November 2007 © Janet Davis

I visited Oklahoma City for the first time this fall for the annual Garden Writers’ Symposium. As a prairie gal (born in Saskatoon, Saskatchewan but left at 6 weeks, dragging my parents with me to the balmy west coast), I was especially keen to see this south central prairie state.

I knew little of Oklahoma’s history but soon learned that it was the remaining remnant of “Indian Territory” -- land that had been set aside by the U.S. Government for Native Americans in 1834 as part of the Indian Intercourse Act, through which Native Americans ceded their rights, in a series of treaties -- first with the British, then with the new American government -- to ancestral lands lying east of the Mississippi River. By 1856, Indian Territory lay within the current boundaries of the state. During an 1866 round of treaty negotiations, a Choctaw chief first used the phrase okla humma (meaning “red people” in Choctaw) for this territory, which he envisaged as a future home for all Native American peoples. Despite years of agitation by various white individuals who lobbied the U.S. government for permission to settle in Indian Territory, it wasn’t until 1889, when a group of Creek Indians agreed to cede their claim to 2 million acres of unoccupied land in the center of the territory by selling it to the U.S. Government, that the status of the region changed. Thus, at noon on April 22 1889, the first of five Oklahoma Land Runs was declared open and more than 50,000 homesteaders rushed into the territory to stake claims on the unassigned lands. Those who entered illegally before the official noon start – often land surveyors or deputy marshalls with insider knowledge -- were called “Sooners”. Curiously, that name that now lives proudly on in the state’s motto and in its football team. In 1890, the unassigned lands were incorporated into Oklahoma Territory and in 1907, Oklahoma was named the 46^th state.

For me, a trip to Oklahoma meant more than just a chance to visit residential gardens in a big city. It was an opportunity to visit the Tallgrass Prairie Preserve, 38,700 acres of virgin tallgrass prairie now owned or leased by the Nature Conservancy. An ecosystem that once sprawled across 142 million acres in 14 states from Texas to Minnesota and into Canada, most of the continent’s tallgrass prairie was plowed under by settlers who moved west intent on farming the rich soil, eventually turning it into “America’s breadbasket”. Less than 10% of this spectacular natural ecosystem now remains. Oklahoma’s Tallgrass Prairie Preserve, the largest protected remnant of tallgrass prairie in the world, was once part of the 100,000 acre Chapman-Barnard Ranch, a tract of land that was left unplowed because of the flinty rock that permeated the soil. It was acquired by the Nature Conservancy in 1989.

Anxious to see the big grasses in their autumn glory, I rented a car and off I drove, heading east from Oklahoma City towards Tulsa. At Stroud, I turned north on Highway 99, passing little oil rigs pumping away in fields on the sides of the road, an old American legion with the Stars-and-Stripes whipping in the breeze and small towns with names like Cleveland, Hominy, Jennings and Oilton and street signs announcing intersections like Cherokee and Broadway – cultural as well as geographical signposts in the old west.

With 140 miles on the odometer, I found myself in the little town of Pawhuska. The capital of northeast Oklahoma’s Osage Nation and the seat of Osage County (referred to affectionately as “the Osage”), Pawhuska bills itself as the gateway to the Tallgrass Prairie Preserve and has a handsome arch over Kikekah Avenue, the main drag, to prove it. Pawhuska means “white hair” and was the name given to an Osage tribal chief who attempted to scalp a fallen American officer in a battle in Ohio during Washington’s administration. When the officer’s powdered wig came off in the Osage warrior’s hand as the soldier escaped, it was assumed to have magical powers of protection and was kept as a talisman. Pawhuska’s glory days were in the first few decades of the 20th century when oil was king and the Osage Nation controlled the mineral rights to the black gold being pumped out of the ground. For a time, the Osage in Oklahoma were wealthy beyond belief from the head rights granted on their tribal land’s oil. (For more on the Osage, have a look at this excellent history by Jenk Jones Jr.)

I stopped briefly at the Osage County Historical Museum, established in 1938 and the oldest tribal-owned museum in the U.S. It was closed on Sunday so I contented myself at squinting through the glass door at the exhibits within and studying the bronze sculpture in the garden outside that commemorates the 1909 founding in Pawhuska of America’s first Boy Scout Troop.

Then it was under the arch and up winding Kikehah Avenue into Oklahoma’s Flint Hills. Seventeen miles later, the blacktop changed to gravel and I was on Tallgrass Prairie Preserve Drive, driving through a metal entrance gate with a yellow sign warning of “Loose Bison”. As I entered the Preserve, I surprised a trio of turkey vultures feasting on the remains of a rabbit on the road. They wheeled into the air and landed on a fence nearby, waiting for me to drive on.

It wasn’t long before I came upon a small cluster of the Preserve’s herd of 2,500 Plains bison (buffalo), grazing close to the road. As I opened the door of my car and quietly raised myself up with elbows on the car roof to take a photo, it reminded me of being in a safari van in Africa’s Serengeti just six months earlier, watching lions napping and zebras grazing. Here, on this relatively small patch of what was once North American’s own vast Serengeti plain, I experienced the same magical feeling of being one with wild animals in their own habitat, watching them interact with plants and other animals in the same way they’ve done for hundreds of thousands of years. Except that the Preserve’s bison are very much a managed herd, with computer chips in ear tags and regular vaccinations against diseases that could spread to the cattle on neighboring farms. From the 300 bison introduced in 1993, the herd has now reached sufficient numbers that an annual sale of culled animals brings revenue to the Preserve.

Descended from ancestral species that migrated from Siberia across the Bering land bridge, these magnificent creatures – the largest land mammals in the western hemisphere – once numbered in the tens of millions in the U.S. and Canada. The Plains Indians had a special relationship with the bison which they hunted by burning small sections of the prairie, thus luring the animals to the succulent new grass growing from the ashes and making them easier to kill. But the arrival of white settlers resulted in wholesale slaughter of bison for their hides, with romantic Wild West characters like Buffalo Bill Cody spelling doom for the massive herds. By 1889, a census revealed that the entire North American population of bison had shrunk to little more than 1,000.

As I drove further into the Preserve, the grasses grew taller and the view eastward over expanses of prairie studded with occasional patches of dark-green woodland was impressive. These isolated groves form the Cross Timbers ecosystem, nearly impenetrable patches of ancient forest consisting mostly of stubby post oaks (Quercus stellata), a tree largely unusable as timber and therefore left uncut through the years. The Cross Timbers are an ecotone or transition zone between the Tallgrass Prairie and the Eastern Deciduous Forest ecosystems. (Read more on Cross Timbers.)

Before long, I was driving through golden grasses that towered above my car roof. Big bluestem (Andropogon gerardii), switch grass (Panicum virgatum) and Indian grass (Sorghastrum nutans) formed the swishing, 8-foot tall sea in which wildflowers like rough blazing star (Liatris aspera), pitcher sage (Salvia azurea), oxeye sunflower (Heliopsis helianthoides) and asters bloomed. Gentle hillocks in the rippling grasses were studded with scrawny blackjack oaks (Quercus marilandica). These are just a few of more than 700 plant species that have been identified on the Preserve. I followed a meandering, 1-mile-long walking trail through the fragrant prairie, passing by the woodland slope flanking Sand Creek, which runs through the preserve.

The Nature Conservancy has adopted regular patch-burns on the Tallgrass Prairie Preserve. Together with bison-grazing, they help maintain the dynamic prairie ecosystem by removing dead seasonal vegetation, curbing the encroachment of woody species and maintaining an assortment of habitats that support a rich diversity of prairie flora and fauna.

After hiking the trail, I dropped into the Preserve’s Visitors Center. Once the 1920 bunk-house of the Chapman-Barnard Ranch, the little building now houses display cabinets and a small gift shop. Chatting with a docent there, I learned that she enjoys volunteering at the Preserve because “I need to be in the prairie for my soul”.

Driving back to Oklahoma City, I thought about how important it is for all of us to learn a little about the land that was here before our ancestors arrived; to appreciate the natural rhythms and cultural traditions that once governed life in these wild places; and to pay homage to the efforts of groups like The Nature Conservancy in preserving our natural heritage for generations to come.

The Tallgrass Prairie Preserve is open from dawn to dusk every day of the year. From mid-March through November, the Preserve Visitors Center is staffed by volunteers most days, and open from 10 am to 4 pm or later. The complete drive through the Preserve is approximately 35 miles and takes around 2 hours.

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