Not even an Ant

Existing Native Garden Bed installed last year

Recently someone wrote and asked how our native plant gardens fared over this record breaking winter in Northwest Ohio.   Oh my gosh, double gosh even.  I knew I was tardy in posting here but didn’t realize how negligent I’ve been.  My extreme apologies and to answer your question Matt, the gardens came through the deep snow and cold temperatures without a second thought.  This is yet another reminder that these native plants are perfectly adapted to conditions here.   They evolved here over thousands and thousands and thousands of years with their roots in these soils, coping with fluctuating temperatures, and seasonal water variations that make me uncertain what to wear from day to day.  In fact, our gardens performed so well that several weeks ago we expanded the native plant garden in the front of our house close to the street.  I was delighted to remove some more lawn from the yard.  I want to say in Perrysburg we like to use dynamite to get weeds extracted from the rock hard clay soil but that’s probably somewhat of an exaggeration.  In this case an hour with a pick mattock enabled me to strip the turf grass from the designated 3 foot x 10 foot area.  I was going to use the removed turf as mulch so I set about shaking the soil from the short roots of the extracted grass.  As I knelt there playing with the dirt, I watched some ants working to repair the disturbance I had made to the adjacent garden bed. 

Preparing the additional space

And then it hit me.  I’ve had this experience before  but this “in my face” reminder was still a thought provoking incident.  This grass harbored NO life, at least none that I could see with my naked eye.  There were no earthworms, spiders, millipedes, or pill bugs.  There wasn’t even an ant.  Nothing moved.  And this was a lawn without chemicals.  We had switched to organic lawn care a few years back and never looked back. 

Native Bumblebee on Wild Bergamot

Yet just a few inches away, inside the border of the existing native garden, those ants seemed focused on clearing out the entrance to their home on which I had unceremoniously scattered some dirt.  At least three species of native bumblebees were feverishly working over the nearby fading blossoms of the Wild Bergamot.  A small Katydid was perched on the underside of a Sneezeweed leaf, and numerous other winged insects were going about making a living amongst the foliage of the Swamp Milkweed, New England Aster, and Smooth Aster.  A hummingbird scooted in for a quick sip of nectar at the newly blooming Cardinal Flower.  A Silver-spotted Skipper elbowed its way into all the activity.  A foot to the right tiny bees seemed excited the Partridge Pea was now blooming, and some other insects watched from the relative safety of the Virginia Mountain Mint. 

New Addition Area to Native Garden

Sure.  The eye appeal of many of our native plants is alone worth our efforts and the aspect of lower maintenance certainly appeals to many of us.  But for me, my feelings have evolved and I’ve come to believe it’s all about life.  And we certainly get that with our native gardens.  Not only are the gardens full of life.  They make our lives better too.  

The Great Compromise

Over the past two years of this journey, I’ve come to hate lawns.  We live in a suburban neighborhood with great expanses of turf.  I’ve learned these green spaces I once thought  the

Front lawn

epitome of good suburban landscaping are in fact, an ecological wasteland, often the source of much air and water pollution, and a huge waste of the opportunity to do good with the land.  So I’ve wanted to rip out the front lawn and put in a native wildflower meadow.  But my wife was concerned the neighborhood would complain about a wild looking garden and see it as a weed patch.  She was adamant; no front yard meadow for me.  So we compromised and struck a bargain.  This would be an experiment.  I could put in a small butterfly/pollinator garden in the front near the street, bordering our neighbor’s yard.  If I would agree to deadhead the plants and keep things looking tidy and formal, she would go along with a trial.  If successful, then I could create a larger butterfly garden on the other side of the driveway eliminating more lawn.  Fully understanding it might take three years for the plants to get established, and experimenting with different ways to make this a formal garden that met her appearance criteria, we struck the deal. 

Late last summer I carved out an area approximately 13 feet x 8 feet set back about 5 feet off the road and bordering our neighbor’s front yard.  With a desire to create as much biodiversity as

Fall 2012 new butterfly garden

possible and having something blooming throughout the growing season, I bought 13 species of native perennials suitable to the clay soil and partial shade of the site.  To save money I bought plugs, the smallest size of plant.  Two of these, Purple coneflower and Smooth aster were already growing in an adjoining area.  So the idea was that these two would extend down into the new garden helping to tie the two areas together. 



The late summer morphed into fall.  As was expected from first year seedlings, none of the new plants bloomed.  Fall came and headed for winter.  Then winter came and off and on covered the plot with snow.  When spring made itself known, the seedlings showed they had taken last year to set their roots and rewarded me with vigorous growth.  They spread out to fill in what looked last fall like a pretty sparse planting. 



Foxglove Beardtongue (Penstemon digitalis)

The Foxglove Beardtongue was the first to bloom.  The little towers of light lavender and white blooms attracted many bees.  As those flowers faded, several transplanted Ohio Spiderwort opened up with a few colorful blooms.  The Purple coneflowers had taken hold and over several weeks opened into their normal eye-catching display.  While they were still blooming the Butterfly milkweed transplants started to show signs of blooming.  This species of milkweed with its deep tuberous root sometimes doesn’t take well to transplanting, but last summer I thought I’d give it a go anyway.  They did produce a couple of very small blossoms but quickly shed them possibly in an effort to better establish their roots in the hard clay soil. 

Sand coreopsis

The Sand coreopsis burst into a huge splash of yellow.  Watching the numerous species of native bees and other pollinators vigorously working over the flowers was a daily delight for several weeks.  These plants produced so many blossoms and were so full of life.  Nonetheless I became concerned when all the flower stalks fell over and lay on the ground.  They continued to bloom but didn’t help give the appearance of a nicely tended garden that I needed.   Next the Black –eyed susans opened their bright yellow petals.  Those faded pretty quickly and the plants looked pretty sick.  It was only then that I learned that this species is a fairly short lived perennial.  I pondered what to do with the sketchy looking Black-eyed susans. 

Each morning I was eager to check out the garden and see how it was looking.   My early morning visits would flush out a small flock of American goldfinch feasting on the Sand coreopsis seed.   And that’s when trouble began.  While I thought the seed heads just looked natural, to my wife the spent blossoms looked unsightly and she felt the birds had plenty to eat from the numerous native plants in the backyard.  I struggled with my vow to keep the plants deadheaded.  The Purple coneflower blooms had now also finished and gone to seed.   The Goldfinch and other birds also liked to harvest these little pieces of protein.  Several spirited discussions ensued and it was hard for me to realize my wife was really trying to live up to her side of the agreement while I was struggling.  She offered to help me cut the seed heads off.   So we did it together.  I had to reluctantly admit that this trimming made the garden look more tended.  But ouch!  We were losing a part of the benefits these native plants provide.  My wife wasn’t pleased as I mumbled unhappily during our deadheading sessions. 



Gray-head coneflower

Wild bergamot

Now the Gray-head coneflower and Wild bergamot were blooming. And my gosh, I’ve never seen so much life, so concentrated in one little patch of land.  At least 5 different species of bees, several different butterflies, and skippers worked over this small but colorful group of plants from morning until night.  Even in the windiest conditions, I’d see pollinators eagerly harvesting the bounty these native plants provided (1 min video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fNNXfPAUg1E).  But these plants too went to seed and more “discussions” ensued.  Again my wife had to remind me of our pact.  I harvested some seed to donate for use in our Wild Ones events and the winter seed swap program.  Then begrudgingly I went about cutting off seed heads.   My better half was aggravated and asked why I was so reluctant to honor our bargain.  That really made me stop and think about it.  I knew the native planting was good for the pollinators, birds, and the planet and I didn’t want to give up any of the many benefits these plants provided.  At the same time I was also disappointed the way the garden was looking.  It certainly wasn’t the grand showcase I had imagined. 

As I spent time reluctantly removing the dead flower blossoms per our agreement, I noticed that the Sullivant's milkweed had not done well at all.  The Gray-head coneflower was flopping over like the coreopsis.  The Virginia Mountain mint was struggling.  The only plant that was truly thriving was the Sneezeweed.  In spite of all the life that flocked to the year old garden, the whole space didn’t look very good.  Huh?

 

Sneezeweed

On my early morning inspections I wear a pair of slip on boots to get me through the dew laden grass.  One early fall morning I found the Sneezeweed had bloomed magnificently.  The bright yellow flowers were already alive with the bees and a few butterflies.  This plant had grown to about 4 feet tall and showed no signs of falling over even with the heavy burden of the flowers.  As I walked to the edge of the bed bordering the neighbor’s yard, I heard the sound I hadn’t paid any attention to all summer long.  Squish, Squish, Squish.  Oh my gosh!  The ground was soaking wet.  What’s going on here?  I was puzzled but had to leave for an appointment and solve this some other time. 

The next morning I went out earlier than usual and found the answer to the soggy ground puzzlement.  Apparently all summer long my neighbors had their underground sprinkler come on for a short time early every single morning.  Yikes!  So that’s why the Sneezeweed was so happy.  It really likes moist conditions.  That’s why most of the rest of the plants were not doing well.  For the most part all these were prairie plants with deep root systems, well suited to the dry soil where they evolved. 

OK.  Now I’ve got several problems to solve.  Why can’t I happily tend this garden as my wife and I agreed?  After all, it’s better than the ecologically dead zone that used to be here in this 100 square foot of lawn.  Even without the benefit of seed for the birds, it’s still way better than lawn.  And furthermore, if I meet the tidiness and formal appearance criteria needed for a continued happy marriage, I get to make a bigger garden on the other side of the driveway.  Even less lawn, more nature, pollinators, and butterflies.  OK.  Now I’ve got my head into the game and vow I’ll spend the time to do this. 

The second problem is that I populated this garden mostly with plants that don’t like having wet feet.  I can’t get the next door gardener to change his watering regimen.  Their lawn’s roots are only a couple inches deep and need a lot of water in the hot dry summers we’ve been having.  And they like their lawn green and lush all summer long.  I’m not ready to turn this garden back to lawn so I’ll replace the plants with ones that like a lot of moisture. 

As I dug out the plants and relocated them to other areas until I figure out where they should go permanently, I realized I had crammed way too many species into this small area.  I had gone for biodiversity and placed 14 different types of plants here.  Grudgingly I had to admit there is no way that would have created the stunning garden that caught the neighborhood’s attention in a favorable way.  With the crowded species necessarily growing through each other, it was a far way from a formal design.  OK, I’ll limit the new arrangement to no more than six species.  With a tape measure, paper and pencil I measured and roughly sketched out a new design. 



Eastern black swallowtail

Now excited to get this right, I knew I needed to get plants that like the moisture, and a variety that would provide color all season long.  I couldn’t find a way to get an assortment of colors for each season without growing the list to seven.  And with that there was only one spring bloomer, the Foxglove beardtongue.  Armed with the design and plant list, I headed down to the native nursery.   Fortunately it is nearby and the owner, Jan Hunter, has been rigorous in preventing me from buying plants that won’t do well in my clay soil.  She advised adding one more spring plant.  Golden Alexanders bloom in the spring, like the moisture, and is a larval host plant for the Eastern black swallowtail butterfly. 

The revamped garden awaits
 next years growth

I'm frustrated because  I'm starting over and have lost a whole year and a half in developing this garden.  But I’ve learned a lot about garden design (I hope), and something about myself as well.  Now all the new plants are in and I’m enthused about how this should turn out.  Now, dear neighbors, please don’t turn off your watering system next year. 

I'm Just Saying

Bloodroot seeking life in grass

I’ve recently learned a new phrase:  “I’m just saying.”  For the longest time I didn’t know what that meant.  My good wife was kind enough the other day to “splain” it to me.  I guess it’s a way of gently disagreeing with someone while bringing up a contrary point of view.  I think that’s what my yard has been saying to me for a good long time.  And now it has decided I’m not getting it and need to be slapped up the side of the head.  More like “Listen up bub, I’m telling you you haven’t been listening, haven’t been paying attention.”  We live in a “lawn infested” neighborhood and for the past year since I’ve converted to native plants, I’ve longed for a prairie /meadow.  I’ve come to understand that the nice green lawn isn’t helping the environment, the native wildlife, my health, or my pocketbook.  Last summer I thought as long as I have to have a lawn, I’ll at least make it organic.  And I embarked on making it so.    But nonetheless, I really wanted a prairie, a meadow to largely replace the lawn and nurture the birds, butterflies, and pollinators that are so essential to a healthy and productive ecosystem. 

Trout Lily leaves trying to survive in
lawn

Solomon Seal seedlings

As mother nature has removed the blinders from my eyes, she tells me to look at what’s growing here already.  In spite of all the organic matter I’ve put into this clay soil, in spite of all the chemicals I used to heap on this lawn, in spite of all the core aeration I’ve done over the years, in spite of all this abuse, she puts  billboards up for me to catch my attention.  As I cut the grass with my carbon emitting, gas guzzling, noisy lawnmower, I keep muttering “if this was a prairie, I wouldn’t be wasting my money and time doing this.”  I look just ahead of the mower as I’m cutting at the front edge of the native beds and BANG.  "Hey there’s a small Bloodroot growing right out in the lawn."  Veering the mower around this delightful find, I say I’ll let this little guy grow here.  And then just ahead a little more, there are dozens of Trout Lily leaves poking up into the grass.  And a little bit further, there were three small Solomon’s Seal.  What’s going on here?  This is a carefully tended lawn.  These wayward native plants can’t be growing here.  Wait a minute.  Do they just belong here?  I wonder what was this land like before the developers scraped away the topsoil and cut down trees to make room for a house and put a high maintenance lawn in?  Was it a prairie or something else?

1964 aerial photo of neighborhood
pre-development

At a research conference I went to early this year one conservation manager showed historical aerial photos of the preserve she is restoring.  Playing off that inspiration I hightailed it down to the Soil and Water office.  They were kind enough to make copies of the 1964 photos of our area.   Low and behold, our property was fully wooded before the developers came along.  It was near a farm field, but densely wooded.  Duh!  No wonder, these little woodland plants were trying to come back.  In spite of all the abuse I’ve heaped on them, they still want to be all they were designed to be, woodland plants. 

But I wanted a prairie.  Finally accepting the fact a prairie would not be well received in this suburban neighborhood, I listened to the yard and the plants that were trying to grow here.   Driving around the older wooded section of the development with my wife we saw that some other properties were wooded in their front as well as their back yards.  Our front yard should really be a woodland. We could abandon my prairie yearnings and embrace what was once here.   Let's plant native trees and make it a wooded front yard.  (I wonder how many little tiny Oak seedlings I've run the mower over in these past twelve years?)   Slowly but surely we'll expand the trees and native beds in the front.  (Can I train the squirrels to plant those acorns where I want the new trees?)  Eventually the lawn will be tiny and the front yard a productive part of a healthy ecosystem.  No more will my mower attempt to eradicate the Bloodroot, Trout Lily, and Solomon's Seal.  Sometime in the near future, the Trout Lilies that were so stunning in producing their spring blossoms in other parts of the yard this year, will once again claim their rightful place in the front.  

Trout Lily