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?

 

Ugly ducklings?

 Steve Aitken’s intriguing article about naturalistic gardens in the October issue of Fine Gardening reminded me that a garden inspired by native plant communities doesn’t have to look like a hodgepodge of plants. It often contains blocks or “drifts” of a single species or cultivar. Grouping them together heightens our enjoyment of the colors, textures and shapes of the chosen plants.

 

A drift of blue sage makes a bold statement-photo filipvandamme.be

    Now in late summer, I’m noticing some of those big aggregations in undesigned areas. At the edge of a mowed playing field in my neighborhood, large clumps have developed where one native species predominates, and they’re looking good. 

A big clump of Canadian goldenrod stands out

 

But these colonies were not intentionally planted. They’re weeds. This made me wonder: could some of the plants we think of as weeds be developed as reliable, easy-to-grow natives for garden use?

    Many weeds are nonnatives. But some that catch my eye do originate from eastern North America. There’s pale smartweed (Polygonum lapathifolium), with drooping chains of pink flowers at this time of year. 

Pendulous flowers of pale smartweed

The blooms offer nectar for visiting insects, and native caterpillars forage on the leaves. If pale smartweed’s flowers were twice as big and covered the plant densely, could you see growing a clump of this plant as a garden annual? The blooms aren’t too different from those of an amaranth I’m growing for cutting flowers.

Amaranth 'Red Garnet'

 
    I reflexively yank out yellow wood sorrel (Oxalis stricta), a native of both Europe and North America. It pops up all over the garden, and it’s easy to pull. But the yellow flowers are actually rather sweet-looking above fresh, tender clover-like foliage, and it blooms through the summer. 

Yellow wood sorrel is a familiar garden weed-photo Dcrjsr

Yellow wood sorrel is a pollinator plant, and birds eat its seeds. I could see intentionally growing a block of it and calling it an ornamental, especially if someone developed a variety with larger flowers.

    A lot of my lawn used to be taken over by common blue violets (Viola sororia), also native to eastern North America (now the lawn is taken over by wood chips). 

 

Violets took over where lawn used to grow

Violets like shade, and they do better in acid soil with low calcium content than lawn grasses do--but then, lawn grasses are such prima donnas! Violet seeds are surrounded by fatty elaiosomes that make them popular food for ants, birds and small mammals, and fritillary caterpillars eat violets’ leaves. 

With no work on my part, violets bloom in spring

I’m thinking of tearing out the last tufts of grass in one remaining lawn area and leaving the violets as a native groundcover. They can certainly deal with being walked on, and the flowers are pretty in spring.

    These are plants we see around us every day in New England. We know they’re strong growers that adapt to tough growing conditions. A lot of garden center darlings came into being because breeders recognized the potential of a modest wild flowering plant and made it more eye-catching through selective breeding. Breeders, have a look at our native weeds!

Putting the toothpaste back in the tube

At a time when we’re wondering whether what’s broken can ever be fixed, it’s nice to hear some good news about planting for pollinators. A team of scientists in Munich recently published results of their study of urban flower strips, 1,000-square-meter wildflower gardens planted in the city as part of the European Union’s initiative to improve foraging opportunities for bees and other flower-visiting insects. They found these plantings surprisingly effective.

Urban flower strip, Fockenstinstrasse, Munich

    The team undertook their study when the flower strips, sown with a mix of locally native flowering plants, were only a year old. They hypothesized that these mini-meadows would draw mostly bees that are common in Munich and can gather pollen from a broad range of flowers. They didn’t expect these beds to be much of a resource for oligolectic bees, ones that need food from a few native plants. They got a surprise. 

Dogwood andrena bee specializes on dogwood flowers-photo Beatriz Moisset

    In the first year, 61 percent of the bee species known to live in Munich found the flower strips. Most were the common polylectic types, the bees that aren’t picky foragers. But the proportion of specialist  bees that needed particular flowers was nearly the same as in Munich's general insect population. They also found that the urban flower strips increased bee populations in surrounding areas, as far as 1500 meters away.

European dark bee-photo SJ Richards

    By the way, were any bees killed in the process? I was glad to hear that this was a catch and release program. The scientists swept the air with insect nets, put the bees on ice for 10 minutes, and when the bees entered “cold rigor,” they measured and photographed them on site. Within two to three minutes, when the bees had warmed up and awakened, they released them to continue foraging.

    As I prepare to plant native perennials to attract pollinators, this study gives me confidence that my efforts can be effective. Germany’s situation is a lot like ours. The scientists noted that Germany had lost about 10 percent of its meadows between 1991 and 2019. We too are losing open space at a great rate, estimated by the US Forest Service at 6,000 acres every day, or 4 acres per minute. 

Goldenrod provides insect forage in a Maine meadow

     What’s left may be so altered by human activity that it doesn’t offer much of what native insects need. We know that insect populations are plunging. Our government lags behind the European Union’s in addressing this. That’s why there’s such an urgent need for home gardeners to plant for flower-visiting insects.

Pollinator garden at the Smithsonian's National Museum of Natural History

    But can we really replace the rich biodiversity of what’s lost?  I worry that my small effort will offer too little too late. This study suggests that our pollinator gardens can make a meaningful contribution toward rehabilitating impoverished landscapes. I’m hoping my new bed of native pollinator plants will be attractive and full of insect life. It would be nice if it also drew not just the toughest survivors, but also the insect species that need the most help.

Spotted beebalm in my pollinator bed should support native insects-photo Judy Gallagher