Restored to Life

A late July morning at Ferson Creek Fen Nature Preserve, a hotspot for biodiversity. Credit: Nina Sally

By Nina Sally

Just before I returned to campus for my final year of undergrad, I paid my grandpa a visit. He resides in a home for memory care, and is a long-time nature lover with a special fondness for cardinals. Toward the end of our visit, we found ourselves talking in the cafeteria. The view from the floor-to-ceiling windows was nothing special: a fence lined with ornamental grasses and bushes, a dull uniformity of dark green. As we sat looking out the window, my grandpa lamented that he never sees cardinals anymore; in fact, he rarely sees any birds or animals at all. Without thinking, I told him that environments with little diversity won’t attract the same species as, say, a native prairie. This morsel of information was something I had learned that summer working as a restoration technician. I was proud of myself for utilizing my newfound knowledge, but that satisfaction evaporated when I realized the bottom line: My grandpa doesn’t get to see his cardinals.

With industrialization and urbanization, humans have disrupted the natural world, and we must now deal with a rapidly changing climate. Species are going extinct; our natural resources are severely depleted; and nature’s wonders that we adore are receding as time ticks on. It’s easy to despair at the thought of never seeing your favorite bird or butterfly again. But all hope is not lost — accessible fixes exist that can make a difference for the wellness of our planet.

One of these fixes is ecological restoration, the process of rehabilitating damaged environments. Tasks such as planting, invasive species removal, and prescribed burns all encourage biodiversity and increase the overall resilience of an ecosystem. But there is so much more to gain from pursuing restorative work. Restoration efforts made now will not only further the goal of rehabilitating ecosystems and reintroducing species, but also delay the impending effects of climate change. Having been deeply moved by my experience working in this field, I believe it’s only right that I make a proper case for the work of ecological restoration.

I spent most of last summer working at the Ferson Creek Fen Nature Preserve, a 40-acre wetland sandwiched between the Fox River and Route 31 in St. Charles, Ill. Over the summer, it became a second home to me. We all were, in our own ways, protective of our prairie domain. Like a pack of guard dogs, our heads would turn in unison when a car pulled into the Fen’s parking lot, as if its passengers might pose a threat to our hard work.

This preserve has been to hell and back — literally. There were areas my supervisors referred to as “hell” and “super hell” due to the terrible state they were in a few seasons prior. But as we stepped out of the park district trucks each morning, and the symphony of sweet and earthy smells from the unique plants flooded my senses, Ferson Creek seemed the very opposite of hell. If the smell wasn’t attractive enough, a feast for my eyes lay just a few paces away. I couldn’t even attempt to count how many different flowers were visible along the boardwalk. As the sun rose higher into the sky, the birds trilled their distinctive calls, and the sedges waved a quiet good morning. Before the removal of invasive species and the reintroduction of ecologically friendly plants began, the scene here consisted of dense tangles of ugly cattail from the boardwalk to the river — Hell, in other words. This new Fen Preserve, by contrast, is a poster child for the bountiful efficacy of a restoration approach.

I consider myself very fortunate to have received the introduction to restoration work that I did. My supervisors, Patrick Bochenek and Stephanie Wolfe, acted as my mentors during the summer. There was a lot for me to learn, but they were there to answer all of my questions with a smile. Stephanie (or Steph), a U. of I. alum, studied environmental science and was drawn to this field by positive outdoor experiences from her upbringing in the Midwest. Patrick, on the other hand, boasts that he came to restoration ecology through a “mid-20s crisis.” I grew to admire their passion for and knowledge of the natural world. As a result of their guidance, not only was my understanding of plants and ecosystem function transformed, but my appreciation for nature was irreversibly deepened.

In a recent conversation with Patrick and Steph, I asked how they would convince a complete stranger that restoration is important work … and they laughed. Both agreed that it’s hard to make someone care about something they have no empathy for. And it’s equally difficult to inspire action toward goals that require sustained commitment. Restoration is a long-term game and has to be strategically planned. Most people tend to focus their energy on immediate concerns, hence the lack of attention this field receives. Something I heard my supervisors utter more than once is that restoration is “understaffed and underfunded.” Despite these challenges, it is crucial. In the end, Patrick and Steph helped me compile a list of convincing arguments for prairie restoration — many I hadn’t even thought of before. 

I could easily recite these reasons for pursuing restoration like a to-do list, but where’s the fun in that? As I thought through each point we discussed, specific memories from my summer in the sun resurfaced. All of the benefits of restoration, it turns out, were embodied in my experiences.

While at work, mud under my nails and a blend of sunscreen and bug spray soaking into my skin, I would have people come up and thank me. Visitors of the Fen appreciated what we did; they would praise the beautiful landscape and view it as the perfect spot for a quick break. Even after spending a whole day tramping through mud and sweating out half my body weight, I still found myself to be in incredibly high spirits when I clocked out. “There’s a reason why people have pictures of nature in offices and need to get out and have vacations,” says Patrick. “There’s this innate thing about being human that draws you to these areas.”

That “good feeling” you get after some time outdoors has a documented scientific explanation. Studies show that spending more time in nature benefits human respiratory, cardiovascular, reproductive, and psychological health. Put simply, you can’t ignore the refreshing feeling of a trip to the mountains, the beach, or even something as simple as a walk through your local nature preserve. Setting all the environmental benefits of high-quality natural areas aside, restoration grants us the privilege of experiencing beautiful green space. The collective morale of humans would be measurably lower without access to nature. At the same time, we must remind ourselves that nature doesn’t exist solely for our benefit. Ecosystems sustain themselves and everything within them. If certain aspects of these complex systems are lost or endangered, the entire ecosystem will pay the price, not excepting us.

Swamp milkweed in bloom at the Ferson Creek Fen. Credit: Nina Sally

In order to understand why my grandpa’s beloved cardinals aren’t sticking around, one must understand biodiversity and ecological niches. For instance, let’s look closely at the relationship between swamp milkweed, monarch butterflies, and cardinals. Monarchs lay their eggs on milkweed, a caterpillar host plant. Cardinals like eating monarch caterpillars and can be spotted foraging through stands of milkweed in search of a meal. Losing milkweed would eliminate monarchs in that ecosystem, in turn taking away a source of food for cardinals and forcing them to search elsewhere. You’ll witness a domino effect of species disappearance if you take away the ecological niche of just one species.

Steph mentioned that there has been a noticeable decline in monarch butterflies at our sites. “We’ve only seen a few within the last month or so, whereas you used to see hundreds of them migrating at a time.” Changes in land use and extreme weather events are having an effect on the amount of thriving milkweed and many other flowering plants, influencing monarch feeding and reproduction. Milkweed was actually one of my favorite plants I learned about on the job. Its countless buds craft a flower comparable to a firework. The flower was easy to spot at the Fen Preserve thanks to our restoration work, but more can always be done. If there’s an obvious reduction in monarch numbers at a restored site, odds are other areas are experiencing this, only worse.

Monarch caterpillars rely on the swamp milkweed. Credit: Nina Sally

It stands to reason that biodiverse ecosystems attract more animals and insects than a strip of ornamental grasses. For my grandpa to see his cardinals, their ecological niche needs to be established in the surrounding environment — something that isn’t happening in our suburban habitats. Biodiversity means species variation on every level of biological organization. When an ecosystem has a wide range of plant life, plants that provide different benefits and have different needs, the ecosystem will attract a greater array of animals and insects to fulfill those needs and reap the benefits. With greater variation in the ecological niches found in an ecosystem, competition for habitable space and food is reduced, allowing more species to coexist. Restoration allows for more species, plants and animals, to inhabit a natural area.

Plants in particular do a lot for an ecosystem on top of attracting different creatures. As I survey the Fen from the start of the boardwalk, I am stunned by the variation in color and shape provided by the plants. Identifying different plants was the most important part of my job because, in many ways, they were my coworkers. At the beginning of the summer, I started a list of every plant I learned about; it wasn’t long before I stopped keeping track due to the sheer number of plants I was encountering. But that’s a really good thing. The variety of plants will influence how resilient an ecosystem is.

Resilience is a very favorable trait for ecosystems. Its importance becomes obvious when we face extreme weather events and changes in climate. A site with greater plant diversity can adapt to these changes much more easily, as one species may be able to take over if another is threatened. Many plant species serve similar purposes, so it’s like having a handful of back-up plans. As Patrick says, “once you start disturbing the whole synergistic relationship between plants, they won’t come back.” But providing the proper conditions through restoration will allow plants that once thrived in the area to reappear. As we see circumstances change, the most diverse environments will have the greatest chance of surviving. And as restoration directly influences the plant species in an area, restored environments will have a much better chance of lasting as the stress of climate change increases.

The main force driving climate change today is the presence of greenhouse gases in our atmosphere. But plants can positively impact carbon dioxide levels. When I survey the swaying sedges and bubbling peat bogs at the Fen, the whole place seems to be alive and breathing. Natural areas, especially forests and wetlands, are carbon sinks; they absorb more carbon dioxide than they produce. As we continue life in the Anthropocene, more and more carbon dioxide will be pumped into our atmosphere with no end in sight. Protecting and nurturing environments contributes to the regulation of Earth’s carbon cycle and the effective removal of carbon dioxide from our atmosphere.

These restored environments aren’t just carbon sinks, they are also filters. Because of the Fen’s unique location, nestled between a road and a river, any sort of runoff from that road filters through the site before reaching the Fox River. I remember one day during the summer, we were planting right off the side of the road. My supervisors had strategically chosen certain plant species for that spot because it would experience the most intense runoff from the road, increasing the salinity of the soil. Effects of climate change, as well as pollution, are taking a toll on our access to safe and fresh water. “Promoting a healthy aquifer, as we undoubtedly run into a groundwater crisis in the next 20 years, is huge,” says Patrick. “As a selfish sort of incentive, if you like water, and you like your river, all of this stuff is a giant filter.” If the Fen wasn’t there, that runoff would reach the river, contaminating an important drinking water source for surrounding communities.

Each task we carried out had a purpose that made St. Charles and its natural areas a better place. I was lucky enough to witness everything unfold. With a judiciously applied herbicide, for example, you could see its positive effects in just days. The invasive species we targeted turned yellow and frail, eventually crumbling to the ground. Within a week or so, the patch we hit would be gone, opening critical space for native re-planting.

Our progress was possible due to the relatively small size of the sites we cared for. The availability of resources and working hands will strongly dictate the efficacy of your restoration efforts. Remember, “understaffed and underfunded.” Where I worked, we had a modest team of six, but our little task force was reduced to four once the other seasonal worker and I headed back to school. We were able to get plenty of work done, but would obviously have been able to do much more if we had the means to. That’s why it gets tricky when you increase the size of the area that needs restoring. Tricky, but not impossible.

Bison calves are born in the springtime at Nachusa Grasslands Preserve, Illinois. Credit: Charles Larry via The Nature Conservancy

Midewin National Tallgrass Prairie and Nachusa Grasslands, for example, are two of Illinois’ most successful large-scale restoration projects. Nachusa has 4,000 acres of restored remnant prairie, while Midewin sports a whopping 20,000 acres. Midewin was established as the country’s first national tallgrass prairie in 1996. Funnily enough, the land that is now Midewin once housed an ammunition manufacturing plant. Since its establishment as a restoration zone, over 600 plant species and nearly 150 species of birds, mammals, and fish have taken up residence at Midewin. They even have bison! Bison also roam the landscape of Nachusa, which one-ups Midewin with its impressive assortment of 700 plant species and 180 bird species. Both sites have the luxury of being managed by large organizations — the U.S. Forest Service and The Nature Conservancy — which enables the ongoing efforts that make their restoration possible.

My own trip to Nachusa was very special. On a bitter November afternoon, the big bluestem grasses whispered to each other as the relentless wind wound its way. Accompanied by my boyfriend, Jack, we found ourselves alone on the restored prairie. While all the plants had reached the dormant stage in preparation for winter, I could still point out to him the white wild indigo, coneflower, prairie blazing star, and so many more. We hiked around, observing the rippling scene blanketed by different shades of orange, green, and brown plants. Seeing just how far this prairie stretched was incredible. My eyes focused on a dark, moving blob in the distance … bison! A welcome surprise, since I hadn’t expected to see any. As we weaved through the trails that had been shaped for visitors, I was in complete awe of the fact that this was a restored site. With all that I now know about restoration, I can’t even begin to fathom how much work has gone into rehabilitating Nachusa through the years.

The scale of a restoration project will greatly affect how much can feasibly be done, but if the funding is there, you’re golden. Working on the small site at Ferson Creek allowed our efforts to be physically manifested in front of us, though certain restorative tasks took longer to show their results than others. For example, we could plant 1,000 sedge plugs in a day and see them grow a few inches within a week, but it would take years for them to become a lush, coherent sedge meadow. This variability of return based on the task is something that holds the field of ecological restoration back. Restoring environments will yield positive long-term outcomes, but investors often prioritize projects that offer more immediate returns. This stands in the way of upscaling restoration efforts that come to fruition only in the long term.

When I think back to my first day at the Fen, I realize just how little I knew. At my first sight of it, all that crossed my mind was how beautiful it was. But looking at the Fen for the last time, at summer’s end, was different. Everything I learned about this ecosystem in only three months came rushing back. Ferson Creek isn’t just a place for people to admire natural beauty or enjoy some fresh air; it is also a powerful, miracle-working machine. The Fen performs key functions that support humans, wildlife, the atmosphere, and waterways by simply existing. Pity us if we only come to appreciate these precious places when they’re gone.

Just as my grandpa no longer sees his cardinals, our own favorite species might soon disappear under a business-as-usual regime. But we have the ability to defer and even prevent this; we just have to put in the effort. To some, restoration may seem like glorified landscaping. But when you understand its purpose and long-term benefits, it quickly becomes clear how crucial this work is for the future of the environment — and our own. We will continue to see our world change, and whether that change is for better or for worse will depend on what is done today. Restoration ecology is a force for good in this equation. Without the work of the St. Charles restoration team, the city’s residents would miss out on brilliant displays of flora and fauna at the Ferson Creek Fen Preserve, as well as its countless flow-on benefits to the atmosphere, animal life, and human health. As I can vouch from personal experience, taking care of even one small-scale nature preserve can create lasting impacts. Mother Nature does so much for us — she deserves a bit of reciprocity.

About the Author …

Nina Sally is graduating in May 2025 with a B.S. in Earth, Society, and Environmental Sustainability and a minor in Political Science. She is also a recipient of the Certificate in Environmental Writing. She hopes to work in species and natural resource conservation after graduation and eventually be able to influence related policies. 

This piece was written for ESE 477, Advanced Environmental Writing, in Fall 2024.