Spring 2001

by Joe Neumann

There is a crispness in the air — and on the tail of the bluebird. It lingers around a gray wood box that's attached to a 5 foot pole. There is a hole in the box that's just the right size for a bluebird. The pole stands in a cozy open area about 10 acres in size that is full of last year's dried stalks. To the north, south, and east are woods just starting to awaken to spring. To the west lie mowed lawn, a pavilion, and a parking lot. This is a good place for a bluebird to set up shop and stake a claim on spring. Suddenly there is a rumble. Pick-up trucks and cars arrive. People approach.

Our task today is burning a prairie pocket at Swallow Cliff, a forest preserve in the southwest section of Cook County. Four other volunteers and I will assist the District staff. We pull out an assortment of tools from a District truck. There are flappers (flat slabs of rubber on 5 foot handles, used to smother weak flames), water backpack pumps, and drip torches. Tim, a District forester, will lead one crew. Deb, a volunteer with extensive burn experience, will lead the other crew. The wind is from the southwest, so we will begin in the northeast corner of the prairie. The wind would direct a free-ranging fire here, so this is the area we secure first. Deb's crew will burn along the north fire break, while Tim's crew, to which I am assigned, will burn along the east break. By snuffing the flames on the outside while letting those on the inside burn, we will create a "black line" backfire. After the fuel of dried stalks around the edge of the prairie is reduced to ash, the fire can safely be let loose in the interior.

The fire along the east break is a weak one. Flappers easily control it. I just walk along with my water pack. In 1994 this area was largely a thicket of an aggressive viburnum shrub that is native farther to the south. The District used heavy equipment to mow the viburnum down. Much of the viburnum resprouts now. Today's burn will knock it back and strengthen the prairie. The north break cuts across healthier prairie. This break runs along a slight slope. From our position a few hundred feet away, we can see the flames kicking up. But the crew has the situation under control. In their wake lies a textbook swath of black line.

As we approach the southeast corner of the burn unit, I finally have a chance to put my water pack to use. The fire will soon reach two poles with two bluebird boxes. I wet down one. James, a District employee, wets down the other. In Indian times there were no bluebird boxes of course. A box is the man-made imitation of the bluebird's natural home. Bluebirds nest in the cavities of trees. But bluebirds do not just nest in any tree cavity. If you talk to Floyd, who put out these boxes, he will tell you that bluebirds like openness. The larger landscape is the bluebird's true home. The bluebird's true home is an oak in the prairie, the open savanna habitat that free-ranging fires once maintained.

We have enclosed the burn area now. Deb sets the fire in the interior. A great gush of smoke obscures all. In a few minutes, it is over. We lounge on picnic tables by the pavilion while the smoke dissipates. Don't worry, bluebird. All the excitement will be over soon. After we're gone, you'll find that the habitat here is even better than before. Bluebirds and burning — they go together.