Learn how you can enjoy a
Prairie, Woodland, and Wetland

Prairie

Because Illinois is the Prairie State, you’d think that most of us would be well versed in prairie-speak. However, not many of us have yet learned to discern the exotic and wildly beautiful subtleties of our prairies.
The majority of the vast prairies of Illinois were converted into cornfields. But wherever the soil was too rocky, or too mucky, or was loved by an influential nature enthusiast, small pockets persist, from tiny remnants to massive restorations. Spread throughout the region, prairies can usually be found within a few minutes of home.

Each prairie’s location shaped its own unique plant communities. The casual observer can learn to distinguish between moist black-soil prairies (formed on thick, flat beds of glacial till) and dry sandy prairies (formed on deposits from ancient glacial lakes). Taller vegetation means that the ground is wetter, says Bill Kleiman, project manager at The Nature Conservancy’s Nachusa Grasslands. Plants often adapt to less moisture by staying shorter. White, rocky outcroppings might well be limestone scraped bare by the glaciers 10,000 years ago, giving rise to the very short dolomite prairie. Hilly areas suggest gravel deposits, the perfect home for dry hill prairies. And all prairies share a dependence on fire to keep them free of woody species.

Appreciating this rare ecosystem, an ocean of tallgrass and wildflowers that once rippled to the horizon, is a sensory experience. “You don’t have to be an expert,” says John Elliott, education manager for the Forest Preserve District of Cook County. Elliott advises observing details, even if you can’t put a name to a single thing.

If it’s spring, get down on your knees and peer for early bloomers: the reddish and yellow ruffles of wood betony, the furry flowers of cat’s foot waving antenna-like. Watch for bobolinks and meadowlarks flitting over last year’s dried foliage. If the acrid scent of charcoal wrinkles your nose (and you see charred earth), you’ve likely entered a landscape that was recently burned to encourage native growth.

In summer, look for the numerous species of milkweed that come in a variety of colors. Monarch butterflies feed on their nectar, and a closer look may reveal their caterpillars feeding on the leaves. If you are lucky, you might see an orange-and-black hawk moth using its proboscis to feed on the lavender flowers of the fragrant wild bergamot. Keep following your nose: the scent of spearmint betrays mountain mint. A whiff of turpentine signifies a crushed prairie dock leaf.

In late summer and early fall, the large, scratchy leaves of plants known as Silphiums are impossible to miss: those wide leaves with raspy, outspread fingers are that of a compass plant. Those chilly, sail-shaped leaves are prairie dock; they remain cool on even the hottest days because their deep roots pump water from far below the surface.

In fall, you might catch the essence of buttered popcorn. That’s prairie dropseed, a distinctive fall-blooming grass with a mounded base that sprouts waving stems. The seedheads of yellow coneflower will leave your fingers with a lemony fragrance.

In winter, listen for the clatter of dried foliage encrusted with ice on bitter days. Jack Shouba, a botany instructor at The Morton Arboretum, notes that many of the grasses and wildflowers retain distinctive characteristics—big bluestem, for example, mimics a turkey foot; little bluestem looks reddish in winter. Look up and you might find a hawk in search of voles or rabbits. Look down and you might find coyote scat that contains hair and bones of a recent supper.

While the most colorful time for the prairie is mid-August, prairie lovers generally agree that there’s no best time to visit. “What you saw two weeks ago will be different today,” says Shouba. “You need to go back again and again, and every time you will see something different.”

—LeAnn Spencer

 

Woodland

Many of us have a favorite bit of woods—a nearby forest preserve perhaps, or just a scrubby half acre behind the house. You can best enjoy your woods by visiting often—at each season of the year, at all times of the day.

Woodland landscapes have been shaped by many factors, including climate, soil type, topography, and drainage. In our area, the densest woodlands often developed on the east side of rivers, where they were largely protected from prairie fires driven by the prevailing westerly winds. Where fires could penetrate, the trees grew farther apart. Resultingly, our woods range from savannas—basically grasslands with some trees—to dense beech-maple forests.

Flatwoods developed in areas where underlying clay restricts drainage, and can be flooded for long periods during the year. Most common in Chicago Wilderness, however, are oak-hickory woodlands, with a relatively open canopy that favors an understory of shrubs and wildflowers.

The winter woods may look lifeless and barren, a montage of dull grays and browns. Find a place to stop, however, and let your senses take over.

A woodpecker drums in the distance, and an unseen creature rustles through the leaf litter. A hint of musk in the air betrays a nearby fox den. A gravity-defying nuthatch hops headfirst down a tree trunk. Bare branches reveal abandoned nests—a bird’s delicate woven cup, a yellowjacket colony’s large papery orb.

Check the fresh morning snow for signs of nocturnal creatures. Look for the prints of tiny mouse feet tracing back and forth across the trail. The track of a fox is easy to spot: a straight line of prints, each one precisely placed in front of its predecessor. Deer hooves are obvious, but many other prints will have you consulting a field guide.

Spring arrives with a flourish of sound and color. Breeding frogs start calling from temporary woodland ponds in March. Learn to pick out the distinct sounds produced by each species.

May apples spring up as small green parasols in April, and ephemeral wildflowers burst into bloom throughout the month. Carry a digital camera to record your finds, then take your time identifying them at home.

Wood ducks in ponds are easily spooked, escaping with a loud, splashy commotion to a high perch nearby. Migrant birds are at their peak in mid-May, arriving in their finest plumage. Bring binoculars to bring them into focus. More experienced birders can often identify them by song.

Summer woodlands are shady, green, and lush, but swarms of mosquitoes may quickly drive the unprepared visitor away. The young of many animals start to venture away from mother’s side; watch for deer fawns peering out of the brush or raccoon kits playing at trail’s edge.

Examine the great diversity of tree leaves, and remember tree shapes and bark types to help in winter identification. Look for galls on leaves and twigs where insect larvae are growing. Sulphur shelf fungi, brilliantly orange and yellow, light up the woods like small fires.

Autumn’s colors are best along the sunny edges of woodlands, but shrubs such as sassafras and vines such as poison ivy and Virginia creeper brighten the interior. Acorns litter the ground, and squirrels gather them for winter caches. Migrant birds return in September, but they are duller in color—a greater challenge to identify.

Monarch butterflies gather on the threshold of woodlands in advance of their long flight south. Look for “buck rubs” on tree saplings, where male deer have scraped the velvet from their antlers. Witch hazel flowers appear late in the season, emerging from bare branches like creepy, yellow fingers.

Any time of year is a good time to explore your local woods. So get your boots on, and get going!

—Ron Trigg

 

Wetland

Stand on the water’s edge. Peek through a cattailed perimeter. Be surprised by soggy soil. In Chicago Wilderness there are thousands of wetlands in all shapes and sizes waiting to be explored.

Marshes first come to mind. When the glaciers pulled back more than 10,000 years ago, they left kettles, potholes, and swales that filled with runoff and groundwater to become basin marshes. Along waterways that haven’t been heavily impacted by development, floodplain marshes line the shores.

The region also has a number of sedge meadows. These are saturated with groundwater, creating a mucky stew of peat and soil where sedges, grass-like plants, thrive. Tussocks, which are solid clumps of hummock sedge, roots, and rhizomes, can fill a sedge meadow from end to end.
Bogs, fens, pannes, seeps, and springs are rare wetlands in Chicago Wilderness, each arising from a particular set of conditions. The acidity of bogs, the alkalinity of fens, the constant disturbance of pannes, and the cold temperature of springs provide just the right home for a diverse array of sensitive species in each, from the bluebell dragonfly to the northern cricket frog.

Getting up close and personal to a wetland can be tricky, but not impossible. Some of our wetlands are accessible by boardwalks. A distance out, you almost float amongst the wildlife and swaying aquatic plants. You won’t get very far very fast—a boardwalk is for standing and peering.

Where there is only a path around a wetland, you may circle nature’s mysteries, but will have to respect her often unpredictable boundaries. “Venture too far and you may have to fish a boot out of the suction of a muddy depression,” cautions Nan Buckardt, education director for the Lake County Forest Preserves. Wetland ecology should be considered as well, she adds, since “the moist soil can be easily compacted or disturbed.”

For another perspective, you can canoe through wetlands with deeper water. The animal residents won’t expect you in that way and are often less afraid.

Winter is the best time to figure out where a wetland starts and to appreciate its expanse. Frosty emergent plants edge the icy water among exploded cattail heads. If there is no snow, you can look for critters lurking below the ice. “Once I saw a snapping turtle completely frozen and he blinked at me,” recalls Jack MacRae, naturalist for the Forest Preserve District of DuPage County.

In the late winter and early spring, splashes of color sneak back into the wetlands. Red-winged blackbirds return to set up territory. “There are no leaves on the trees, the snowmelt glistens, and a wonderful surprise of brilliant green leaves and stunningly gold marsh marigold petals burst forth from the soil,” says Buckardt. A few weeks later, in the same swampy area, look for wild blue irises.

Peer into ephemeral woodland ponds full of snowmelt and spring rains to catch a glimpse of springtime’s bounty. Without the carnivorous fish that reside in permanent wetlands, smaller creatures can grow to maturity here: wood frogs, blue-spotted salamanders, and tiny fairy shrimp that swim upside-down. In May, watch for salamanders moving to higher ground.

Wetland summers are ablaze with color and movement. Rose mallow, cardinal flower, and great blue lobelia provide a bright backdrop for a busily stirring scene—scan the water’s surface for water boatmen bugs paddling with oar-like legs, or the protruding head of a leopard frog or pied-billed grebe.

In the fall, MacRae suggests keeping an eye out for turtle hatchlings “stumbling along a path looking for water.” The wetland plants respond to daylight’s narrowing window by turning tan and maroon, adds Buckardt, while, she says, “winds rattle the plants like a band’s rhythm section” to herald the year’s end.

—Alison Carney Brown