Taking stock

 It’s been a strange year in my garden. Dogs have completely changed the look and feel of the place. Now I’m about to leave for almost four weeks away, which means I’ll miss much of the fall flowers and foliage color. Before I go, it’s time to assess progress toward this year’s gardening goals.

 

I'm delighted to be growing spotted bee balm at last

 
    This was the year of fencing for my yard. I had to enclose new plantings in wire fencing to keep dogs from digging up the new plants. Older perennials also needed protection in spots the dogs targeted for digging (maybe places where they detected the scent or sound of chipmunks underground?). 

 

Using fencing to deter digging dogs

 

I laid fencing flat on top of the mulch and tacked it down with earth staples. Although I had some unpleasant surprises when the dogs overcame my defenses, over all the fencing worked pretty well. Unfenced areas are another story—lots of groundcover was lost to thundering dog feet.

    My most successful project was a new perennial bed planted into sheet composting. I’d let the mix of leaves and wood chips decompose for two years, helped along by some compost to introduce helpful soil organisms and blood meal to give the organisms a nitrogen boost. This year I reaped the benefits: black, rich soil for planting (mostly) native perennials that could thrive in part shade.

 

Echinacea, heuchera and penstemon getting established in the new bed

 
    Across from them I again planted cutting flowers inside an enclosure backed up against the rabbit fence that defends the vegetable and insectary beds. I chose tall dahlias that I could pick without opening the fence. Getting inside is awkward because the two small beds have no gates; the ends of the fencing are secured to metal posts with twists of wire. Since September, the dahlias have been producing lots of flowers for the flamboyant bouquets I’d envisioned. 

 

Enjoying flowers indoors

Zinnias and celosias in the same bed have been less productive, probably because they’re overshadowed by the towering dahlia foliage. Next year I’m going to try growing zinnias in pots on the deck, where they’ll get lots of sun.

    The beds around the deck haven’t filled in as fast as I hoped when I planted them four summers ago. They got too much shade. There’s still plenty of leaf mulch visible. In fall it’s gratifying to see expanding goldenrods covered with flowers and drawing attention from bees. 

Goldenrod-if you plant it, they will come

 

Asters in the next bed complete the pollinator buffet.

 

New England asters are great for pollinators too

    Around the garden pond I planted several pollinator plants in spring 2020, picturing bulky native perennials attracting crowds of native insects. So far that’s been mostly a bust. Only three species have survived. This year mountain mint (Pycnanthemum muticum) and wild bergamot (Monarda fistulosa) both sprawled inelegantly. 

 

Insects like mountain mint's odd green flowers

 

False aster (Boltonia asteroides), in contrast, shot straight up, producing one spindly stalk. Dry spells, lack of diligent watering, and frequent dog traffic are probably to blame for the others’ attrition. Next spring I’ll pinch the established plants frequently to keep them upright, fill the empty spots with more drought-tolerant selections—and protect the new plants with fencing.

 

A self-seeding volunteer aster is doing more for pollinators than any of my choices. Maybe native large leaf aster?

 

Columbines: Johnny-on-the-spot

 Some of the toughest plants in my garden are columbines (Aquilegia spp.). While other plants in a newish bed off the deck have started to turn brown and lose leaves during the current drought, the columbines are holding on.

 

Columbines bloom here in May and June

    I appreciate the way these easy growers pop up around the garden wherever there’s open soil. This trait of filling in where they’re needed has been especially convenient in areas where I’m waiting for slower growers to get established. 

     In the deck bed, I planted a combination of low growers and medium-height mound-formers, aiming for a tapestry of pollinator-attracting plants that would cover the soil densely. That hasn’t happened yet. The bearberry (Arctostaphylos uva-ursi) I hope will eventually form a mat of small shiny leaves is just starting to spread. New native perennials need time to grow wide. While they’re gathering strength, the columbines are helping out. 

 

Columbines in the deck bed in June

     I have lots of young columbines to choose from. In the vegetable garden alone, each spring reveals a selection of new seedlings. It’s a happy spot for them. The rich soil is renewed annually with compost, and there’s little competition in early spring before food plants have filled the space. 

 

Columbine volunteer in the vegetable garden

I can dig up columbines wherever they aren’t needed and move them to where they are. Three have settled in comfortably around those young bearberries.

    I started out with a broad selection of columbines, some blue-flowered or blue and white, some rose pink, some deep plum purple. The combinations of traits showing up now reflect interbreeding between these varieties. Columbines aren’t shy about spreading their genes around.

A later generation

     Since the 1960s, there’s been an effort to categorize plant strategies, the approaches that plant species employ to defend themselves, survive, compete, and reproduce. Columbines have chosen the role of ruderal plants—pioneers in disturbed areas. They sprout where a natural event or human activity creates an opening. They produce lots of seed that drops wherever there’s a favorable place to grow. They grow fast, covering ground quickly. When they’re crowded out by expanding clumps of stronger growers in one area, they move to another. They live short lives, but their offspring take their places so seamlessly that I can’t tell when an older plant dies and a younger takes over.

New columbines bloom each spring

     Claudia West and Thomas Rainer, in their book Planting in a Post-Wild World, recommend leveraging these plant strategies in designing for visually impactful native plant communities. They divide plants into four categories. In the first group are the taller structural or framework plants, from trees to shrubs to large perennials and ornamental grasses. Second are the seasonal theme plants, such as my rhododendrons (Rhodendron catawbiense), black-eyed Susans (Rudbeckia hirta), and asters (Symphyotrichum spp).

 

Native Catawba rhododendron

 Third are groundcover plants such as wild geranium (Geranium spp.), foam flower (Tiarella cordifolia), and barren strawberry (Waldsteinia fragaroides) that control erosion and provide nectar for visiting insects.

 

Foam flower

 
Last are the filler plants, and that’s where the columbines fit in. They fill the gaps. That’s what I love about them.

 

Rising from bare roots

The bare root plants I bought this spring are thriving beyond my wildest expectations! These are native perennials and a native shrub that I ordered from Prairie Moon Nursery in Minnesota. 

I'm hoping for false aster flowers like these from a bare root specimen-photo David J. Stang

When I put them into the ground in late April, the idea was that they would send up stems and leaves rapidly. 

    Bare root plants are harvested earlier in the season than plants that have already leafed out. I’d seen bare root roses that arrived looking like dead sticks transform themselves into flourishing bushes covered with flowers. I’d never seen this happen with perennials, though, and I wasn’t sure how many of them would make it.

Would this become a 3-by-3-foot flowering  plant?

    I wanted to try this approach because it would serve two environmental goals. Roots are smaller and lighter than perennials in full leaf sitting in pots of moist growing medium. 

A plant in a pot takes more energy to ship

That means they carry a lower carbon cost for shipping. In addition, I’ve been looking for ways to use less plastic. The bare root plants were shipped inside plastic bags, true, but that was much less plastic than what I’d be getting with potted plants. I was glad to see that the nursery bagged all plants of one species together, rather than wrapping them individually.

    The little roots seemed delicate when I opened the bags. The garden was just coming into leaf as I carefully nestled them into the soil I’d prepared for them. Then we had a cool May, and the ground stayed moist. That was lucky, because the leaves and pine needles I covered the bare root plants with to hide them from digging animals fooled me too. I often forgot to water them.

    Almost two months later, the bare root plants are definitely doing what they were supposed to. In the bed next to the deck, wild strawberries (Fragaria virginiana) 

Wild strawberry

and wild geranium (Geranium maculatum) popped right up through the chicken wire I’d laid over them for protection. They’re now robust young plants that look ready to face the summer. 

Wild geranium

I sited the early meadow rue (Thalictrum dioicum) next to a bird bath so it could catch some extra irrigation when I slosh out dirty water to replace it with clean. This plant sent up a half dozen slender wiry stems topped with small fern-like leaves. I hope to see its pale yellow flowers next spring. 

Early meadow rue

False aster (Boltonia asteroides) got a sunny spot next to the fish pond. 

False aster

It’s not taking off like a potted New England blazing star (Liatris novae-angliae) has nearby. It’s alive, though, and presumably gathering its strength for a growth spurt later in the summer.

New England blazing star

    Truly impressive is the bare root coralberry (Symphoricarpos orbiculatus) that I planted and mostly neglected on the slope leading down to the back fence. Left on its own, it sent out leaves and looks to be thriving. 

Coralberry

This shrub is reportedly a vigorous grower. I’m hoping that its somewhat adverse conditions in my yard will keep it to a reasonable size while it provides wildlife with welcome flowers and fruit.

Native plants spreading good cheer

As we enter June with everything blooming, I feel like putting aside serious garden subjects to drink in the garden’s exuberance. So I thought I’d check on some of the native plants I’ve added in the past couple of years and show you how they’re doing.

    This week I was thrilled to see my cross vine (Bignonia capreolata) burst out with its coral, orange, and yellow trumpet-shaped flowers against the garage. I was expecting it to need more time to recover from transplantation and our northern winter. But no, it’s on the move and offering lots of opportunities for pollinators already.

Cross vine is a vigorous grower

    Nearby, a trumpet honeysuckle (Lonicera sempervirens) is covered with flowers. It seems to bloom more generously every year, although its roots are in a dry patch under the house’s eaves and surrounded on three sides by bluestone pavers. The long narrow flowers are popular with hummingbirds as well as insect pollinators.

Trumpet honeysuckle: easy and gorgeous

    Among the native shrubs, Carolina allspice (Calycanthus floridus) is putting on an unexpectedly uninhibited show. I’d planted one in deep shade a few years ago. It flowers, but sparsely. A newcomer added last spring gets much more sun, and it’s responded accordingly. The weird dark red flowers are fascinating, and I know they’re drawing native insects to the yard.

Carolina allspice has distinctive flowers

    Next to it is a flame azalea (Rhododendron calendulaceum) that I moved from where it was languishing in the front yard, struggling to compete with the roots of the Norway maple towering in the curb strip. When I dug the azalea up, I found it had very little root mass, although it had been there for years. Now it’s got more room to expand in looser soil, and it’s already blooming despite the trauma of last year’s transplantation.

I hope this flame azalea will flourish in its new location

    In the same area, a volunteer black cherry tree (Prunus serotina) is growing by leaps and bounds. This spring it’s showing its first flowers. The challenge with this tree will be to keep it and its offspring from taking over, but I’m encouraging it because of its superior wildlife value.

Black cherry hosts many native insects

    Bearberry (Arctostaphylos uva-ursi) is technically a sub-shrub, although it’s only about an inch tall. I chose this woody plant as a groundcover in a new sunny bed in 2018. It didn’t do much for the first year, but now it’s expanding in all directions, sending out branching stems bearing shiny new leaves. I love seeing this plant growing wild on Cape Cod, and I hope it will spread out even more as a lovely background to taller perennials.

Bearberry likes sandy soil and sun

    In a shadier section of the same bed, a single young creeping phlox (Phlox stolonifera) has emerged and flowered. I recently saw creeping phlox recommended as a groundcover in a Boston Globe story about lawn alternatives. My goal is to see this bed carpeted with a tapestry of groundcovers, so that no mulch is showing. That won’t happen soon, but the creeping phlox’s survival is a good sign.

Creeping phlox getting ready to creep

    Why are these plants doing so well this year? I don’t know, but I’m glad.

Bare root planting in a dog's backyard

My native perennials arrived from Prairie Moon Nursery in Minnesota. My reason for shopping at this distant site was the chance to buy plants in bare root form. They’re harvested before the perennials send up shoots for spring, packed in peat moss, and shipped with much less plastic than usually accompanies mail order perennials.

False aster roots ready to plant

    I’m still expecting to receive most of my new pollinator plants from Garden in the Woods, the native plant center in nearby Framingham. I’ll need an appointment to pick up my plants with appropriate social distancing, and I’m still waiting to hear when that will be. These locally native plants won’t be bare root, but they’ll come with a low carbon cost for transportation.

    Garden in the Woods didn’t offer false aster (Boltonia asteroides), though, which is why I connected with Prairie Moon. Once I was on their website, I was intrigued by other native perennials they offered and expanded my order.

One of the intriguing natives was early meadow rue (Thalictrum dioicum)-photo

Tom Potterfield

    The plants arrived as plump packages of peat moss in thin plastic bags. 

Minimal plastic involved

Each species was packed in just one bag: five wild strawberries (Fragaria virginiana) were together in one package. Several of the labels included a diagram showing how deep to set the bare root plant in the ground. I was surprised to learn, for example, that the apparent crown of a early meadow rue was to be buried an inch beneath the soil surface.

Planting instructions

    On a sunny afternoon, I identified the planting sites and surveyed my defensive materials. I was looking forward to seeing the roots develop into young perennials, but that wouldn’t happen if our puppy dug them out of their holes. Fortunately I had a leftover roll of chicken wire and another of hardware cloth—wire fencing with half-inch openings.

    First I tucked the false aster into its prepared spot next to the garden pond. It should be safe inside the fencing enclosure I’d built for it last week. I watered it well and wished it success.

False aster as safe as I could make it

Next I planted the coralberry (Symphoricarpos orbiculatus) near the back fence where this vigorously spreading shrub will have room to expand. I surrounded it with a ring of hardware cloth wired to two metal stakes. If that doesn’t protect it, I’m out of ideas.

Coralberry in a wire cage

    The remaining perennials needed a different approach.  White trout lily (Erythronium albidum) I planted in a moist, shady spot near the bird bath, covering the planting area with chicken wire. I anchored the chicken wire with sturdy two-pronged earth staples and attempted to disguise it with a layer of pine needles (Visual camouflage probably doesn’t fool dogs, I know). 

If white trout lilies survive, they'll be glorious-photo Fritz Flohr Reynolds

I gave the same treatment to a section of a bed off the deck, where I planted the wild strawberries and three wild geraniums (Geranium maculatum). There I tried for extra security by sliding the edge of the chicken wire under a bluestone paver I use as a stepping stone.

Wild geranium-photo David J. Stang

    Now I’m waiting to see whether my arrangements are dog-proof. Here’s hoping!

Shrinking the lawn

Evelyn Hadden’s book Beautiful No-Mow Yards recently reminded me that I still have a grassy lawn. The book spotlights gardeners around the country who have dispensed with lawn, replacing it with options ranging from groundcover beds to meadow gardens to paths leading between garden “rooms” full of beautiful perennials, shrubs and small trees.

Native perennials replace lawn in Robin Wilkerson's garden in Lincoln, MA

    While I’ve long aimed to eliminate lawn, I realized that I’m not ready to give up grass completely. What I’d like would be to reduce it to an area of transition between beds. I still like the look of the visually quiet mowed surface as a foreground for other more exciting plants.

Lawn makes a nice foreground

    Even a low-input lawn like ours is environmentally undesirable. Our lawn uses fossil fuels for mowing, but it’s getting by without fertilizer, weed-killers, or extra water. It’s still a pretty barren habitat for native insects and birds, compared to other ways garden space can be used.

    My lawn-reduction effort started back in the 1980s when I replaced a part of the front lawn with vinca (Vinca minor, also called periwinkle). That wasn’t so much a principled choice as an acknowledgment that grass wasn’t going to grow under the shade of the Norway maple street trees. The groundcover bed has proved to very low-maintenance, needing only occasional weeding to remove maple seedlings.

Vinca groundcover beds are neat and easy to maintain

    Next I dug out some grass around a fish pond we’d installed in a circle of lawn in the backyard. I planted perennials and dwarf trees instead, including two dwarf blue spruces (Picea pungens) that I particularly like. As they slowly enlarge, I’ll need to decide whether to move them and choose something smaller. Meanwhile, they’re doing their part by filling what would otherwise be lawn and offering shelter for moths and butterflies.

Perennials and blue spruce replace some lawn

    Two years ago I took out a big chunk of lawn when I created two perennial beds off the back deck. That and a bluestone path eliminated about 600 square feet of grass. While we had school-age kids, we wanted an open space outside the back door where they and their friends could run around. Now it’s nicer to turn that space over to flowers and pollinators, especially because it’s one of the sections of the yard that gets the most sun.

 

New beds and path where lawn used to be

    Last March I added to a bed with a sheet-composting project. As you can see, the mound of wood chips and compost is starting to settle. With continuing decomposition, after two years, it should sink to the level of the surrounding lawn. Then it will provide a rich environment for flowering perennials. I’m planning to move some there from places that have gotten too shady. If there’s space left, I can add new ones too.

Sheet composting mound is subsiding

    My next plan is to repurpose some lawn space across from the sheet composting. Outside the vegetable garden fence, I could create a cutting garden. It would be nice to grow dahlias, zinnias, and snapdragons just for enjoying indoors in a vase. Why not?

Wouldn't flowers look better?

New perennials the easy way

To share purple coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea) with students in last month’s sustainable gardening course, I asked them to snip off the spiky brown heads of the coneflowers in the flower bed. Just drop those dried-up brown items on the ground, I confidently told them, and they’ll plant themselves.

    The reason I believed this would work was that the same method had succeeded for me. I’d purchased and planted a single potted coneflower. When I wanted to make more, I initially thought I’d have to divide the plant, cutting out a section of its stems and roots. Or I’d have to collect seeds, plant them indoors, and grow them to transplanting size under lights. 

Goldfinch feeding on coneflower seeds

    But there were so many of the “cones,” that I decided to try dropping some where I wanted new plants and see if something would grow. This worked surprisingly well, and now I have a line of coneflowers where I scattered those seeds. 

A patch of coneflowers has grown where I dropped seedheads in fall

The round seedheads are what’s left after the flowers are pollinated, seeds develop from each of the mini-flowers in the central globe, and the petals drop off. If pollinators are around to do their work, each cone can carry hundreds of seeds.

Each spike is a coneflower seed

    Some native flowers grow easily from scattered seeds. Black-eyed Susans (Rudbeckia hirta) do this every year in my insectary bed. This plant is a biennial with a lifespan of two years. It performs like a perennial, though, because the seeds that drop from the flowers grow into next year’s flowering plants. If you didn’t know, you’d think the parent plants lived on indefinitely. I write about these plants a lot because they’re among my most successful and lowest maintenance natives.

    Last year I attended a lecture on how to grow native perennials from seed. This is a way to create a genetically diverse plant collection, because seeds combine the genes of both parents. I learned that the process is much more complicated than what I’m used to with annuals and vegetables. Some perennial seeds need a period of sustained cold, which in nature would be provided by winter. Some need alternating warm and cold treatment. Some need help breaking through hard seed coats.

Trillium seeds require several cold and warm seasons before they'll germinate-photo Finetooth

    These perennials have evolved strategies to delay germination until the conditions are right. That’s how they maximize viable offspring and avoid being destroyed by animals or shouldered aside by other plants vying for the same sites and resources. But imitating the sequence of events that triggers germination in many native perennials would be tough, exacting work.

    The alternative is to let the process happen outdoors without intervening. Since I don’t need to produce large numbers of plants, I can let nature do the work. I’ve stopped reflexively dead-heading, removing flowers before they can set seed. I’m hoping that seeds of some of the new native perennials that flowered in my garden this year, including sweet goldenrod (Solidago odora), Stokes’ aster (Stokesia laevis), and blue-eyed grass (Sisyrinchium angustifolium) will surround their parents with the beginnings of small colonies next spring.

Blue-eyed grass flowering in June