Tag: flowers

gardening, nature

Happy Native Plant Week

suzielinn

I don’t know about you, but I never miss a chance to celebrate, especially when celebrating means buying a new plant. Or two. Or ten. Of course, celebrating Texas Native Plant Week requires gardeners (for me, at least) to visit a garden center. Or at the very least, it allows us to promote the many benefits of our wide variety of plants native to this state.

Rick Perry, our former governor, designated the third week of October as Texas Native Plant Week in 2009. Our state’s Arbor Day is also in the fall – the first Friday in November. Now many people may wonder why we celebrate plants in the fall in Texas when many states are already experiencing their first freezes of the season or will soon be buried under a blanket of snow. Fall is actually the best time to plant hardy perennials, trees and shrubs in southern climates, as our temperatures are cooler and rainfall more plentiful. Fall planting gives plants additional time to adjust before our hot and dry summers hit.

Adding native plants – ones that are better adapted to growing in our soils and climate – preserve our water resources, as they require less water once established. As our state’s population continues to grow, our manmade lakes will feel the strain that traditional landscapes require. Water restrictions will to be the norm for most of the state going forward. Native plants also don’t need special treatment to thrive, no fertilizers or special soil mixes. They also provide much needed native habitat and food for our wildlife and help conserve our wildlife populations.

So here we are – Happy Texas Native Plant Week! Have a slice of cake and plant a few natives in your landscape. Here are some of my favorite native plants, in no particular order.

Echinacea, commonly known as coneflower: A wonderful reseeding perennial. A wide variety of insects will nectar on its blooms and songbirds will feast on the dried seeds through the winter. What seeds remain in late winter, I will cut back and scatter throughout the garden. (Coneflower is shown in photograph above.)

Callirhoe involucrata, commonly known as winecups: A rosette of greenery will emerge from its tuberous root in late winter and will scamper up and over and about the garden. It will start blooming in late spring in to early summer. It is dormant in the heat of summer and fall. (Winecup is shown in photograph above.)

Cephalanthus occidentalis, commonly known as buttonbush: I would have a hard time selecting a favorite native plant, but buttonbush would likely be it. I love standing under the small tree when it is in bloom and watching just an outstanding variety of insects nectaring on the orb shaped flowers. Where else can you get a Dr. Seuss style bloom that is so well loved by the insect world? (Buttonbush is shown above.)

Cornus drummondii, commonly known as rough-leaf dogwood: For years – okay, two decades?! – I tried to eliminate this shrubby tree from my garden, as it wants to spread and take over. Alas. I have given in to its lovely blossoms and its willingness to thrive on neglect. Added bonuses: Insects love the blooms and songbirds love the berries. (Rough-leaf dogwood shown above.)

Twenty five years and another lifetime ago, I worked at a small organic garden center in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. We received a much-awaited shipment of native plants. Alas. As the driver opened the back of the box truck, with a cluster of garden center employees standing ready to Ooh and Aw over the plants, horror awaited. The heavy wooden shelf system had collapsed during transit and crushed everything underneath, including a dozen or so rough-leaf dogwood trees. Nearly everything in the truck lay broken and bruised and little was salvageable. That night after work, I took home a tiny broken twig of rough-leaf dogwood. Within two years, I was trying to eliminate it from my garden because it was like the Little Engine That Could. It thought it could grow. It thought it could grow. And grow it did! Now I absolutely love it and am glad I made peace with its determined growing habits.

Callicarpa americana, commonly known as beautyberry: A shrub with clusters of flowers in the spring, followed by brilliant purple berries in the summer and fall. (Beautyberry shown in photographs above and below.)

Calyptocarpus vialis, commonly known as horseherb: There is a native plant for every growing situation and need. This is a fabulous lowgrowing ground cover for shady areas. (Horseherb shown below.)

Monarda fistulosa, commonly known as beebalm: There are many beebalms on the market, but the majority of them are hybridized, non-native varieties. Those tend to succumb to powdery mildew in this area and their flowers lack the nectar of the native variety. Fistulosa is the native one; many garden centers offer it in their herb section. This beebalm is especially loved by butterflies as the nectar is deep within the flower. (Swallowtail butterfly shown on monarda fistulosa in photograph below.)

Penstemon tenuis: A lovely reseeding perennial. This penstemon blooms very early in the spring, at a critical time for insects. The plants are light and airy, with blooms held above the foliage. (Penstemon tenuis shown in bottom two photographs.)

There you have it – some of my favorite Texas native plants. No matter how you celebrate Texas Native Plant Week, I hope you get to enjoy some cake and visit one of the many wonderful garden centers we have throughout our state. We are so fortunate to have a number of locally owned garden centers that were early on the native plant bandwagon and really fought to bring native plants to the mainstream. Please seek them out and support them whenever possible!

All photographs taken in my own garden – zone 8b, southern Denton County, Texas.

gardening, nature

The monarchs are here!

suzielinn

I felt a bit like a mashup of Paul Revere and the poet Richard Le Gallienne today, though instead shouting that the redcoats were coming nor penning about a poem about a brown bird singing in the apple tree and pulling me out to the garden, I was all abuzz that the monarch are here! In my garden! Not one. Plural. Monarchs. The monarchs are here!

My garden happens to sit perfectly along their migration path. Each spring, the monarchs emerge from their winter habitat in Mexico and travel north for the summer. Along the way, they search for milkweed – the monarch’s host plant – to lay their eggs on. But now it is autumn and they are migrating south for the winter and they are in search of fuel – in the form of nectar – for the long journey that still lies ahead of them. Fall blooming flowers are critical for their survival.

Insects may be our canary in the coalmine – the warning sign of environmental troubles ahead. They are the most vulnerable to shifts in climate and weather extremes. As more and more wild lands are destroyed and either conventionally farmed (ie: with chemicals) or paved over for subdivisions and highways, insects – including the beloved monarch butterflies – find less and less food in the wild. Restoring native habitat is critically important. But it doesn’t take an acre to help. Anyone with a bit of space, even those with balconies or a small patio can grow a container of fall blooming flowers for the monarchs to feed on as they are passing through.

My own garden right now looks a bit worse for the wear, as I have been out of commission for the past two months. Thankfully, I do favor plants that not only grew in my absence, some seemed to thrive on my neglect! As I was getting around to leave for physical therapy earlier today, I happened to notice one, two, four, six and more monarchs fluttering about my garden. I quickly grabbed my camera and out to the garden I went. I did manage to make it to therapy on time, though I was still picking dried leaves and seeds off my clothes and shaking them out of my hair as I walked in to my session. As soon as I was finished, it was back out to the garden, which is where The Husband found me some time later, still laughing and flitting about my garden, as I snapped dozens and dozens of photographs of the monarchs.

Following are a few easy steps we all can take to help the monarchs.

1.) No pesticides or insecticides. Even organic ones can and do kill beneficial insects. The majority of insects in the world are harmless. Plants that are grown specifically for butterflies, from their host plants to flowering nectar plants, must be organic.

2.) Water is crucial for butterflies. Provide a shallow basin with pebbles or shells for them to land on.

3.) Trees provide much needed nighttime roosting spots for butterflies, as well as shelter from stormy weather.

4.) Plant natives whenever possible! Many of the hybridized plants on the market have been bred for larger flowers, but they often lack the rich nectar that the native variety have. When shopping for plants, avoid ones that have a specific name in quotation marks or have a trademark emblem next to the name. Those are easily identified as hybridized varieties.

5.) Plant well adapted fall blooming plants that will survive our summer heat and drought. Some examples of plants that will bloom in North Texas during the fall monarch migration include: zinnias, cosmos, tithonia (Mexican sunflower), Mexican mint marigold and pentas. The two flowers the monarchs were nectaring on in my garden were cosmos and zinnia, both well adapted annuals.

6.) Plant a wide variety of plants so you always have something in bloom. A variety of flower colors and flower shapes will also attract a wider variety of butterflies, not just monarchs.

7.) Plant in groupings of three or more as a larger expanse of blooms will be more visible to butterflies flying overhead. This also allows butterflies to nectar from multiple plants without needing to fly off so soon in search of additional food.

Some fall blooming Texas natives include: Anise hyssop (Agastache foeniculum), Frostweed (Verbesina virginica), Gaillardia (Gaillardia aristata), Cardinal flower (Lobelia cardinalis), Ironweed (Vernonia baldwinii), Gregg’s mistflower (Conoclinium greggii), White boneset (Eupatorium serotinum), Zexmenia, Turk’s cap (Malvaviscus arboreus var. drummondii), Prairie verbena (Glandularia bipinnatifida), Gray vervain (Verbena canescens), Aromatic (Fall) aster (Symphyotrichum oblongifolium) and Coneflower (Echinacea purpurea).

Varieties of Rudbeckia/Black-eyed Susan: Rudbeckia hirta, Rudbeckia fulgida, Rudbeckia laciniata, Rudbeckia maxima, Rudbeckia texana, Rudbeckia triloba.

Varieties of Liatris/Gayfeather: Liatris acidota, Liatris aestivalis, Liatris aspera, Liatris elegans, Liatris lancifolia, Liatris punctata, Liatris tenuis.

Lantana urticoides is native to this area. There are numerous other lantana varieties      available —   a few are perennial, but many on the market are annuals in our area. Special note: The berries on Lantana urticoides are poisonous.

Fall blooming salvia varieties include: Pitcher sage (Salvia azurea), Scarlet sage (Salvia coccinea), Mealy sage (Salvia farinacea), Autumn sage (Salvia greggii).

Keep calm and garden on and consider planting a butterfly garden.

All photographs were taken October 22nd, 2025, in my southern Denton County, Texas, garden. I have organically gardened this piece of earth – a large suburban lot – for 30 years.

I meant to do my work today by Richard Le Gallienne

 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 wind went sighing over the land,
   Tossing the grasses to and fro,
And a rainbow held out its shining hand—
   So what could I do but laugh and go?

gardening, nature

Spring flew swiftly by…

suzielinn

“Now is it as if Spring had never been,
And Winter but a memory and dream,
Here where the Summer stands, her lap of green
Heaped high with bloom and beam…” ~ Madison Julius Cawein

Spring came and went in a blink of an eye and somehow it is July already, the midpoint of the calendar year. The garden is indeed heaped high in bloom – daylilies, hibiscus and coneflowers, oh my! Such a riot of colors! Sometimes color combinations in my garden are planned. Other times, they are quite accidental, as is the case of the lavender Monarda fistulosa (bee balm) and the bright orange of Bright Lights Cosmos. (Shown below.)

Thomas Edison is reported to have only kept a personal diary for a few short days while on a vacation in 1885, but one of his few entries is perfectly poetic:

Arose early, went out to flirt with the flowers.

I feel much the same way each morning. What a delight it is to stroll the garden, camera in hand, and flirt with the day’s flowers and whisper a soft “Hello” to the bees buzzing about.

The hardy hibiscus, with their long pistil and ample supply of pollen, lures in bumblebees galore. (Shown above) Bumblebees are quite territorial and it is not uncommon to witness a rumble and a tumble as two fight over their garden space. “Possession is nine-tenths of the law” clearly does not apply to pollen and bumblebees!

“Nature is always beautiful to those who always look for beauty in her.” ~ The Harvest of a Quiet Eye: Leisure Thoughts for Busy Lives by John Richard Vernon

In the bug world, there are beneficial insects and harmful insects and those straddling the middle as either sometimes good/sometimes bad or neither overly good nor overly bad. There are beautiful insects, such as the monarch butterfly or the luna moth. And then there are ugly or creepy insects, such as, well… I don’t want to disturb my readers so we will leave ugly and creepy to your imagination. At first glance, robber flies (shown below) may not be as beautiful as, say, a lady beetle, but they are still… well, Beauty can be in the eye of the beholder, amiright? There is a primitive, utilitarian beauty to the humble robber fly. Large eyes. Long legs. Both beneficial in their quest for prey. Which brings me to their other status in the bug world. Robber flies are beneficial because they kill harmful insects, such as grasshoppers and leafhoppers. Alas. They also eat butterflies and dragonflies, which puts them smack in that middle ground. Beneficial? Yes. Sometimes. …If only we could direct them as to what they should be preying on…

A number of lizards call my gardens home, for which I am eternally grateful. However, they, too, are a species that have both beneficial and sad dining habits. The anole, shown below, had just eaten a grasshopper when I snapped this photograph. Knowing Texas summers and baseball bat size grasshoppers go hand in hand, I am appreciative of this fella’s hard work and dedication to taking one down. I will chose to overlook his ability to also take down dragonflies.

As a child, I memorized Richard Le Gallienne’s poem, “I meant to do my work today.” The words still bubble up in my soul whenever I feel the pull of nature. “I meant to do my work today – but a brown bird sang in the apple tree and a butterfly flitted across the field…”

This morning, I found myself with five extra minutes before I needed to leave for a class at the gym, so I grabbed my camera and headed to the back gardens. Not one, but four butterflies flitted across my garden! Gulf fritillary butterflies (shown above and below) had found my garden and were busy dancing about, depositing their eggs on my passionvine – Mother Nature’s way of giving my garden an A+, gold star and seal of approval all in one wonderful moment. As the poem goes, “What else could I do but laugh and go?” And what fun it was to photograph them!

“Here rest your wings when they are weary;
Here lodge as in a sanctuary!
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough!
We’ll talk of sunshine and of song,
And summer days, when we were young…”
~ To a Butterfly by William Wordsworth

The year has gone by much too fast, as it always has a way of doing the older we get. But here’s to slowing down and enjoying the garden and spending time in nature whenever we can.

“Spring flew swiftly by, and summer came… The earth had donned her mantle of brightest green, and shed her richest perfumes abroad. It was the prime and vigour of the year, and all things were glad and flourishing.” ~ Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens

(All photographs taken in my Southern Denton County, Texas, garden between mid-June and July 3rd.)

gardening

Raine, raine, goe to Spain. Faire weather come againe.

suzielinn

I know this gardener will regret uttering those words come August, but today I had planned needed to get some gardening done between thunderstorms and soaking rains. Alas. The rain settled in hours earlier than I realized it would. Weeding and planting will have to wait once again.

May Day

A delicate fabric of bird song
Floats in the air,
The smell of wet wild earth
Is everywhere…

By Sara Teasdale

The Dallas/Fort Worth area received nearly two and a half inches of rain on the last day of April and we are forecast to get an additional two to four inches this week. The gardens look especially beautiful at the moment – so lush and so many shades of green. But. The weeds! One needs to be wary of the weeds that are threatening to grab you by the ankles and not let go! I don’t know if the smell of wet wild earth is everywhere today, but my corner of the earth is wet and it is wild!

Of course everything is blooming most recklessly: if it were voices instead of colors, there would be an unbelievable shrieking into the heart of the night.

~ Rainer Maria Rilke

The bright red hardy amaryllis, shown above, is a staple of many southern gardens and for good reason. It is extremely reliable – plant once and it will bloom and multiply for decades to come. The hardy amaryllis is also a great passalong plant, assuming one has a sturdy back and an equally sturdy pitchfork to wrestle a few bulbs out of the ground. In this region, the amaryllis is the year’s first bright pop of color, blooming right as the daffodils are beginning to fade away yet before summer’s riot of flowers take over.

Another southern favorite – Crinum “Milk and Wine Lily,” shown below – is as delicate looking as the amaryllis is bold. The flowers are white, tinged with pastel pink streaks, but don’t be fooled by the softness of the flower. Crinum lilies are Texas tough and able to withstand our weather extremes.

Bulbs for both the hardy amaryllis and crinum lily can be purchased at The Southern Bulb Company. Both are considered heirloom plants – plants that withstand the passage of time, plants that can be passed down from one generation to the next.

To everything…there is a season…

A time to be born, a time to die
A time to plant, a time to reap…

And a time to every purpose under heaven

~ Peter Seeger

We describe garden plants as being hardy, but gardeners are also hardy. We take the weather and the seasons as they come. Sometimes we have too much rain. Other times, not enough. Too hot. Too cold. Yes, we complain about the weather, but we garden on. Some seasons we have the time and energy to throw ourselves headlong in to our gardens. Other seasons, our gardens may run feral. This is the season I immerse myself deeply in the comfort of my gardens.

My dad passed away on March 13th, just days after his 78th birthday. My gardens have always been my refuge, my escape when the world is too much. In the days after my dad’s death, I found myself wanting to be alone in the back garden, away from passing neighbors out front, to seek peace and quiet in nature, to reflect on the past, to think ahead to the future.

I grew up in the rural Midwest, surrounded by generations of gardeners and farmers. My dad’s parents – my grandparents – often took me fishing when I was growing up and my grandma and I would pick the gooseberries that grew wild along the path as we walked down to the fishing spot. Fried fish and gooseberry pie would be the evening meal. My grandma’s dad – my great-grandfather – grew red roses over a white arbor at the entrance to his vegetable patch. In the front yard, he grew a hedge of pink peonies and I always loved to watch the ants crawling over the blossoms, though I was years away from knowing or understanding their symbiotic relationship. Those roots – and memories – run deep. I am still the happiest with dirt under my nails, mud streaked across my cheeks and caked on my kneecaps. My dad was the last of his siblings, the last of that branch of our family tree. I have found myself grieving that generation lost as much as the individual. Time has a way of marching on, though, doesn’t it? Time doesn’t cease to move forward just because we are grieving and reflecting on the past. Seven weeks have now passed since my dad died. It may seem strange that I planted tomatoes the day after he died, but deep down in my soul I knew – To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow. (Audrey Hepburn)

Our lives should not be overcast by gloom of the past or future… Both are mere reflections. The past should reflect the light of pleasant memories upon our present, and contemplation of the future should shed its rays of hope upon our to-day.

~ Ellsworth R. Bathrick

Black strawberry tomato, shown below.

All photographs taken April 28th in my Denton County, Texas, garden.

gardening

If there’s life, there is hope

suzielinn

January was a long year, wasn’t it?

First came the dread, then the reality. Through it all, the word “Hope” has buoyed me.

Hope springs eternal. February, here in North Texas, has arrived with sunshine and above average, very warm temperatures. The most perfect day to spend in the garden, in quiet contemplation of Hope. And Peace. And Harmony. For America. For the world.

“To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.” ~ Audrey Hepburn

Audrey Hepburn’s famous quote, while not actually using the word “Hope,” is all about hope. The promise of tomorrow. A new day. A new beginning. Twenty four fresh new hours to make a difference. To make an impact.

“This will be my fight song: left foot, right foot, breathe. Help the poor however you can, plant bulbs right now in the cold rocky soil, rest.” ~ Ann Lamott

I purchased onion slips earlier this week, as now is the time to plant them in my region. More than a decade has passed now since I spent a quiet, mediative day in the garden, planting onions while my dear aunt was in the hospital, her colon cancer metastasized to her brain, necessitating emergency surgery. She has, sadly, since passed away, but I always think of her and her amazing spirit whenever I plant onions. I know that she is peering down at me, happy that I continue to garden and that I continue to seek hope and peace in the garden.

Tomorrow, the first of the onions will be tucked in the soil, then covered with a layer of freshly shredded leaves. Hope does spring eternal in the garden. Onions, from such humble beginnings, to be harvested months from now and used to nourish my body and soul.

“If there’s life, there is hope.” ~ Stephen Hawking

I was reminded earlier today of a conversation I had last year about the guerilla garden going on behind our property line. The individual wondered why I would invest the time and the money on something that might be removed or mowed over. Ah. But what if something grows from my guerilla garden efforts? Food to feed the hungry. Shade for a too hot planet. Habitat for birds. Friendships. Inspiration for others to take on their own guerilla project. What if the only thing it ever grows is hope to those that need it most?

Keep calm and garden on and always remain hopeful.

What to plant in the garden in February:

Plant onions: I soak onion slips in seaweed, diluted per container directions, for 30 minutes prior to planting.

Peas: Can be sown outside through mid-February.

Potatoes: Can be planted outside any time this month.

Asparagus and horseradish: Both can be planted outside this month. Soak the crowns in diluted seaweed for 30 minutes before planting.

Late winter vegetables: Cabbage, broccoli, Brussels sprouts and cauliflower can all be planted now. Many garden centers are getting a freshy supply of transplants this time of year.

What to sow outside now through mid-March: Beets, carrots, kale, spinach, mustard, Swiss chard, lettuce, kohlrabi, collards, spinach and turnips.

Radish: Can be sown outside now through May.

Additionally, eggplant and pepper seeds can be sown inside now through early March.

Many garden centers are receiving fruit trees and berries. Research best varieties for your location and shop early for best selection.

gardening, nature

A (garden) revolution going on

suzielinn

What is more thrilling than spending five hours with like minded gardeners and naturalists on a cold January day? Seeing a room full of people that have embraced native Texas plants, feeling their enthusiasm about restoring our prairie ecosystem and knowing that so many have joined the revolution and are planting native plants.

“Just dig it: Practical ideas for adding native plants to your yard” was hosted by Friends of LLELA – Lake Lewisville Environmental Learning Area – earlier this month, and featured four wonderful speakers each discussing different aspects of gardening with native prairie plants.

Now before I go on, I simply must share a photograph of my son, taken during a nature class at LLELA, many moons ago. My son is now a college graduate and, thankfully, still loves the outdoors. I have faith that this generation of kids will take the baton and carry on protecting and restoring important ecosystems around the globe.

Before we bought our home nearly thirty years ago, I knew “how” I wanted to garden – passionately, organically, naturally. My garden has evolved a lot over the decades, but those three things have never changed. I have always loved our native plants and – once upon a time – worked at an organic garden center that was one of the few (at that time) in the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex that offered native plants. Yes, I once had over 150 antique and heirloom roses. But I also incorporated a variety of native plants. Yes, my garden now grows fruits and vegetables. But I still love native plants and try to squeeze in as many as possible. I am not a purist. I don’t personally believe that the average home garden has to be 100 percent native plants to be beneficial. I believe that every bit of habitat we can provide for wildlife is important. I believe that one can have entirely native prairie plants or a mix of native and non-native plants. Every action to preserve or restore habitat is important, no matter how small.

My garden is located in Denton county, just north of Dallas and Fort Worth, in the Cross Timbers and Prairies Ecological Region. This area was originally a combination of prairie and woodland, both of which provided a lush habitat for a large number of mammals and birds. Alas. As the song goes, “They paved paradise and put in a parking lot.” They also paved paradise and put in a major north-south interstate, I-35. One can drive from the southern border of Texas, past my garden just north of Dallas-Fort Worth, and all the way north to Minnesota. This central section of America is a major flight path for many migratory birds, as well as the now threated monarch butterfly. A road trip game of I Spy will net you a lot of billboards, fast food restaurants and acres of cultivated farmland, but very little wildlife habitat, either preserved or restored. This midsection of America is crucial for the survival of many birds and butterflies, which is why it is so important to plant native plants whenever possible – whether it be in the home garden, school garden or local nature center.

What can the average suburban or urban landowner do to counter all of that pavement and help restore lost habitat? Quite a bit, actually, just by reducing our lawn size and putting in a few native plants that provides much needed food and shelter. Or go a step or two further and put in a pocket prairie, a native prairie garden on less than an acre. This can be a small residential front yard or an entire backyard, whatever fits your style. In the ever-expanding sea of concrete throughout the central portion of America, every bit is important.

Andy and Sally Wasowski’s books on native plants and naturalistic gardening (shown above) were some of the first books that I bought after we purchased our home. They have been my inspiration and guide, both are books I go back to time and again. Some of the beautiful flowers I first learned about from Native Texas Plants are shown and briefly described below.

Penstemon tenuis, aka Gulf coast penstemon, shown below, is a great example of how fluid and ever changing native garden are. I no longer know where this was originally planted in my garden as it has popped up randomly here and there for many, many years. It has never been an aggressive reseeder, though any unwanted plants can easily be dug up and shared with fellow gardeners. This penstemon is extremely easy to grow and the lovely soft lavender color goes with many color schemes, if that is something that interests you. It is always covered with pollinators. This penstemon blooms early in the spring.

Echinacea, shown below, is another plant that moves about my garden and is always covered in pollinators. I leave the old flowerheads on the stalks over winter as songbirds love to feast on the seeds. In late winter I scatter any seeds that remain wherever I would like more to pop up.

Sisyrinchium, aka blue-eyed grass, shown below, is perhaps one of my favorite native plants. I love how dainty and crystal blue the flowers are. This is another early spring bloomer.

Malvaviscus drummondii, aka turk’s cap, shown below, is a highly adaptable plant, growing well in sun or shade and in wet or dry conditions. This is a favorite of hummingbirds and butterflies. It blooms through the heat of summer and up to the first hard freeze.

Callirhoe involucrata, aka winecup, shown below, rambles and scrambles about the garden. It grows from a tuber to form a rosette that then extends every which way. It blooms very early in the spring in my garden. Every few years, I dig out the older overgrown tubers and toss them in the compost pile, allowing the smaller tubers to grow and carry on.

Monarda fistulosa (shown below) is the native, wild growing bee balm. It is harder to find (often sold alongside herbs) but much more hardy than the newer hybridized variations.

A few years ago, I had both the wild bee balm and a hybridized variety growing side by side. The wild bee balm was covered in pollinators while the hybridized one was void of any insects. This was a great chance to witness why the wild varieties are favored by wildlife, as many hybridized plants are bred for color or size and often lack the amount of pollen and nectar that wild plants contain.

I had to save the best for last. My very favorite native plant of all time – Cephalanthus occidentalis, aka buttonbush, shown below. Yes, it does grow naturally along creeks and rivers, but it will grow nicely in a residential yard. Buttonbush can be pruned up to form a small scale tree, much as the non-native crepe myrtle. Buttonbush, however, has amazing, out of this world, blooming orbs!

Buttonbush, shown above and below, is always covered in pollinators when in bloom.

All photographs were taken in my suburban North Texas garden.

gardening, nature

The first snow of the season

suzielinn

“I’ll know I am growing old when I no longer thrill to the first snow of the season.” ~ Lady Bird Johnson

North Texas had their first – and maybe only – snow of the season yesterday, January 9th. Mother Nature’s gift to me on my 57th birthday – inches and inches of white fluffy snow. The forecast called for the snow to end overnight but, at noon, it was still softly falling.

“He brewed his tea in a blue china pot, poured it into a chipped white cup with forget-me-nots on the handle, and dropped in a dollop of honey and of cream. He sat by the window, cup in hand, watching the first snow fall. ‘I am,’ he sighed deeply, ‘contented as a clam. I am a most happy man.'” ~ Ethel Pochocki, from Wildflower Tea

A Texas snow day is the perfect time to slow down, brew a pot of tea, pull out the seed catalogs and dream of warmer days ahead.

“Anyone who thinks that gardening begins in the spring and ends in the fall is missing the best part of the whole year, for gardening begins in January with the dream.” ~ Josephine Neuse

A garden is never “finished” for it is ever evolving, changing over the seasons, as either the gardener or Mother Nature intervenes. I continue on my wellness journey with dreams and plans to grow even more of our food this year, as the work and the harvests nourish and strengthen both my body and soul. I am still enamored with the concept of food forests, mimicking Mother Nature in the suburban fruit and veg garden, but changes will be made this year for I have realized that I tend to let the garden grow feral by late in the summer. I don’t have the heart to pull out the aggressive reseeders. Passionvines that scrambles and smothers everything in its path yet feeds the caterpillars of the gulf fritillary butterfly. An unknown variety of salvia that draws bees from far and wide. Garlic chives that attract and feed late summer butterflies. My solution is to strategically add raised beds, dedicated areas just for vegetables – no aggressive reseeders allowed zones. Will this work? I don’t know. But I am hopeful that this also will give me more areas to grow root crops that struggle in our clay soils. I have amended our soil with organic matter constantly over the nearly 30 years at this property but it simply remains too heavy in wide sections of the property. If nothing else, it further proves that, yes, a crazy plant lady lives here!

“I suppose it all started with the snow. You see, it was a very special kind of snow — a snow to make the happy happier and the giddy even giddier… for it was the first snow of the season. And as any child can tell you, there’s a certain magic to the very first snow.” ~ Romeo Muller’s Frosty the Snowman

“I wonder if the snow loves the trees and fields, that it kisses them so gently? And then it covers them up snug, you know, with a white quilt; and perhaps it says, ‘Go to sleep, darlings, till the summer comes again.'” ~ Lewis Carroll’s Through the Looking-Glass And What Alice Found There

I have collected Campania statuary for more than a quarter of a century now, which is an odd thing to say. A quarter of a century. Y2K. Wasn’t that just yesterday?

The birdbath above is not mine, though it presently resides in my front garden, a daily reminder to live each day to the fullest. I am bird bath sitting for a friend, married in the year 2000, as her life has taken some unexpected turns due to cancer and fulfilling dreams. We worked together many moons ago, pre-motherhood for both of us. Our children are grown now, though in my mind my boy still loves Ralph, the motorcycle riding mouse. (Photograph below.)

The year 2000 seems so long ago and yet feels like yesterday. My friend and I now share a connection no one wants – both of our husbands have cancer. I am reminded of the quote, “To plant a garden is to believe in tomorrow.” Gardening is an act of hope – an act of defiance! – that even though dark days may lie ahead, spring will come again. And with it, the season of renewal, of rebirth. Just as the plants again spring forth from the ground, so does our belief in tomorrow. It’s no coincidence that seed catalogs flood our mailboxes in the longest nights of winter.

While I have battled chronic autoimmune issues most of my life, my husband had always been so healthy. In a blink of an eye, that changed. One beautiful sunshiny May day in 2024, he was healthy. The next day, he was a cancer patient.

My husband is a hardcore cyclist, often biking 50 or more miles after working a full day in the office. Biking is in his veins. He loves the adrenaline of the open road, powered by his own two legs and the energy within two thin wheels.

I have a thing for old wheels. I, too, love the energy that is held within each circle, though from a philosophical point of view and not a physical one. In the weeks after my husband’s diagnosis, I stacked up the old bike wheels scattered about my garden and created a trellis of hope. (Photograph above.) The energy within each simple wheel is the energy that powers us through life. My trellis of hope is leaning a bit at the moment, a wayward passionvine is frozen in place, but it still brings me comfort and peace. None of us make it out of this life without some troubles and traumas. We can either perish under the weight or we can ride on, looking for sunnier days ahead.

“The first fall of snow is not only an event but it is a magical event. You go to bed in one kind of world and wake up to find yourself in another quite different, and if this is not enchantment, then where is it to be found? ~ J. B. Priestley

(All photographs taken today, Friday, January 10, 2024, in my southern Denton County, Texas, garden.)

gardening

Goodbye 2024

suzielinn

As 2024 closes out, I find myself wandering about the garden, reflecting on what this year has been and looking ahead to 2025. I am filled with a gardener’s optimism at new opportunities and new adventures that await in the coming year.

2024 was a year of lessons and growth, filled with good times and challenges and many unforgettable moments.

Perhaps the most unforgettable moment of all was in January when we (finally!) removed three large cedar elms from the back section of my gardens. (Photo below…) The trees sprouted some years prior, seeds blown in from a neighbor’s tree. As junk trees tend to do, these grew fast and furious, a daunting task to cut down.

This is forever an unforgettable moment as the last of the three trees twisted as it fell and landed with a Plop. Right in the neighbor’s in-ground hot tub! Thankfully the tree didn’t damage anything and the neighbor wasn’t too upset at us. But it was quite a chore getting the tree up and out of the water and up and over the fence.

The trees were cut into long sections and now edge my latest vegetable bed. (Photo below…) I had plans to construct a greenhouse out of an old metal gazebo but record rainfall this spring led to a rather lush garden by June and I didn’t have the heart to remove or cut back any of the plants to make room for the project. Perhaps this will be my first project of 2025, as nothing is stronger than a gardener’s wintertime optimism.

2024 was my 29th year gardening this same patch of earth and what a year it was – for rain! By early June, the ground was so saturated and water was standing the entire length of our property along the west side of our house. I ended up digging a trench to push the water away from our garage to the ditch that runs behinds our property line. (Photo below…) Eventually, I will need to decide what to do with the trench – fill it in with soil or construct a dry creek bed? It currently sits much the way it was in June, though thankfully drier now.

This last day of 2024, we are now roughly six weeks past our average first freeze of the season, a good example of the extremes that make up an average. We have been down near freezing a few times and have even had a few mornings with a light frost on the ground, but nothing cold enough – or not cold for long enough – to kill off tender plants. Sure, the tomato plants look brutal, nearly ten months now since their planting date, and the harvests are much smaller now, but these bonus harvests are such a treasure in wintertime. (Photo below…) Eggplant and peppers are also still growing and producing, though the first full week of January looks to finally bring us a killing freeze.

Not to be outdone by the tender vegetables, even the tropical mandevilla vine is still blooming. (Photo below…)

One of my gardening goals for 2025 is to reign in the self-seeding passionvine. I have vowed to only let a handful grow, as they have a habit of popping up everywhere and scrambling over everything in their path. I love the blossoms and the fact that the vine is the host plant for the gulf fritillary butterfly. Alas. The vines sure can get out of hand by the end of summer! Our weather has been so mild lately that a few caterpillars are still munching down on the foliage.

This spring and early summer, many of my noontime meals were entirely from my garden, though the heat of summer and sudden switch from too much rain to not a drop of rain was quick and intense and brutal on the garden. Fall rains have been nicely spaced out and many of the “winter greens” are doing quite well, including the Red Dragon cabbage. (Shown in photo below…)

Red Giant mustard (shown below) is also doing very well. In 2025, I would like to write more about my chronic health issues and what prompted me to switch from ornamental gardening to edible gardening, along with my reasons for growing vibrantly hued vegetables.

I planted a number of dwarf ornamental pomegranates (shown below) about six years ago when I was in transition – a former ardent rose gardener but not yet a veg and fruit gardener. I have yet to decide what to do about these pomegranates. Yes, they are beautiful! Alas. The fruits are not suitable to eat and they are taking up valuable real estate. I have since planted a number of edible pomegranates, though they are still a few years away from producing a crop.

And on that note – Here’s to a healthy and active new year. May 2025 be filled with many happy days spent in the garden, either hard at work or simply meandering about barefoot. Be well, my gardening friends.

(The first two photographs were taken in January 2024. The third photo was taken in June 2024. The remaining photographs were taken December 30, 2024. All photos taken in my southern Denton County, Texas, garden.)

gardening

November comes and November goes…

suzielinn

November comes and November goes and with it, 2024 is nearing its end.

One frenetic month to go before we usher in a new year, a new beginning, a time when hope springs eternal and the seed catalogs flood the mailbox and the promise of a new gardening year begins again.

November comes
      And November goes,
      With the last red berries
      And the first white snows.
With night coming early,
      And dawn coming late,
      And ice in the bucket
      And frost by the gate.
The fires burn
      And the kettles sing,
      And earth sinks to rest
      Until next spring.
~Elizabeth Coatsworth

Thankfully my North Texas garden hasn’t seen snow yet – or even frost by the gate – as Elizabeth Coatsworth’s poem flows. Our earth never truly sinks to rest as it does it does in colder gardening climates. Winter gardening in this region can be that Lagniappe – that extra little something – Mother Nature’s way of saying, “You made it through another Texas summer! Here is a little extra, your reward, a little something.” Some gardeners retreat inside, happy to curl up with a cup of hot tea and dream of the spring garden… Others are planting collard greens and kale and preparing new garden beds for the seasons ahead. Both are perfectly acceptable. That is the joy of gardening – You do you! Because… She who plants a garden plants happiness.

(Photo above: I am always on the hunt for preowned garden items, whether from estate sales, thrift stores or antique markets. This little plaque came from an estate sale, out of a dusty old greenhouse. Oh, how I wish I knew the gardener! But her spirit lives on now in my garden.)

You Do You may well be my garden motto, though I am quite unsure how to put that in the first person. My garden is unique. Not everyone’s cup of tea. But I am good with that. I garden for my self – both for my physical health and my mental health. This year, I opened my garden for three garden tours, two formal tours and one very informal tour. Each time I had the same apprehension. I know my garden can be… a bit much. But I love it that way. It is free spirited, much like myself. A bit wild around the edges.

Last year, I joined the local garden club, which is still in its very early years of existence. For background: We bought our home 29 years ago, knowing how I wanted to garden. For that reason, we sought out a property tucked away from street view and without an HOA. Our property – and my garden – are not the norm for this area and especially not for this suburban garden club. When I offered my garden as a stop along their progressive supper/garden tour, it was with a disclaimer: My garden was anything but a standard suburban garden! The garden club visited my garden in early May, the final stop of the evening and the ladies lingered over tea and homemade rosemary orange cake. The feedback was all lovely and I do hope that many were encouraged to think outside the box, to have some fun in their own gardens.

A few years after we bought our home, I attended a garden club’s plant sale in a nearby suburb. I loved the club and the gardeners so much that I decided to join, as our suburb was still small at the time and we didn’t yet have a club. This year marks my 25th year as a member of that garden club and the third time I have opened my gardens for a tour.

I have said before that gardeners are a fickle lot when it comes to the weather, so it goes without saying… Between the first garden tour in May and this second garden tour five weeks later, it rained….

And rained.

And rained.

We swung from historic drought to historic flooding rains in a matter of weeks. Our garage flooded for the first time ever. Two days before the June tour, I was up to my ankles in mud, digging a trench along the side of our property, trying to get the water to drain away from the house, in hopes that the main path to the back gardens would dry out enough to make it passable for garden visitors.

As more rain was falling and even more rain was forecast, I spent the day before the tour hauling in mulch and placing a new stepping stone path along the other – slightly higher – side of the house.

With even more rain falling, I decided on Plan C.

I posted a note on the front door: Please come through the house. Don’t worry about tracking in mud. Seriously. Do Not Worry! Mud Happens!

The rain that fell that June morning would be the last that my garden would see until late October. But that June day was glorious. The rain cleared off, the sun came out and I had 80 or so garden club members through my garden.

The third garden tour of the year was quite unexpected and very informal. A neighbor wanted to organize a block party over the Fourth of July weekend and asked if we would mind if it was held outside our home, our property being tucked away at the end of the subdivision and away from vehicular traffic. I had long assumed that most of our neighbors simply put up with me, the eccentric gardener at the end of the street, so I was unprepared for all the requests for garden tours. I didn’t have the chance to reign in the weeds or to tuck in some of the crazy…

(… because every free spirited garden needs a disco ball!)

But – from what I heard – the gardens lived up to everyone’s expectations of what the rest of my gardens would look like. From the driveway food forest to the (shh… back garden annex…), the neighbors loved what they saw. A little fun, a little wild, packed full of plants of every sort.

I don’t know quite how it happened, but then – in a blink of an eye – that early July day is now… almost December? Summer and autumn went by much too fast.

(Photo above: This morning’s harvest, what may be the last of the summer vegetables from 2024.)

I heard a bird sing
In the dark of December,
A magical thing,
And sweet to remember:
“We are nearer to spring
Than we were in September.”
~Oliver Herford

The first seed catalog arrived in the mail just a few days ago and I have yet to find time to sit down and dream and plot and plan, but I know cold wet days are ahead and seed catalogs always make one feel hopeful and cozy when most needed. The garden walk this morning was good for the soul, a sunny yet crisp cold day, this last day of November.

(Photo above: cypress vine growing over a pepper plant.)

By this time of year, the gardens are late season feral and overgrown, vines scampering and rambling, smothering everything in their path. It makes harvesting an adventure, a real life Jumanji meets Easter egg hunt. I have made a mental note to keep the vines in check next year, to not let them get out of control. But I know… I will see them in full bloom, hummingbirds and butterflies flitting about, and let them be. You do you. And this is me.

This morning, I harvested roselle hibiscus, which I will dehydrate to use this winter in teas and in dying papers and fabrics.

November is usually such a disagreeable month…as if the year had suddenly found out that she was growing old and could do nothing but weep and fret over it. This year is growing old gracefully…just like a stately old lady who knows she can be charming even with gray hair and wrinkles. We’ve had lovely days and delicious twilights. This last fortnight has been so peaceful…. ~ Lucy Maud Montgomery

The garden is growing old gracefully this year. We have had cold nights, but have yet to have a freeze. The roses (above) and salvias (below) are still blooming, as if they know December and colder days are coming. But, until then… I am out enjoying the garden, feral as it is.