09/18/2026
The rain has been amazing for the prairie.
This is a big bluestem field that was cut for hay in late July. It’s now mid-September, and the wildflowers are still blooming. The pollinators are everywhere.
A few people have commented lately on my “deep thoughts” and asked where they’re coming from.
The simple answer is time.
Time to think—and, more importantly, time to write those thoughts down.
My mom had a picture of me when I was four or five, sitting on a bench next to the ocean, just watching. She always said I was an old soul.
Maybe she was right.
I studied psychology and philosophy as an undergraduate, spent five years studying theology, and eventually earned a master’s degree in strategy. Thinking, to some degree, became both my profession and my passion.
But thinking requires something we don’t always give ourselves: time. It also requires information.
I once had a job where a major part of my responsibility was simply to consume information and think about it. I read roughly 150 articles a day—not bad for a kid who really didn’t start reading until he was 35. I was looking for data, collection methods, patterns and conclusions.
We talk a lot about AI and how its ability to reason is tied to the information it can consume.
People aren’t entirely different. We need information, but we also need time to process it.
And sometimes that processing happens while moving 60 tons of gravel.
Yesterday, while doing exactly that, I kept looking across the prairie. Native flowers were blooming everywhere. Yellow butterflies floated through the grass. Caterpillars moved among the plants. Pollinators were busy taking advantage of resources that are becoming scarce this time of year.
Late summer and early fall can bring a nectar dearth, when fewer plants are blooming and pollinators have fewer resources available. Monocultures can magnify that problem. A lawn may be green, but green doesn’t necessarily mean ecologically productive.
A diverse prairie is different. Something is almost always happening.
Wednesday afternoon, Jake was hopping through the prairie, touching a little yellow butterfly with his nose. The butterfly would move a few feet, Jake would follow, and it would move again.
For a few minutes, it looked like they were playing.
Maybe that’s where some of the deep thoughts come from.
Not from having more to say, but finally having enough time to notice.
There is an incredible amount happening around us every day.
Most of the time, the clutter of modern life simply keeps us from seeing it.
The Prairie Forager
