Learning How to Live with Shrubbier Grasslands – Part 1: The Why

Back in 2022, I wrote a post about the increasing competitiveness of woody plants – especially clonal shrubs like dogwood, sumac, and others – in prairies. There are lots of factors that have led to more shrubs moving into grasslands, but increased levels of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere probably play the biggest role. Regardless of the reasons, more and more prairies are becoming something different than we’ve been used to.

Deciduous shrubs and trees are becoming more and more prevalent in many prairies these days.

Since writing that post several years ago, I’ve engaged in a lot of conversation with land managers and other scientists on this topic. I’ve learned several crucial things about woody plants in Great Plains grasslands:

  1. Annual fire, and maybe biennial fire, may be able to prevent woody plants from moving into prairies here in the central United States. Anything less frequent than that is unlikely to be successful.
  2. At least in the northern Flint Hills of Kansas, once those woody plants have established, even decades of annual fire may not get rid of them. Researchers at the Konza Biological Station, for example, have seen that more than 20 years of annual fire has kept shrubs short, but hasn’t reduced stem density.
  3. The season of fire is probably important, but I’ve not found any evidence that burning in the growing season vs. dormant season changes the need to burn very frequently if that’s the only strategy being used to prevent woody plant encroachment. We’ve done a lot of summer burning here in Nebraska and see immediate resprouting of shrubs. Summer burning in droughts can sometimes look promising, initially, but the shrubs seem to roar back in subsequent years.
  4. Eastern redcedars don’t resprout after being burned (or cut), so at least we know what needs to be done to deal with them. Deciduous trees and shrubs do resprout unless they’re treated with herbicide. Cutting one down and treating the stump with herbicide works a treat. Unfortunately, that’s insufficient to deal with dense stands of trees or shrubs across tens, let alone hundreds or thousands of acres. Broadcast spraying of grasslands for shrub control can kill woody plants but is catastrophic for biodiversity. So what do we do?
  5. “Use goats!”, some of you are screaming. Sure, goats can be helpful, but once-a-year, short-term goat browsing seems to have the same impact as once-a-year burning or mowing, which is that the shrubs just resprout. Multiple treatments of mowing, browsing, burning, or combinations, can more drastically reduce the height and density of shrubs, which is definitely helpful, but – again – that can be difficult to scale up. Continuous, low-density goat grazing might be a decent option if we can figure out how to keep those goats contained (at a reasonable cost).
Smooth sumac resprouting three weeks after an intense summer wildfire during a severe drought.

One of the most helpful things I’ve done is to convene a small group of smart people who have met repeatedly over the last couple years to discuss some big picture ideas. Those people, all PhD scientists and experienced grassland ecologists, include Sam Fuhlendorf of Oklahoma State University, Jesse Nippert and Zak Ratajczak of Kansas State University, Nic McMillan of the University of Nebraska-Lincoln, and Marissa Ahlering of The Nature Conservancy.

Conversations with those scientists have reinforced my thinking that prairie managers in this part of the world need to shift the way we think about woody plants in prairies. During most of my career, trees and shrubs have been the enemy – or, to put it better, they were important plants that could become problematic if I didn’t keep them at bay. Woody plants were ok in small patches, especially along the margins of grassland areas, but they could cause big problems if they started popping up out in the middle.

Well, the world has changed, dang it, and we need to change, too.

Just during my career as a prairie ecologist and land manager (30-some years, if I count my time studying prairies as a graduate student), I’ve seen changes in how deciduous shrubs respond to prairie management and spread across the landscape. There are still lots of grassland landscapes in Nebraska where woody plants are uncommon, and where it’s very feasible to keep them that way. However, there are more and more places where it’s not.

Especially in fragmented landscapes, where patches of prairies are relatively small and there are lots of woody plants nearby, trying to prevent shrubs and trees from moving into prairies can feel like poking a stick at a landslide.

Sure, annual burning may work, but there are a couple huge problems with that. In a fragmented landscape, burning an entire prairie each year risks eliminating populations of many animal species from that site. The isolation of that prairie from others means recolonization of those species is unlikely – especially if the closest other prairies are also being annually burned.

The other problem comes back to scale again. Here in Nebraska, we have 20 million acres of grassland. The idea that we could burn even half of those acres each year is ludicrous. Even if we had the will and capacity to do it (we don’t), the smoke from that many acres would be completely unacceptable. Mowing, of course, is also infeasible at that scale (not to mention limitations of topography in many places).

Currently, most of our deciduous tree and shrub encroachment is happening in the eastern third of the state, where many grasslands exist as patches within a crop land matrix. Even there, we’re still talking myriad scattered prairie parcels totalling millions of acres, so annual or biennial burning isn’t feasible at that scale.

Assuming we could somehow convince every eastern Nebraska landowner to burn their prairie every other year (there’s no chance of that), and we could figure out how to deal with all the smoke (we can’t), it still wouldn’t happen. We’d still have to deal with burn bans issued by local and state officials during drought years or whenever they feel sufficient public pressure.

Frequent burning (dormant or growing season) may be enough to stave off woody encroachment, but isn’t really feasible across millions of acres of the Great Plains.

I could go on and on, but the big point is this: excluding trees and shrubs from prairies is no longer possible in many places. It just isn’t. We can prioritize and dedicate resources to prevent encroachment in some select areas, but across much of the Central U.S., we are going to have shrubbier grasslands.

The transition from grasslands to shrubland has already happened in many parts of the Midwest and Great Plains. Ranches in parts of Texas and Oklahoma have had to shift from cattle grazing to deer hunting or other landuses. In parts of the Midwest, where many grasslands have persisted as small openings within a wooded landscape, lots of those openings have closed. Larger, drier grasslands in the western half of the Great Plains are transitioning much more slowly, but there are still examples of trees and shrubs – especially along creeks or wetlands – expanding their footprint beyond what we’ve been used to.

Deciduous shrubs in the Texas Hill Country near Austin.

All of this means we need to think about how to manage woodier prairies for biological diversity and productivity – including agricultural productivity, since grazing and other agricultural uses is what has prevented many of them from being tilled or otherwise converted to something that’s no longer prairie.

This doesn’t have to be a catastrophe. In fact, there are many prairie species that benefit from the presence of more shrubby habitat. Others won’t, but we actually have a lot to learn about what kinds of shrub height and density will affect most prairie species, and how.

How much shade will various prairie wildflower species tolerate? What about the insects that pollinate them? How do grassland wildlife species respond to different heights and densities of woody plants? For animals and plants that can’t handle even a little tree or shrub cover, how big do open areas need to be to provide them with sufficient habitat to survive?

On the land management side, if we’re not trying to eradicate or prevent encroachment of shrubs and trees, what does prairie stewardship look like? In many places, our goal will probably be to manage the height and density of shrubs. That goal will be more defined as we learn how to answer the above questions (and many more), but few of us have focused on height and density management. We’ve been trying to kill shrubs, not compromise with them.

There are a lot of deciduous shrubs in this prairie but they’re all about the same height as the surrounding vegetation. If we can keep them that way, can we maintain high grassland biodiversity and productivity?

I’m planning to dedicate a big chunk of the next decade to this topic. We’ve already started some small experiments at Nebraska sites owned by The Nature Conservancy and are collaborating with a couple researchers to dig more deeply. I hope many others will also work on this. There are lots and lots of important questions to address.

Stay tuned for more. More importantly, if you’re a land manager or scientist, please consider how you might join in the effort to learn more about and experiment with “shrubby grassland stewardship” so we can all build off each other’s work.

If you’re interested, check out part 2 of this post, which shares preliminary results of two small experiments on how to manage height and density of clonal deciduous shrubs.

Celebrating Seeds

I’ve been seeing a lot of brand new plants germinating from seeds during the last couple weeks. Looking at all those cotyledons (first leaves) poking out of the ground makes me reflect on the massive amount of good fortune it takes for any seed to actually turn into a new prairie plant.

Prairie dandelion seeds (Nothocalais cuspidata).

Seed production is a high risk, high reward strategy for plants, and even that’s a huge understatement. It takes a tremendous amount of energy for a plant to produce a flower – especially if you’re trying to make one that’s attractive to an animal pollinator. There’s all the colorful petals or other structures, nectar (in many cases), and, of course the pollen itself. After pollination, even more energy can go into loading up the developing seeds with the nutrition and energy needed to give the embedded embryo a chance of success.

Once the seeds are released from the plant, they often travel away from their parent – at least far enough that they aren’t trying to grow directly beneath them. The varied tactics used by plants to disperse their seeds is a huge, fascinating topic, which I’ve written about before. Regardless of whether a seed travels by wind, water, attached to the fur or feathers of an animal, or by being eaten and then pooped out, there are myriad dangers along the way.

Prairie violet (Viola pedatifida) seeds can travel in two ways. First, they are ballistically launched into the air as their pods dry and constrict. Second, many are picked up and carried home by ants because of the little fatty packet of nutrition (elaiosomes) violet seeds have attached to themselves for that very purpose.

Seeds packed with nutrients to feed their embryo are also a great food source for many other organisms. Countless vertebrate and invertebrate animals seek out and eat seeds, especially during the dormant season when most other food sources are scarce. Fungi and lots of microorganisms can also destroy and consume seeds.

Pasque flower (Pulsatilla patens)

If, by some minor miracle, a seed survives its short or long journey intact, it may still be a long way from ultimate success. For most plants, germination only happens if a seed is in good contact with soil. Think for a moment about the world a seed is launched into and how many obstacles there are between that seed and the soil!

When you walk through most prairies, if you look straight down, you’re not seeing a lot of bare soil. Instead, there are a lot of living and dead plant parts (leave, stems, etc.) between your feet and the ground. A recently-burned prairie, of course, has lots of bare ground. That’s a great opportunity, but only for any seeds who weren’t consumed by the fire itself.

Most seeds land on something besides soil. Often, that’s the end of their journey and they sit there until they die (e.g., the embryo runs out of stored food) or they’re found and consumed by another organism. If they’re lucky, they might get dislodged from their original landing spot by wind or rain, for example, and slip downward toward the soil.

Entire-leaf rosinweed seeds (Silphium integrifolium)

Let’s say a seed has led a lucky life and manages to reach soil. It might even get pushed into that soil slightly by rain or a passing animal’s foot. Hooray! Now it can grow and reward its parent’s huge investment.

Well, maybe.

Most seeds need water to germinate. During drought periods, a seed might sit in the dusty earth for weeks, months, or years, waiting for sufficient moisture to help break its seed coat open. As it sits there, it’s vulnerable to any passing animal, fungal hyphae, or tiny microorganism looking for a meal. Plus, as we discussed earlier, the embryo might simply run out of food.

Dotted gayfeather (Liatris punctata)

Even if rain or snow provides sufficient moisture for germination, some prairie seeds also need a certain amount of sunlight to trigger germination. (This is why it’s important not to plant prairie seeds like you plant pumpkin or green bean seeds. Just scattering them on top of the ground is often best.) If a seed that requires light lands on bare soil that happens to be in the shade of other plants, it might still be stuck in limbo.

Illinois bundleflower seeds have such a strong seed coat they can survive a trip through the digestive system of an animal. That’s great for the seed, but doesn’t provide any reward for the poor hungry animal!

As a result of all the challenges they face, only a tiny percentage of seeds released into the world by their parents actually end up germinating. Those that do have a chance to perpetuate the family line. However, simply reaching the germination stage isn’t the end of the race.

A tiny seedling still has to compete with any nearby plants for food, water, and sunlight. Only a small minority of prairie plant seedlings make it to maturity and create their own flowers and seeds. They either wither and die in the face of more competitive neighbors or get eaten by herbivores looking for fresh new growth to nibble on.

Tall thistle (Cirsium altissimum)
Sensitive briar (Mimosa quadrivalvus)
Ironweed (Vernonia baldwinii)

Despite the odds, of course, some seeds do manage to germinate and then become parents themselves. We’ve got abundant evidence of those successes all around us. It’s easy, though, to take those winners for granted. Spare a thought for all those who didn’t make it!I’m cheering on all the little germinating plants in the prairie right now. They’ve already survived a ton of obstacles, but they still have a lot to overcome.

I often wish seeds good luck when I see them, too (usually silently, especially if other people are around). While most seeds fail to become plants, each one of them plays a vital role in the prairie ecosystem. Animals and other organisms have to eat, after all, and seeds help keep lots of other community members alive.

Apart from everything else, seeds and the structures that help carry them into the world are simply beautiful. I’m incredibly appreciative of the diversity and aesthetic elegance of prairie seeds and I’ve spent a lot of joyful hours photographing them. I just try not to dwell too much on their individual survival chances…

Related information you might find helpful if you want to harvest or plant prairie seeds in your yard or for a larger restoration project:

The blog for the Grassland Restoration Network is a fantastic resource for anyone working on prairie restoration projects. There is also an annual gathering of network members at sites around the U.S. where information is exchanged.

If you live in or near Nebraska, you might find this restoration guide helpful. It includes species lists for various habitat types, strategies for seed harvest and planting, and much more.

The Bureau of Land Management’s Seeds of Success Program is aimed at “increasing the quality and quantity of native plant materials available for restoring and supporting resilient ecosystems.”  The program includes a strong set of protocols, many of which are relevant to site-based restoration programs.