Sunday morning, we woke up to the once again empty streets of downtown Tulsa. It would have been nearly impossible to detect any trace of the crowd, if it wasn’t for them tipping the streets with their leftovers: ticket stubs, ripped off bracelets, beer bottles, etc… After the whirlwind of participating in the urban chaos that was D-Fest, a taste of the countryside, tall grass, prairies, and the emerald rolling hills of Oklahoma, sounded like a delightful and much needed retreat. And how about some bison? When is the last time you drove your car down a gravel road and had to pause to let a few of those boldly cross in front? I had to see it to believe it, so we jumped in a car and headed to the Tallgrass Prairie Preserve.

Driving the hour and a half out towards the prairie, we pulled off on the side of the road to a local Indian reservation with a giant: “No Trespassing” sign. As if that really kept us from running through a field, mounting a giant bale of hay, and experiencing the freedom of the outdoors. Continuing along the way, we passed by fields of tall grass, a picture perfect reminisce of several Van Gogh paintings, and blue and fluffy white clouded skies. Approaching the reserve, a truck blew past and snapped me out of my state of Zen as it kicked a trail of dust up into the air, eliminating visibility for a solid minute and a half and shifting my entire sense of trust in the direction of our fearless driver. When the dust cleared, we had driven past a “BISON ARE DANGEROUS – KEEP YOUR DISTANCE” sign and were officially inside of the prairie. From that point on, it became an instant game of “Where’s Waldo” and everyone was scanning the empty fields for bison. We saw a lot of grass, if that counted for anything. Finally, after following the signs to the visitor’s center, we spotted chocolate brown dots strategically painted upon the green canvas…a giant heard of bison, and they were everywhere!

We stopped and took in this sight for a while and it was pretty surreal, very far from anything you’d experience in the city. There were countless clusters of bison and even newborn babies; apparently the light colored cinnamon ones are less than 90 days old and won’t hit that mocha hue until they reach a month and a half in age. The brute alpha males were slightly more intimidating, and we gladly yielded as they scuffed past our tiny helpless car and darted across to graze.

We found volunteer, Mark Manuel, on the porch of the red barn-like visitor’s center. Just like Mr. Rogers and his neighbors, Mark was eager to invite us into his ‘home’ and show us around the center. We learned that tallgrass prairies originally spanned portions of 14 states and covered 142 million acres, serving as one of North America’s major ecosystems. Today, there are fewer than 10% of those prairies left. In an effort to preserve what little remains, the Nature Conservatory organization purchased the 29,000 acre Barnard Ranch as the cornerstone of the current 38,700 acre Tallgrass Prairie Preserve, whose mission is to “recreate a functioning tallgrass prairie ecosystem using fire and bison. “This was never plowed,” explained Mark. “It was easier to get back to the full nature where we haven’t had that much impact as a human race out here. So we’re trying to get it where all the animals flourish and do their thing and nature has it’s way with the world.”

Inside the center, located about 10 – 15 miles out from the border of Kansas, Mark taught us all kinds of interesting things about the prairie. “The grasses that make the tallgrass grow 10 to 12 feet tall, if it’s not burned or grazed. It will get that high every fall. Because it wasn’t plowed, we still have it here. Kansas, Iowa, all those places used to have the same grasses. Millions of bison would go across the land, feed, and spread the seeds, but in our infinite wisdom, we destroyed almost all of them. We got down to about 500 head in the United States back in the 1800s. Now I think the bison herds are probably about a half a million to three quarters of a million head now. Mark went on to explain the bison all breed naturally in the wild and rarely come into contact with volunteers at the center: “It’s all self done. We don’t try to do any artificial breeding or anything like that. We don’t bother them, except once a year when we have to do the roundup. We have to play predator; there’s no wolves out here, there’s no bear out here anymore, or big cats, which bison are their food supply. So we’ll take and sell heifers that are over 13 years old, males that are over 7 years old, the males don’t have their full weight. They’ll be about 1,800 pounds. The females are about 1,400.”

The gift shop sold everything bison: from cookie cutters to stuffed animals. You could even purchase the different types of grass seeds that make up the tallgrass prairie. Apparently, western Oklahoma is made up of more short grass prairies and “Little Bluestem” grass. The most prominent grass in this tallgrass prairie was “Big Bluestem.” The conservatory center had skulls from various animals to touch and there was even a case, acting as a Vanna White to the different types of animal ‘droppings’ that you might find in the park.

Mark says the preserve attracts visitors from all over. He recently had a guy from Moscow fly into Oklahoma just to spend a day at the center. There are many studies done each year at the Tallgrass Prairie Preserve and nature conservation efforts are always in effect. Having volunteered with the center since 2005, Mark comes in at least once a month to get away from the city. “You don’t hear the sirens, you don’t hear traffic, you meet a lot of nice people out here.” He grew up on a ranch and is a huge fan of bison. The fun facts kept pouring out, such as, “Did you know they can jump 6 feet? Imagine something weighing 1,400 pounds lifting itself that far off the ground!”

As we drove away, we discussed the details of our crazy weekend and how we would have never survived the almost 24-hour days without a steady supply of cappuccinos, lattes, and Red Bull and vodkas. As our driver Stephen Lassiter, listened intently to our words, he chimed in and concluded with: “It’s not Red Bull, it’s Red Bison,” to which all I could do was roll my eyes, but secretly I did chuckle inside.

Words by Nicole Pajer, photos by Sidney McMullen