A Love Letter To The Prairie

Dear Prairie,

I didn’t understand you at first. I thought love was supposed to look a certain way—trimmed edges, tidy lines, perfectly even green. I believed devotion meant weekly mowing, constant watering, and a quiet sameness that never surprised me. I mistook control for care.

But then I met you.

You didn’t demand perfection. You offered presence. Not a flat, silent surface – but a living, breathing community.

You arrived with the soft confession of little bluestem catching the light like a candle flame. With
coneflowers holding their bright faces high. With goldenrod turning late summer into a
celebration instead of an ending. You brought milkweed, not as decoration, but as a
promise—an open door for monarchs, a cradle for transformation.

You didn’t just “bloom.” You belonged. And what you gave back – oh, what you gave back. Where the lawn asked for more (more water, more fertilizer, more time), you asked for patience and offered abundance. You brought bees and butterflies like tiny love letters delivered on wings. You invited songbirds to stay awhile. You fed the soil instead of exhausting it. You held water when storms came hard, and you stood resilient when drought pressed in. You made space for life in all its messy, miraculous variety.

Prairie, you are the opposite of shallow. You are rooted. You are generous. You are brave. You taught me that beauty doesn’t have to be fragile to be breathtaking. That a landscape can be both wild and intentional. That a yard can become habitat. That a home can be a refuge not just for humans, but for everything that shares our place. You reminded me that love isn’t a monoculture.

And that’s why, this Valentine’s Day, I’m writing to say:

I choose you. I choose the kind of love that grows deeper each year-because it’s built on relationships. The kind that changes with the seasons and still shows up, again and again. The kind that doesn’t need constant fixing to be worthy. The kind that supports a whole world.

So consider this my official breakup notice:

Dear Lawn,
It’s not you… it’s the mowing. It’s the endless inputs. It’s the emptiness. It’s the way you never give much back.

Prairie, I’m ready for something real. I’m ready for color that comes in waves. For grasses that shimmer. For blooms that feed pollinators and seed heads that feed winter birds. For a landscape that tells the truth about where we live – and helps heal it.

This is my love letter. And maybe it’s yours too.

With all my heart (and a little bit of compost),

Yours always,

Prairie Restorations, Inc.