A Page of Prairie Dock

The notes read: "Flower stalks of the prairie dock rise high above their leaves, which are enormous, rough, veiny, cool. In the early morning, the buds still lean towards the setting sun of yesterday afternoon. Already, as I finish they begin turning their hears toward the east... The leaves are tipped in red, translucent and deeply shadowed with the morning sun... Still rolled tightly, terminal buds hold the promise of yellow.... Grasshopper rests on a leaf, hops when I touch him... Leaves clasp the stems -- the lower down on the stalk the longer the leaf's stem, like increasingly evolved giraffe necks [getting only so long that they can effectively reach food without giving up the ability to hold up the food grabber; leaf in this case, head in giraffe's]. Higher up, the "necks" are stubby, short, even absent at the top. Leaf teeth also get larger the further down the leaf is on the plant."

I am thrilled to have these stalks to draw in my yard. See, I planted this prairie dock, and 2 others, at least 6 years ago. They've done well enough, coming back the first couple of years with a few leaves and the last several years with huge leaves, many of them, looking robust and healthy. But this is the first year I have gotten the flower stalks. There are 8 of them total. I used to fear that my plants were somehow not happy, didn't like their places although the leaves were large. Now I think they were just children, and they have finally reached adolescence and started to grow tall. Next week, perhaps, the first yellow flowers will bloom upon them.

That reminds me... I saw this other phenology blog (I know, right?) that used a really neat method to convey a lot of information really fast. It listed plants and then weekly progress reports, as in:

Prairie dock:

last week -- flower stalks about 3-4 feet tall

this week -- flower stalks 5-6 feet tall, still no flowers

Ironweed:

last week -- the first, bright purple flowers opening

this week -- full bloom

Etc. I love this idea... and, although I don't like the idea of copying another person... well, no ideas are really original anymore, right? And this format would allow me to go back to making more scientific phenological observations and recordings, which I haven't really been doing lately. I've just been profiling a few plants as they catch my eye enough, at some point in their life cycle, for me to want to draw them. Well. We'll see. (Opinions welcome.)

Just Twisted.

It's been a great while since I've sat down and written. We went through weeks of no rain and wilting plants, but made up for it last night, as I shall explain. At 10:45 pm, which is nearly my bedtime over the summer (and past it during the school year), we received an automated phone call from the fire department. It notified us that tornadoes had been sighted in our area and that all residents should seek shelter in their basements or interior areas of the house. So, we gathered our cats -- not an easy task... though they are in general quite loving and social, especially for cats, they seem to know when they are being pursued for the purpose of containment. Although they cannot tell the difference between the evil carrier-to-vet type of containment and the benign go-to-basement-(where-you-spend-time-anyhow)-to-save-your-life type of containment. Anyhow, with only one scratch on Chris, we got them, and ourselves, downstairs.

For almost an hour, we sat there, cleaned and chatted and puzzled and whatnot, sometimes jovially and other times -- like when we heard loud booms from above -- in fear. The booms turned out to be thunder, not the house falling down or some sort of disaster-burglar taking advantage. So. I finally asked when this little drill would be over. You see, I sort of had to pee. We don't have a bathroom in the basement, although, as Chris pointed out, there is both a litter box AND a floor drain. Not amusing. So, would the fire department call back? Chris thought they would, although neither of us had any experience with this form of tornado alert system. For everyone's future reference: They don't call back.

But we didn't know this, so we sat there and waited a bit longer. Eventually, we decided to venture upstairs and check some sort of media to determine if it was safe... and use the bathroom. It seemed fine outside and inside, but the television told us that our area was in a tornado, flood and thunderstorm warning zone until 7 am. OK, then... We gathered pillows and a DVD, and headed back down stairs. I creatively commandeered some camping gear and set up a sleeping mat and blanket bed under a table (in case the house fell while we were sleeping). And so, around 12:30, we settled in for a long night on the floor of the basement with the spiders and the millipedes.

This lasted about 1/2 hour. The sleeping mat, which fit perfectly under the table, was really not large enough for two people, even on our sides. The blanket wasn't warm enough. But we toughed it out until we heard, right by our heads, a retching sound. And another. Ah, bueno. Cat barf. And it was smelly. Chris found the light (it is really dark in the basement at night) so that we could see to clean the vomit, which was on my puzzle. Really, kittens?

In the end, we decided that we probably weren't going to be in the path or a tornado. In fact, when we went upstairs, it was so calm that the tree branches weren't even moving, and it pretty much remained that way for the remainder of the night. We got some hard rain this morning, as well, and by 11 am it was sunny.

Time to assess the damage. In the time I've lived here I've had tomatoes and peppers blow over, sunflowers fall down, large branches land on the lawn, all the normal things you'd think would occur in Illinois summer storms. But this storm? Hardly did a thing. One pepper plant snapped off -- it was already staked because of its tendency to fall over under its own weight -- so now I have many, many too-small peppers to use. Otherwise, everything is fine. Including a lone sunflower I have that is, no exaggeration, 12 feet tall, and not surrounded by other plants or staked. So, it was a bust. I haven't talked to anyone else who experienced any damage, but I haven't talked to that many people.

I feel pretty lucky that all this happened last night, and it's supposed to rain some more tonight and tomorrow, and then Sunday is supposed to be sunny and high around 80 F. We are getting married outside on Sunday, so I sure hope that prediction rings true! Perhaps I"ll post pictures, at least of what flowers are blooming that day. (Note to self: charge camera.)

Other things that have happened since I've last blogged:

• I have seen a lot of dragonflies, including a few unusual ones like a halloween pendant or a painted skimmer -- something with orange and black mottled wings -- what did not let me photograph it.
• We have whiteflies in the garden, mostly on the cucumbers, which I'm sort of OK with since I've already made a whole year's worth of pickles and we're going out of town next week, but I don't want them to move to my birdhouse gourds, which are doing GREAT and I want to get a lot of gourds so that I can make a lot of birdhouses. We got lacewings and set them free today, so we'll see.
• Also in the garden, we harvested garlic and are getting some tomatoes, tons of beans, some peppers, carrots, etc. In addition to lots of jams and pickles, this year I have canned carrots, green beans, and jalapeno peppers.
• Silphium of all varieties are in full bloom. But my own compass plant is not blooming, because its head was tragically chopped off by friendly fire in a rain barrel installation incident. It is growing a new one, so I may get flowers yet.
• Joe Pye weed is blooming, and... on and on and on... it's mid-summer. It's hot and lots of things are blooming!

Time Marches On ...

The first blazing stars opened maybe a week ago. Ironweed opened a few days ago. Silphiums are in full bloom... I'm not sure why I haven't felt like writing about it.

I can't believe summer break is 1/2 over. So not fair.

"Winter" Wildflowers XII

Well, it may be time to end this series, as with prairie dock, I seem to have bitten off more than I could chew. Not surprising, really, because it's such a large leaf... I worked a while on the shriveled, enshadowed left side, and couldn't even think about finishing the insect-eaten, folded right. And soon, I might have to tackle compass plant, and that hurts to even think about.

Prairie dock's large leaves -- we used to call them elephant ears -- are a noticeable feature in the winter prairie despite not being very tall. (The flower stalks are tall, but mine never flowered...) Dark brown, they shrivel up and curl in on themselves, making for some really interesting shapes. They also have noteworthy texture; they feel like a very rough-grade sand paper.

The Dock Is In.

Prairie dock, compass plant's more popular (probably) sibling, blooms above the prairie. With its huge -- often well over a foot in length and width -- leaves, this plant distinguishes itself from the typical prairie dwellers. Living in bright sun, wind, and in dry soils, many plants in the prairie have small, narrow leaves. This makes sense, right? Big leaves are necessary to get a lot of sun, but this isn't a problem in the prairie -- sun is plentiful. And big leaves require hydration -- but water isn't as available. The silphium species break that rule, but are well-adapted to do so. The leaves tend to orient themselves in a north-south way to avoid getting the direct sunlight. (This is how compass plant gets its common name, but dock does the same thing). And prairie dock has a natural coolant. On a hot summer day, if you touch the leaves -- after you get over how thick and scratchy they are -- you'll notice that their coolth. I have heard that pioneers would pick a leaf on hot days and put it under their hats as a sort of personal air conditioning! And of course, they have long roots, with a thick sturdy taproot that penetrates the depths of the soil.
These pictures were taken at school. In my yard, I have 3 or 4 prairie dock plants, which come back every year for the past few years, and some have the full sized leaves that one would expect on a prairie dock... but I have never gotten a flowerstalk (which is too bad because they're smooth and reddish and pretty even before they yellow flowers open). I must have an area that's too good to kill them, but not good enough for them to be truly happy. Oh, well.