Sometimes I can be done with work early enough to glimpse the last gleams of daybreak at the marsh. Glorious days, those.

The marsh in rainy weather has a different feel. The soft susurrus of the rain over trees and fields, ponds and riverbanks, pulls me in.

On a frigid winter’s day, it did happen. I saw a coyote on the trail.

February is a quiet month here at the marsh. That is, until a wind comes.

The marsh is a snowy wasteland. Or is it? I hear Canada geese with their rapturous calls on the Yahara. Even in winter, life abounds.

The holidays are upon us and the marsh is quieted by the soft wind and softer snow flurries.

For more than 12,000 years, people have lived and died here.

Autumn comes, as it does, with crispness in the air, color in the leaves, and introspection in the mind.

More than 400 species of plants exist on Wisconsin’s prairies. Whitman would have delighted in the rich variety, the rolling canvas of land

Essay and photos by Jonathan Shipley “I really just want to be warm yellow light that pours over everyone I love.” —Conor Oberst The...