Prairie Sunset Finale: Symphony of the Flint Hills

There couldn't have been a more fitting theme for the 20th and final rendition of the Symphony in the Flint Hills. The concert - Prairie Sunset - was Saturday, June 14, at the Evans Family Ranch in Chase County, Kansas. The wildflower-dotted rolling hills and overcast sky provided the dramatic backdrop for this grand finale concert of the Kansas City Symphony Orchestra set in the Flint Hills. 

 

It began in 2006 with the mission to heighten appreciate and knowledge of the Flint Hills tallgrass prairie. 

Rooted in these hills, like the enduring bluestem itself, Symphony in the Flint Hills, Inc., works to build awareness for the last stand of tallgrass prairie. ... The landscape's stone, soil, flora, fauna and skies above pull on our souls and care for us, and we are called to care for this place in return. ... We envision a future where our efforts encourage people to strengthen the Kansas prairie by sustaining the region's unique culture and landscape.

From the Mission Statement - Symphony of the Flint Hills 

This was not downtown Kansas City - by any stretch of the imagination. While city drivers sometimes have to dodge potholes after a brutal winter, they don't come across too many signs like this:

 

There was only one way in and out of the concert venue, set in the pasture in rural Strong City. It created a different kind of traffic jam as vehicles made their way north of U.S. 50 and down roads white with the dust of the area's limestone. (It took us 2 hours to travel the seven or so miles from the highway to the pasture.)

As we placed our water jug and program between our lawn chairs, we saw evidence that this was a working pasture and felt right at home. (For the uninitiated, those are a couple of dried cow patties.)

 

After 20 years, the concert volunteers had the logistics down to a science. Once we arrived, we quickly parked and caught a ride on a pickup-pulled wagon to the tents set up in the pasture. 

Unfortunately, because of traffic, we didn't arrive in time for any of the afternoon seminars. 

 

They delayed the concert start for 30 minutes, hoping to get more of the concert goers to the venue in time to hear the opening strains of the Celebration Overture by Peter Boyle. That same piece had opened the 2016 version of the Symphony of the Flint Hills - the only other time I'd attended, that time with Brent. This was Randy's first time, since he had been baling in 2016 and couldn't make the trip with me. When he saw it was the final opportunity, he got tickets to celebrate our 44th wedding anniversary. 

 

It was the perfect gift and well worth the wait.  

While making our way from the highway to the concert site, we'd seen lots of wildflowers lining the ditches in a rainbow of colors. I did think about jumping out of the car to take photos, but didn't. I didn't find as many in the pasture itself, though I did take photos of a few. 

 

This was right by our seats. It was still standing at the end of the night, surviving all the visitors.

During intermission, I wandered over to an electric fence for some photos of the prairie beyond.

 The purple lupine was a favorite wildflower.

The Flint Hills are part of the tallgrass prairie. In Kansas, they stretch from Marshall County in the north down through Riley, Geary, Pottawatomie, Wabaunsee, Morris, Lyon, Chase, Greenwood, Butler, Elk, Cowley and Chautauqua Counties and then into Oklahoma, where they are called the Osage Hills. These 5 million acres comprise the largest expanse of tallgrass prairie in the world.

The Flint Hills began as a vast inland sea 270 million years ago, which left scattered limestone and shallow soil behind. With the rocks less than a foot down, this part of the prairie was spared the plow and left in native grass. It’s the prairie mosaic that author William Least Heat-Moon called “360 degrees of sky.”

While it certainly isn't the mountains of Colorado, it's also very different from the stereotypical flat lands of Kansas. 

I'm a fan of clouds during sunset because they provide such a vivid painting as the light seeps through them. It was a constantly evolving scene as the light of day began to fade into a mild Kansas evening. 

 

The light and shadows played hide-and-seek in the gentle nooks and crannies of the rolling Plains covered in lush grass after plentiful spring rains. 

 

Kansas City Symphony Conductor Daniel Wiley directed a program that also included John Henry and Saturday Night Waltz by Aaron Copland, as well as George Gershwin's Summertime and Dvorak's finale from The New World Symphony. As the orchestra's notes rose and fell, it certainly seemed like the perfect celebration of music and nature's beauty. 

I am used to seeing cattle in pastures, but watching the cowboys drive the cattle across the landscape while an orchestra played was a little different from our 4-wheeler round-ups. (My photos aren't great of the cattle drive and cowboys.)

As the concert came to an end, the 8,000 or so spectators, donors and volunteers stood and sang "Home on the Range," a tradition of Symphony in the Flint Hills.

I thought about the words to a less-familiar verse of Kansas' state song, "Home on the Range," words that we'd just sung in unison:

How often at night when the heavens are bright

With the light from the glittering stars

Have I stood there amazed and asked as I gazed

If their glory exceeds that of ours.

Yes ... indeed.

We didn't think there was any need to hurry away from the concert site. We decided we'd much rather take in the after-concert activities than sit in the car in stop-and-go traffic. 

 Lots of us watched the powwow dancers. The area now known as the Flint Hills was once the ancestral homelands of the Kansa (Kaw) and Osage Nations and the traditional hunting grounds of Siouan, Wichita and Pawnee people who relied on the great herds of bison once so abundant there. 

Country singer and Kansas native Logan Mize had sung his song, “Welcome to Prairieville,.”with the symphony. After leading the audience-participation rendition of Home on the Range,  he moved to the beverage tent to entertain into the evening. 

 We didn't get home until after 1:30 AM, but it was worth the late night (early morning). 

The Flint Hills don't take your breath away. 

They give you a chance to catch your breath.

Jim Hoy - Cowboy and historian - 1939-2025 

 

What a wonderful grand finale! Thank you to all the volunteers who made it possible.  

As directed, I didn't record any of the concert. But with no wind, the sound was spectacular. I found this short clip online - just in case you're interested. (CLICK HERE.)

Music in a Pasture: Symphony in the Flint Hills

I'm used to playing a horn in the pasture. I pride myself on my rhythmic beep-beep-beeping of the pickup horn to attract our cattle to the corral during a round-up from summer pasture.

But my lonely solo pales in comparison to hearing 80 professional musicians play horns and strings and percussion in the middle of the Kansas prairie. Saturday, I went to my first Symphony in the Flint Hills. Brent, Jill, Eric and the girls got me tickets for a combination Mother's Day and birthday present.

I had always wanted to go, but I never bought them for myself because of the uncertainty of wheat harvest timing. But when others had put down their hard-earned money on my behalf, I was going to make it work, no matter what. Randy was baling hay, so Brent graciously agreed to accompany me.

Photo by Brent with Instagram filter

As I listened to the swell of symphonic music float on the hot breeze of a Kansas evening and drank in the vibrant green rolling landscape under a hazy, humid sky, I pretended I was sopping up sweat instead of tears. It was just so beautiful, but I didn't figure my date would appreciate my emotional response.

It was the 11th annual Symphony of the Flint Hills. This year, it was in the South Clements pasture owned by cattleman Edward Bass in Chase County, but the venue changes each year. After turning off of Highway 177 south of Strong City, a  narrow, curving dirt road was the only way in and out of the venue. I wondered what the city folk thought as the fine dust swirled around cars in a very different form of traffic jam.

Because of the hot forecast, we timed our arrival for later afternoon.

But it still gave me time to wander around the pasture, taking photos of wildflowers and the rolling hills so different from our flat pastures only 2 hours to the west.

The Flint Hills are part of the tallgrass prairie. In Kansas, they stretch from Marshall County in the north down through Riley, Geary, Pottawatomie, Wabaunsee, Morris, Lyon, Chase, Greenwood, Butler, Elk, Cowley and Chautauqua Counties and then into Oklahoma, where they are called the Osage Hills. These 5 million acres comprise the largest expanse of tallgrass prairie in the world.

The Flint Hills began as a vast inland sea 270 million years ago, which left scattered limestone and shallow soil behind. With the rocks less than a foot down, this part of the prairie was spared the plow and left in native grass. It’s the prairie mosaic that author William Least Heat-Moon called “360 degrees of sky.”

While it certainly isn't the mountains of Colorado, it's also very different from the stereotypical flat lands of Kansas.

The light and shadows played hide-and-seek in the gentle nooks and crannies of the rolling Plains covered in lush grass after plentiful spring rains.

Kansas City Symphony Conductor Aram Demirjian directed a program that led off with “Celebration Overture” by Peter Boyer. As the orchestra's notes rose and fell, it certainly seemed like a celebration of music and nature's beauty.

As the orchestra transitioned to "The Magnificent Seven," cowboys herded cattle as a backdrop.

 

I am used to seeing cattle on pasture, but watching the cowboys ride across the landscape while an orchestra played was a little different from our 4-wheeler round-ups.

Other symphony selections were by quintessential American composer Aaron Copland; the folk song, "Shenandoah"; and the theme music from "Raiders of the Lost Ark" and "Dances with Wolves," among others.

Photo by Brent, which he edited on Instagram

"America the Beautiful" was certainly truth in advertising as the sun was setting in the hazy sky. As the concert came to an end, the 7,000 or so spectators, donors and volunteers stood and sang "Home on the Range," a tradition of Symphony in the Flint Hills.

As I packed up my collapsible chair and my cooler now less full of bottled water and walked out of the "Welcome" gate sign, I thought about the words to a less-familiar verse of Kansas' state song, "Home on the Range," words that we'd just sung in unison:

How often at night when the heavens are bright

With the light from the glittering stars

Have I stood there amazed and asked as I gazed

If their glory exceeds that of ours.

Yes ... indeed.

The Kansas City Star has a short video clip from Saturday's night's concert. I was a good girl and didn't record any video of the concert, so click on the link to get just a small taste of the symphony's music. And, if you get a chance, go to Symphony of the Flint Hills yourself. Next year, it's June 10, 2017, at the Deer Horn Ranch in Geary County. For more information, go to their website, www.symphonyintheflinthills.org.

The Long Way Home

I took the long way home from Topeka on Saturday. As I said yesterday, three weeks makes a huge difference in a baby's life. The same can be said of the Flint Hills. Three weeks ago, the prairie was still "wearing" its drab, brown winter garb, with just a hint of green beginning to peak through. Many of the fields were freshly burned, and the blackened landscape held no hint of the springtime yet to come.

But, during this trip, the lush green grasses outside the car windows were just daring me to pull over for a closer look. Since I was by myself and didn't have a timetable on my way home, I decided to take a short detour to the Konza Prairie overlook just south of Manhattan on K-177.

I barely beat the rain, but the contrast between the vibrant green grasses and the heavy blue sky spoke of springtime in eastern Kansas. Honestly, I wasn't happy with the landscape photos I got. I should have just pulled off on some random road, but I didn't really want to get stuck in a downpour in unfamiliar territory.

While the Flint Hills are often described as a blanket of green, there's more to the picture than that.

Even in just a short time at the overlook, I saw colorful prairie flowers dotting the landscape.

The wind was whipping around from the west as the storm blew in, so capturing the flowers in focus was a bit of a challenge.

But it was worth the wind-whipped hair and flying skirt to capture these small beauties. 

 

I was going to have to drive through heavy rain at some point anyway. I might as well bolster my spirit with a little beauty first!

The skies had cleared by the time I reached the Lindsborg exit, so I decided to take another short detour. I had read that the city had corralled its Dala horses into one spot near the new convention center. The last time we were in Lindsborg, they were scattered throughout the downtown.

 

Unfortunately, a huge RV was parked right next to the display, so I didn't have many camera angle options. Still, it was a nice little diversion and a place to stretch my legs.

This music-themed Dala horse was my favorite - by a nose!

I also went into the Small World Gallery, but I didn't have a Jim Richardson sighting. But I did get to wander through the National Geographic Photographer's work on display. I chose to feel inspired rather than jealous.

A Symphony for the Eyes

The scenery is familiar, but it's never routine. The Flint Hills are a symphony for the eyes, a place where the grass is, as poet Walt Whitman describes, "hopeful green stuff." The prairie is often referred to as a sea of grass. On a breezy Kansas day, the grasses undulate, their "feet" staying in place like a junior high boy at a Stuco dance while the upper body sways to the music of the wind.

We often drive Highway 177 between Manhattan and I-70.  It gets us from "family" in Bill Snyder Family Stadium to family in Topeka. Though the route is the same, the view is always different. The clouds change. The shadows from dawn to dusk paint different swaths across the peaks and valleys. The grasses and prairie flowers each have their time to bloom, then wither.

We've never stopped at the scenic overlook until last Sunday evening. It was the weekend of "to-do" lists. Brent had a list to help make his new Manhattan house a home. Jill & Eric needed some heavy lifting, too, something that wasn't on the acceptable activity list for a soon-to-deliver mama.

But, with clouds billowing in a summer blue sky and light diffusing from the west, we stopped at Overlook Park. It's located on the northeast corner of the Konza Prairie Biological Station and overlooks the Kansas River Valley.  The 8,600-acre Konza Prairie Preserve, jointly owned by The Nature Conservancy and Kansas State University, is one of the largest tracts in North America dedicated to research on the ecological processes that characterize and maintain the tallgrass prairies. From Overlook Park, the Konza Prairie Preserve stretches south for five miles to I-70 and four miles west. 

I gazed toward the horizon and wondered what the settlers thought as they looked across the vast expanse. Though I heard the rush of semis barreling by on the four-lane highway in the present, my imagination turned the white, billowing clouds into the settler's white canvas-covered wagons which would soon circle together at dusk.

Spring, summer and fall's revolving  color wheel will eventually fade into the drab brown of a cold, Kansas winter.  And still, there is splendor in the monotone palette, a simple loveliness like that of a woman whose natural beauty is unadorned on a "no makeup day."

 

At 6 PM, the sun didn't cooperate for a sweeping view to the west.

But the view to the north made up for it.

With triple digit temperatures, the fall seems far away. But the prairie must have an inkling that autumn will soon come. A few orange leaves decorated the green landscape, nature's preview to the next season. 

A woman was sitting on a bench, just taking in the view. She saw the camera in my hand, another appendage, it seems at times. And she kindly asked if we'd like to have a photo taken.

We were pioneers that day, too, taking time to stop and not rush by the beauty in our "family's" backyard.

***

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