Grasslands--Fourth in a series of the 8 Natural Wonders of the Red Hills (Reposted)

 

     Grasslands are awarded the distinction as one of the 8 Natural Wonders of the Red Hills.  As the fourth selection (the first three are St. Jacob's Well, Caves, and Wildflowers), this expanse of mixed-grass prairie is the second largest intact grassland in Kansas.   Composed of  short, mid and tall grasses, the primary species include Indiangrass, side-oats grama, little bluestem, sand and big bluestem, blue grama, rough dropseed , sandlove, buffalo and many, many more.  This grassland is sprinkled with well over 500 different wildflower plants adding an amazing floral display throughout the growing season.  I shall honor this category with poetry which hopefully expresses the feelings of all those who make a living in, travel through, or otherwise appreciate the Kansas grasslands.

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Grassland Man

I've been on rocky mountains high,

with sculpted peaks that pierce the sky,

slivered with their crystal streams,

filled with anglers' shimmering dreams;

I've walked in desert solitude,

scorned by cactus wren or two,

and heard its sedent, silent wind,

whispering to large saguaro men;

I've spent some time in eastern woods,

watched busy squirrels stash their goods,

and sniffed the essence spring rains awakens,

of leafy perfume to a naturalist beckons;

And of these treasures I chance to hold,

these wonderful pleasures to the soul,

none quite satisfy my quest,

like the Kansas grasslands I like best;

To watch golden rays of slow sunset,

paint serenity on a prairie grouse lek,

hearing chuckled calls as night encroaches,

this scene no other delight approaches;

A thousand diamonds fill the nights,

sprinkling precious jewels of sapphire starlight,

to dance in eyes of nocturnal beasts,

who stalk for voles to fill their feasts;

Sunrise stirs an anxious breeze,

to caress the grass in endless tease,

bluestem applauds in rhythmic waves,

to greet each fresh spectral display;

And hidden midst these blades of green,

a pinkish face of an anemone,

specially picked in such quaint way,

set in its niche of this grand bouquet;

Now rustled by some scampering there,

known by whistle this bobwhite lair,

quickly silencing all quail talk,

the threatening form of red-tailed hawk;

Whose curious glance acknowledges me,

quite easily in this grassland sea,

its spirit sent on shrieking voice,

to meld with mine and give rejoice;

You may wish to play in mountain halls,

or sing to desert canyon walls,

you may like the feel of ocean spray,

or walk the forestland some day;

But plead ye not to this deaf ear,

those sanctuaries you hold dear,

I'm rooted to my prairie home,

the land I love, the land I roam.

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