(Almost) Wordless Wednesday: The Keeping of Bees...

“The keeping of bees is like the direction of sunbeams.” Henry David Thoreau

The return of the native...plant!

(Hepatica nobilis (liverwort) flowers in spring.

Followup note, Wednesday: I think we'll be continuing the discussion on natives for at least another post or two, but in the meantime, for a really good look at natives in Nova Scotia, do visit the website for the Harriet Irving Botanical Gardens, at Acadia University in nearby Wolfville.

Some time ago, I was asked if I would do a post here explaining the difference between native and naturalized plants, as well as one on hybrids vs heirlooms. We plant geeks tend to bandy around such terms with such familiarity that we assume everyone has that same familiarity, which isn’t the case.

Aquilegia canadensis, Canada columbine

What defines a native plant? If something is native to an area, it means it was born or naturally occurring in that specific area. To compare myself to a plant, I was born in Newfoundland, so I’m a native of that fine and lovely province. However, I’ve lived most of my life to date in my parents’ home province of Nova Scotia, so I’m a naturalized Nova Scotian.

Hamamelis virginiana, native witchhazel

Plants may, of course, be native to more than one area, but I tend to go with Allan Armitage’s definition of something being native to North America. Thus although ironweed isn’t native to Nova Scotia, it is native to much of North America, and that’s good enough for me.

Yellow form of red-osier dogwood showing twigs in winter. (Cornus sericea 'Flaviramea')

Let's get something clear right now: I love many, many native plants, and have dozens of them on my property, but I am absolutely NOT a purist who wants only natives in my garden.

A native white spruce (Picea glauca) along the border of our property.

The gardening world is rife with discussion on this topic, with many people considering it heresy to use anything BUT natives in their gardens. That’s fine for those who want to be militant, but that’s not me. And I love cultivars that have been developed using native plants, like the glorious echinaceas that have sprung from crossing native species such as E. purpurea and E. paradoxa.

Amelanchier foliage and flowers in spring.

Again, I bow to the wisdom of Allan Armitage, who in his fabulous book Armitage’s Native Plants for North American Gardens (Timber Press) observes,

“Cultivars are the gardeners’ candy store. If you like purple coneflower, a dozen choices now await you. Should cultivars be called native? I don’t know—should rap be called music? It is simply a matter of opinion. I believe garden-improved cultivars, both selections and hybrids, will only help mainstream gardeners further embrace the world of native plants.”

The flowers and foliage of bunchberry, Cornus canadensis.

Why choose native plants to add to your garden? Often they are very well adapted to local growing conditions and tougher than introduced species, but you do have to exercise common sense. Plant a Canada holly (Ilex verticillata) in a dry area of your garden, and it will not thrive, any more than white pine (Pinus strobus) will be happy beside the seashore. You have to site them where they do best. Happily, there are native plants for every growing condition.

Labrador violets, Viola labradorica
Many natives are low maintenance, not requiring a lot of pruning and fertilizing and other pampering to do well—when situated in the right conditions, again. Some are drought resistant, while others are suited for wet, or shady, or heavy clay, or seashore situations.

The delicate flowers and foliage of bluestar, Amsonia tabernaemontana.
Many are disease and pest resistant, (but not necessarily disease and pest proof). You’ll often hear them touted as requiring less in the way of pesticides, but in my garden, nothing gets any sort of pesticide, organic or conventional, so it’s not an argument I’m going to make.

Bee on flower of swamp milkweed, Asclepias incarnata.

Quite often native pollinators, birds, and other types of wildlife have not adapted to using introduced/naturalized species for food purposes, so this is another great reason to include native species of trees, shrubs, and perennials in your plantings.

Waxwings feeding on the fruit of the American elder, Sambucus canadensis

Of course, there are always exceptions to this—think again of that humble dandelion, which many people curse but which provides nutrients for many a pollinator in early spring.

Flowers of highbush cranberry, Viburnum trilobum.

I hope that you’ll consider adding some native plants to your garden, although you may find, with a little research, that you already have quite a few in your plantings.

Joe Pye Weed, Eupatorium maculatum.

I’m not going to preach at anyone—I don’t like it when I am preached at, so I try not to do it to anyone else.

Red trillium, T. erectum.

My job is to give information to other gardeners, and it's up to you what you do with it. I just hope you’ll enjoy whatever you plant, wherever you plant it!

Wildflower Wednesday on Thursday...

I've never been much in the way of a trendsetter, and often am slow to sign onto doing something that others are doing already. So I'm not-exactly-fashionably late in joining in with the Wildflower Wednesday meme, started and hosted by Gail of Clay and Limestone. Because I spent so much time on Wednesday reading other blogs that were doing Wildflower Wednesday posts, I got inspired and went out to see what's blooming around the wild parts of our property right now.

In the collage above, we have a mixture of wildflowers both planted by me and left to grow wild in the undisturbed parts of our property. From the top: A bee darts from one evening primrose flower to another; some sort of wild mint alongside the pasture; a big clump of Eupatorium (Joe-Pye weed) in my gardens; a former 'holding bed' that has been given over to all kinds of wildflowers for the bees and other pollinators; my Cornus sericea is blooming again; and centre photo, the striking flowers of pink turtlehead, Chelone, are beginning to open.

I have a very laissez-faire attitude towards many wildflowers, letting them bloom where they are unless they're starting to be a little too populous. There's a lot of jewelweed (Impatiens capensis) around the moister parts of our yard and garden, and they're regularly buzzed by hummingbirds. Bouncing Bet (Saponaria officianalis, centre photo bottom row) blooms alongside the pasture but also in one part of the garden where it's been for years. And then there are the asters. I have wild and cultivated asters all over the gardens, and sometimes the wild ones aren't supposed to be where they are, but they're terrific pollinator plants and pretty into the bargain, so I often just pretend I've planted them where they are.

Not every wildflower is a great blessing, even to me. Lady's Thumb (Polygonum cespitosum, top photo) is a real nuisance plant for many people, as are others of the smartweeds/polygonums. The tiny flowers of American willowherb (Epilobium ciliatum, side photos both white and pink flowers) aren't as showy as fireweed (E. angustifolium) but they're a real nuisance plant in my garden. Hemp nettle (Galeopsis tetrahit) is a huge problem to some gardeners and farmers, but doesn't bother me unduly. And the little plant in the centre is a mystery--I can't for the life of me remember what it is, and it's not a particularly showy or pesty plant, just a pretty little thing.

Goldenrod gets much maligned by some people, so let's set the record straight. If you have allergies, don't blame goldenrod, which is insect pollinated, not wind-borne. Its pollen is too heavy to drift, but it flowers at the same time as do several species that do bother allergy sufferers, such as ragweed and some of the asters. Goldenrods are important wildlife supporters, and they're very pretty too. There are now a number of cultivated varieties of goldenrod, including 'Little Lemon', a very attractive variety that I have just coming into bloom in my garden (bottom left photo). A number of wildflowers are now popular with gardeners, or have been the basis for new cultivars of ornamental flowers, and that's never a bad thing. At least, it isn't in my worldview.

These are some of what's blooming around our property in these last days of August. I have mixed feelings when I see the asters and goldenrod and Joe Pye and turtlehead; as much as I love them all, I know that they are also harbingers of autumn. Which I'm not prepared to deal with yet, so I'm going to stick my fingers in my ears and sing loudly so as not to think about that any further!

Wordless Wednesday: Slippers for the Lady of the House?

Pieces of April on a morning in May

It's Saturday, the first of May, Day 2 of the 6th annual Saltscapes East Coast Expo. The show is fabulous as always, with all kinds of things to do and see, taste and listen to. There are musicians and dancers, artisans and speakers, cooks and creative people galore, lots of cool retail items, innovative ways with food... I always explain the show as being as if Saltscapes magazine came to life in Exhibition Park; it's not your average home or trade show. It's just different, and I'm honoured to be a part of it.

The show comes at a very hectic time of year, especially for me, as I race towards my book deadline, enjoy the pleasures of the garden, visit different clubs and other organizations to give talks, and also meet my commitments to my other clients. It means something has to give, and in my case that something tends to be both writing my blog, and visiting others as much as I like to, and also not being as active at Blotanical as I normally am.

Someone asked me recently, "Why do you blog? Do you make money from it? Are you selling a service? Why don't you promote yourself more?" And so on. These questions, coupled with some rather cranky and mean-spirited posts and discussions I've read recently on assorted topics around the blogosphere, really got me thinking again about why I DO write this place of little scribbles.

Here are my answers to those questions, for what they're worth:

1. No, I don't make money from this blog. I have a google ad section on here, but I've never had a payout on it, (and in fact, I block ads via my browser so I don't even SEE the ads that come up. I am going to discontinue them because the randomness of them annoys me, and often promotes garbage sites that I don't wish to encourage).

2. I'm not selling a service. People who wish to hire me to write for them contact me by other means. And I'm plenty busy, with some very good clients who are great to work for, so I'm blessed to be able to make a living doing what I love. That's part of the reason for the blog--a way to give back to others.

3. I've never been much on self-promotion. There's nothing wrong with it for those who do wave their own flag to help encourage readers and/or buyers of whatever they're selling, etc. It's just not how I roll. It embarrasses me to be at the top of the favourite heap at Blotanical for long periods of time, I don't like awards, and I won't be asking anyone to vote for me in any of the award memes that go on periodically around the blogosphere.

4. But I do take pride in writing posts that (hopefully) amuse, educate, and most importantly, encourage others. Doing talks at events like the Expo remind me why I do what I do. People come to ask questions (and if I don't know the answer, I try very hard to find the information for them). They tell me stories about their gardens, their battles with goutweed, their interest in new plants and new ideas about gardening. They show me photos of their gardens, give me wonderful tidbits of information that I had no idea about.

They say things to me like, "Because of your (columns/talks/blog posts/newsletters) I have added new plants to my garden." or "We've added some plants to encourage bees and butterflies." or "I've gone organic in my garden."

People often come up after a talk and tell me that they are encouraged when they read bloomingwriter. They don't all leave comments, of course, just like everyone who reads a newspaper doesn't necessarily write letters to the editor. I can tell, from looking at my stats, how many of my readers come from around the region.

I make them laugh, sometimes. I make them think, and most importantly, make them think they CAN garden. Because they can, of course. Sure, it can be hard work, but it's also an uplifting, happy-making, beauty-making pastime. There's a satisfaction with looking at a newly-planted shrub, or with having pleasantly-sore muscles after a day spent making a new bed or battling the goutweed.

I will maintain until my last breath, "We can all grow great gardens. IF we want to." But let's be clear: there's nothing wrong with NOT wanting to garden, either. Not everyone has the time, space, interest, etc. It's not my way to be didactic with people, not about what they should plant or how they should garden (or how they should write a blog, for that matter) ; when something becomes a 'should', it loses some of its spontaneity and joy. I prefer for people to choose to plant a garden or go organic or encourage pollinators.

THAT's why I write this blog, and why I sometimes feel guilty when I'm so busy that I can't post.

To end on a less pensive note, here's a totally gratuitous photo of the always-naughty Mungus, having an overdose of catnip. He got this bag down off a high cupboard, ripped it open to share it with his cohorts, then licked it quite clean. Then had a nice long snooze.

Which is what I'm about to do!

Blast from the (Bloomingwriter Past): Pollinating our futures

My most recent Wordless Wednesday photo of the bumblebee snuggling into a primrose blossom brought a lot of response from readers, and that prompted me to dig into the blog archives for this post I wrote several years ago about pollinators. It's hugely pleasing to me to see so many other writing about, and doing something about, the status and growth of pollinating insects in their communities, but the message does bear repeating. So here, for your (hopefully) reading and viewing pleasure is another peek into the Bloomingwriter archives, with a couple of new photos to add to the fun. I hope you enjoy--even more importantly, I hope that you are prompted to also help out the pollinators by planting species that attract and nurture them, by being as organic a gardener as possible, and by encouraging others. We're all in this together...



Every single day, I learn something new about gardening, about plants and birds and other myriad creatures, by reading through the scores of blogs that are among my favourites. One of the people I hold in highest esteem in the garden-blogging world is Wild Flora, of Wild Gardening. Flora is a passionate promoter of wildlife-friendly gardens and native plants. She is gently passionate, getting her message across about these things without being strident or didactic.

Over the past few months, we’ve talked back and forth about a variety of subjects, including pollinators, particularly bees. Even before the fuss began last year about Colony Collapse Disorder, we were both thinking a lot about native bees. Honeybees are not native to North America, and while they’re incredibly important for pollinating a huge number of food crops (and other plants), native bees and other pollinators also perform these important tasks.


Wild Flora put me on to the Xerces Society for Invertebrate Conservation, where I happily began learning more—but also learning things that alarmed me, about the decline in native pollinators from a host of reasons. Habitat destruction, excessive use of pesticides, possible disease from introduced bumble bee species…while some research has been done, there’s lots more to learn.

Ours is a very bee-friendly property. I’ve always gleefully welcomed the sight of honeybees from a local beekeeper’s boxes, bouncing from flower to flower, but what I love best are the fat, fuzzy, happy-sounding bumble bees. I’ve been stung exactly once in nine years here, and that’s because I walked on one in the clover—and felt very sad for it. Not being allergic to bees or other hymenopterans (order Hymenoptera includes bees, wasps, sawflies and ants), I don’t work in fear in the garden, and I’m quite inclined to follow bees around with my camera, trying to get good photos of them as they go about their business.


By accident last summer, I took several photos of one of the bees that is in decline—the yellow-banded bumble bee, Bombus terricola. I didn’t know what species it was at the time, I just like bees. Earlier this winter Sarina of Xerces confirmed the identification after Flora and I puzzled over it. I was delighted, but also became more determined to do what I can to promote awareness of the plight of native bees, and do what I can to help them.


I’m not an absolutist in most things. I’m a mostly organic gardener (about 99 44/100 %) and use a mixture of native and hybrid plants. Our property is a Monarch Waystation, we feed the birds, don’t spray chemicals (even organic ones), and I encourage plants that are good for all kinds of pollinators. Like nettles, and goldenrod, thistles and even dandelions. Our ‘lawn’ is full of clover and dandelions, and every time I watch a pollen-laden bee rise from a clover blossom or a dandelion flower, I smile.

So while you’ll see a host of cool hybrids here at Sunflower Hill, you’ll also see other plants that won’t grace the front cover of too many glossy gardening magazines. But that’s okay. I hear our happy bees, and like Yeats in his bee-loud glade, I find peace, ‘dropping slow’ on me with a sound of hope. This is just one garden. But there are many who share these concerns, and do what we can to help.

Signs of Spring, Nova Scotia Style

With all the celebratory postings and pictures of spring coming from some of my gardening friends around the Northern Hemisphere, I thought i'd walk around the yard and show you what is growing on in our yard. Here's a look at the clematis, blue poppies, magnolia and assorted other things. What, you can't see them in the five foot deep snowbank around the arbour? Tsk tsk. Let's go a little further. 

Oh, here we have another lovely wave of snow, prettily needlepointed with a thousand thousand bird tracks. It was too nice a day for the snow buntings to visit, and I saw them down by the shore, flying in jubilant waves. 

The mostly-buried rose is the aptly named Snow Pavement, or Schneekopf. It won't be blooming for a while yet. The snow here is between 2-3 feet deep, rather deeper off to the right where the big drift is. 

Ah well, it's a beautiful day even if the plants are a bit shy about showing themselves. Even the wild plants are a bit reluctant to burst forth yet, but they're still showing seedheads in lots of cases. I believe this is a Hypericum, or St. John's wort, but I could be mistaken. 

This, on the other hand, is knapweed, a relative of the various Centaureas many of us grow in our gardens. It's a great bee plant and birds like its seeds, so I think it's a Good Thing. 

And one of my favourite wild plants is Queen Anne's Lace, or wild carrot. It just pleases me by its structurally interesting blooms at all times of year. 

Finally, a visit to the Hellebore 'Ivory Prince' and Hamamelis 'Diane.'. Well, I couldn't give them a closeup because there was a big drift in the way...and they were well and truly buried too. As in completely. I expect 'Diane' will emerge first but alas, Frances my friend, (who taught me how to get my hellebores through winter and whose garden I dream of visiting) I can't celebrate my blooms yet, so I'll just enjoy yours. And those of others fortunate enough to have spring in midwinter. 

Did I mention we have another storm due today? 

Blissful surprises for Garden Bloggers Bloom Day

Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen and all the ships at sea, welcome to another round of Garden Bloggers Bloom Day, created for your viewing pleasure by the always-delightful Carol of May Blooms Gardens! This particular episode of GBBD is of great satisfaction to me because, finally, I have something outside I can share with you all.


Let's get right to the entertainments for this lovely cold but sunny day, starting out with the crocus collection. Although schoolbus yellow is not my favourite shade of yellow at the rest of the year, it's like sunshine made solid at this season, when spring is still a little coy, winds have some bite in them, and most of the garden is still shuddering off its old drab winter coat.


These little darlings have wine-purple accents on their slightly different shade of yellow, and I can see them from the house with no trouble at all.


Hamamelis 'Diane', who has been working on flowering for about two months now is in comfortable and wonderful full bloom. The only drawback is that this cultivar doesn't have the fragrance of some, but I plan to add 'Arnold's Promise' and 'Jelena' to the garden very soon, as well as our native species.


A couple of the heaths, glad to be clear of their winter mulch--only put down to protect them from the cold drying winds of midwinter--are just yawning and stretching and preparing to flower in the next couple of weeks. Although all my heaths and heathers are small, I have more heathers than I do heaths. But I'm going to Bunchberry Nurseries on Saturday to give a talk, and will promptly remedy my heath-shortage at that time.


If memory serves me correctly--it very often does not--these are pink flowered chionodoxa, or glory-of-the-snow. They are in the rock-garden in a south-facing spot, and tend to come up promptly and joyously as soon as sunlight hits them regularly.


These aren't flowers, obviously, but I just love the way Sedum 'Angelina' is contrasting with the rich deep colour of the sempervivum, don't you?


A host of single-form galanthus has popped up out in the back garden. I don't remember planting them and I don't seem to have photos from other years--normally there are a few leucojum or summer snowflakes here, but not for quite a few weeks yet. Maybe they've spontaneously generated, knowing of my love for snowdrops of any size or colour?


Looking a little tattered, but still sweetly charming, the first of the Johnny Jump-ups that freerange around here have opened up to the sun. I happen to adore any viola, and these remind me of my grandmother, who loved them too.


After several days of wet weather, the paddock had dried up enough that we could put Leggo and his donkey-from-Mars out today. Leggo has been charging around the paddock snorting and bucking and acting silly a good part of the day, while that tangle of feet in the background is Jenny, down for a roll to scratch her back.


There were two things outside today I was especially happy to see. This is the first one--common as can be, but still cheering to my heart. It's coltsfoot (Tussilago farfara) the first wildflower to start blooming here; its little yellow flowers come up first, followed by its big thick leaves in a couple of weeks time. Now all I need to hear is the frogs glunking--they haven't started yet, probably still thawing out, but their songs and the coltsfoot blooms tells me that it IS spring, no matter the temperature or the precipitation.


And this...can it possibly BE???? Thanks, I am sure, to Frances of Faire Garden, who advised me some weeks ago on what to do with my hellebore plant...IT'S GOING TO FLOWER! Jubilation reigns supreme. This is good gardening karma, which to my mind proves that Kylee is gonna have blue poppies, and Lisa is going to have annual poppies, (but I can't remember where she told us about her poppy challenges) and...well, whatever challenges YOU is going to behave itself this year.

Ohhhhh. I hope I haven't jinxed myself by showing these hellebore buds...

To wrap up today's post, thank you so much to whomever of you nominated Bloomingwriter for Mouse and Trowel awards. I'm very touched by your support, especially as the nominations land me in the company of some of MY favourite bloggers. There are so many marvelous blogs out there, it's hard to pick only a few, and I want to vote for everyone. (but we only get one ballot, so I've had to flip a coin in a few cases.) I'd just like to win the LOTTERY, so then I could go visit everyone--or bring everyone here for a visit in midsummer. Bouquets to all of you, and best wishes to all the nominees.