I never thought of fire as life-giving. Some seeds sleep under the soil for years until a fire rips across the land and life inside the seed ignites. The daughter of a boatbuilder and an artist, agriculture was not in my genes, botany only a word I read from time to time. Now living out here in the plains, every person has all of this in their heritage. Just like the lobsterman who leaves at dawn and returns tired and smelling of baitfish, the plainspeople smell of earth, sweat, and smoke. This work makes me think of my sister's favorite poem, "To Be of Use" by Marge Piercy. Love it.
I helped out with two prescribed burns last week at PPNC. As part of the nature center's mission, burns are done from time to time as prairie restoration and management. A fire done in spring kills off the exotic grasses that green up in cooler weather, wakes up sleeping native seeds, and makes room for the native tall grasses that thrive in the warmer weather. Here are a few shots from the burns. For my Nebraska friends reading this post, thanks for letting this Mainer in.
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