#WeedsNotWeeds Archives - Page 6 of 15

Last week I walked my street for more than a mile without ever seeing a bee.

While that may seem unremarkable at a time when stores are already stocking Christmas decorations, to me it’s a sign that something’s amiss. That’s because I’ve dedicated a few minutes of most autumn afternoons to photographing more animals than I could count on our little plot of land: bumblebees, mining bees, sweat bees, pearl crescents, orange sulphurs, common buckeyes, Eastern-tailed blues, wasps, syrphid flies, monarchs, common checkered skippers, and creatures I cannot yet name:

Image of green sweat bee — Green sweat bees are among the many pollinators visiting frost asters in the fall.

Image of pearl crescents on frost aster — Pearl crescents are fanatic fans of the white blooms, which have sprung up on their own among the meadow grasses.

Image of chrysalis on frost aster — The plant also hosts butterflies and moths in the making; some spend winter in the chrysalis stage.

Image of bumblebee on smooth aster — Smooth asters near our mailbox draw dozens of bumblebees at a time. Flowers are critical to them late in the season, when new queens mate with males and build up their fat reserves in preparation for hibernation under the leaves. In the spring queens will emerge to start entire new colonies on their own.

Image of common buckeye in meadow — Common buckeyes are prolific at this time of year, seeking puddling sites and shallow flowers accessible to their shorter proboscises.

Image of common checkered skipper — In spite of their name, common checkered skippers were once uncommon where I live in Howard County, Maryland. Recently they have been spotted with greater frequency, though this year was the first time I saw them on my property.

Image of sleeping bumblebee — Male bumblebees sleep at night under the flowers that provide them with nectar during the day. Our goldenrods served as a Bee n’ Bee to dozens of bumbles in early fall evenings.

Image of syrphid fly on swamp sunflower — Swamp sunflower is a favorite of syrphid flies, an underappreciated pollinator.

Image of Eastern-tailed blue on blue mistflower — Eastern-tailed blues gather frequently in blue mistflower (Conoclinium coelestinum), a long-blooming late-season food source.

There were a few signs of life around the rest of the neighborhood when I went on my walk: a funny-faced pit mix who likes to pretend she’s tough stuff behind her invisible fence; a squirrel peeking around from behind a tree to ensure I wasn’t after his walnut; a flock of geese overhead; birds in the roadside canopies harmonizing with the perpetual cricket chorus; and a man on a large mower that leveled his front yard while he went along for the ride.

Image of typical neighborhood property — A typical property in my neighborhood offers virtually no flowers. Instead of the soft sound of buzzing bees, the streets more often vibrate with the noise of mowers and power trimmers.

All in all, it was pretty quiet for a mile-long stretch, a silence I’ve come to expect. I’m familiar with the lack of plant diversity—and the resulting dearth of what could be abundant animal life—on the turf-dominated landscapes throughout our town. In the past the barrenness has so discouraged me that I’ve sometimes forgone some much needed exercise. But now, determined to get my head on straight after a neck injury this summer, I’ve walked up and down the road so much that I suppose I’ve grown a little to used to the unnatural solitude that grass and pavement force upon us.

It was the sound of buzzing bees that brought me back to my senses and made me realize what I’d been missing on my journey. In front of the only other plant-filled property on our long road were bumblebees, sweat bees, and orange sulphurs—a whole community of animals much like those in my meadow. With few grass blades in sight, my neighbor Wayne’s yard is a refuge, much like mine, for species still searching for sustenance even as we humans begin retreating inside to our TVs and fireplaces.

Image of bumblebee on New England aster — The bumblebees knew where the party was among the seas of turfgrass – in the roadside New England asters at my neighbor Wayne’s house.

Image of back meadow — Mowing a path lets us access the compost pile and the woodland beyond while allowing volunteer natives to proliferate undisturbed.

My own gardens haven’t always been such a rich refueling station for animals as the seasons change. A few years ago I noticed butterflies and bees zipping around our property, presumably searching for flowers, after almost everything had gone to seed. Desperate to help them, my husband and I started planting more native fall blooms—swamp sunflowers, smooth asters, New England asters, goldenrods of every size and stripe. But even more beneficial to our wild inhabitants is what we have stopped doing altogether—namely mowing the field behind our house. Now that broomsedge, purpletop grass, and other native grasses are beginning to take hold, they put out a natural welcome mat for all sorts of uncultivated fall flowers, including late-flowering thoroughwort, more goldenrods, and especially frost asters that sprout throughout the meadow. I no longer have to worry about whether we have enough to feed the migrating monarchs or the tattered but still flying fritillaries or the gourmand bees who feed their young pollen only from certain fall-flowering species but turn their proboscises up at everything else.

Image of swamp sunflower garden — As summer wildflowers retreat, swamp sunflowers rise up to greet autumn’s hungry creatures.

Fritillary on frost aster in back meadow — An aging meadow fritillary spends an afternoon visiting frost aster after frost aster. This plant also supports about half a dozen specialist bees, who emerge in time to gather pollen only from their favored blooms.

Image of praying mantis — A quick shift of position gives away this otherwise invisible praying mantis.

You don’t need a two-acre expanse to create such opportunities for our wild friends. In fact, small yards in cities can support abundant life, especially when native plantings connect these habitat fragments across the landscape. On my property, the patio, roadside, and container plantings offer their own kind of buffets.

Image of smooth asters and black-eyed Susans — Even a small area – in this case a four-foot wide strip near our mailbox planted with smooth asters, black-eyed Susans, wild senna, mountain mint, golden ragwort, blue mistflower, coral honeysuckle, and staghorn sumac – draws many species of bees and birds,

Image of orange sulphur on aster — Orange sulphurs visit several aster species planted by the driveway.

Image of sweat bee on blue wood aster — Even though this blue wood aster by our patio is the first one I’ve ever planted, the bees have had no trouble finding the lone specimen.

These flowers won’t be here for much longer. This morning I awoke to a freeze warning, in effect until 9 a.m. By now many of our tiny friends are retreating to their winter hiding places. But I’m still planting this week for those who are left—and the many more who will visit throughout the next season. In some areas of the country, it’s not too late to add life-sustaining native trees, shrubs, vines, and flowers to your yard. And though the stores are now filled with traditional spring bulbs like daffodils and tulips, those flowers won’t do anything for the specialist bee who emerges just in time to gather pollen only from the flowers of spring beauties or the one who takes pollen exclusively from violets to feed her young. Even generalist foragers like bumblebees, who visit a wide variety of blooms, will likely have better luck with natives like Dutchman’s breeches and Virginia bluebells than with plants sold en masse at big box centers. Not only are many still treated with systemic pesticides that can contaminate pollen and nectar; some highly bred plants have had nutritious floral resources largely removed for the sake of extra petals and other aesthetic characteristics pleasing to human eyes.

One day I hope to walk my street and hear the sounds not of lawn mowers but of busy bees visiting their favorite flowers lining the driveways, the front walkways, and the roadsides. Last month the Natural Resources Defense Council predicted a major shift away from lawns over the next 10 to 15 years. But we don’t have to wait that long. We can act now, one property and neighborhood at a time, planting the seeds of a flower revolution wherever we go, starting with our own front yards.

You can find native plant sales and nurseries in your area by checking out the website of your state native plant society. If you don’t live close enough to a nursery that sells native plants, search online for sources like Izel Plants, one of my favorites in the mid-Atlantic, or Prairie Moon Nursery in the Midwest.