I’ve read that pioneers called their wagons prairie schooners. If they crossed my acre and a half of restored remnant prairie today, they would be sailing over a sea of flowers. I can totally relate to the bees. I am drawn to this blooming bounty and am fueled by it. You can see a map of our land with the prairie remnant highlighted in yellow by clicking here.
If we had not walked this high slope with a naturalist our first year on the land, we might not have realized that we were crossing a remnant prairie. We would have let the rows of young spruce growing there shade out and bury under their needles all the prairie phlox and meadow rue, wild bergamot, compass plant and the vast tribe of sunflowers and asters that are now jumping up to meet the sun.
Ever since I learned about all the jet fuel and pesticide that goes into getting cheap (and not so cheap) blossoms to the flower shop in my local grocery store, I switched over to cut flowers from the farmers market.
Since the first year we first burned our prairie, I have been amazed by the slow-mo explosion of color at my feet. I could go on for hours.