Cajun Prairie

“I think there’s a prairie in Eunice,” Dawn Stover said as we drove past a sign indicating the Louisiana town a few miles ahead.

I replied, “Oh, really,” as I pulled out my phone to access Google maps to investigate.  Sure enough, just north of town I found a large swath of green with the label Cajun Prairie.

It was last fall, October 2019. We were on our way back to Nacogdoches from the International Plant Propagators’ Society-Southern Region meeting in Louisiana, Dawn and I upfront and Dawn’s greenhouse technician Jordan Cunningham was in the back.  “I’m fine to stop if y’all are,” I said.  Both agreed, and I plotted a course.  

At first, we unknowingly drove past the main ten-acre prairie.  GPS took us to a random spot in the road, and we kept driving to scope out the site.  North of the prairie, we found a gravel parking lot at a granary that we parked in off to the side.  We hopped out and immediately started fending off giant mosquitoes.  Well, I worse than Dawn and Jordan because I was sporting shorts.  So, I shimmied some jeans on over the shorts and the bloodsucking ceased.  But, such a trivial annoyance was worth it to see the field of yellow Helianthus and Solidago swaying in the breeze.  

An 18-wheeler that needed to pull in where we were forced us back in the car, and we drove back to the south side of the prairie and found the parking lot for the main entrance.  Here, we could see a narrow concrete path led off in both directions to allow visitors solid ground to enjoy the ecology.  It ended up being a rectangle walk around the whole area so that visitors could fully appreciate the site.

Saccharum flower heads bend in the breeze

A spot to sit and enjoy the cajun prairie.

The prairie was magical and wild on that cool, autumn day.  The colors were spectacular for fall with flowers and foliage across the field glowing under the drab sky. 

An incredible mix of forbs in the cajun prairie

What a view those houses have in the distance.

Kneeling down, you immerse yourself in the prairie and see a different perspective.

I saw many flora friends like Pycnanthemum tenufolium, Helianthus angustifolius, Arnoglossum ovatum, and Liatris pycnostachya.  I delighted in the color echos between the plant life and the urban sprawl.  There was the russet Schizachryium and the rusted granary roof, the white outbuildings and the ivory petals on Hibiscus moscheutos.  

What a color echo between the grass and the roof.

The petals on Hibiscus moscheutos shines bright white against the prairie.

A late Arnoglossum ovatum stands above the prairie

I always love getting in close and seeing the intricate detail of Arnoglossum flowers.

One species that composed the prairie tapestry that deserves wider use was Hyptis alata (clustered bushmint).  The plant reminds me of Eryngium yuccifolium with the orb inflorescences, but unlike rattlesnake master that clusters the flowers at the top, here the spheres are scattered up and down the stem and look like lollypops with their peduncles.  While I have a few plants at home, seeing them in habitat gave me ideas about how to intermingle them with wispy grasses.  

Hyptis alata tended to be grouped together in the prairie, likely because it sows itself nearby.

Another photograph of Hyptis paired with Schizachyrium, Helianthus, Solidago, and more.

I was also delighted to see the glaucous blades of Carex flaccosperma (or glaucodea, I can’t tell them apart this time of year) growing in the understory of this prairie jungle.  I have long suspected that these twelve-inch tall Carex species that thrive in varying light levels in my yard could grow underneath forbs as a matrix layer, and here it was doing just that in a cajun prairie in central Louisiana.  

Carex flaccosperma (or glaucodea) hiding on the ground plain under the taller perennials.

One new plant that I learned and suspect could be very useful in southern naturalistic plantings was Chromolaena ivifolia, ivyleaf thoroughwort.  Resembling a Conoclinium coelestinum (blue mistflower) on steroids, it tops out around 3–4 ft tall. We had seen it just days earlier near a bridge on our way to Baton Rouge, and here it was again.  The flowers were a rich sky blue, and in their fade they turn dark brown and appear as floating freckles on the golden face of the prairie.  

Such a beautiful blue flower on Chromolaena ivifolia that also contrasted well with the yellows from Helianthus and Solidago.

Even the spent flowers of Chromolaena ivifolia were ornamental when they turned dark brown.

It was interesting to note that no growth was over our heads.  Near the base of some plants I noticed what appeared regrowth from a cut as well as tractor treads that should have been long gone.  I wondered if this prairie had been mowed sometime earlier in summer, and I’d love to talk with those who maintain it to learn if that’s correct. Another observation supporting my hypothesis was how late the Hyptis and Liatris were blooming.  Both were already setting seed at my house back in Texas, yet here they were in full bloom.    

Having soaked in as much of the cajun prairie as we could, we headed back to the car to return home.  I thought cajun prairie was just a label, but after reading more about these ecosystems I’ve learned they are unique and different.  

What we saw today was a recreated remnant, planted back in 1988 by volunteers and those that wanted to share what much of the southeast used to resemble before we humans came along.   I admire the efforts of all those who helped to create this prairie as a lasting vision. Visiting it was great mental fodder as I continue my search for flora to use in naturalistic plantings in the southeast US.  

One last look at the cajun prairie in Eunice, Louisiana.

Food Prairies

I love the look of a prairie.  I'm not sure when the adoration began, but my earliest memory of taller-than-turf grasses is as a child walking on the back hill at my grandparent's house where my great-grandfather had allowed the vegetation to grow wild for a few seasons. 

I can see it now—my head barely bobbing out of the ocean of amber broomsedge (Andropogon virginicus) as I trod along the paths I had tromped down.  It. Was. Fun. 

While the prairie at my grand-parents house is long gone, seeing grasslands like this one basking in the glow of sunset brings back memories of my childhood prairie rambles.

Parts of west Tennessee actually used to be tallgrass prairie, and that little patch of broomsedge on the hill was remnants of that ecosystem being expressed.  Now, it's uncommon to find a large patch of tallgrass in west Tennessee since much of the land is farmed.  You instead see traces of the prairie along the roadside and in fencerows, mere borders of the angular, agricultural puzzle pieces that cover the countryside.  Still, even these little slivers can be inspiring to a horticulturist such as myself, and on my driving trips to and fro, my eyes scan the open roadsides (very safely of course!) for plant patterns and new species. 

I believe this love of grasslands is why I have gravitated toward designed plant communities and mixed plantings of perennials that have really taken off within the past few years.  Seeing that people were actually wanting to create designed grasslands was and is thrilling for me as a horticulturist.  And, to be able to go and experience some of these designs over the past few years has been enlightening.  Inspiring.  Exciting. 

Piet Oudolf's Hummelo, a central nexus for the mixed planting movement. Here, grasses and forbs seamlessly intermingle together and appear as if planted by nature. From my reading of Hummelo, I learned this planting where the nursery used to be is mainly derived from a seed mix.

Flowering Echinacea (purple coneflower) and verdant Amsonia hubrichtii (threadleaf bluestar) on the High Line provide a foil to the metallic cityscape of New York City.

The rectangular meadow patches at Le Jardin Plume in France are anything but square.

Eryngium yuccifolium (rattlesnake master) and Kniphofia 'Wet Dream' (red hot poker) erupt from the haze of muhly (Muhlenbergia capillaris) at Chanticleer's elevated walkway.

Now, I'm wanting to learn more about how do we create and employ these mixed plantings in the southeast US.  Much of the approach has been developed in regions further north, and I believe that the technique needs to be trialled and tweaked for the south.   Our habitat is different, our climate is different, and our species composition is different. 

And, in an attempt to learn, this semester my students and I will be designing grassland-style plantings in the Sprout garden on the campus at SFA.  With Sprout we focus on creating tangible growth for plants, students, and the community to bridge the gap between horticulture and people.  So far, we have found relevance with students and the locals though our growing food and cut flowers.   And, now part of this garden will be planted to provide food for beneficial insects like pollinators and predators.  Students care about sustainability, and designed plant communities are considered a more sustainable approach to landscaping. 

We call these areas food prairies, since the garden has been designed with food in mind AND because the areas will provide food and habitat for beneficial organisms.  The name arose one day in a conversation with my colleague Dawn Stover, another meadow aficionado.  I was telling her about how I wanted to plant perennials in the Sprout garden to make it more beautiful and to add habitat and resources for beneficial organisms, and she commented on how we would have food for people and food for our insect friends.  From that conversation, the name for these plantings just clicked.    

Of course, to know what will grow well in mixed plantings in the southeast, we must evaluate plants. Thanks to trial material from Hoffman Nursery, Intrinsic Perennial Design, and Jelitto we've been able to assess many different species in unofficial trials like you see here.

Since the Sprout garden is designed to resemble a reclaimed farm, the prairies will fit in quite nicely with our overall theme by resembling fencerows between fields.  After all, most agrarian areas have some type of wooly part or "idle spots" as Aldo Leopold called them where wildflowers and grasses bloom in the absence of disturbance.  Usually, these areas are rejects and castaways, but in our garden this flora will be planted on purpose.  Plus, research shows that having fencerows that have been enhanced with pollen- and nectar-rich plantings can reduce pest pressure in surrounding fields.  

I'll keep you posted on the food prairie's progress.  Conceptualizing them and designing them is exciting. The whole process makes me feel like a kid again.