In Love with Coneflowers

Have I ever mentioned how much I like coneflowers?

I have a few different cultivars, but the hardiest and most prolific ones in my garden are the native species Echinacea purpurea.

They self-seed and multiply each year in different parts of my garden, but they especially love my little sidewalk garden at the front of the house.

Butterflies have been scarce this year, but I can always count on the coneflowers to attract any butterflies that might be in the area.

As soon as they begin to bloom, the butterflies suddenly appear, as if by magic.

Butterflies like the large flowers for "landing pads," a nice spot to rest for a bit and get a snack, do a little sunbathing, and maybe even meet some new friends.

Butterflies aren't the only creatures attracted to coneflowers.  

Most times of the day, this swath of coneflowers is swarming with bumblebees!

Other bees enjoy them, too.

There is plenty of room for two to share the pollen!

I was so excited to see what I thought was a Monarch one day.  But after posting this on Facebook, I was told this was actually a Viceroy--see the tell-tale horizontal line on its hind wing?

But I finally saw the real deal this week--my first Monarch sighting of the year!

I hope to see more as well as other butterfly friends--there are plenty of coneflowers to share!

Have I mentioned before how much I love coneflowers?  Yes, I probably have--and more than once.  But every June and July when they bloom, I fall in love all over again.

Next week is the annual Bloggers' Fling in Minneapolis.  I was really looking forward to going, especially since I spent my first two years of college in the area and enjoyed going to "the Cities" whenever I could.  Unfortunately, however, I had a conflict with a previous commitment--I'll be in D.C. with my daughter next week.  To my friends who are going to the Fling, I'll miss re-connecting with you, but enjoy your time in one of my favorite cities in the Midwest!

GGBD: What Do You Call a Plethora of Coneflowers?

I arrived home from Portland after midnight Monday night and am still trying to get back into my usual routine.  Three days of non-stop garden viewing--what an incredible experience!  As soon as I can get all my photos organized, I'll share some of these amazing gardens with you.  What I will tell you now, though, is that Portland has to be a gardener's paradise--I'm convinced that they can grow almost anything, and that plants grow bigger and better in the Pacific Northwest than anywhere else. 

But yesterday was Garden Bloggers' Bloom Day, and I didn't want to miss out, even though my camera needs re-charging as much as I do, and I haven't taken many photos at home.  There are lilies blooming galore, including the first 'Stargazer,' which was a lovely welcome home yesterday morning.  Phlox, hydrangeas, cosmos, a few zinnias,  and one lone little purple poppy are creating a riot of color in the garden on this July Bloom Day.  But what everyone notices first in my garden are the purple coneflowers.  This is one plant that, if I may say so, grows as well in the Midwest, if not better, as in Portland.

When I say I have an abundance of coneflowers, I am not exaggerating.  I leave the plants standing in the fall for the birds, and the cold, harsh winter this past year must have been ideal for them.  I pulled a few and gave away others, but I didn't have the heart to really thin them. 

And they're everywhere! This started me thinking--if we have names for groups of animals, like a gaggle of geese or a murder of crows, why not a name for a large group of plants as well?  I might call this a sea of coneflowers in the sidewalk bed.

Or a profusion of coneflowers in the roadside bed.

How about a medley of coneflowers in the Arbor Bed?

I don't have many cultivars, other than this 'Big Sky Sunset' and the 'White Swan' above.  Almost all the coneflowers are the common Echinacea Purpurea, or else we might call them a myriad of coneflowers.

I like alliteration, so perhaps a good term would be a conglomeration of coneflowers.

Or a convocation of coneflowers?

From a different perspective, a pulpit of coneflowers sounds appropriate.

Or another point of view--perhaps a stage of coneflowers?

More alliteration--possibly, a collation of coneflowers.

Or maybe a congregation of coneflowers?

A caboodle of coneflowers sounds playful to me.

As you can see, when the coneflowers bloomed, the butterflies seemed to magically appear as well.  I followed the first Monarch with my phone as it fluttered from one bloom to another.  Maybe the best choice for a term in this case would be a delight of coneflowers.

For the bees, though, the garden has become a buffet of coneflowers.

They, too, are happy to see these flowers and might call them a delirium of coneflowers.

Perhaps a new word altogether needs to be coined to describe such a bounty of blooms, such as a conflabulation of coneflowers.  Whatever you want to call this abundance, you can see why coneflowers are not only my favorite flower, but a favorite of so many beautiful creatures in my garden as well.

Thanks to Carol of May Dreams Gardens for hosting this each month and giving us a showcase for sharing blooms from all over the world.

Garden Lessons Learned in 2013

Happy New Year, everyone!  I hope that you enjoyed the holidays and were able to spend time with friends and family.  I noticed a considerable drop in blogging the past month, myself included.  Besides the usual rush of Christmas activities, I was hit with a respiratory virus right before Christmas that kept me down for more than a week.  Thanks to some antibiotics, I'm finally on the mend. Now that I've finally got a little more energy and with the holiday rush over, I plan to catch up on reading blogs as well as posting a little more often.

I had planned to join Plant Postings' seasonal meme on lessons learned in the garden this past autumn.  Since I didn't make the December 20 deadline, I'm going to look back at the year overall and focus on one special aspect of the garden that has become more and more appealing to me.

I've learned that a garden isn't just for me--it supports a host of wildlife who enjoy it--and need it--just as much as I do. The creatures who inhabit or visit the garden have taught me as many valuable lessons as planting and weeding have.

 Lesson #1:  Even the seemingly ordinary can contain small miracles.  I was pruning the Knockout roses this spring when I noticed this strange growth on one of the branches.  A quick photo was taken and compared to internet images; sure enough, this is a mantis egg case, the first I'd ever seen.  Unfortunately, I didn't notice an abundance of praying mantises this year, compared to past years, but I'm sure they were around, had I continued to pay more careful attention.

Another small miracle that I did pay more careful attention to was this dove nesting in the old lilac. My husband first noticed her while mowing, and pointed out her nest to me as well as to the grandkids when they visited. 

She seemed unperturbed by our attention, and since her nest was just a foot above eye level,  it was easy to see. We watched the amazing miracle over the next few weeks as she cared for the babies who emerged until they became fledglings who eventually left the nest.

Lesson #2: Sometimes we're too busy focusing on the task at hand to notice what is right in front of our faces.  I know I'm not the only one who has photographed a flower only to discover when I downloaded my pictures a little winged creature I hadn't even noticed at the time. 



I enjoy watching the bees busily flying about in my garden, but they're not the easiest creatures to photograph, especially honeybees and the smaller bees. I always think it's serendipity when one pauses at just the right second as the camera shutter clicks.

Lesson #3: Just as with the garden, there is always something new to be learned when it comes to wildlife.  While I know we have had foxes around our farm before, this summer was the first time one ventured close enough for me to see it on a regular basis.  For a month or two, she/he (and oftentimes with its mate) would stroll across the front yard every evening before disappearing into the cornfield.

Despite the fox's often unsavory reputation in fables and fairy tales, I think they're beautiful creatures.  I spent many a summer evening watching her as she watched me, each keeping our distance.

Lesson #4: Even the smallest of creatures often knows more about Nature than I do.  The woolly worm is a weather prognosticator for many of us.  When I saw several of these this fall, I decided I'd better be prepared for a bad winter--the black head and tail, according to folklore, means a cold beginning and end to winter with a lot of snow in between.  So far, his forecast has been accurate.

Lesson #5: There is a reason I leave most of the garden standing over the winter instead of cutting back everything in the fall. 

Fall is always such a busy time that I never complete all my projects anyway, but I often consider doing some cutting back just to make things look a little tidier through the cold months.  The goldfinches, however, confirmed my decision--dried seedheads have their own usefulness and beauty.

Lesson #6: Patience.  Although this lesson is taught over and over again in the garden, there is nothing quite like trying to photograph a hummingbird to teach you patience.  I've tried for years to get a decent photo of a hummingbird in flight and finally managed to get a couple this year. The pictures weren't that great, but I was happy.

These little birds just fascinate me.  It was a great year for hummingbirds, and I spent many hours watching them dance in the air and holding one-sided conversations with them.  We had a warm fall, and they stayed longer than usual--into late September.  I hope they arrived safely at their winter homes, and I hope they remembered the chatty lady on the porch who will have the feeders ready for them again this summer.

Lesson #7: Optimism.  While it was a great year for hummingbirds, it wasn't such a great year for butterflies.

So few appeared this summer that I was beginning to worry what had happened to them all.  Finally, as summer turned into fall, Painted Ladies, Red Admirals, and Buckeyes came to visit the garden, reminding me to never give up hope.

Fall also brought visits from my favorite butterfly and my favorite photo from 2013.  What is it about the majestic Monarch that fascinates us so?  The scientific research about its life cycle and yearly migration is certainly interesting, but even without that, I am in awe of its beauty.  Nothing makes me stop to really live in the moment as does the appearance of a Monarch.

The wildlife that visited my garden this past season taught me many lessons, but most of all they taught me to appreciate all the little miracles of Nature and to really live in the moment.  I look forward to their return this spring, but in the meantime there are the winter birds to watch . . .

. . . and, of course, the "wildlife" that live here year-round.  

Wishing you all a year filled with new experiences in your garden and the joy and peace that Nature can bring.

Wildflower Wednesday: Planning for Next Season

It's Wildflower Wednesday, and usually at this time of year I still have one dependable wildflower blooming--Aster pilosus, also known as Frost Aster.

Frost Aster in October 2012

But not this year.  My husband has been on a weeding and trimming mission around all the farm buildings this past month, and the only remnants of this weedy wildflower were a few puny specimens whose blooms had already turned to fluffy seedheads.  That's too bad, not only because the bees enjoy the nectar of this late-season bloomer, but the name is so appropriate this week.  We had our first hard frost Monday night, and overnight all the annuals turned to mush.

What I do have this week are two late blooming coneflowers that seem unfazed by the cold.  The little specks of white on the center disk are the remains of the frost two hours after sunrise. The frost has jolted me from my denial that winter might be on the way and shifted my fall garden chores into high gear.  I've brought in some annuals to overwinter and transplanted some perennials from containers into the garden.  A few spring bulbs have been planted, but many more need to be planted, not to mention a clean-up of the garden in general.

Prairie Area at Chicago Botanic Garden, Spring '09

Also on the fall to-do list is some seed planting.  It may seem strange to plant seeds at this time of year, especially here in zone 5-6, but many wildflowers need cold stratification to germinate.  I first saw Golden Alexanders, Zizia aurea, at the Chicago Botanic Garden during Spring Fling in '09, and was so taken with them.  But it wasn't until this spring that I finally purchased some seeds from Prairie Moon Nursery.  By the time it was dry enough here to plant them, however, it was also too warm, so I decided to wait until this fall.

Image from Prairie Moon Nursery website

Golden Alexanders not only provide these pretty yellow blooms, but they are an important source of nectar in the spring for short-tongued bees, wasps, and other insects.  Bumblebees, small butterflies, and the caterpillars of several butterflies and moths, including the Black Swallowtail, also visit these plants for nourishment.

Image from Prairie Moon website

Included in my order from Prairie Moon was a free packet of seed for Ascelpias incarnata, also known as Swamp Milkweed.  I've been wanting to plant some type of milkweed for some time, and these pretty rosy blooms look different enough from the common milkweed that grows freely around here that I don't think my husband will mistake them for "weeds."  Swamp Milkweed is the only Illinois milkweed that favors wetland conditions, so I will definitely have to be careful about keeping this watered during the summer.

According to Illinois Wildflowers, Swamp Milkweed is a favorite of a whole host of insects, butterflies, caterpillars, and even hummingbirds.  But for me, the main reason for planting milkweed is for this creature...

A late visitor this past weekend--I certainly hope he made it safely out of the area before the frost!

As most readers know, the number of Monarch butterflies has been in serious decline in recent years.  There are many factors which have contributed to this decline, some of which we have no control over.  But one way in which we as individuals can help this magnificent butterfly is to provide more of its host plant. I'm going to sow some of the Swamp Milkweed seeds as well as the Golden Alexanders and some other wildflower seeds I have this fall, and then sow the rest in late winter over the snow, which has proven successful with poppies and larkspur in the past.  I don't know which timing will be the most successful, but I hope at least one of these, if not both, will provide the pollinators with some important food sources next year.

Wildflower Wednesday is hosted the fourth Wednesday of every month by our hostess at Clay and Limestone.  Thanks, Gail, for reminding us of the importance of planting for all the important little creatures that visit our gardens!