It’s with a feeling of awe and gratefulness that I’m looking at my first prairie dock, a tall wildflower that could pass for a sunflower’s skinny sibling. Prior to this, I had only encountered prairie dock (also known as Silphium) in the 1949 book A Sand County Almanac, by the author-environmentalist Aldo Leopold, who mourned its uprooting from American tallgrass prairies. After reading his eulogy, I assumed I’d never see the plant.

And if I were alone, I wouldn’t have seen it—I’d have blindly walked by, never knowing the celebrity I missed. But I’m part of a small group touring Furstenberg Nature Area and our guide, master gardener Aunita Erskine, eagerly calls our attention to the prairie dock, a threatened species in Michigan. The presence of this wildflower, as well as a nearby ironweed plant (also tall) and several smooth false foxgloves (also threatened), is a sign of this small prairie’s good health. It’s this variety of native species—”an embarrassment of riches”—that makes Furstenberg the best park in Ann Arbor, says the prairie-loving Erskine.

Her tour—which offers us informative and interesting glimpses of the park’s natural and urban history, as well as introductions to numerous plants—follows a couple hours spent pulling buckthorn and honeysuckle, both invasive species. (To observe the selfish progress these two plants are capable of, take an autumn stroll along the wooden boardwalk that connects Furstenberg and Gallup Park and note the dense thickets of shrubs with purplish-black, red, or orange pea-sized berries.) The bunch of us are volunteering for a public stewardship workday organized by the city’s Natural Area Preservation unit. NAP, whose goals are “to protect and restore Ann Arbor’s natural areas and foster an environmental ethic among its citizens,” has a substantial plot to tend: over 1,200 acres of prairies, wetlands, and woodlands scattered across the city.

In order to keep this land as wild as possible, NAP depends on the talents and muscles of volunteers, and it’s always looking for more help. NAP emphasizes that this isn’t grunt work or trash pick-up; stewardship workdays and projects combine physical efforts and education, with the hopes of interesting and informing residents of Ann Arbor’s uniquely natural spaces.

Having participated in three summer workdays, I would say NAP does a fine job balancing sweat and knowledge. I left each time in need of a good shower, but with an awareness of several plant species that had formerly been nobodies and strangers (I’ve seen thy face, poison ivy). Depending on the season, volunteers also help with prescribed burns, plant native species, inventory salamanders, toads, frogs, and breeding birds, and photograph restoration efforts in the parks. In short, NAP ingeniously combines two things Ann Arborites are known to love and pursue: learning and the outdoors.

Thanks to the care and commitment of NAP and its volunteers, vulnerable plants and ecosystems like Silphium and the Furstenberg prairie stand a chance of surviving—and, to Leopold’s delight, I’m sure, of being recognized and appreciated.