The other day as I was going through some of my flower material I came upon a book containing pressed wild flowers which aroused a certain nostalgia which I have whenever I see them. For these were the flowers gathered some years ago by my children and me on our frequent trips to a native bit of prairie not far away which has of late years been plowed up and planted to alfalfa; very prudently, of course, but utterly ruined as a wild flower paradise. It is inevitable that this should happen in every progressive farming country, but it also carries a sense of loss with every turn of the plow. It adjoined the railroad track; even the way to get there was interesting – down our lane, across the slough pasture, through a neighbor’s yard, across Highway 16 leading westward over the continent over several states. The railroad paralelled this and once safely over the rails, the search for flowers began. There had been fences to climb through or crawl under, gates to open and close and even the delightful possibility for the children of getting wet feet as they crossed the slough’s grassy knolls if it were early spring. The children on the neighboring farm were of course picked up to make a jolly crowd.
The first spring flowers were the pasque, or Mayflowers as children know them here. The children would hail these with shouts of joy, and even the most jaded mind receives a thrill to see the prairie dotted with these early wild crocus. They like the grassy hillsides of a well-drained spot, and though at first have very short stems, they grow upward rap- idly and even extend these stems in water, after being gathered. While looking for the pasque, other signs of future blooming plants are noted, and these will be mentioned in due time.
A trip such as this is not only a holiday for the children. It is also, though in disguise, a practical lesson in botany. Of course, one must have some workable foundation in the subject to be able to impress a little of it on a child’s mind. Years ago I had had a smattering of it in school, but no actual field work. But by learning how to classify plants with the aid of Grey’s Botany and through contact with Helen Fischer (the inspiration of countless searchers after flower wisdom), I felt fairly able to cope with the identification of the flowers which grew in abundance in the thick prairie grass. This also provided a vast array of backyard landscaping ideas over the years.
We took with us old garden catalogs in which we could press flowers or specimens as soon as gathered. Also a basket lined with damp newspapers; for where there was an abundance of material we would dig up a plant carefully with the trowel, also included. As soon as we returned home the plant would be transplanted to a place in the garden similar to its prairie habitat, while that spot was still fresh in our memory. The bouquets were placed in water to be enjoyed for many days and also reminders of a few hours of pleasure. The botany was consulted as to information about them; if this proved to be puzzling, there was always Helen Fischer to send specimens to. The catalog was placed under a weight to complete pressing the flowers.
The proper time of day for these little nature trips had to be carefully worked out, for a busy farm woman – and her children cannot leave work just any time and go a flowering. In Spring, morning seemed the best time, after the dew was off. In Summer it was the only feasible time, as the sun was too hot to bear on the open prairie. So these were planned trips, and not very frequent ones either, as one may see many different aspects of plant life at one sitting if it is known just what to look for. As one set of season’s plants come into bloom, there will be seen the beginnings of the next. These should also be studied at the same time.
Today, as I looked at those pressed flowers of a by-gone day, a little granddaughter stood at my elbow and as her mother began to reminesce about some of early expeditions she thought she, too, would like to start a little herbarium of her own as Spring opens up. And the thought came to me that some one else might like to hear of those wild flowers we loved so well and learned about by actual experience and which still present a tangible though mute evidence of what even a child may learn about the ever living world right at our feet.