors and oversights that had not been caught in the copy edit process. Whew!

Now it’s up to the senior editor, who finalizes everything before shipping the final final draft to the printer. The actual books, then, will be sent to the distribution warehouse–which just happens to be in Pullman, where I live–and then off to the stores and booksellers. Scheduled publication date: April 18–just about the time that pasque flowers will be blooming in Harlem Hills Nature Preserve, the rare, gravel hill prairie where George and Barbara Fell camped out on their wedding night.

All in all, it will have been a little over a year-long process from my initial query to publication. Next step on the learning curve–promoting the book.

Oh, and the next book–Finding Vivian, a young adult novella–is in the works, as well. Stay tuned.

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You Make a Life by What You Give

The title comes from Winston Churchill: “You make a living by what you get. You make a life by what you give.” On Saturday night, scores of volunteers were honored by what they so richly give to Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie.

I’ve been volunteering at Midewin since it was established as the nation’s first national tallgrass prairie in 1996. That’s me, below on the right, at one of the first volunteer workdays, alongside Jerry Heinrich.  Over the years, I’ve cut invasive brush, pulled garlic mustard, harvested native seed, cleaned it, planted it in native seed beds and hand-sowed it in several prairie and wetland restoration areas. Of late, mostly what I do is monitor grassland birds.

But all of this pales in comparison to what Jerry Heinrich has done. Along with this wife, Connie, he practically lives at Midewin. And for Midewin. Even before Midewin was established, he served on the 24-member Joliet Arsenal Citizens Planning Commission, which led to Midewin’s establishment in 1996. Thereafter he was among the founders of the Midewin Tallgrass Prairie Alliance, a “friends” group in support of Midewin, and for many years has served as its president. He leads tours, he cooks hotdogs, he fixes equipment, runs plant sales, and is an avid lookout for new invasive species. In short, he does whatever is needed and he is–quite simply–one of the most eloquent and personable ambassadors for Midewin. For all that he does, Jerry was one of only seven people nationwide this year to receive the US Forest Service Volunteers & Service Restoration Award.

Other volunteers received handsome ceramic plaques in recognition of their efforts. A couple of volunteers were recognized for their dedication over many years–Don Grisham put in 2,350 hours since 2001, and Len LeClaire (below, on the left) 2,080 hours since 2007. Bob Green clocked 242 hours since February of this year.

All in all, over the course of 2016, volunteers gave more than 13,600 hours of their time. At the low, low volunteer valuation rate of $23.56 an hour (according to the Independent Sector), that adds up to more than $320,000 of donated time. Or, to put it another way, 13,600 hours is the equivalent of an additional 8 full-time staff working to restore Midewin–for free!

The evening’s MC, Volunteer Coordinator Allison Cisneros, pointed out how challenging the volunteer work can be–cutting buckthorn in freezing temperatures or enduring ticks, chiggers, heat and humidity on an August work day in the field.

But she also pointed out what makes volunteering fun–learning new skills, meeting new friends, and making a difference. Among the 42 different kinds of volunteer opportunities available at Midewin, the evening program featured presentations on two of them: 1) a new ranger program, in which volunteers greet a hugely growing number of visitors who come to see Midewin’s new bison herd, and 2) an archaeological dig on a site dating back 10,000 years.

Of course, the success of Midewin also relies on exceptional professional staff. In this, Midewin is equally fortunate to have so many dedicated individuals. But Saturday night was all about the volunteers and celebrating another successful year of so many people giving so generously of their time and talents to take care of our public lands.

I’m grateful to be counted among them. I’m grateful for all that Midewin gives back to me.

 

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Cowbird Conundrum

I recently posted this photo to Facebook – a yellow warbler feeding a cowbird baby. A good friend replied, “I disdain the parasitic cowbirds.”

I so get that. Cowbirds make me crazy, too.

For those who don’t know, cowbirds are “brood  parasites.” Or deadbeat parents. That is they lay their eggs in the nests of other birds – about 220 different species – then leave the raising of their young to others.

Some bird species recognize cowbirds eggs and push them out of the nest, or puncture their shells with their beaks. But most species are unable to recognize cow bird eggs. Or, there is new evidence that suggests that some species recognize the foreign eggs but accept them in order to avoid having their nests being destroyed by cowbird parents as a form of punishment for not raising cowbird young.

In any event, cowbirds eggs hatch faster. The foster parents, for whatever reason, feed whichever gaping beak is in their nest. As the bigger cowbirds gain strength, they frequently push the other eggs out of the nest or smother their nest mates in the bottom of the nest.

To watch a tiny yellow warbler, which weighs about a third of an ounce, feed a young cowbird is to watch an over-worked parent fill the gaping maw of real-life Baby Huey that will grow to five times its size.

How did cowbirds evolve this way? Blame it on the buffalo. Cowbirds are native to North America, and co-evolved with the massive bison herds of yesteryear. Cowbirds would follow the herds and feast on the bugs stirred up by the grazing bison. But because bison are nomadic, when they moved on, the cowbirds were forced to move with them. Which meant that someone else would have to watch over their young. And so some clever bird figured to lay its eggs in the nest of some other mother bird.

Once the great nomadic bison herds were eliminated, cowbirds kept to their bad parenting ways, and pose a significant threat to song bird and grassland bird populations, which are facing numerous other threats to their long-term survival.

That’s another reason why Midewin is so important. One of the most effective ways of controlling cowbird parasitism is to restore large landscapes, which minimizes what is known as “edge habitat.” Cowbirds prefer forest edges, which provides them ready access to the nests of many grassland bird species. But restoring Midewin’s 19,000 acres to native tallgrass prairie, eliminating the old hedgerows and volunteer stands of weed trees, will greatly reduce the ability of cowbirds to prey on the nests of unsuspecting birds.

Is this catbird gathering food for its own young, or unwittingly for a cowbird?

Especially with the recent reintroduction of bison to Midewin, there are certain to remain some native cowbirds as part of the prairie ecosystem. But Midewin is big enough – sometimes size really does matter – to provide balance among all of the many different kinds of birds, mammals and plants of the native tallgrass prairie.

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Bison Bird?

“What’s in a name?” Juliet asks of Romeo. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” I can’t attest to how a cattle egret might smell, but no matter which of several common names you call Bubulcus ibis, it is one sweet bird.

Its common name in North America is cattle egret. This picture I took at Midewin today provides pretty good evidence why. They feast on insects stirred up by grazing animals, frequently perching on their backs as they await a meal.

This is probably a trick – or adaptation – they learned in Africa, where the species originated. There, cattle egrets are known as elephant birds, or rhinoceros egrets or hippopotamus egrets. Their arabic name, Abu Querdan, means father of ticks, a name given in the misbelief that this species pick ticks off the backs of its grazing herbivores.

In Europe, cattle egrets are known as buff-backed herons for the patches of buff color on their backsides (not to mention their bellies and their head crests.) This – in addition to their smaller size – is one of the easiest ways of distinguishing them from great egrets, also present at Midewin.

Great egrets are larger than cattle egrets, and lack their buffy markings.

Cattle egrets are not all that common at Midewin. According to ebird, the first one was sighted there in 1996. I first glimpsed one in 2011, and then not again until today.

There are quite a few cattle at Midewin. At least for now. Cattle are a kind of stop gap measure until Midewin can be fully restored. Rather than let the former ag and arsenal lands go fallow, grazed pasturelands actually provide pretty good grassland bird habitat – a major management objective at Midewin. Additionally, pasture leases provide additional income that gets channeled back into restoration.

Dickcissels are among the grassland bird species that benefit from grazed pasturelands.

One day, once all the land is restored and the cattle leases expired, will Midewin’s cattle egrets adapt to become bison birds? As a species, cattle egrets did not co-evolve with American bison. Native to Africa, cattle egrets managed to find their way to South America in 1877, and then worked their way northward to the United States by 1941 – long after the storied bison herds of the 1800s had been eliminated.

A quick Google search already reveals that cattle egrets are adopting to bison just fine elsewhere. After all, how hard can it be to ride a bison once you’ve mastered elephants, rhinos, hippos, and bare-backed moo-cows?

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Spring is Deceptive

At first glance, a prairie doesn’t look like much in early spring. Some might even go so far as to say it’s nothing so much as a bunch of dead weeds.

But look closely, take a long, leisurely walk through Midewin, and you’ll see the joint is really hopping, buzzing, chirping and bellowing with life.

At 19,000 acres, Midewin is big and diverse enough to harbor an exceptional diversity of birds. Over the past several years, I’ve seen 125 different species at Midewin. Today, as resident and migrant species return, I’ve seen 46 species, including brown thrashers. Typically, they are solitary and secretive. A fleeting glimpse is mostly what you can expect before they disappear into a thicket. Except in early spring, when they perch in yet-leafless trees to sing their melodious mating calls, while keeping a wary eye on the world.

Black-capped chickadees hang around Midewin all winter long, but it’s in spring that these tiny bundles of energy – weighing about a third of an ounce – really get busy, harvesting every nook and cranny for seeds, insects and spiders, while filling the air with insect buzzes, major fourth call notes and their namesake “chick-a-dee-dee-dee.”

Particularly thrilling is spotting a loggerhead shrike. Midewin is home to a handful of breeding pairs of this state endangered and proposed for listing as federally threatened species. In addition to their rarity, they are notable for caching prey – insects, rodents, even other small birds – on thorns, of which there are plenty at Midewin with all of the osage orange trees remaining from its pioneer past.

On one of the warmest days thus far this spring, the warm-blooded creatures of Midewin – me included – are not the only ones enjoying the welcome sunshine. To survive the winter, garter snakes go into hibernation (technically brumation, in that being cold-blooded – technically, ectotherms – they remain alert but sluggish, the cold slowing their metabolism to nearly zero, which means they can go long periods without eating but not starve.) When the temperatures warm, up goes their metabolism and they must reemerge to feed. On the other hand, who doesn’t love basking in the sun after a long winter?

So, too with green frogs and painted turtles.

High summer is when the prairie is ablaze with more than 200 species of grasses and flowers. But in early spring, Midewin’s Prairie Creek Woods harbors a host of woodland ephemerals, such as this swamp buttercup, in turn hosting one of many different kinds of native bees.

As with every season, there is always a little sadness. This fledgling painted turtle apparently tried to leave its nest and make its way to a wet area, but ran out of energy on the gravel path.

But this death also provides an opportunity to take the kind of closer peek at the beautiful underbelly of a painted turtle, something you almost never get to see by observing critters in the wild.

Something else you seldom see are duck nests. Unlike mallard drakes (males) that boast metallic-emerald green heads, the hens (females) are dull, streaky brown, the better to blend in with their ground nesting environs. Clambering atop one of Midewin’s old arsenal bunkers for a panoramic view of the landscape, I inadvertently flushed a hen from her nest, which was nestled against the bunker’s exhaust vent.

At the other end of the animal spectrum, Midewin has officially welcomed its first baby bison. I don’t have pictures yet, but stayed tuned. Better yet, head out to Midewin yourself. A big, beautiful prairie and all the life it harbors awaits you.

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Surviving Midewin Hairless and Featherless

Overcast and cold this morning, out on the recovering prairie lands of Midewin. About 27 degrees, with a slight wind making it feel more like 21. Perfect weather for marveling at the hardiness of birds and bison, alike.

Bison, of course, are legendary for their ability to withstand the frigid temps and deep snows. The 27 bison that arrived at Midewin a few months ago appear to be adapting well to their first Illinois winter. The snow cover thus far has been thin, which means they haven’t yet needed to use their massive heads as snow plows to access the grasses upon which they feed.

As for the cold, well, a temperature in the 20s is practically beach weather for bison. In the winter, bison sport two kinds of hair – an outer layer of course, thick hair, and an inner layer of soft, fine hair. I know a little about the inner layer – my scarf if made from yarn spun from this source. It is the warmest, softest scarf I have ever owned. (It also holds a little sentimental value for having been knitted by Marta Witt, a former chief information officer for the US Forest Service, stationed at Midewin.)

 

To get down to the science of it, bison fibers have a micron count of 15. A micron is one-millionth of a meter. The lower the micron count, the softer, the warmer the fiber. Most wool fibers range between 23 and 27 microns. Cashmere, the softest fiber in the world, beats bison by only, well, a hair, clocking in at 14 microns. And like cashmere, bison contains no lanolin, which renders it hypo-allergenic.

OK. Weighing a ton and wearing, essentially, thick blankets of insulation, it’s easy to imagine how bison survive the winter on the open prairie.

 

But what about birds? What about downy woodpeckers, for instance, that weigh no more than an ounce, or about the equivalent of a first class letter? How is it possible that they survive even five minutes, let alone an entire winter season?

Well, as it turns out, feathers are the most naturally insulative material on earth. Think down jackets, and how they trap countless pockets of air to keep their wearers warm. On average, small birds are covered by an astonishing 2,000 to 4,000 feathers, most of which are entirely downy in structure. Tucked safely beneath contour feathers, which are waterproof, they provide – to use sleeping bag insulation parlance – a lot of “loft.” Or, to use the construction industry’s term, a high “R-value.” Or, in layman’s terms, a lot of warmth.

Me, curious mammal that I am, the only way I’m enduring even two hours of cold this morning is to layer up my mostly hairless and entirely featherless body with a wicking t-shirt, a thermal long sleeved shirt, a cotton turtleneck, a cotton hooded sweatshirt and an insulated leather coat; plus, of course, gloves, hat and that awesome bison scarf.

 

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The Fall

In religious circles, “the fall” gets such a bum rap. Adam and Even disobeyed God by eating of the fruit of the tree of knowledge in the Garden of Eden, therefore everyone born into the world is tainted by this fall, this original sin.

Oy.

Me, I find nothing but grace, redemption and beauty in the fall at Midewin, my Garden of Eden.

 

The air crisp. The sun warm. Autumnal colors sharp against the crystalline-blue sky. There is no blood red to compare with Virginia creeper in October.

 

There is no royal robe so purple as common asters.

 

There is no gold so precious as sneezeweed. Or one of a dozen or more native goldenrods.

 

Somehow, even the oranges and ambers seem more vibrant and alive when glimpsed from the inside of one of the old munitions bunkers remaining from the Joliet Arsenal days.

 

And is there any more handsome head dress to be found than atop a white-crowned sparrow?

 

Is there any more hopeful sign of the prairie’s recovery than the imminent return of bison?

 

Just as hopeful and beautiful are the tiny creatures that call Midewin home, such as this banded garden spider backlit while suspended within its translucent web.

 

I am not alone this sacred day. Nor should I be. Midewin is a welcoming place for birders, hikers and horse-people, alike.

 

Midewin is a place of retreat and refuge and rejuvenation. And even as the prairie grasses and flowers begin to fade, I find great comfort and strength in their sending their energy underground, into their roots, deep into the prairie soils. So, too, as I walk through the autumnal prairie do I feel my own energies at one with the healing earth of Midewin. I am grateful for this fall.

 

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Prairie Orrery

Arthur Melville Pearson w/ moon

Ever gaze skyward and wonder how the solar system works? Of course you could go to the Adler Planetarium to ponder North America’s largest collection of astrobales, armillary spheres and other devices built throughout the centuries to help explain how the stars and planets wheel about the heavens.

Or you could head out to Midewin to gaze up at prairie dock – a living orrery of the prairie.

An orrery is a mechanical model of our solar system. It demonstrates how the planets move about the sun. The oldest known such model is of Greek origin and dates from about 150 B.C.E. The first “modern” orrery was built in 1704 in England and presented to Charles Boyle, Fourth Earl of Orrery, hence the name.

Prairie dock, on the other hand, is the largest member of the tallgrass prairie family Silphium. At its base are rough, elephant ear-like leaves from which rise a bare, slender stalk up to 10 feet in height. Atop the stalk are several branches, each terminating in a green bud the size of a melon ball.

Once the first bud bursts forth in a dazzling yellow flower, it takes little imagination to see it as the sun and the remaining buds as planets. Certainly this botanical orrery lacks the clockwork precision of its mechanical counterparts. But stare up at it long enough and you can’t help but see our entire solar system in a single Silphium terebinthinaceum.

Stare a little longer and you can’t help but notice that there are countless prairie docks and related family members of Silphium in bloom. Just as there are countless solar systems and galaxies beyond our own. The infinite wonder of our universe reflected in the recovering prairie lands of Midewin.

All this would be more than a little mind blowing were it not for the humble bumble bee. Collecting nectar and pollen from the prairie dock blossom in front of you, he brings you back to earth. To the here and now.

Another magic moment at Midewin.