Illinois is nicknamed the Prairie State from the time the northern two-thirds of the state was nearly entirely tall-grass prairie. By a century ago, the prairie was nearly all gone. Today, an estimated .01% of native prairie remains; plowed under for farms, roads and homes. Trains brought settlers and development throughout the state, and those trains helped preserve a six acre remnant is less than a ten minute walk away from my home.
Spiderwort
As spring turns to summer, the grasses and flowers grow taller. A couple weeks ago spiderwort blanketed big portions of the prairie, but has already faded and taller grasses grow over it. Now Pale Purple Coneflower and Bergamot keep that part of the palette on display.
Pale-purple coneflower and bergamot
In 1902 you could pay 25 cents to ride from Aurora to Chicago on the new electric train line, and the next year ride the branch that cut over in Wheaton to Elgin. The Chicago, Aurora and Elgin line transported people throughout the western suburbs for the next three decades until going bankrupt in the Depression. The CA&E became active again after WWII, but the automobile and the Congress Expressway finally killed it when the expressway took some of the right of way and cut off direct access downtown. The CA&E struggled for a few years, but at noon on July 3, 1957, it abruptly stopped running trains stranding passengers. Much of the right of way was eventually made into the country’s first rail-to-trails program—the Illinois Prairie Path.
Michigan lilies along the Prairie Path
Decades earlier, another rail line ran parallel just south of what would be the CA&E. Eventually, the Chicago Great Western Railway linked Minneapolis, Kansas City and Omaha with Chicago. Though mostly a freight line, some passenger service ran on the line, until it too was abandoned in the 1960s.
In the patch between the two lines’ right of way lay prairie that was never plowed or developed. Bison and fire maintained grasses and forbs for thousands of years.
“. . . I started with surprise and delight. I was in the midst of a prairie! A world of grass and flowers stretched around me, rising and falling in gentle undulations. . . . We passed whole acres of blossoms all bearing one hue, as purple, perhaps, or masses of yellow or rose; and then again a carpet of every color intermixed, or narrow bands, as if a rainbow had fallen upon the verdant slopes.” Eliza Steele, Summer Journey in the West, 1840.
Michigan lilies and bergamot
Carl Sandburg lived just a few blocks north of these rail lines, though he probably commuted to his job at the Chicago Daily News on the Chicago & Northwestern line. But perhaps he rode the Great Western back to his old home in Galesburg, when he wrote Limited:
I am riding on a limited express, one of the crack trains of the nation.
Hurtling across the prairie into blue haze and dark air go fifteen all
steel coaches holding a thousand people.
(All the coaches shall be scrap and rust and all the men and women
laughing in the diners and sleepers shall pass to ashes.)
I ask a man in the smoker where he is going and he answers:
“Omaha.”
pollinating purple crown vetch
Invasive species such as purple crown vetch get into the native prairie. Sometimes the periodic planned burns will kill the invaders while letting the deep-rooted native plants survive.
Eastern Bumble Bee
Yellow toadflax, another invasive species, is poison to grazing animals, but it is pretty.
Yellow Toadflax from above
Chicago is derived from the Algonquin word for wild onion. A small patch are just getting ready to bloom.
Nodding Wild Onion
If you’re a passing Monarch butterfly perhaps you’re looking for some milkweed.
Milkweed
Or if you’re like me, you’ll sample a ripe berry.
Blackberry
Or perhaps you’re not willing to sample some vervain even though Hildergard of Germany wrote: “Let whoever suffers rotten flesh, from ulcers or from worms…place the tea of vervain on top of the linen until the putridness has drawn out.”
Blue Vervain
Or maybe you’ll want to get some vitamin C and other benefits from the delicate Pasture Rose, though I like the Latin name.
Rosa Carolina
As June ends, the prairie plants are getting taller. Big Bluestem grasses are shooting up. Above them all are the eight to ten foot high Compass Plant with leaves that point north to the Great Western Line and south to the Chicago, Aurora and Elgin, and yellow flowers beckoning the sun and finches. And their roots go down fifteen feet still feeding on the soil built after the glaciers left.
Compass Plant