"Oklahoma's Tallgrass Prairie" - Keith R. Bridgman - June 2005
...there is a special place for the soul....A place where time remains at rest and what once was…still is...
Sometimes, one must go there to discover what moves the soul. Sometimes going there isn’t enough and one must step aside from the common...stand, walk, and move back in time to the uncommon, to grasp and feel what this great land must have been like once long ago. It is to stride into another world mostly gone now, not forgotten, not lost, but yearned for in our rush toward civilization. Here, I discovered a new place, a special place for the soul, a place to recover. A place where time remains at rest and what once was...still is. A place called the Tallgrass Prairie Preserve in Northeastern Oklahoma.
A peace hovered over the land that day in May, a peace I needed more than I realized as I recovered from too much time lost and a heart searching for something beyond the everyday, to stir it back from the melancholy state living in today’s world so often inflicts upon us. I found myself drawn into the heart of the land, walking into a vast meadow strewn with flowers, wild and free, and native grasses, tall and green, and before I realized it, I no longer saw roads, buildings, power lines, or people. All around me the air was filled with the song of birds and the rush of a gentle wind. A soothing canopy of blue covered the land, and I felt the trials of life fading away, subdued by the awesome simplicity of a native land. Once long ago, before the white man's westard invasion, the tallgrass prairie stretched for over 140 million acres. The wild grasses which grew here, such as the Big Bluestem, Indian Grass, and Switch Grass, could reach over 8 feet in height. Reduced now to less than 10 percent of that, this 35,000 acre remnant is one of a few places left where the original tall grasslands of America remain unspoiled.
Not far from where I stood, a herd of bison roamed free across the open range of emerald hills. I kept my distance and watched their slow, deliberate migrations. There are hundreds of them here, safe from the brink of forever being lost, an integral part of the ecology of an almost vanished ecosystem. Even from such distance, I could hear and almost feel their deep guttural bellowing. I scanned the horizon searching the highest points, visualizing a hunting party of native Americans sitting proud on their painted ponies, surveying the herd. It was the only thing missing from the moment. Even so, this image was a gift from the past and I was now a part of it.
I sat under the shade of an Oklahoma Red Cedar, which grew along the edge of a wide arroyo, and watched the afternoon drift away on the wind, clouds arched from one horizon to another. I moved only a short distance from that location through the afternoon, exploring here and there, focusing on the landscape with a photographers eye as the light changed. A closer look at the breast work of rock that lined the gully offered some of the best photography close-ups of the day. Acres of flowers dressed the plains in yellow here, with dashes of white and blue as accents against the prevailing green. It was a peaceful place and I finally found time to rest not only the weariness in my heart, but a tiredness of spirit as well.
All too soon, the sun arched toward the end of the day and I once again crossed the fields reluctant to return to the modern world. Before leaving I sat on a rise and watched the sun deposit its warming glow into a bank of far away clouds. My day reduced to a last few moments, I held my breath as the sun gently closed in on its inevitable setting...and then...it was gone. What remained was a renewed spirit strenghtened by a revitalized heart, warmed by the primordial glow that settled across the plains. In time, when the core of my essence once again requires a transformed view of life, I shall return…return to this place...a place where what once was…still is...and what should be, shall forever remain.
Keith R. Bridgman
All Rights Reserved Beyond The CampFire Journal Release 1.0 - August 2006 Keith R. Bridgman
