Monday, May 3, 2010

Prairie Story 6






Ding –a- ling went the breakfast bell down at the mess hall. Probably just the basics, but a few coffees would get him on his feet for a big day of doing transects. Locating a point by satellite, and taking a thirty-meter line at a particular compass direction gave us our location to work with. This study had been done over twelve years, looking at plant diversity in the prairie. Every meter a small wooden square, or quadrant, was placed to identify and classify the plants found. Hopefully they could do at least six per day to maintain the required schedule planned for other state and federal projects. He could hear a song in the wind, beckoning him to return again. It was almost the song of the Sirens, telling him to come closer, to stay. His ancestors heard this same song and were lured just as well. He could feel the waves of the prairie, waving him back. Regaining his composure he grabbed a plate of food that the cook offered without regards to the amount on it, he needed the nutrition as he was growing in many different ways.

Out on the prairie he was haunted by that near perfect smile, which might have launched prairie schooners across our nation. The feeling was rescinding, but still gnawed inside of him. Being at one with nature had provided a rise in his romantic spirit. Walking away at break, he notices a huge white blossom in a sea of purple that was a predominate plant. Indian Plantain, standing proud and regal at nearly four foot tall, provided a strong feeling of premonition. Was this a sign for something in his life? White for purity, Indian for the adaptation he had made with religion, based on Native American love for the spirit of the land. He held up his hands at waist level, offering a prayer of happiness for himself and all who interacted in his life. Should he think it a sign, but gave thanks instead to finding this wonderful plant and living another day. As he stood there he and the prairie stood transfixed, in limbo with time.

Riding that day on his bicycle, he noticed a draw to all that was blooming. It was a compulsion to look at each plant and see another friend. There was a certain cheerfulness, a spark of hope, the prairie offered each time he entered it. Was there something from his past that drew him so near? Maybe it came from his heritage, his ancestors had tamed this rugged land. They obviously had left remnants of their soul, just like the remnants of prairie that called out his name. Had these stewards of the land, offered a hope to see all return as they had found it? The gentle wave of grasses created a cosmic interlude, bringing in the wealth of the spirit, and the story of life.

Love should never create any sorrow
We should always live for each new day
Sharing our lives with many others
Always in a different way.

2 comments:

  1. Finding a native flower growing in the wild is cause to give thanks to the Great Spirit.

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  2. I forgot to add that I loved the story and the pictures!

    ReplyDelete

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