Space Invaders

Yellow swallowtail
enjoying Buddleja
'Nanho Blue'

One of the greatest benefits of having a National Wildlife Federation-certified wildlife habitat is all the critters it invites: hummingbirds, songbirds, lizards, butterflies, honeybees and newts, just to name a few.

And one of the greatest drawbacks of having a NWF-certified wildlife habitate is, yes, all the critters it invites: squirrels, gophers, raccoons, yellowjackets, ants and rabbits, jut to name a few.

Lately it seems my nice little domesticated yard has been invaded by wildlife. The ants are colonizing the fruit tree containers; the squirrels are busy burying acorns which the scrub jays promptly excavate; the towhees are kicking my mulch all over the place looking for — well, I don't really know. My Cistus and Heuchera are keeling over since they have no roots anymore, courtesy of the aforementioned gopher; and the aforementioned cute and fuzzy bunny has begun nibbling the Anigozanthos, which is just not cool.

Towhee. So cute. Such a kick.

But this is just how it goes in nature, the joy and the pain of gardening. It's not limited to animals, either: I was amused by the latest issue of Fine Gardening, which on one page explores Connecticut nurseries' self-imposed ban on invasive Berberis, while another page extols the virtues of Berberis among mixed grasses. That article also celebrates Verbena bonariensis' ample reseeding, as in "you'll always have more." But wait: couldn't that be a wonderful euphemism for "invasive"? Apparently we cannot both have our Nasturtium and eat it too.

I've long believed that gardens are chaotic systems, hurtling toward disorder, their entropy both restrained and hastened by our best attempts to own them. I use Berberis all the time for its fall color, its spines, its berries — it is a fantastic ornamental plant for a wildlife habitat. At least, around Palo Alto. In Connecticut, not so much.

Grrrr.

For those of us who feel closely connected to nature, watching this chaos is mesmerizing. We observe the long-term interplay between plants, soil, climate, humans, and other creatures; and find that how we relate with each of these elements defines our relationship with the total landscape. Did they invade my space? Or I theirs?

Whatever that relationship, though, the more we observe, the more wonder we get to experience; and the more we marvel at the life force that can create such a beautiful mess.

Who's Blooming Today: Buddleja 'Lochinch'

I can't tell you how to pronounce it, but I will tell you the 'Lochinch' butterfly bush (pictured here with pink Cistus 'Victor Reiter') is one of my favorite Buddlejas for the garden. Its light blue-gray foliage is a wonderful foil for almost any other color—burgundy Berberis, purple Limonium, white 'Iceberg' rose, orange poppies or Gaillardia—the list goes on.

So, too, do the fragrant blooms, which begin in late May and don't quit until December if I deadhead consistently. It's a vigorous plant: even when cut back hard over winter, it will hit 10 to 12 feet of new growth in a single season. The habit is fairly upright, which makes achieving a vase shape easy if space is limited. And, of course, it attracts butterflies, hummingbirds, bees and other pollinators in droves. (The pale lavender flowers are particularly stunning with yellow swallowtails alighting on them.)

'Lochinch' has performed equally well for me in a part-sun border in loam soil next to an irrigated lawn, and as a solo specimen in a full-sun, full-clay xeriscape. Really, my only complaint is that the leaves are so heavily felted that pruning them can trigger an allergy attack in seconds. Other than that, 'Lochinch' is a standout in any perennial landscape—no matter how you say it.

UPDATE 6/16/09: Don't you love it when the wildlife enters on cue?

When It Rains...

...The ground gets wet
...The plants get happy
...I get featured in the media

Tune in to HGTV this Sunday, 10/21, at 9:30 a.m. to see yours truly on my first episode of "Landscapers' Challenge". Did I pop the champagne corks in victory? Did I cry all the way home in defeat? You'll just have to tune in to see.

What I can tell you is, the yard recently (although too late for filming) was named an official Certified Wildlife Habitat™ by the National Wildlife Federation, because it nourishes and shelters birds, butterflies, and other desirable species. This is a neat program because it encourages designers and homeowners to think beyond just how a yard looks and consider what it does. So I can take comfort knowing that this yard will still be helping its environment long after my ephemeral fame has dried up like yesterday's rain.

Seeing Checkerspots

If you've read my work over at Yelp, you know I'm a fan of Edgewood Park & Natural Preserve. And today there's great news for the park and its friends: as reported by the San Mateo Daily Journal, "The checkerspot butterfly is flying back from the brink of extinction and making its home once again in Edgewood Park — a decade after it disappeared from the San Mateo County natural preserve."

Part of the reason I'm so excited over something so small is that the return of this native species is due pretty much entirely to the efforts of volunteers, who spent years removing invasive ryegrass and other weeds and replacing them with native plants the checkerspot needs for food. That people can — and would — change the world without the motivation of money gives me hope.

Again — am I beating this drum too much? — here is an illustration of the importance of native plants. In our case, the checkerspot mommies lay their eggs on California plantain, an unassuming little thing notable for two reasons: one, it is a primary food for checkerspot larvae; and two, it has adapted to the austere, even toxic, soil created by serpentine stone — with which Edgewood Park is rife. When the ryegrass moved in, it forced the plantain out… and the butterflies followed.

You'll find the long story of the checkerspot, and plant species that tolerate serpentine, elsewhere. But for now, take advantage of these beautiful days and go butterfly watching! I know just the place…

Where Have All The Butterflies Gone?

Just when we were preparing to celebrate the burgeoning population of painted ladies and other butterflies,
"Wild fluctuations in California's winter and spring weather have hurt fragile butterfly populations, causing numbers to fall to the lowest in more than three decades and increasing the concerns of scientists about long-term declines linked to climate change and habitat loss."
The full, depressing story is in the Chronicle.

Uh... Mr. Ball?

George Ball, president of Burpee Seed Co., went on a little rant this weekend in the New York Times. His point, I think, is that proponents of man-made native plantings, whether in private or public settings, have become too dedicated to their cause — "the horticultural equivalent of radical fundamentalists" — and that we should instead celebrate the "petunias, begonias, impatiens and hollyhocks" that apparently make life worth living.

Uh... dude? WTF? I have yet to meet a pro-native gardener or nurseryman who wants us "to stop enjoying the charms of harmless and beautiful plants like Queen Anne's lace, yarrow and chicory." In fact, most pro-native folks I know recognize the value of these non-natives in attracting beneficial organisms such as pollinators and predator wasps to the garden.

But one only needs to glance around the coastal hillsides throughout California to see just how opportunistic "exotics" such as Mr. Ball's own Pink Pampas Grass clearly have overstayed their welcome, leaving little room for any other plant that could actually contribute to the local ecosystem instead of stealing resources like a freeloader grazing his way through Costco. Sorry, Mr. Ball, but to claim that "No one, and certainly no gardener, grows truly destructive invasive plants in his garden," when your own company sells the invasive Cortaderia for home gardens, is delusional. I already have talked one client — an Argentine nostalgic for the pampas of his youth — out of planting this weed, and surely will again.

Perhaps what Mr. Ball meant to say, and I may be taking liberties here, is that no one intends to grow destructive plants. No one wishes to be the object of his neighbors' scorn because his Algerian ivy doesn't respect their property line. No one imagines that their cute little shrub with the lemon-yellow flowers could possibly want to live anywhere but that one spot in her yard. But the next thing you know, the Scotch broom is covering the landscape so thickly as to create a monoculture that suppresses biodiversity up and down the food chain.

And this is the problem — not with introduced species, but with human nature: we are short-sighted optimists with even shorter memories. In our haste to endow our own gardens with nature's beauty, we forget to consider our neighbors, both near and distant. We assume that because our intentions aren't bad, our plants won't behave badly. We congratulate ourselves on learning our parents' lesson that ivy is not a suitable ground cover for small spaces — and then plant Vinca major instead.

Mr. Ball, no one —not even the most passionate advocate of native plants — wants to enslave the world with totalitarian "prohibitions of exotic plant species". We all recognize the value of the tomato, and the beauty of the tulip. But we also know the dangers of a monoculture (which, by the way, you forgot to mention in your canonization of the potato). In fact, you are right on one count: "lush diversity" is exactly the goal of any good gardener. And we want to experience that diversity not only in the beauty of the flowers we plant, but also in the butterflies, birds, and other creatures that visit them. Which is precisely why we must judiciously limit the use of "exotics" that have the potential to overwhelm native and non-native species alike.

Don't worry, Mr. Ball: in modern society, there's little chance that your company won't be able to sell your non-native petunias and impatiens. We just want to make sure we see a few non-non-natives around, too.

Jewels on the Wing

[Note: Verdance clients originally received this article in May, as part of our free monthly newsletter on gardens and gardening. To subscribe to the newsletter yourself, please register at our site.]

Recently I read that the number of monarch butterflies migrating from North America down to Mexico has fallen an astonishing 75% -- even after 75% of their population already was lost to a freeze on their overwintering habitat in 2002. At this rate, monarch extinction seems likely in years, not decades or centuries, raising the gloomy prospect of a future when our children or grandchildren never get to delight in these winged jewels.

Studies of why butterfly populations are declining indicate a complex web of causes including deforestation, climate change, and pesticides. Whatever the reasons, though, we each can still do small things to slow the decline.

The best way to attract adult butterflies is to plant a garden that includes the vital milkweed plus sunflowers, zinnias, marigolds, phlox, petunias, butterfly bush, black-eyed susans, lilies, cosmos and daisies. Even without such an intensive habitat in our yard, most of us can integrate a few of these plants -- and collectively create a butterfly garden that spans acres.

It's also important to encourage butterfly caterpillars. The Sunset Western Garden Book lists plants whose foliage is good caterpillar food; there is a broad palette to choose from (broccoli -- who knew?), and it's easy to tuck a few into any garden. If you would like suggestions on butterfly plants whose foliage or flowers will complement your existing landscape, it would be my pleasure to help.

Perhaps the most important step you can take is to avoid using pesticides -- even "natural" ones such as Bacillus thurigenesis (B.t.) -- that kill indiscriminately. Always try the most benign and pest-specific solutions first: for instance, a sharp jet of water knocks aphids off of leaves and flower buds, and non-toxic oils of neem, garlic, mint or clove discourage ants, mosquitoes, leafhoppers and thrips.

And above all, appreciate the graceful acrobatics and fragile beauty of every monarch, anise swallowtail, and mourning cloak you see. Currently a spectacular migration of painted ladies is making its way through the Bay Area; taking the time to notice them will create a warm place in your heart that will endure long after the last butterfly has fluttered by.

[Update: there are quite a few swallowtails floating around, and on 6/10 my client in Berkeley reported, "Amazingly we have hundreds of Monarchs hanging out in our neighborhood this year. First time we have seen it since we have lived here. Has lasted three days so far. Kind of cool."]