Headed northbound on I-55, I found myself surrounded by fields of familiar Illinois flora: Zea mays and Glycine max, better-known by their common names “corn” and “soybeans.” 

Upon my return home from college, however, I now also eyed scattered blooms of Spring Beauty (Claytonia virginica), Wild Hyacinth (Camassia scilloides), and Shooting Stars (Dodecatheon meadia) in preparation for the next six months spent at Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie. 

Formed by glacial outburst floods during the Ice Age, Midewin and the surrounding areas host some of Illinois’ last remaining dolomite prairies. Numerous rare plant species call this habitat home, spared from the plow due to its characteristically thin soils.

This unique plant community has presented the opportunity to work alongside the Chicago Botanic Garden’s Plant of Concern program, monitoring sub-populations of Small White Lady’s Slipper (Cypripedium candidum), Slender Sandwort (Minuartia patula), Butler’s Quillwort (Isoëtes butleri), and Buffalo Clover (Trifolium reflexum).

Many weeks have already been spent stumbling through sedge-meadows and honing my plant identification skills — much needed for the intimidating amount of Carex on our Target Species List.  

Other days have been used to put my CLM training to the test, collecting seed from Yellow Stargrass (Hypoxis hirsuta), Blue-Eyed Grass (Sisyrinchium albidum), and Prairie Violet (Viola pedatifida) from a patch of remnant prairie at Lobelia Meadows. 

Despite being raised less than 10 miles away from Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie, I’ve already explored it more this past month than I have my entire life. 

And although it’s no Chugach or Tongass National Forest, Midewin is nevertheless a gem of the Prairie State —  no matter how many acres of corn and soybeans hide it. 

Dade Bradley

Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie 

I made the 14-hour journey from the lush green of Oregon to the vibrant reds of the Moab, Utah desert. Such strikingly different landscapes but both equally enthralling. After about 48 hours, of which I spent unpacking, familiarizing myself with the town, and hiking to streams to beat the heat, I began work. 

Over the next 5 months I will be working in the Manti-La Sal National Forest collecting seeds. I started a few weeks later than my co-intern because of my college graduation (woohoo!) so it felt as though I was a little behind. My first day consisted of completing the required trainings and after we got into the fun stuff.

Since I was coming into things a little late, my co-intern and supervisor had already scouted for our first seed we were going to collect. We were looking for the Utah Sweetvetch (Hedysarum boreale). The Utah Sweetvetch was easy to distinguish between other similar plant species due to its constricted pods, broken into separate sections. After about an hour in the field we were able to identify a massive population, much of which was ready to collect. We spent about 2 more hours collecting seeds and were able to collect about 24,000 seeds my first day. The following day we were able to collect 20,000 more. 

After two days collecting seed at lower elevation on an exposed landscape, we were recruited up to higher elevation. The recreation crew for the Manti-La Sal needed bodies to help with a large fence project around a lake in the La Sal’s. Much of the La Sal’s have free range cattle which have a tendency to get into everything, a problem I am familiar with from rural Oregon but did not expect to run into here. We were tasked with taking down the existing barbed wire fence that surrounded a small lake and its campground. The fence was in disrepair due to the winter months at high elevation as well as the nosy cattle. A portion of the fence ran through boggy areas surrounding the lake as well as patches of stinging nettle that managed to make contact with my wrists despite my long sleeve shirt and gloves. Both the wet boots and itching wrists were a welcome tradeoff for the cooler temperatures. We spent nearly two days taking apart this fence and were all hugely satisfied to unwrap the last piece of barbed wire from the final t-post. The fence will now be rebuilt with t-post 3 feet closer together for more support and we will all cross our fingers and hope that this year’s snowpack and cattle don’t destroy it again.

My first week of work, although I am exhausted and welcomed the weekend with open arms, has me stoked for the rest of the season. I can’t wait to explore more of the Manti-La Sal NF and my new desert home!

The mornings are early, the dawn quiet but as we rode along in the forest vehicles to the monitoring site of the day the world was beginning to awaken around us. After a bumpy ride through the rough and swirly roads we arrived at the area we would survey for the day, littered with fields of lavender Phacelia exilis, bright yellow Castilleja lasiorhyncha, and deep violet Erythranthe purpurea that shimmered like scattered rubies across the forest floor. For the next couple of weeks, I accompanied a team of botanists and botany technicians to do rare plant surveys in this dazzling area, Holcomb Valley in North Big Bear. The goal of the day relatively simple, map out the boundaries of these rare plant species to understand both the size of the various populations but also to the extent of their range in the area. These polygons formed by the team in the future being used to inform firefighters on where fire retardant should not be sprayed due to the sensitive nature of the species.

I spent much of my time with Katie, a Botany Field Assistant who would teach me the ropes on how to work the tablets in putting down points while also some tricks on ensuring the data collected best represented each population minimizing human error. I also spent time with Joseph a Biological Science Technician with a focus in Botany who was especially knowledgeable in teaching us about the native flora in the area and the minute details that separated one species from another. We focused our sight on P.exilis populations and as we entered the forest I searched for these rare purple flowers with translucent like petals. As I followed Katie, she described the area in more depth telling me that this species was a perennial that enjoyed moist soil and was often found at drainage sites, she explained how different soil types and terrain gives us clues on where to set our eyes on and what trail to follow when mapping a species. I will admit I had some difficulty in this at first as I would have trouble deciding where to start when overlooking a population. Some species seemed to stretch out for miles and as we marched through the thick underbrush and over fallen logs, I called out hesitantly on the finding of P.exilis as Katie quickly followed behind me. As the days went by though I became more confident in not only my sighting skills but also in understanding the polygons on the iPad and where to go to not overlap previous surveys on the same species in the past. However, as we trudged through the forest, I couldn’t ignore the fluttering of butterflies that surrounded me, each very different from the other. Their bright colors and elaborate patterns intrigued me not only for their beauty but for why they evolved to take on that image. There seemingly paper like fragile wings propelling them powerfully up and across the meadows searching for nectar upon the flowers found throughout. In some instances, I became sidetracked as I chased after a few, attempting to take a quick picture in vain. This interest quickly bled into other sites I visited when doing surveys or monitoring plant populations, I became engrossed in gaining information on the pollinators that so closely interacted with the plants we were watching. After a few days of assisting in mapping North Big Bear I could no longer ignore these ornate gems and at lunch breaks I began to take pictures of them to capture their beauty. After the end of the day, we would return to the office, and I attempted (with some luck) to identify the species through both wing patterns and associated plant species interactions.

On our expeditions thereafter I began to record the flowers I saw the butterflies landing upon and the time of day I spotted a certain group appearing the most. While our main goal was on rare plant surveys, I developed a small side project on these trips in learning more about the native butterflies in this area and their connection to the plant species they so loved. As I stood in the field of flowers found in Holcomb Valley, I was mesmerized by the beauty that surrounded me and felt an increased love for the work I was doing. As the shades of purple, yellow, and violet faded towards the end of our surveys due to the oncoming summer heat, the butterflies remained, moving works of art dancing in the morning light.