Prairie grasses fascinate me. I don’t know why, really. Maybe it was 10 years spent in Kansas. Perhaps because I believe myself a creature of Wisconsin’s glaciated prairies and woodlands. Whatever caused the intrigue with prairie grasses, they’ve been hard for me to picture to my satisfaction.
For years I’ve hunted for the scene that’ll generate what I feel when looking at prairie grasses. Native flowers are awesome, breath-taking, and demand pictures. The grasses, though, are laid back; backgrounds and unassuming. It’s hard to see the grass for the grasses. I’ve tried and I think I have some fun pictures of prairie grasses. But not “the” picture.
One fine Wednesday afternoon I was in Walking Iron County Park adjacent to the Village of Mazomaine. I’d been delayed getting to the park and once in the park walked into an active logging operation. The trail was obliterated so I was picking my way into the edge when a log skidding machine began approaching me. Because I was inside the logging zone, the operator decided to make contact probably thinking he’d have to tell me to read the damn signs and stay away.
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