Prairie Keeper

A couple of weeks ago I went to a writing/storytelling/yoga workshop. It was amazing, and life changing. So much so I have been struggling with the right words to talk about it. I wanted to write about the experience first, so I could put the resulting piece from the workshop in context. At the end of our workshop I had to get up and read this to the group. Today is Father's Day - so it feels appropriate to post this story. So no context for how this story came up through my work in the workshop, but hopefully you don't need it - and it can stand on its own. It's a little piece, but it means a lot to me, and something I am very proud of, so I hope you like it too.

This story is about Minnesota’s native prairies, Jehovah’s Witnesses, and little bit about Prince. You’re going to have to take it on faith that I can get you to all three places.

Did you know native prairies in Minnesota are going extinct? It’s true. Over the last 150 years more than 99% of the Midwestern tallgrass prairies have been lost to homesteads, agriculture, and highways. If you didn’t know this, that’s ok. My family didn’t know either, but when I was about five some naturalists came to my grandmother’s house and were interested in her land because it had native prairie grasses that had never been farmed. My grandpa had used the land to graze his cows instead of growing crops.

At five I didn’t really know what this meant, I just knew that Little House on the Prairie was the coolest show ever, and clearly I was the embodiment of Laura Ingalls because my grandma lived on a for real prairie. My parents are awesome. My dad read me the books, and my mom had sewn a pioneer dress complete with pinafore and bonnet. I would put the dress on, twirl around, and then throw myself down a hill all Carrie Ingalls style. 

I would beg my dad to play Little House on the Prairie with me. I would make him pretend to be Mrs. Olson, and then I would grapple him around the ankles and wrestle him to the ground pretending to beat the crap out of him. He’d put on a mock falsetto and say, “Oh Laura, you wicked girl, I’m telling your Pa!” and I’d pile drive myself into him and say “And this one’s for Nellie!" I don’t know why we didn’t go for the obvious, he was Pa and I was half-pint, but he indulged me. I think since he only had daughters it was an opportunity for him to rough house while I forced him to play house.

About 15 years ago my parents moved out to my grandmother’s land and built a house. The landscape was already changing from when I was kid and the prairie was slowly being overtaken by cedar trees and lake homes with manicured lawns.

About three years ago my dad decided to take back the prairie. He and my mom were reading up on different native grasses and flowers. The neat thing we learned about prairies is how deep the root systems go. They can reach eight feet below the surface to ensure their drought resistance. If you clear the trees and burn back the non-native grasses, what will emerge are flowers and grasses that have been dormant for nearly a hundred years.

Together they both start ripping out cedar trees and they even do a controlled burn. My dad starts a make-shift nursery for some of the prairie plants he’s purchased and wants to propagate. That first spring, after the burn, he takes me on a tour. Introducing me to all the flowers and plants we had no idea had been there all along, just below the surface.

We stand back and survey their handy work and he wistfully says, “Man, I wish I had started this sooner. Imagine how much more I could have done. I wish I could see it finished.”

This utterance floors me for two reasons.

First, my dad is a total goofball. This is the guy who encouraged me to give Mrs. Olson The People’s Elbow; we don’t brush up against issues like mortality and regret when we talk.

Second, my dad is a Jehovah’s Witness. He did not come to this faith later in life after I was grown. What I mean is, I was raised this way too, but have since abandoned him in that shared faith. Now that story, of me leaving his faith,that’s too long a story for today.

So instead, the cliff notes on Jehovah’s Witnesses that you need to know for this story is that they believe the end of the world is coming. God is going to destroy this messed up world, and his true followers will be saved from this total destruction. They won't be raptured to heaven, but instead left on earth to care for it and restore it to its original Edenic state. Their reward for this toil and faith is that they will live forever on a paradise Earth. As a guy who wants to restore a prairie, I totally get why this message resonates with him.

Here is the part where we talk about Prince. Did you know Prince was a Jehovah’s Witness? (I told you we were going to get to Prince.) So when Prince died, people were shocked at not only his death, but how does a guy like Prince not have a will? This was easy for me to understand. Prince didn’t have a will because he was never supposed to die. I don’t mean in the way we think celebrities can never die. I mean he literally thought he would not die, and he was going to live forever on a paradise Earth. 

For Jehovah's Witnesses the end of the world is coming and soon! The end of the world was coming before I would have to go to kindergarten. The end of the world was coming before my parents would retire. The end of the world was coming before Prince was going to die.

When I abandoned my faith I came to grips with the fact that I was going to die. I made peace with it. Pretty quickly actually. It honestly made more sense to me than assuming I was going to live forever planting prairies wherever prairies were needed.

So in this moment, while my father and I are looking out at these fragile yet resilient little flowers, when my father voices his mortality and potential regret it shocks me. It shocks me in the way nature can shock you. Like when you come upon something in nature that when you see it you know it is magical and it is fleeting. And you’re scared to move because it might break the spell. Like coming upon a fawn nestled in tall grasses, or seeing a stag emerge from the tree line and locking eyes with him. You don’t know what to do but just bear witness. Being there in that moment and feeling it.

In this moment I know that my dad and I are in the same place. We’re together. On the prairie sure, but we’re also together in the same place philosophically for just the briefest of moments, and we haven’t been in that place together in a long time. It won't last, this shared space, but I will always remember it. We’re looking at a re-born prairie but seeing mortality. We’re thinking about those deep prairie roots, and understanding legacy.