There’s much I love about the work of Trish Moon Beem, a poet from Grand Island Nebraska, but a line from one poem resonates with me often, particularly when I spend too much time surrounded by technology and concrete and not enough time with Mother Earth.
Those who don’t understand that sentiment probably don’t hear the music of the prairie – the susurrus as the grasses and wildflowers sing to the birds, insects, mammals and reptiles that are the musical instruments of the prairie.
Symphony in the Flint Hills
The second Saturday of each June, another set of musicians perform in the tall grass prairie of Kansas. They are members of the Kansas City Symphony and the event is the Symphony in the Flint Hills, an evening when Mother Nature and Mankind join forces to celebrate the special beauty of the Kansas prairie.
The precise location varies each year, but it’s generally out in the middle of nowhere, a remote pasture where the earth takes a deep breath each day. But on this night, the Kansas City Symphony performs under the stars to an audience of 5,000 seated on hay bales, lawn chairs and picnic blankets.
The house lights are fire flies and the concert hall is encircled by cowboys roaming the open range.
The Symphony in the Flint Hills is a remarkable experience that should move the harshest of souls, but don’t wait until next year to hear the music of the tall grass. Plan a visit any time of the year to the national park unit in Cottonwood Falls Kansas that celebrates this special place “where the Earth has room to breathe and the sky comes down to greet us.”