The cold wind in the Flint Hills, on a “warm” winter day, was brutal. I took a trip to the Flint Hills to collect some winter-dried grasses before the killer part of our winter set in. 

I wasn’t ready for an early sunset, but the moon was rising large and orange,  the temperature slid lower, my nose ran more freely,  I was knee deep in prairie grass and surrounded by the woody remains  of an old train station  in ever  increasing darkness.

Heading home in dark night (at 6:00), the huge expanses of ancient prairie were barely visible.

Because the gravely, flint-laden soil make the land suitable for ranching, not farming, the plants here are botanical descendents of what’s been here for millions of years – the tallgrasses like Little Bluestem and Switchgrass.

This particular area has the largest untilled tallgrass prairie in North America.