Nebraskaland

30 Nebraskaland • July 2026 I spent much of 2018 staring into a small 1-by-1 meter plot of prairie in Aurora. My goal was to photograph everything I could find within a tiny area and show people how diverse and beautiful prairies can be. I was shocked by how well the idea resonated with the public, and even more surprised by how much of a passion project it became for me. I ended up writing a book, helping to design a museum exhibit, and even publishing an article in my favorite state wildlife agency magazine. After 2018, though, I was done with that project. Whenever people asked if I was going to do it again, I was very clear that it had been a fantastic adventure, but I was looking for new ideas to explore. Then came the spring of 2024. Prairie Plains Resource Institute burned the little patch of prairie that included my square meter plot from 2018. Not long after the burn, I wandered past and decided it would be interesting to see if the remnants of my four corner flags were still there. I found them and replaced them with fresh flags, thinking maybe I'd stop by the plot a few times that year to see what had changed since 2018. A little over a week later, I fo u n d mys e l f l y i n g o n t h e g ro u n d , p h o to g ra p h i n g d ew drops on fresh grass blades in my old plot. A robin was hunting worms nearby, so I backed off a little, on the off chance it would work its way between those four flags. A few minutes later, the robin hopped right into the square and posed for a photo. I was well and firmly hooked. I spent the next 12 months swept back up in a joyous obsession. None of it felt repetitive. Every one of the 134 visits to my plot was a new adventure that yielded beauty, insights and inspiration. I ended up photographing about 321 different species of plants, animals and fungi between May 5, 2024, and May 4, 2025. I'll probably never have an exact count because it is very difficult to identify some insect species from photographs. Regardless, it was a much higher number than the 113 species I photographed in 2018. I think the increase was partly because I visited more times (134 vs. 46) and partly because the prairie was recently burned this time, making it easier to see things on the ground. Most importantly, though, I think I saw more because my 2018 experience had taught me how to be a patient and keen observer. I started my 2024 project by building on what I learned in 2018. This was not an inventory project, though. Photographing a lot of species was an important component, but the primary intent was to show people the diversity and beauty of prairies. As a result, the most crucial, and enjoyable, aspects of my second year with that plot were the many stories that played out in front of my eyes. Within those four flags, I watched orb-weaver spiders spin webs and other spiders chase and catch prey without using webs at all. I followed ants as they patrolled sunflower stems looking for "extrafloral nectar" and photographed milkweed bugs and their kids sticking their long mouthparts into butterfly milkweed seeds. After all the gorgeous, fluffy milkweed seeds had popped out of their pods and floated away, I learned that open, empty milkweed pods close up after being soaked by an autumn rain — opening back up again as they dry. Who knew? I held my breath as a male c o b w e b s p i d e r c a u t i o u s l y approached and mated with a female spider and then scurried quickly away to avoid becoming lunch. I congratulated predatory tiger flies and long-legged flies on successful hunts and later zoomed in on my photos of them to identify what they'd caught. After watching the wiggling " t a i l s " o f t w o s p i t t l e b u g s encased in frothy bubbles and feeding on sunflower stem juice, I realized that a small brown bug I'd seen earlier might have been one of their parents. In addition, I had a great time photographing glistening dew drops and framing wildflowers against morning light and once an evening rainbow. On one dark night, I waited for a full moon to rise above the distant trees so I could photograph it behind the empty seed heads of Maximilian sunflower. On another, I sat and waited for lightning bugs to flash their green lights at each other from within my plot and tried, moderately successfully, to capture a photo of them doing it. When I wasn't at my plot, I found myself wondering what I was missing. Multiple times, I went home after an hour or so of photography and observation, only to return later in the day to see if a mushroom had wilted or if the first sunflower had opened. I scheduled meetings and appointments around weather forecasts, trying to make sure I'd have time to be at my plot when the light and wind were favorable for photos. Obsessed might not be a strong enough word. The author's plot was located in a skinny strip of prairie near the local animal shelter, a trailer park and the city waste site.

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