The fires of spring.
It is a sight that few of those traveling across Kansas' grasslands at the right time ever forget.
Across the 14 counties of the Kansas Flint Hills, fire, first by nature's wildfires, later by Indians and today by grassland managers and landowners, is one of the elements that has kept the prairie the same as it was a thousand years ago.
The flames turn the horizon hazy, the setting sun blazing gold and the twilight sky an eerie orange. They lick across hundreds of square miles of grassland, devouring last year's dead grass and weeds, scrubby brush and woody saplings. They renew the prairie.
But rain and wind have limited the number of days suitable for burning this year.
"We've got a lot of burning to do and not much time to do it," said Mike Holder, Kansas State University extension agent in Chase County, home to the Tallgrass Prairie Preserve, the Z-Bar Ranch and tens of thousands of acres of pasture land. "We're going to see a lot of fire over the next couple of weeks."
A lot of fire carries with it safety concerns that people need to be aware of. In spite of regulations that carefully control when burns can be conducted, smoke can drift across county roads and highways, cutting visibility to zero.
A shift of wind can cause a deadly smoke hazard such as the one in 1994 that caused a multiple-car pileup on the Kansas Turnpike, leaving one person dead and a dozen injured.
Winds that pick up speed unexpectedly can also send volunteer firefighters racing to protect homes and barns, stables and corrals from an uncontrolled fire. In recent years, urban sprawl into the scenic areas of Butler County has meant dozens of expensive homes being built in burn country.
These worries have prompted some to suggest that burning take place over a longer period of time -- say mid-February to early June--so that it not be done all at the same time.
Grassland managers, however, scoff at that suggestion. The prairie needs fire to flourish. But it needs fire in its own time, when the warm sunshine will turn the blackened pasture green in a matter of days.
Burning too early leaves the blackened pasture vulnerable to wind and water erosion and does not kill still-dormant woody brush. Waiting too long means already-green and growing grass that won't sustain the rapid fire needed for a quick, complete cleanup.
"It's hard to believe for people unfamiliar with burning, but it really does have to be done at just the right time," said Holder. "That is why some pastures just don't get burned every year. You don't get the right time or the right conditions."
At just the right time, the fire burns hot and fast. It kills scrub cedar and other woody invaders. It lets sunlight penetrate to the soil, bringing to life soil fungi that help plant roots.
When settlers first came to Kansas, the Flint Hills prairie was saved from the plow by the billions of rocks just below the surface of the soil that gave the region its name. It is those same rocks that create a limestone-filled subsoil that provides a root bed for native grasses and forbs, which together are the ruminant diet.
Cattle gain 2 to 2.5 pounds a day on Flint Hills grass, widely touted as the richest pasture in the world.
In the 15th century, American Indians may not have known about the symbiotic relationship of root fungi and the native grass, or about soil minerals and nutrient absorption rates.
But they did know that the buffalo went where the fire had been. So they burned.
Just as the buffalo preferred the new grass springing from the ashes, so do cattle. In fact, says Butler County extension agent David Kehler, cattle have been documented to gain two-tenths of a pound more daily on burned pasture than on unburned pasture.
The buffalo came on their own. The cattle will come by truck. They'll be unloaded by the bawling thousands at places like Matfield Green, Cassoday and Bazaar. This summer they'll provide a scenic, pastoral vista on the green hillsides.
For a season, they'll graze there, keeping the grass short and gray-green. In late July, the trucks will roll again. The cattle, which next year will become almost a third of the nation's hamburgers, beefsteaks and rump roasts, will move on to the feed yards.
The prairie grasses will grow again, shoot up seed pods, and put down roots. In nature's time, they will rest. And wait for next year's fire.
Distributed by the Associated Press
