Mae's Mystery Flower

Permission is given to reproduce and distribute for educational purposes in Nebraska.

Cover by Jeff Thornton

Please send comments or lesson suggestions to:

Rosemary Thornton

3405 M Street

Lincoln, NE 68510

or email rthorn@alltel.net

Mae's Mystery Flower

by Rosemary Thornton

Mae peered out the window, looking past the chicken yard to the prairie grasses lining the railroad tracks. As she stood at the kitchen table scrubbing bits of oatmeal from her family's breakfast bowls, she pictured herself scrambling through that grassy jungle, discovering delicate, colorful wisps . . . the wild flowers that shared spaces with the tall grasses. Mae walked to the door, balancing the dishpan of water and poured it onto the cement steps to clean them. Then she carried the dishpan to the big iron stove and ladled more hot water from the stove- well into the pan. After rinsing the dishes, she wiped them dry with a flour sack towel that Mama had hemmed. Again Mae emptied the dishpan onto the steps. Then she swept the floor and moved the chairs into their places facing the table. Finally, Mae hung her apron on its hook next to the cupboard and called to her mother, "Mama, can I go out now?"

Mama sat in the rocking chair by the window sewing. Sun streamed through the window, glinting on Mama's needle as she mended the holes in Papa's socks. "You can go, but you be careful when you hear a train coming," she cautioned.

"I will, Mama," Mae agreed as she ran out the door. Mae hurried through the gate into the chicken yard. She stepped quickly around the pecking chickens, ignoring their startled squawks, and climbed up and down the wooden steps of the stile that took her over the fence. Just beyond lay the railroad tracks. Mae knew the tracks were there, but she could not see them, because surrounding the tracks, ten yards out on both sides, there grew a virgin prairie.

At school Mae had learned that the big bluestem, little bluestem, Indiangrass and other shorter grasses were remnants from a vast, tall grass prairie that once had covered the land before pioneers plowed the sod and planted crops.

(page3) Mae raised her arms above her head and tiptoed into a grassy haven. She loved to feel the grasses swallowing her up. Looking back, she no longer could see the chicken yard and house. Mae squealed as she spotted a yellow flower peeking through the grass. "Hula dancers," she murmured. "And there's a belly button . . . and gumdrops." Mae stepped around the bunches of little bluestem, looking for other flowers she had discovered and named.

Mae's father had sent for books on flora and fauna, and presented them to Mae for her birthday. He explained that if she wanted to know a flower's name, she could look for a picture of it in the book. Its common name and scientific name would be printed under the picture.

Mae had looked through the book on wildflowers, then put it away in her drawer. The book named the flowers with words that Mae could not pronounce. Besides that, she liked giving the flowers her own secret names.

Purple was her favorite color and she could find lots of purple flowers. There were the stately torch flowers and feather bouquets. She loved the purple hula dancers and lavender clovers with spidery stems and leaves. In early summer, Mae had found yellow star flowers, pink fireworks and fairy teacups. She fingered a pink blossom on a prickly stem. "I think I called that Indian paintbrush," she said aloud. Mae had heard of a flower called Indian paintbrush that grew on prairies farther west. Papa had seen it in the Rocky Mountains. The idea of a flower being like a paint brush fascinated Mae. She had searched until she found a flower to fit that name. Its bright pink petals and prickly stem reminded her of artists and color, although she doubted if one could paint with it. She asked Papa if Indians really had painted with a flower. He didn't think so.

Now she was looking for late summer blooms . . . fairy wands that waved in the breeze, and flower people with bright, yellow faces.

When Mae heard the train whistle she walked out of the grasses and watched the train chugging closer. The engineer waved and she waved back. She counted the

cars as they passed . . . 24 in all, plus the red caboose. Mae had ridden in a caboose many times. Because of Papa's job as a station agent, the family could ride free in a freight train caboose to any town where the train was bound.

Mae slipped back into her grassy retreat. She reached out and let her arm graze the seed heads of some tickle grass. Above her head loomed the tallest of the native grasses, big bluestem. Mae smiled as she recalled Grandpa's chuckle when he told her that pioneers nicknamed it "turkey-foot" because the seed heads at the top reminded them of a wild turkey's foot. Mae counted the seed heads on the grass stalk above her. Yes, there were three, just like the three toes on a turkey's foot. She stopped, startled. Her eye had caught an orange flicker. She followed the movement down, to spot a large, orange and black butterfly settle onto a torch flower at her feet. Mae held her breath and leaned down to examine the butterfly. From its head extended a tiny, black thread to the center of a floweret on the bloom. Mae knew what was happening. The butterfly was sucking sweet juices from the flower. Papa had told her that the food of butterflies was nectar, which they found in certain flowers.

The butterfly flew off and Mae plowed on, pushing tall stalks of Indiangrass aside. Her movements rustled the golden seed heads that topped the grasses. She gazed up at the flowing plumes silhouetted against the blue sky. According to Grandpa, pioneers had named this grass after the Indians because the seed heads at the top resembled feathers.

As a breeze stirred the grasses, Mae saw something white and lacy swinging between stalks of Indiangrass. An orb spinner! Her eyes found the owner of the web, a fat, yellow and black spider hanging head down on its zigzag staircase. Mae hoped the orange and black butterfly would stay clear. She had seen what spiders did to insects landing in their webs. In a flash the spider would wrap its victim in silk, bite it, then save it for a later meal.

Mae touched a waving fairy wand and smiled at the faces of the flower people as she waded through more Indiangrass. Looking ahead, she could see the railroad crossbars where a gravel road crossed the tracks. She had walked almost a mile, as far as Mama allowed her to go in that direction. She sat down to rest before turning back. Mae looked around her. As she turned, she spotted something purple barely visible in the grasses. She jumped up to look. Was it another familiar flower, or could it be a new one? Mae pressed the little bluestem away in order to see it better. It was not a torch flower or feather bouquet or lavender clover. Mae had never seen a flower like this before. Three large, blue-violet blooms clustered atop a red stem, while oval buds, bursting pale purple, crowded below. Pairs of large, pointy leaves grew opposite each other on the stem. Mae plopped to the ground and stared at the flower. Always before, when she had found a new flower, a name for it would pop into her head. Now, she had discovered, perhaps the prairie's most beautiful flower. It surely deserved a glorious name, but she could think of none.

She stood up and took a last, careful look at the flower and its location. Then she turned, shouldered through turkeyfoot and elbowed through Indiangrass, holding the flower's image in her mind all the way. When she reached the stile over the chicken yard fence, Mae stopped to catch her breath. Then, up and down the stile steps she went, across the yard with chickens scattering out of her path, through the gate, up the steps and into the room where Mama sat, sewing.

"Mama, I found a new flower," she fairly shouted as she rushed by her mother and climbed the stairs to her room. Mae hunted through her dresser for one of the books Papa had given her. She sat on the bed and leafed slowly through The Flower Guide, studying each picture before turning to the next page. At last she saw it. The mystery flower she had discovered was pictured on the page, and she could read its name . . . downy gentian. Mae whispered the words several times . . . downy gentian . . . downy gentian. It seemed a fitting name for her new flower. Mae carried the book with her down the stairs.

"Look, Mama," she said. "Look at the downy gentian I found on the prairie," and she showed Mama the picture in the book. Mama took the book from Mae and looked closely at the picture. She smiled. "You've found a rare one. I used to see it on the prairie when I was a girl. I called it angel bells. Mae looked at Mama in surprise. She hadn't known that Mama had named the prairie flowers, too. She glanced down at The Flower Guide in Mama's lap. "I wonder if my other flowers are named in there?" she mused. "Why don't you go out and see?" Mama replied, but Mae had already turned and was headed toward the door with The Flower Guide clutched in her hand.

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