This book is a finalist for the Colorado Book Award for Anthology.
Prairie Oasis:
Seven Lives in Joes, Colorado
Author’s note: In July of 2023, I had the privilege of spending a week in Joes as a writer-in-residence, sponsored by Prairie Futures and The Colorado Sun. I grew up in western Kansas and had been through Joes many times to visit relatives in Denver, and later as a Coloradan going the opposite direction to visit my family. I had no idea what gems were hidden just out of sight from the highway.
UNDERWRITTEN BY
Each week, The Colorado Sun and Colorado Humanities & Center For The Book feature an excerpt from a Colorado book and an interview with the author. Explore the SunLit archives at coloradosun.com/sunlit.
During my time at the Alma Creative Residence, I read books, took walks, met people from the community, and taught a creative writing workshop. All the while, I was surrounded by beauty: works of art, wildflower gardens, epic thunderstorms, and magnificent sunsets. Joes was a creative sanctuary for me, and that got me thinking about the other creatures who make a home there, whether for a day or a night or an entire life. This piece imagines a peek into the heads of seven nonhuman residents I encountered, or might have if I had stayed just a little longer.
1/ Male redwing blackbird trills from a juniper tree at dawn:
Ahem. Mee, mee, mee, do-re-mi, ahem.
JOYFUL, JOYFUL, WE ADORE THEE…
Kidding! We feathered kin have no need to borrow from human hymns, which are in fact crude plagiarisms of our own much longer-standing musical traditions. Now then:
Greunnk greeleeleeeunnnk
Click, cheep, chickareeeee
Greunnk konkareeeee
Click, cheep, chickareeeeeee!
2/ Monarch butterfly lands on a milkweed in the Prairie Gardens:
Glory be! A jungle of life-giving Motherplants. Wait till I tell the gals in Michoacán*—found our springtime nursery! Even I was beginning to doubt myself. All those miles of dust and tumbleweeds…this infernal drought. Thought I’d never make it. But finally, sustenance! Sunflowers, goldenrod, prairie coneflowers, and…be still my antennae. Is that a California poppy? Sweet nectar of the gods! Just a sip— just one sip!—and I’ll be on my way.
Pardon? Of course, I can still fly straight. After all I’ve been through, you judge?
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Oh, swirling kaleidoscopic rainbows! A thousand shimmering sunrises! Up, up, and away, I go. To infinity, and…!
Which way is south? I’ll follow the rainbow. Here I come, my flock! You thought I was lost. Never! Only 3,672,417 wingflaps to go.
* Monarch butterfly caterpillars have just one food source: the milkweed plant. In the fall, adult monarchs migrate to central Mexico, where they overwinter before returning north to lay their eggs in the spring.
3/ Three horses whip flies with their tails in a pasture in the hot afternoon sun. The littlest one, an aging Shetland pony:
And as I was saying, where is that blasted woman with the bag of carrots? The one who parks her rusting truck and limps across the road. We’ve been neglected for days. Where is she, Mabel, with my carrots?
—Yes, dear, sorry dear. Absolutely. I couldn’t agree more.
I can’t survive another abandonment, Mabel. Remember the little girl? With the midnight eyes and the silken fingers she would run along my nose. Light as a feather, she was, when she climbed on my back. Where did she go? Why would she leave me? Mabel, are you listening?
—Yes, dear, sorry, dear. Very oppressive, indeed. And yet this, too, shall pass, will it not? All in good time, Henry, and so on and so forth.
Listen to you, Mabel. Going on and on as if you even heard what I said. You never, ever listen. Then you say you’re sorry but you’re not. You’re not sorry at all. Isn’t that right, Jasper?
~Now, Henry, you know quite well I don’t take sides. That I find you both quite right generally. We’re in this together, after all…in this confined space together…always together, day after day, year after year, decade after…Ouch! What have I said about the nipping, Henry?
The little girl used to call me gallant. Gallant, Jasper! But of course, you wouldn’t know gallant if it slapped you on the rump.
4/ Sunflower, growing from a fissure in the cement, leans out from the shade of the post office in late afternoon:
Mighty Sun-god, supreme giver of life, I praise you!
But might you, just this once, perhaps this very evening, give over your place in the sky to the jealous thunder-gods? Those wrathful beings with their flashing eyes and terrible, growling bellies. Their power pales before your steady, beneficent smile. And yet, to have just one small drink. One small drink to lift these withered leaves to the heavens, that I may exalt you once more!
Please? Amen.
5/ Bat flies over Joes at dusk, bound for his favorite hunting ground—the flashy digital billboard in front of the Plains Telephone Company:
Oh, joy! What bounty awaits me tonight…Mosquitoes? Without a doubt. But so much work to eat enough of them. Lacewings! Scrumptious, delicate creatures. Rain beetles. Big, fat, oh-so-ripe June bugs—a must. There’s one now. Crunchy on the outside, gooey center. De-mmph-mmph-licious.
Ah, but still I wait, for the holy grail of hunts. The feast of feasts. That winged behemoth of the night: the famed Hyalophora cecropia*. Oh, blessed night, when I finally encounter one. My equal in size, grace, and nimbleness. In stunning combat we’ll swirl and spiral, up, up, until our wings graze heaven. We’ll hang for a moment against the stars, quaking. Then down, down, down in a tangle we plummet. A final glorious tailspin. Who wins? I cannot say. But what a marvelous way to go!
* The cecropia moth is the largest native moth in North America, with a wingspan of up to seven inches. Have you been lucky enough to spot one of these red, white, and brown beauties?
6/ Coyote trots down a gravel road on the edge of town at dusk:
Vigilant, vigilant. Danger here, danger there, anywhere, everywhere. Firesticks, poison, jagged metal jaws, lights that blind and freeze you in place. bang! snap! roooaar! Lose a paw, lose an eye, lose a tail, lose your life. But not me, o-ho, not me! Not today, not tomorrow. I am the clever one, the trickster, the dancing, dodging, disappearing shadow. The one who survives. Danger, danger, everywhere, anywhere. Ah, but the feast is worth it. Fat little hens on their roost, fast asleep and dreaming. So easy to slip under the fence. Easy to nudge open the flimsy door. Easy to reach up so very quietly and take my pick. Easy as—
Boom. What was that? Footsteps. One human male barks something to another. Scuffle, crunch, closer, closer…Run. RUN!
7/ Young raccoon leans from behind a rubber trash can, keeping watch. She turns to her two masked companions, one balanced atop the other:
Careful, numbskulls! You almost tipped it over.
—Eeeeasy, sis. You worry too much. Have you ever seen us mess this up? Wait, don’t answer that, lol.
~LOLOL. She has a point, bro. But seriously, we got this. Just a little higher and I can reach. Oooh, I smell pizza. Pepperoni and anchovies. Dash of tabasco, if I had to guess. Jackpot!
—Ow! Watch it, that was my eye.
Hurry up, you two. You’ll wake that fool of a blue heeler. Like last time?
—You promised to stop bringing that up. Totally not our fault.
Circumstances. Dumb luck.
~Could’ve happened to anyone!
Sssshhhhht. Guys, what was that noise? Holy bullfrogs, there goes Coyote! I don’t think he saw us. But whatever scared him is right behind…
—CRASH—
Now you’ve done it! Let’s get out of here. Moooooooove!
For Fun:
When you’re outside on a lunch break or an evening walk, what animals and plants do you come across? What can you imagine about their world and their ways? As you walk, maybe your dog stirs up a pheasant from the ditch—what are the two of them thinking in that moment of encounter? What might they say? A moment later, adrenaline floods your body as you nearly step on a bull snake crossing your path. But which of you is the most startled? What is the experience like from the snake’s point of view? What is the red-tailed hawk thinking as she whirls in lazy circles far above you? What are the words to the meadowlark’s song?
Write a scene or story, or simply use this prompt to daydream. Let your imagination roam.
Anita Mumm
Anita Mumm is a writer and developmental editor based in central Colorado. She also teaches English and creative writing to incarcerated writers as an adjunct professor in Adams State University’s Prison Education Program and for the nonprofit organization Unbound Authors. She has an MFA in creative writing from Western Colorado University. https://anitamumm.com
