The prairie sisters of Wisconsin would never call themselves renegades.

Not in their decision to open their Roman Catholic community to Protestants. And not in their decades-long work restoring 170 acres around their monastery to ecological health, transforming lawns and farm fields into thriving oak savanna and native prairie that is riotous with wildflowers and grasses, insects, rabbits and birds.

The sisters of Holy Wisdom Monastery outside Madison, Wisc., say these actions fulfill their highest calling: to welcome all people and care for the Earth as a sacred place.

The sisters have won awards for their ecological work, and they earned the highest LEED sustainability certification for their main building, which is powered by solar energy and heated and cooled with geothermal wells. In keeping with their pledge of humility, the sisters keep their plaques and awards tucked away in a conference room.

50 States, 50 Fixes is a series about local solutions to environmental problems. More to come this year.

But talk to any of the sisters, and their devotion to the revived land blooming around them shines through.

“We need refugia now for the human spirit where we can come and remember what it is to be human, remember that basically, inside of us, the best of us is kind and generous and compassionate,” said Sister Lynne Smith, 71, the prioress of the monastery. “We want this to be a place, and it already is, where we live humanly and we nurture those human values. Part of that is knowing that we are in a mutual, integral, interdependent relationship with this Earth.”

Darcy Kind, a conservation biologist at the Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources, described the health of the restored land as “incredible,” with outsize ecological benefits. Last year, 132 species of birds were sighted there, including Henslow’s sparrow, which is threatened in the state of Wisconsin, as well as the federally endangered rusty patched bumblebee.

“They’re small, but they’re mighty,” said Leah Kleiman, a land restoration specialist for Dane County Parks, referring to the sisters, monastery workers and volunteers helping to revive the land.

The monastery was started in the early 1950s by Benedictine sisters who also opened a Catholic girls’ high school. They bought about 40 acres of farmland, planted food gardens and built the school and priory.

The Second Vatican Council in the 1960s became a major turning point for the community. Pope John XXIII urged unity with other Christians, to “throw open the windows of the church.” Inspired, the sisters closed the high school and opened a retreat and conference center, inviting non-Catholics to visit.

Sister Joanne Kollasch, who joined the order in 1954, said that while the neighboring community was enthusiastic, the local bishop disapproved.

“But I felt we were trying to listen to God, not to the local bishop,” said Sister Joanne, whose 95th birthday is Wednesday. “We were simply responding to need as we saw it.”

The sisters, who are no longer formally affiliated with the Catholic Church, continued welcoming women from other denominations to their community, among them Sister Lynne, a retired Presbyterian pastor who joined in 1998. Because Catholic canon law prohibited Protestant sisters from joining them, they officially made the community ecumenical, promoting unity with other branches of Christianity, in 2006. The sisters continue to run the monastery today, along with a staff of 24, and anyone, regardless of belief, can visit and attend their daily and weekly prayer services. Among the regulars is Terry Larson, 78, a retired Lutheran pastor who also serves on their board.

“During my 40 years as a Lutheran minister, I’ve never felt as spiritual as I do here,” Mr. Larson said. “It’s the magic of the community and the magic of the prairie.”

Of the estimated two million acres of native prairie that stretched across Wisconsin before settlers arrived, less than half a percent remains. The sisters of Holy Wisdom said it was their duty to restore and protect what they can.

“One monastic writer calls Benedictines ‘lovers of the place,’” Sister Lynne said. “We stay in one place. We get to know it. We get to know what it needs. It feeds our spirituality.” And, she added, “we live with the consciousness of future generations.”

Their restoration effort began small, with planting pine saplings and shrubbery. They later planted grass waterways to stem runoff from nearby farmland and began converting erosion-prone hillsides to woodland.

They also removed some 85,000 cubic yards of silt from a glacial lake on their property, accumulated from drainage from nearby farm fields and housing development. The lake was restored to its original depth, its surface area increased from two acres to its original nine acres, and its edges were ringed with native plants.

The sisters then turned to reviving the prairie, buying enough wildflower and grass seeds for two acres. They expanded this work and bought additional acreage, using donations, grants, revenue from retreats and funding from government programs. Between 2000 and 2015, they planted an average of 10 acres of prairie a year, using seeds that were donated or collected elsewhere.

They did some of the work themselves, but they also hired workers and summoned volunteers. They hired a staff ecologist, a job held since 2020 by Amy Alstad, who has a doctorate in prairie grassland ecology.

Anyone can visit the monastery’s four miles of winding trails, though dogs and bikes are not allowed so as to preserve the contemplative mission of the monastery and to protect wildlife, like ground nesting birds. Dr. Alstad said she frequently heard from visitors who were inspired to plant pollinator gardens or install rain gardens — small depressions filled with native plants — at their homes after spending time there.

“It’s a place of connection, awe and reverence,” Dr. Alstad said. “You feel both big and little when you’re out in that restored prairie. This healed land is now the healer.”

One recent September morning, dozens of volunteers gathered outside the monastery beneath a majestic maple tree, its leaves already turned brilliant ruby red. The volunteers tramped along mowed paths that curved through the monastery’s youngest, most vibrant stretch of prairie. Planted a decade ago, it contains 150 types of native grasses, sedges and wildflowers; a nodding sea of Indian grass; and sawtooth sunflowers that, after the summer heat and rain, reached well above everyone’s heads. Monarchs floated about, and goldfinches and black-capped chickadees tweeted.

The volunteers looped bags around their shoulders and headed into the thicket to collect seeds that would be used to restore prairie land elsewhere.

While the number of sisters at the monastery has varied over the years, there are now just four. They include Sister Mary David Walgenbach, 86, who joined in 1961, and the newest member, Sister Everline Jeruto, 53, who joined in 2019. Sister Lynne said the monastery’s board had recently been reorganized to ensure that even if no more sisters joined, laypeople would continue the monastery’s work of keeping the land healthy — and spiritually fit — for all forms of life.

“Humans need creation to find ourselves,” she said. “To know that we’re not God over other human beings, or over the earth.”