butterfly gardening Archives

Image of hummingbird flying toward bee balm — As a replacement for butterfly bush, wild bergamot fits the bill—and the beak.

There isn’t anything shy about wild bergamot. It likes to take up space. It doesn’t just bloom where it’s planted but flourishes wherever it feels like spreading or seeding itself. No matter if you’re a carefully coiffed rosebush or a scruffy patch of coneflowers, Monarda fistulosa is content to plunk down next to you as if it’s known you all its life.

And that’s why the animals and I love this pollinator powerhouse. Though its adaptability has earned it the dubious title of “aggressive” in some circles, I view such labels with suspicion. Appropriate when describing, say, a driver going twice the speed limit, the word is loaded with bias when enlisted simply to denigrate the things we didn’t prescribe: the woman who dares to express an opinion when she wasn’t asked to, the dog who growls to protect his food from a wayward cat, the plant that grows in new directions we couldn’t have foreseen.

A carpenter bee holds on tightly to his breakfast.

It’s true that many plants are aggressive outside their home ranges; it’s why we now have long lists of invasive species we should never put in our gardens. But plants native to a given area are subject to natural checks and balances, including other jubilant natives competing for space and tiny nibbling creatures.

“Abundant” is how I would prefer to describe my beloved bergamot, also known as bee balm. Originally purchased 14 years ago to satisfy my own taste for wild beauty, one seed pack from Seeds of Change has created a perennial feast for the many animals in our yard. If ever there were an alternative nectar source to the invasive, nonnative, inappropriately named butterfly bush, wild bergamot (Monarda fistulosa) fits the bill—and the beak and the bee tongue.

But don’t just take my word for it. Let the animals in these photos persuade you. And don’t miss the video encore below!

Image of eastern tiger swallowtail on wild bergamot — Eastern tiger swallowtails flock to this plant …

wild bergamot and silver spotted skipper — … as do silver-spotted skippers …

Image of great spangled fritillary on wild bergamot — … and great spangled fritillaries. (Depending on the season, sometimes bergamot in large patches like this gets a little mildew. It always comes back good as new for me the next year, but if recurring mildew bothers you, you can create more air circulation by digging some of the plants up and relocating them.)

Image of butterflies on wild bergamot — It’s a veritable gathering place for butterflies. At first you may think there are only two in this photo. Can you spot the third?

Eastern tiger swallowtails on wild bergamot — It’s the plant that keeps on giving from mid-summer to fall.

Monarch on wild bergamot — When many other plants have passed their peak, some of my wild bergamot are just getting started, providing much-needed food for migrating monarchs.

Image of bee flying toward wild bergamot — There’s a reason the plant is also called bee balm.

Image of sleeping bees on wild bergamot — It even provides a protective umbrella under which bees lay their weary heads each evening—upside down—before waking up to breakfast in bed early the next morning. (Photo by Will Heinz, my fellow bee lover who happily woke up early with the bees to take this beautiful shot! Thank you, Will!)

Goldfinch on wild bergamot — Long after the flowers have died, the plant provides food to goldfinches and sparrows when little else is available to our birds. Its stems are sometimes used by indigo buntings to build their nests.

Can you count the number of butterflies in this video? (Please excuse the human intrusion at the 18-second mark; I decided not to edit the sound out so you could enjoy the magic of long-missed insect and bird song.)