The Hummingbird Photo Studio

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Here’s a little story about hummingbird photography. You see, my deck pots at the cottage here on Lake Muskoka north of Toronto are not intended to be beautiful. If they were, I’d buy some of the spectacular hanging baskets that the garden centres sell, plop them in and just enjoy the colour and texture. That way, I’d have more time to swim, read, write and drink wine. No, instead I use my containers to lure hummingbirds in order to photograph them on favourite flowers for the stock photo library that is my business. That’s why I call the containers my “motley pots”. They don’t match – in fact they’re a bit ugly – but they do the job.

For many years, I’ve been buying “hummingbird groceries” in spring, i.e. food for the ruby-throated hummingbird. I don’t have a sugar feeder, but my lake neighbours do, so my groceries are plants. I’ve learned which species they like (purple lantana, cuphea), which they love (agastaches), and which they prefer above all others (most tender sages).

Their favourite would be Salvia guaranitica ‘Black & Blooms’ (or the similar ‘Black & Blue’). This tender sage is not easy to find in Toronto so I’ve been digging it up in autumn and taking it to the city, where it spends winter in pots in my basement laundry tubs under a window, dreaming of Argentina. I water it occasionally and it sends up growth all winter. In mid-spring, I cut it back to the new sprouts and bring it back to the cottage. Provided it gets watered and no frost occurs, it’s raring to go again by July.

Other hummingbird favourites in my pots this year are Cuphea Funny Face, below, and some Agastache aurantiaca cultivars in pink, apricot and yellow that I seeded myself in the city rather late in spring, so they’re still small but will be good by mid-August. I will leave these to drop seed, because they’re excellent self-seeders, even in pots. And when I was at the garden centre in May, I bought some red petunias (Supertunia Really Red). I didn’t think they’d be good for hummingbirds but as a plant photographer, a new plant purchase is never a waste for me. Surprisingly, the hummingbirds seem to appreciate them too!

And I tucked in a few plants of Verbena bonariensis Meteor Shower for their airy blossoms which the bumble bees adore, but it’s not a great hummingbird plant. Here it is with a compact form of S. guaranitica, Bodacious Rhythm & Blues that I bought this spring at the Toronto Botanical Garden’s plant sale.

But the big score this summer are my plants of the biennial standing cypress, Ipomopsis rubra (so-called because its ferny leaves resemble those of cypress trees). I had photographed this plant, a native of the U.S. in the alpine garden at the Montreal Botanical Garden, below, so I knew I could grow it.

But seed I’d purchased from a seedhouse did not germinate; it took fresh seed donated by my friend, seed maven Kristl Walek in Brockville, Ontario to do the trick. I sowed the seed in 2020, and last summer (2021) there were lots of little ferny rosettes here and there in my sandy, granitic soil. Kristl warned me they’re very hard to transplant when bigger, so I dug up a few of the small rosettes and carefully put them in 6-inch pots filled with gravelly soil, below. In late autumn before the ground froze, I dug a hole behind the cottage and placed the pots inside, surrounding them with pine needles and mulching the tops with pine needles, too. We had a cold, cold winter (it even killed the spongy/gypsy moth eggs) but lots of snow cover – perfect for insulating the plants.

This spring after the soil thawed, I dug up the pots and very carefully transplanted the little plants into my deck pots in soil amended with sand and gravel. I watered them in and away they went. This morning, the tallest is 54 inches high and 4 inches wide, much bigger than those in the dry meadows. I call them my Dr. Seuss plants. I even staked them so they wouldn’t break in our summer storms!

And the hummingbird loves them! Yesterday, I managed to do some still photos with my camera…..

….. but I wanted a little video too. After sitting for more than an hour and having the hummingbird fly in, spot me, then fly away, I decided to set up my camera on a tripod. Then I went in and made coffee. I went outside periodically and turned off the video and started a new one. Finally, five videos in, I spotted her from the kitchen. I went to the door with my cell phone to watch and after drinking her fill of Ipomopsis, she moved on to the red petunias and cuphea. I videotaped that part with my phone! (I’ll get closer with my zoom lens later this summer.)

The camera video of the standing cypress isn’t spectacular, but it will do. (I will increase the frames-per-second in the settings for future videos). I actually saved it first as a high-res movie, then as a smaller computer-resolution video. The original had the happy screams of the kids across the bay swimming and also a few wind gusts. In the second, I ditched the kids and the wind and added some music by TRG Banks. It’s not perfect — I’m a photographer, not a videographer — but it’s a good start!

All in all, a good morning in the hummingbird studio. Oh, and here’s an older video of my hummingbirds from previous years!

May at Chanticleer Garden-Part 1

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One of my great pleasures when travelling is to photograph gardens along the way, and no garden is more deserving of a stop than my favourite small garden in North America,  Chanticleer Garden in Wayne, PA. So when we were returning from New Jersey on May 23rd, I spent 3 hours touring and photographing, beginning in the fabulous Teacup Garden near the entrance.  Back in June 2014 when I wrote my 2-part blog on Chanticleer (see Part 1 and Part 2), this garden was completely different. Designed anew each year by horticulturist Dan Benarcik, on this May day it was a tropical extravaganza with the teacup fountain at its centre and four sturdy pillars creating a sense of enclosure.

It was lush and lovely with ‘Black Thai’ banana (Musa balbisiana), left; red-leaved Imperial bromeliad, (Alcantarea imperialis), centre; and broad-leaved lady palm (Rhapis excels), right.

I climbed the staircase with the dogwood-motif railing, fabricated by horticulturist Joe Henderson. Beside it grew tree philodendron (Thaumatophyllum bipinnatifidum).

It was a good vantage point to look back on the Teacup Garden from the start of the Upper Border….

….. with its long, flanked, mostly white flower beds.  Shade-dappled in the morning light and bisected by a simple mown path, it was illuminated with the fabulous annual Orlaya grandiflora.

Here and there, the orlaya was paired with bearded irises, including lovely ‘Aunt Mary’, below.

Through the border you can glimpse the pretty building that now contains Chanticleer’s administration offices and classrooms.  The estate itself dates from 1913, when it became the summer home of Adolph Rosengarten Sr., his wife Christine and their children Adolph Jr. and Emily. Like many wealthy Philadelphians, the area along the Main Line of the Pennsylvania Railroad became a sylvan retreat from the heat of the city.  The building below was erected in 1935 as a wedding gift for Emily.

Rosengarten & Sons was one of the oldest chemical manufacturers in the U.S. Established in 1822, it took over the plant and assets of a similar firm in 1904 to form Powers, Weightman, Rosengarten Co. In 1927 the company merged with financially-troubled Merck & Co. of Rahway, NJ, with George Merck as president and Frederic Rosengarten, Adolph’s brother, as chairman of the board. By then, Adolph Rosengarten Sr. – who became the largest Merck shareholder—and his family had converted Chanticleer to their principal home. In 1942, the fortunes of Merck & Co. – already a chemical powerhouse – would increase substantially with the first successful treatment of an American patient suffering from septicemia with the new drug penicillin. Discovered by Sir Alexander Fleming in 1928, it was “the marvellous mold that saves lives”, but it would take a huge effort by the major pharmaceuticals, including Merck, to develop it commercially.   

Back to the Upper Border, I also enjoyed seeing the spectacular Allium schubertii, here with Salvia ‘Summer Jewel White’.

In every garden throughout the 50-acre estate (of which 35 acres are open to the public), plant combinations are inspired, such as the white Allium stipitatum ‘Mount Everest’ with eastern columbine (Aquilegia canadensis), below.

Leaving the Upper Border and circling the corner of the administration building, I came upon a lush, textural shade garden composed of hostas and plants with exceptional foliage, like Japanese forest grass (Hakonechloa macra ‘Aureola’) and solomon’s seals (Polygonatum spp.)

Heading towards the lower level, I passed through plantings with sumptuous May peonies, amsonia and old-fashioned weigela.

And I passed a gazebo topped with a weathervane featuring one of the estate’s many “chanticleers”, i.e. rooster in French.  It was Adolph Rosengarten Sr. who named his home after Chanticlere, the estate in William Thackeray’s 1855 novel “The Newcomes”, a place that was “mortgaged up to the very castle windows” but “still the show of the county.”   Today, the 9-member board of Chanticleer Garden includes six Rosengarten relatives.

The stone “railings” of the staircase to the Tennis Garden feature drought-tolerant plantings of lantana and Sedum rupestre ‘Angelina’.  In the background is Calycanthus x raulstonii ‘Hartlage Wine’.

The Tennis Garden has had a revamp since I saw it in 2014. Now the beds are designed to look like the sweeps of a tennis racket, recalling the days when the Rosengartens played here.   

Heuchera ‘Caramel’ is used as edging along the path to draw the eye through this garden.

It was peony time on May 23rd so the Itoh Interspecific hybrid ‘Bartzella’ was looking luscious.

To one side of the Tennis Garden was the Long Border, which was using the cerise-pink perennial plume thistle (Cirsium rivulare ‘Atropurpureum’). Beside it was the catmint Nepeta ‘Hill Grounds’, with dame’s rocket (Hesperis matronalis) in the background.

What a great combination, the plume thistle with bachelor’s buttons (Centaurea cyanus).

Moving beyond, the Cutting Garden was filled with Allium ‘Purple Rain‘, just fading, and little clouds of dame’s rocket (Hesperis matronalis)…..

…. which looked lovely with peonies, like ‘Prairie Moon’, below.

There is an abundance of striking furniture at Chanticleer, including this bench under a giant katsura tree near the Cutting Garden. Note that the bench has a vegetable motif, with its beet and pumpkin back and carrot legs!

Speaking of edibles, the Vegetable Garden was at its sumptuous peak….

…. including oakleaf lettuce and lots of brassicas.

And though most of the strawberries were still green, I managed to spy a few that were almost ready for eating!

My favourite transition at Chanticleer is the Fallen Tree Bridge, fabricated by Przemek Walczak, who is also the horticulturist for Bell’s Woodland and the upper Creek Garden beyond. The bridge has been enveloped in greenery since the last time I saw it in 2014.

Isn’t this the coolest interior? It leads from the sunny, tended garden areas near the Cutting Garden into the cool, shady woodland where’s Bell’s Run Creek flows.  

A planter is inset into the strut at the shady end of the bridge, complete with a lots of ferns and sedges and a nesting house for leafcutter bees. These are the thoughtful details that make Chanticleer so special.

I knew which trees were overhead because of the beautiful blossoms of tuliptree (Liriodendron tulipifera) scattered on the ground.

I wish I’d had several more hours at Chanticleer to explore the plants of Bell’s Woodland carefully – what a treasure of natives, including….

….. large-flowered valerian (Valeriana pauciflora), below, with northern maidenhair fern (Adiantum pedatum).

Bell’s Woodland has a large collection of clematis vines, all arranged on rustic supports.

Bell’s Run Creek runs through the woods and features myriad marginal aquatic plants, including yellow flag (Iris pseudacorus) with native yellow pimpernel (Taenidia integerrima).

Just when I thought it might be nice to sit and rest my feet, a bench appeared beside a sparkling fountain. Surrounding me were ferns and carpets of candelabra primroses (Primula japonica).

A handsome bridge crossed Bell’s Creek.

Scattered amongst the primroses were moisture-loving perennials, including Siberian iris (I. sibirica ‘Here be Dragons’), below.

Chanticleer uses the fertile fronds of ostrich ferns (Matteucia struthiopteris) to mark the perimeters of certain plantings so gardeners mowing the turf paths don’t damage emerging plants like primroses (or, earlier in spring, camassias).

I don’t know of any other garden that pays so much attention to subtle ways to educate the public, like the plant lists that are available to peruse in each garden area. They can be purchased as paper copies, but are also published online each year.  The detailed plant lists obviate the need for plant labels.

The waterwheel is a relic from the Rosengartens’ time at Chanticleer. It was installed in the 1940s to lift water from the creek to the ornamental fountains on the house terraces.  Today, it merely pumps water to the little fountain in my photo above. Note the delightful iron fence with the ‘fern frond’ motif that echoes the waterwheel’s shape. This is the work of horticulturists Przemck Walczak and Joe Henderson, who crafted it in the garden’s metal shop.

Chanticleer is a master class in paving styles, including this path through the primroses. And I loved the split bamboo hoops inserted as edging.

What a tranquil feeling I had, walking through the Creek Garden woodland……

…. right to the little waterfall, below, leading into the Pond Garden. 

I’ll finish this first part of my blog with a small musical video I made of some of the water features I encountered on this lovely spring stroll through my favourite garden.

Fairy Crown #15-Echinacea & Clematis

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It’s summertime in the city! The days are warm and the garden is abuzz with insects. My 15th fairy crown for July 18th features the romantic hues of purple coneflower (Echinacea purpurea), Clematis viticella ‘Polish Spirit’, drumstick alliums (Allium sphaerocephalon), anise hyssop (Agastache foeniculum) and pink Veronica longifolia.

If you say you’re designing a garden for pollinators in the northeast and you haven’t included purple coneflower (Echinacea purpurea)….

….. your bees and butterflies are missing out on a lot of good pollen and nectar. Native to the mid-central United States, it is easily grown in well-drained, adequately moist soil in full sun.

The insects are attracted to the tiny, yellow disc flowers in the central cone, which open sequentially from outside in over a long period in July-August.

In my long career photographing flora, purple coneflower has always been dependable for capturing bumble bees, because they tend to move slowly across the cone. Bumble bees, honey bees and butterflies with long tongues are especially drawn to purple coneflower. Sometimes I’ll find two or three bumble bees sharing the cone, occasionally with a butterfly

In fact, my business card from the 1990s features Bombus impatiens, the common eastern bumble bee, patiently working the tiny flowers. But not all coneflowers are alike: those with doubled petals or hybrids with the less hardy, yellow-flowered E. paradoxa that produce the apricot, orange and red flowers are not nearly as attractive to pollinators. Stick with the straight species, or with older cultivars like ‘Magnus’ and ‘Rubinstern’ (Ruby Star), both 3-4 feet (90-120 cm) tall.

If purple coneflower likes your garden, it will spread easily… perhaps a little too easily, but seedlings are easy to remove.

You should know, however, that once the bees have finished pollinating the flowers, the nutritious seeds are food for hungry goldfinches in autumn. I have even filmed a downy woodpecker hammering on an echinacea to get at the seeds. That’s why I never cut down my purple coneflowers until late winter and little seedlings everywhere are the result. In my front garden, that hasn’t been a problem, since other perennials and shrubs are well-established, but thinning out the population periodically is necessary. 

Here’s a little video I made a few years ago, illustrating why it’s important not to deadhead your purple coneflowers.

I love anise hyssop (Agastache foeniculum) for its long-lasting, pale-lavender flower spikes….

…..and its superb appeal to butterflies and bees, especially bumble bees. Ultra-hardy and native to much of the north-central U.S. and southern Canada, it is a short-lived perennial but will usually self-seed.

Tucked into my crown are a few dark-mauve drumstick alliums (Allium sphaerocephalon). Native to the UK, southern Europe and north Africa, their egg-shaped inflorescences add a punctuation note to my July pollinator garden, where they attract butterflies and bees.

Over the decades, I’ve watched many clematis vines come and go in my garden, especially the large-flowered hybrids which can develop clematis wilt, leading to their demise. The plants I grow need to be fairly self-reliant and that isn’t always the case with clematis, which also have varied pruning needs according to their flowering type. But among the survivors is a favorite, Clematis viticella ‘Polish Spirit’. Bred in Warsaw in 1984 by the Jesuit priest Stefan Franczak, its name honors the resilient spirit of the Polish people following World War II. 

Masses of velvety, purple flowers appear on twining 8-foot (2.4 m) vines in July and August. My plant is trained on a metal obelisk and flowers appear all the way to the top, where they spill through a reproduction sphere armillary or astrolabe. Like all clematis that flower on new growth (Group C), Clematis viticella and its cultivars should be pruned back hard to just above the third set of plump buds in early spring.

With such a profusion, I never mind cutting a few clematis stems for small nosegays.

Although it doesn’t play a big role in my garden, there are always a few veronicas here and there. Drought-tolerant, low-maintenance and popular with bees, they are durable plants for early summer and make beautiful cut flowers. In my crown is a pale pink sport of V. longifolia ‘Eveline’ that seeded itself, but division of veronicas is a more reliable means of propagation.

Fairy Crown 14-Golden Yarrow & Orange Milkweed

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With summer finally underway on Lake Muskoka, it’s time for a few of the stalwarts of my meadows and garden beds to feature in my 14th fairy crown. ‘Gold Plate’ yarrow (Achillea filipendulina) is hardy, low-maintenance and a dependable presence each July, well into August. I’ve written extensively about orange-flowered butterfly milkweed (Asclepias tuberosa) over the years, and it remains one of my top 3 perennials for pollinator attraction.  At the top of my crown and over my left ear, you can see one of the bumble bees’ favourite weeds:  yellow-flowered St. Johnswort (Hypericum perforatum).  And that pale-pink daisy flower in the centre of my forehead?  That’s lovely pale coneflower (Echinacea pallida), a native perennial I’m trying so hard to naturalize in my meadows – but it takes its own sweet time, and will not be rushed!

As the July nights grow warmer, our cottage screened porch plays host to dinners gathering family members from far away. And the meadows are now full of colorful blossoms that generously yield bouquets for the table. 

Creating informal floral arrangements is one of my favourite pastimes at the lake, using a variety of containers from old ceramic vases purchased for a few dollars at the second-hand store in the nearby town to antique medicine bottles, below, bought at a garage sale.

Early each July, monarch butterflies arrive in my meadows at Lake Muskoka, seemingly drawn by some generational homing instinct to find the orange-flowered perennials that provide not just abundant nectar, but foliage on which to lay their eggs and ultimately feed the caterpillars of the next generation.  

Here’s a little video I made:

That perennial, of course, is butterfly milkweed (Asclepias tuberosa) and it is one of my top 3 plants for pollinator gardening. (The two others will come later in my fairy crowns.)  It provides abundant nectar over a long period to a wide range of bees and butterflies, below.

But there is nothing more gratifying to me than counting all the monarch caterpillars on my milkweed plants, then watching them consume the leaves before disappearing to transform into the beautiful green chrysalis that becomes the butterfly.

With a wide native range from Newfoundland to Minnesota and Colorado and south to Texas and Florida, this is one of the most common milkweed species. In nature, it occurs in prairies, open woods and roadsides; it tolerates a range of soils from clay to limestone. For me, it grows in   the rich loam that was placed selectively in a few garden beds and in the acidic, sandy, well-drained soil of my meadows, below, with purple flowered Verbena stricta.

I’ve even had great germination results from kicking seeds into gravel on the path near our cottage.

It flowers for many weeks in July-August, reaching 2-3 feet (30-60 cm), and is a beautiful cut flower. Though it has a deep tap root and is described as being drought-tolerant, in the sandiest places on our property the leaves and blossoms wilt in a prolonged dry stretch while plants in more moisture-retentive sites thrive. It self-seeds readily, its oval follicles splitting open in fall to release its closely-packed seeds to the wind on delicate parachutes. 

One of the first perennials I planted at the cottage was the old-fashioned fernleaf yarrow Achillea filipendulina ‘Gold Plate’. Tall at 3-4 feet (90-120 cm) with sturdy stems and aromatic foliage, it is low-maintenance, ultra-hardy and bothered by nothing, including deer – unless you count…

….grasshoppers, which use the flat flowerheads as perches throughout summer. I see the odd sweat bee (Halictus ligatus) working the tiny flowers, but this yarrow is not known for its pollinator appeal. I planted it originally in richer soil than most of my meadows, and it generally prefers more moisture than many of my prairie perennials. Picked at the right time, it makes a long-lasting dried flower, keeping its gold color for years.

Pale coneflower (Echinacea pallida) is an enigma in my meadows, and one I’m patiently trying to encourage for its early bloom time, elegant flowers with their narrow, pale-pink petals and attraction to pollinators. This echinacea, originally considered an Ontario native, is now believed to have ‘ridden the rails’ into Canada from tallgrass regions in Iowa and Illinois, as part of freight shipments of “prairie hay” for cattle feed. It is more drought-tolerant than its cousin, purple coneflower (E. purpurea); indeed it flops in soil with too much moisture.  So year by year, I distribute seeds of the plants I have and keep my fingers crossed that one day they’ll be a major presence in my meadows.

St. Johns wort (Hypericum perforatum) is another weed brought to North America by settlers in the 18th century and is abundant in waste places on Lake Muskoka. An aggressive self-seeder and avoided by grazing animals, it is considered an invasive and detrimental weed when it invades rangeland. But try telling that to bumble bees and other native bees that forage busily on it in early summer to gather its abundant brown pollen.  Like dandelions, St. Johns wort is considered a ‘facultative apomict’, meaning it can make seed without fertilization – always a desirable attribute for a weed!

Some days in July as I’m working in the meadow, I hear the familiar “ke-eee” call above; looking up, I see our native broad-winged hawk (Buteo platypterus) wheeling in big circles on the hunt for small rodents and birds. Occasionally, it lands on an oak bough and peers down into the grasses, looking for lunch.

The hawk is just one of many birds on Lake Muskoka, a soundtrack that includes the slightly wonky multi-note song of the song sparrow, below; the pine warbler; red-eyed vireo; eastern phoebe; blue jay; black-capped chickadee; American goldfinch; hermit thrush and many others. Oh! And by the way, if you don’t have the Merlin Bird ID app installed on your phone, what are you waiting for? Such fun to hear that that piercing call is a Great Crested Flycatcher!

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Here are my previous fairy crowns for 2022:
#1 – Spring Awakening
#2 – Little Blossoms for Easter
#3 – The Perfume of Hyacinths
#4 – Spring Bulb Extravaganza
#5 – A Crabapple Requiem
#6 – Shady Lady
#7 – Columbines & Wild Strawberries on Lake Muskoka
#8 – Lilac, Dogwood & Alliums
#9 – Borrowed Scenery & an Azalea for Mom
#10 – June Blues on Lake Muskoka       
#11 – Sage & Catmint for the Bees
#12 – Penstemons & Coreopsis on Lake Muskoka
#13 – Ditch Lilies & Serviceberries

Fairy Crown 13 – Ditch Lilies & Serviceberries

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My 13th fairy crown for July 2nd features a plant I did not choose for my garden; rather, it chose me, tawny daylily (Hemerocallis fulva). As well, there are hosta flowers, the red fruit of serviceberry (Amelanchier canadensis) and crimson-red knautia flowers (K. macedonica).

When we moved to our home in the early ‘80s, a new neighbor spied the orange-flowered plants that crept into the back yard under the fence, along with ostrich ferns. As a gardener, I knew they were daylilies, originally from Asia and botanically named Hemerocallis fulva, but as a former west coaster I was unaware of their uniquely northeastern cultural history.

“They used to call these July 12th lilies,” said my neighbor. When I asked why, she said they were symbolic of Ireland’s 1690 Battle of the Boyne and used by Unionists or “Orangemen” as a floral motif to commemorate the victory of Protestant King William over the deposed Catholic King James.  As one Ontario writer noted: “The planting of Orange lilies in front of one’s property, displayed a family’s Protestant/Orange Lodge status, like flags.”  With Catholic ancestors in Northern Ireland but, as a former west coaster, largely ignorant of historic eastern prejudices, I looked askance at the poor, innocent, orange lilies. But it was their territorial ambition in my garden that bothered me, not their association with old sectarian feuding; they are almost impossible to eradicate. I soon learned that this Asian daylily has been called other uncomplimentary names: ditch lily and outhouse lily. Others call it tawny daylily, 4th of July lily, and plain old orange lily. It is ubiquitous throughout North America, often as an escape around farms where 19th century settlers planted it in their gardens.

Unlike the expensive daylilies I actually planted, tawny daylily overran my border, and its tuberous roots are very hard to eliminate.  In one spot, it flowers near the indigo-blue spikes of monkshood (Aconitum napellus).  It is a survivor, so we co-exist now, with occasional skirmishes to keep it from spreading everywhere.

Knautia macedonica, on the other hand, is one of those unassuming little perennials that seemingly disappear on their own, only to pop up in another spot a year later. Despite being short-lived, I know its seedlings will find a few square inches of soil in my pollinator garden each June, crowded as it is with pushy echinacea, sedum, rudbeckia and sage and catmint now fading. 

Knautia’s crimson-pink, pincushion flowers attract bumble bees, honey bees, and small native solitary bees. I love photographing them in public gardens, their leg sacs weighed down with the most amazing magenta pollen.  

Here it is in my pollinator garden with a busy little bicoloured agapostemon (A. virescens). 

My fairy crown also features the sturdy blossoms of the big, lime-green hosta ‘Zounds’. If you’re a hosta collector, you treasure each and every one, the newer and rarer and more colorful the better. But in my garden, hostas can charitably be described as “useful”; they fill in spaces, are low-maintenance, and the bees love them.

That last part is very important to me, yet not fully appreciated by people who design pollinator gardens. And, strangely, many hosta collectors remove the flowers to focus attention on the leaves. 

Simply put, the flowers of most hostas are nectar-rich and well-suited to the tongues of bumble bees, honey bees, and carpenter bees.  Especially popular with bees are the pale purple blossoms of old-fashioned Hosta ‘Albomarginata’….

…. which forms the edging of my patio and features in my deck garden.

When North America was developing its awareness of native plants in the 1980s, the northeast fell in love with serviceberries. Suddenly, the white spring flowers, edible, dark summer fruit and vivid red-orange fall color were in every ecologically-conscious garden, the species chosen determined by region and commercial availability.  For me, that meant planting a pair of shadblow serviceberries (Amelanchier canadensis) in my side yard, where their autumn leaves would complement those of the Asian paperbark maple (Acer griseum) nearby.  Because their location is not in my everyday view, I sometimes forget to check in early summer to see if the fruit has ripened yet. Waiting too long is a mistake….

….. because robins and cardinals adore serviceberries, and will strip the tree when the fruit is still red, long before you can have a taste.  Needless to say, if you want to attract birds to you garden, you cannot go wrong with a serviceberry! 

There are many other hardy North American species of serviceberry, including smooth or Allegheny serviceberry (Amelanchier laevis), downy serviceberry (A. arborea) and saskatoon berry (A.alnifolia var. alnifolia), which has been bred as a fruit crop in mid-central and prairie regions.  I photograph regularly at Montreal Botanical Garden and their Edibles Garden features a number of cultivars of Saskatoon berry, including ‘Honeywood’ and ‘Thiessen’ below.

Finally, I was born in the city of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan, though my parents left for the west coast of Canada when I was an infant. My birth city was named after the native fruit, “misaskatwomin” – and you can read that story in my 2017 blog titled ‘Wanuskewin – Finding Peace of Mind’.

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If you missed any of my fairy crown blogs thus far, you can find them below:
#1 – Spring Awakening
#2 – Little Blossoms for Easter
#3 – The Perfume of Hyacinths 
#4 – Spring Bulb Extravaganza
#5 – A Crabapple Requiem
#6 – Shady Lady
#7 – Columbines & Wild Strawberries on Lake Muskoka
#8 – Lilac, Dogwood & Alliums
#9 – Borrowed Scenery & an Azalea for Mom
#10 – June Blues on Lake Muskoka
#11 – Sage & Catmint for the Bees
#12 – Penstemons & Coreopsis in Muskoka