Author: suzielinn

National Garden Week ended a few days ago and, as usual, I am the proverbial few days late and a few dollars short. I have very valid reasons, though. I was out gardening. And I was buying a few more plants, despite the ten day forecast having a few too many 100 degree days lined up. Alas. Just like Jack, I would trade the family’s cow for some magic bean seeds any day.

National Garden Week is an annual event, held the first full week of June. This year that happened to be June 4th through 10th. National Garden Clubs, a non-profit organization, holds this event as a way to promote the love of gardening. Even though I am late to this (garden) party, I simply cannot miss a chance to promote the love of gardening. And – who knows! – I may even go out and buy a new pair of plants to celebrate with! So, without further ado, here are just a few of the reasons why everyone should have, at the minimum, a small garden space.

1.) Gardening is a great way to stay physically active, which is so important in today’s world where we are often either glued to our office chairs, cell phones or automobiles.

Gardening can be an intense workout. Yes, you can go to the gym and do farmer’s carries with a couple of heavy metal plates, but you can also do that in the garden with two five-gallon buckets of homebrewed compost tea. Yes, you can go to the gym and do sled pushes, but have you ever walked three miles in one day, moving a pile of mulch one wheelbarrow load at a time? Many years ago, my family doctor told me that gardening wasn’t good exercise. I invited him over to my place to help me garden, as I had recently had a bulk delivery of compost and mulch. He didn’t take me up on the invite… Thankfully, most doctors now realize that gardening can be a great all-around workout. Not only does gardening burn more calories that channel surfing, it also helps build muscles and it challenges the gardener’s balance and flexibility.

That said, gardening doesn’t have to be an intense workout if one is physically not able to do the heavy lifting and hauling. There are ways to make gardening accessible for everyone, from tall raised beds that can accommodate wheelchairs and walkers to a small patio garden in containers or even growing microgreens on a sunny windowsill.

2.) Have you ever heard of the “runner’s high,” where runner’s get a rush of endorphins? At least one study has been conducted showing that gardeners get a boost in dopamine, a neurological “reward response,” when harvesting the fruits of their labor. When gardener’s say there is nothing quite like picking their own homegrown strawberries or tomatoes, that is the dopamine response, the pleasure, the state of bliss, from growing something yourself and eating it straight off the plant. Additionally, healthy soil is full of beneficial bacteria that releases serotonin in our brains, helping to alleviate depression and improve mental health. Gardening outside has the added benefit of increasing exposure to natural Vitamin D from the sunshine. Gardening also relieves stress (so long as you aren’t weeding something evil, like trumpet vine!) All together, there are many solid mental health benefits to gardening.

3.) Growing a fraction of your own food – or even just a few herbs – promotes healthier eating habits. When our tastebuds are more attuned to the pleasures of fresh dill sprinkled over a salad, a vine ripened cherry tomato, the sweetness of a blackberry still warm from the sun, we are less likely drawn to commercialized food products.

(Below photograph: My first blackberry of 2023!)

Having a selection of greens growing right outside the kitchen door makes healthy eating fun and enjoyable. Knowing what can be grown in each season in your region expands both the culinary palette and the nutritional benefits. Kale, for example, grows great in Texas from fall through winter and in to early spring, before “bolting,” or going to seed, in the heat. Longevity spinach, on the other hand, grew wonderfully in a container on my covered patio all of last summer, even when it reached 108 degrees. Okra, that southern staple, loves the Texas summer. Did you know the leaves are edible and make a great addition to summer salads?

(Photograph below: Romaine lettuce growing in a blue glazed container this past winter.)

4.) We – on a small scale – may not be able to stop the deforestation of the rainforests or prevent the glaciers from melting, but we can make a big difference right here in our own back yards. And our front yards, too! As I sit outside on this glorious June day, writing, I have been pausing from time to time to watch a swallowtail butterfly flutter from the coneflowers to the bee balm and back again, stopping to nectar here and there, knowing that I have done just a little something to make this world a bit better off. I have given wildlife a refuge from the fast pace of development and habitat destruction. I have built up my soils so that water seeps slowly down in to the earth instead of rushing off in to storm drains. I try to keep as much organic material on our property as possible, from composting kitchen scraps and toilet paper tubes to lining pathways with fallen tree branches to allowing leaves to decompose in place. Those are just some of the ways that gardening can benefit our planet. It is a loose, unscientific version of a symbiotic relationship… The garden feeds us zucchini. I compost the plant at the end of the season, where it breaks down and feeds the soil. That soil grows a beautiful stand of bee balm, which supplies the swallowtail butterfly with much needed nectar. Watching the swallowtail dance about my garden feeds my soul and I am drawn once again outside where I harvest yet more zucchini.

5.) Gardening can help build communities. Pausing the lawnmower to chat with the neighbor. Joining a garden club. (Which I highly recommend!) Giving away excess tomato plants when you started too many from seed. Passing along iris rhizomes to fellow gardeners. Saving flower seeds to give to friends and family near and far. Participating in a community garden. We live in such a technologically connected yet socially disconnected world these days. We need connection to survive and to thrive. Gardening can bridge that span. Gardening can also span the generations, from engaging toddlers that are fascinated by the caterpillars feasting on the passionvine to asking grandma about Victory Gardens during World War II. We can all benefit from the social aspects of gardening.

I hope I have encouraged you today to “dig in the dirt,” whether to plant up a small pot of herbs or break ground on a butterfly garden. Be sure to take a pause and appreciate the smallest parts of our natural world around us. It’s good for our mental well-being, after all.

(Photograph above: Bee on a zinnia – June 8, 2023)

“One of my chief joys in porch life is studying the butterflies. There are numbers of them about every day, of lovely pastel shades…” ~ Dorothy Scarborough, From a Southern Porch

Thursday dawned and found me once again wandering about the garden, where two very important observations were made. The first: If bird watchers can have bird blinds and deer hunters can have deer blinds, then I could have a butterfly blind. A place to sit and watch butterflies without disturbing their flutterings about my garden. Once upon a time, an older property in town had an old deer blind out at their fence line with a faded “for sale” sign nailed to one of its pink camouflage sides. Yes. Pink. Camouflage. Why my husband never bought this for my garden still baffles me. Wouldn’t it have made a fabulous butterfly blind? Yes, I think so, too.

The second observation that was made Thursday morning was that my camera outfit needs some additional zoom lenses.

A day later, still turning these observations over in my mind and examining them again and again, I think I can forego the butterfly blind as I would need multiple ones – one for each sunny area of our oddly shaped property – but additional camera lenses will be researched and added to my Christmas wish list.

I find that the older I get and the faster the world goes by, the more I just want to wander barefoot about my gardens, camera in hand, studying and recording the wildlife that seeks out refuge or food here. The earlier quote landed in my path at just the right time, for one of the chief joys of gardening is studying butterflies, the lovely pastel shades of the numerous butterflies that flutter overhead and stop to partake in the banquet of nectar spread out before them.

Today I share photographs of a tiger swallowtail butterfly sipping nectar on the native buttonbush in my garden on June 8th, 2023. Swallowtails are named for the long “tail” that extends beyond their hindwings, resembling the tail on the swallow, a type of bird.

There are more than 500 species of swallowtail butterflies, with around 25 species living in the United States.

This particular butterfly species lays its eggs on plants in the parsley family, as shown in the photograph below.

“I’ve watch’d you now a full half-hour,
….What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,
And calls you forth again!…” ~ William Wordsworth, To a Butterfly

“…Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!…” ~ William Wordsworth, To a Butterfly

“STAY near me–do not take thy flight!
A little longer stay in sight!” ~ William Wordsworth, To a Butterfly

“Idly afloat in the sunshine, butterflies look like flower-petals from some enchanted garden, possession motion and life, so that when they fall, instead of perishing, they take on a new, unearthly beauty that will not die. Or are they perchance the souls of flowers that faded yesterday, or the imperishable dreams we mortals cherish, too delicate to come true, but too lovely to be destroyed? ~Dorothy Scarborough, From a Southern Porch

All photographs taken during the morning hours of June 8th, 2023, in my Southern Denton County, Texas, garden. Zone 8a.

Tonight found me home alone, standing at the kitchen sink, peeling carrots in to the bowl I use for compostable materials. My go-to, easy meal for one: carrots, cauliflower and hummus. A thousand times a day I am at the kitchen sink, glancing out the large window at the garden space just beyond the pane. The 20+ year old fig tree is recovering nicely from the deep freeze of February 2021. Behind the fig tree, against the wooden fence, is an old wrought iron headboard, someday a trellis for the small raspberry that is planted at its base. To the side, an old metal chair. Morning glory vines would be precious scrambling up the chair, but so far that hasn’t happened. An old statue sits on the chair, my Suzie Sells Seashells by the Seashore statue. All together, it is a fabulous vintage vignette. How do I like my garden accessories? Old, old and old, thankyouverymuch. The chippy white is perfectly chippy white, in sharp contrast to the deep green of the fig leaves. And that spot of bright yellow? A stunning daylily, which today graced my garden with two perfectly placed blossoms. Which brings me back to peeling carrots and a glance out the window. I meant to do my work today. The words popped up from my mental file of memorized poems. I meant to make supper tonight. But a daylily called out to me. So what could I do but laugh and go? Carrots can wait another hour. The perfect lighting. The perfect blossoms. These moments don’t come around just any day. I am reminded that I need to live more in the present moment, enjoy these moments right before my eyes, not to let my mind rush ahead to tomorrow’s troubles or perceived troubles.

I Meant To Do My Work Today

I meant to do my work today – but a brown bird sang in the apple tree, and a butterfly flitted across the field, and all the leaves were calling me. And the winds went sighing over the land, tossing grasses to and fro, and a rainbow held out its shining hand – so what could I do but laugh and go? ~ by Richard Le Gallienne

My morning ritual consists of making a fresh glass of ice tea and taking a stroll about the garden. My rescued shelter mutt, Princess Leia, knows the routine. She pushes past me to get out the back door first, eager to make sure the garden is secure and no squirrels, bunnies or neighborhood cats are about. My evening garden strolls, however, are more often about chores. What needs watered? What area needs some attention, aka weeding? I must remember to toss aside chores and carrots and pick up my camera and simply… go outside and enjoy the garden. Enjoy this moment right here, right now. The evening lighting is enchanting, don’t you think?

No garden stroll is complete without stopping under the native buttonbush, currently in full bloom. The bees are still hard at work, but now in the evening hours they are joined by several moths. The bees pay me no attention, buzzing all about. The moths are more skittish, the slightest movement sends them fluttering off. But if one stays perfectly still, they return and land just inches away.

The garden by evening light is serene, soothing away the day’s troubles. I must remember this and set aside chores and carrots more often.

All photographs taken around 7:30 p.m. on June 7th, 2023, in my Southern Denton County, Texas, garden. Zone 8a.

Little Talk

Don’t you think it’s probable
That beetles, bugs and bees
Talk about a lot of things—
You know, such things as these:

The kind of weather where they live
In jungles tall with grass
And earthquakes in their villages
Whenever people pass!

Of course, we’ll never know if bugs
Talk very much at all,
Because our ears are far too big
For talk that is so small. ~ Aileen Fisher

Pollinating: Many feet make light work.

A dear friend and fellow naturalist recently commented that seeing pollinators in the garden is akin to getting a gold star on a school project. How right she is.

If it’s morning, chances are I am in the garden, still in pajamas, feet bare so I can feel the earth, camera in hand. It is during these still sleepy moments when I am most amazed at the number of gold stars my humble little garden has amassed already this year. “Build it and they will come” applies to pollinator gardens as much as to cheesy baseball movies. I do not know if my pollinators – yes, “my” pollinators, as I am quite protective of them – speak with one another or how or even when they first discovered my garden, but it is apparent that the welcome mat has been unfurled, for the bees and the moths have arrived and are all feasting together this early June morning.

While bees are the most widely known of the pollinators, wasps, flies, beetles, moths and butterflies also lend a helping foot.

Pollinating: It’s a tough job but someone’s gotta do it.

More than 100 crops grown in the United States are dependent on insects for pollination, from the apple to the zucchini and every tomato, fig and cherry in between. By some estimates, 3/4 of our food supply requires pollination.

Pollinating: There’s a party goin’ on right here

National Pollinator Week is fast approaching – June 18th through the 25th – but we should be celebrating our pollinators every day of the year… A celebration to last throughout the year! (Cue some Kool and The Gang…) I often sing the praises of our native buttonbush, as I absolutely adore its oddly spherical orbs of pollen. It draws in pollinators from far and wide. This morning, though, I truly felt like I had stumbled in to the insect discotheque and there was a party goin’ on right here.

The buttonbush’s flowers are perfectly round, allowing more space for pollinators to meet and greet and perhaps talk about the jungle out there. Bee balm – monarda fistulosa, the native wild growing variety – is another plant with ample blossoms with room to share. The newer, hybridized versions often have smaller blossoms and less pollen. Something has to give when hybridizing plants and it is often the very thing that wildlife needs for survival. Whenever possible, planting the unadulterated, unhybridized, wild as nature intended varieties is best. That isn’t to say that I don’t have hybridized plants in my garden, for I very much do. But I strive to have as many pure native species as possible, whenever possible.

Pollen: It’s what’s for dinner. And breakfast. And Second Breakfast. And Lunch.

All photographs taken the morning of June 6, 2023, in Southern Denton County, Texas. Zone 8a. The round white flowers are buttonbush, a small growing tree or a large growing shrub, gardener’s choice of pruning. The soft lavender-pink blossoms are bee balm.

“Why was June made?—Can you guess?
June was made for happiness!
Even the trees
Know this…

…June was made for happy things,
Boats and flowers, stars and wings,
Not for wind and stress,
June was made for happiness!” Annette Wynne

The native buttonbush (shown in photograph above) has just started to burst into bloom. The pollinators danced above my head as I tried to capture a hint of the morning sun shining down upon my melodious garden.

“On this June day the buds in my garden are almost as enchanting as the open flowers. Things in bud bring, in the heat of a June noontide, the recollection of the loveliest days of the year – those days in May when all is suggested, nothing yet fulfilled.” Francis King

Ratibida pinnata, shown in photographs above and below, was purchased last spring from Almost Eden Plants. “Sleep, creep, leap” is often said about perennials, noting the three stages – or years – that it takes a plant to get settled in to its new home. “Sleep” it did last year. Poor thing. Shipped from Louisiana in a cardboard box, to land in Texas just as Mother Nature cranked up the thermostat. This year? I am not yet sure if it missed the memo and went straight to “Leap” or if I underestimated its ability. If this year is “Creep,” I may regret that I didn’t give it a quarter acre. It is absolutely stunning – and it hasn’t even bloomed yet! Every morning garden stroll takes me immediately to this plant, to see if it has bloomed yet. So far, it is suggested, nothing yet fulfilled. But soon. Patience is a virtue and one this gardener struggles with.

“In June, as many as a dozen species may burst their buds on a single day. No man can heed all of these anniversaries; no man can ignore all of them.” Aldo Leopold

The zinnia bud (above) is one that simply cannot be ignored, for it is ringed with scallops, its petals held tightly in a circle. A day or so later, Behold, the buds have burst wide open. Such a glorious sight. Zinnia and cosmo seeds were mixed together, along with a bit of earthworm castings, and direct sown in the garden in mid-to-late March.

The pollinators are quite busy this first day of June. Below, a bee lands and collects pollen on a red cosmo, part of the riot of blooms in the photograph above.

Echinacea is commonly known as coneflower, after the high center cone that the flower sports when it is fully open. In full bloom, it is quite popular with the bees and butterflies. (Photograph below.)

This mid-stage, though. Isn’t it amazing? If fairies inhabit the garden, surely this must be their crown. (Photograph below.)

June’s Coming

“…Again from out the garden hives
The exodus of frenzied bees;
The humming cyclone onward drives,
Or finds repose amid the trees…” John Burroughs

Buttonbush can be viewed in its native habitat along the marsh trails at the Fort Worth Nature Center and Refuge. In the wild, it is rather scrubby looking, not one that many think to plant in their own gardens. Alas. They would then miss the pleasure of standing under these orbs of pollen, watching the pollinators flutter about. Truly, buttonbush is the Dr. Seuss plant of the native genre. (Shown in photographs above and below.) I planted one in a low lying area of my garden about 25 years ago, after development next door created a bit of a swamp during rainy seasons. It does look a bit wild, but I am good with that. I pruned it into a tree shape by removing low growing branches early on and it happily complies.

In June

“A quiet hour beneath the trees;
A little, whispering, lazy breeze;
A perfect sky,
Where, now and then, an idle cloud
Strayed from its mates to wander by…” Matilda Hughes

So much is happening in my melodious garden this June.

Onions, planted in mid-winter, have been pulled to make way for another crop. Someday, hopefully, I will figure out how to grow an amazing crop of onions. I have memories of pulling softball sized onions from my aunt’s garden in Nebraska. Possibly my memory is off, due to my young age then and my older age now. Possibly it was that midwestern soil that earned its reputation as “The Breadbasket” of the nation. Possibly it was their abundant rainfall and our repeated droughts. Possibly I just don’t know yet what it takes to grow really large onions. All the same, they smell wonderful and will be much enjoyed.

The tomatillos have plenty of flowers and plenty of pollinating, so hopefully some homemade salsa verde is on the horizon. (Photograph above.)

One patch of parsley, a biennial herb, is nearing the end of its lifecycle and is setting flower. To have a continuous supply for the kitchen, it is best to plant a bit more parsley every year. It is also advisable to plant extra, in the happy event a swallowtail butterfly chooses to lay her eggs in your garden. This very hungry caterpillar, shown below, was spotted early this morning. As the saying goes – we can complain that rose bushes have thorns or we can rejoice that thorn bushes have roses – such is the way with caterpillars. We can complain that they are munching down on our herbs or we can rejoice that a butterfly fluttered in to our garden and found just the spot to lay her eggs. Fennel, dill and parsley are host plants for the swallowtail butterfly, so it is best to plan ahead and plant a bit extra so there is enough to share.

This has been an especially good year for the daylilies and I am thankful that I discovered the world of large, bold daylilies. Orange you glad, too? (Sorry. Bad pun.) Yes, orange flowers may just be my new favorite.

Happy June, my fellow gardeners.

“I most often find that happiness is just where I planted it.” Unknown

All photographs taken the morning of June 1, 2023, in southern Denton County, Texas. Zone 8a