![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLtT0HePjNZZrXLKI4_LGJ5qNfcTcqS3qdJW7A6vaHxiGbh2pHGsGRcOLAJIcJiIz9OtUIH3JhVW88Ji3xrBBG92F-VC0Tv17kfxXGjw-87iApa4c42tGuuQZiKeSmqtwuZ4uj1tPoahMG/s1600/comp+gayfeather.jpg)
Last weekend, I was preparing to put up the bush-hog for the winter, having recently mowed down an invading army of sumac and volunteer cedars and other noxious weeds of the Kansas prairie. Every winter I switch the bush-hog for the road grading blade (in preparation for the occasional rare snow), and every spring I switch it back in preparation for the fall pasture mowing, which I time after the milkweeds and other desirable wildflowers have dispersed seed.
This year, I was contemplating my nicely mowed pasture in contrast to the overgrown roadside of my neighbor across from it and I offered to mow his roadside before putting the mower away. I mowed up, and down, concentrating carefully on the slanted sides to avoid tipping the tractor. On the repeat center run, however, I stopped cold at the sight of this clump of gayfeather brightly accenting the White Sage around it. I believe it to be Dotted Gayfeather (Liatris punctata) due to its short stature and location on the dry prairie. What a beautiful sight!
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I mowed on, a flippant choice at the time forced by self-image and social norms. As the Knight of the Crusades said in the third Indiana Jones movie, however, I "chose poorly". I've now faced a week of guilt over it, a sure sign from my conscience that I chose the wrong path. I really hope these butterflies made it across the fence line to another fertile clump, another precious waystation on their winged journey. My karma has taken a hit that will need some careful and conscious effort over the next few months to mend. Excuse me while I go collect some gayfeather seed to start several other clumps in my pasture.