Category Archives: My 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

Fairy Crown 12 – Penstemons & Coreopsis in Muskoka

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Within days of the summer solstice, the meadows and wildish garden areas at our cottage on Lake Muskoka north of Toronto have become spangled with flowers – not all of which I actually planted. Indeed, ‘weeds’ like pink musk mallow (Malva moschata), yellow birdsfoot trefoil (Lotus corniculatus) and everlasting pea (Lathyrus latifolius) are a fact of life here on Lake Muskoka; thankfully, most find it tough to compete with the rugged prairie perennials and grasses that I did plant.  Nonetheless, they all manage to look lovely together in my 12th fairy crown, which includes native foxglove penstemon (Penstemon digitalis), its steadfast companion native lance-leaved coreopsis (Coreopsis lanceolata), small yellow foxglove (Digitalis lutea), annual daisy fleabane (Erigeron annuus) and the ripe fruit of native American red  elderberry (Sambucus pubens).

It’s a good time of year to craft bouquets from the meadow.

Foxglove penstemon (Penstemon digitalis) was one of the first plants I sowed at the lake and it remains one of my favorites.

Ultra-hardy, it is one of just three penstemon species native to Ontario; it is also native to Minnesota and other Great Lakes states.  Though there are red-leafed commercial cultivars like ‘Husker Red’ and some with dark leaves, stems and pinkish flowers like ‘Dark Towers’, I prefer the natural, red-stemmed variations that occur in a seed-grown population, like the one below

Best of all, it is perfectly happy in the dry, sandy, gravelly soil on our property where it survives drought, heat and extreme cold winter temperatures, often devoid of snow cover. It flowers at the same time, and in the same conditions, as lanceleaf coreopsis.  Here they are at the lakeshore…

…. and also behind our cottage this June.

Foxglove penstemon’s 2-3-foot (60-90 cm) spikes topped with bell-shaped, lightly-scented, white flowers in early summer are highly attractive to bumble bees, hummingbird clearwing moths and hummingbirds.

Here is a little video of foxglove penstemon and its flying fans at Lake Muskoka.

Lanceleaf coreopsis (Coreopsis lanceolata) is another carefree native that seeds itself around our property, enjoying the same conditions as foxglove penstemon. Until researching its native range for this blog, I had no idea another common name is “sand coreopsis”. It is also an “acidophile”. That explains why it is so happy in almost pure, acidic sand at the top of our Precambrian ridge where very few plants thrive, except perhaps Verbena stricta, hoary vervain.

However, it is not as long-lived as foxglove penstemon, below….

….and does not seem to appreciate extreme winter temperatures – unless it has adequate snow cover.  It reaches 2-3 feet (60-90 cm) with willowy stems. The cheerful yellow flowers host native bees and butterflies….

…. much to the occasional delight of crab spiders.

It is also an occasional (hilarious) snack for the local groundhog family, among many other tasty horticultural treats on that critter’s menu.  By mid-summer, I enjoy watching goldfinches eat the plentiful seeds.

Given that much of the ‘new’ soil on our hillside was delivered by barge, having been scooped up by tractor shovel from old fields nearby, it is unsurprising that common European weeds beloved by early settlers to the region would appear almost immediately. Musk mallow (Malva moschata) is one of those, a perennial that grows 2-3 feet (60-90 cm) tall and wide and features silken-petalled, pink blossoms in early-mid summer.

Musk mallow flowers aren’t visited by many insects, but are lovely additions to a small bouquet, along with the ubiquitous oxeye daisy (Leucanthemum vulgare) from my 10th fairy crown.

Birdsfoot trefoil (Lotus corniculatus), on the other hand, is popular with bees, like most legumes, but considered an invasive plant. Another European species brought to North America by early settlers as a forage crop, it likes the sandy, gravelly soil of roadsides and disturbed places.

Because it cannot compete with my big prairie plants – and, more accurately, because weeding is not something I do at the cottage – it is welcome to co-exist with the other weeds, including tufted vetch (Vicia cracca) in the background below, which bumble bees and other bees adore. 

Straw foxglove or small yellow foxglove (Digitalis lutea) is a curious foundling in my driest meadow, where it has spread from a few plants more than a decade ago to a good-sized colony today. Another European native that made its way to the new world via early settlers, it attracts few pollinators but makes a lovely cut flower. It is my only weed that has received a Royal Horticultural Society Award of Garden Merit!

The pink pea flowers of everlasting pea (Lathyrus latifolius) are tucked into my June 25th Lake Muskoka fairy crown, too. By now you should not be surprised that this is another European stowaway in my meadows, a sprawling 6-foot (2 meter) perennial vine that clambers over other plants to arrive at its destination….

….. all the while producing nectar-rich blossoms that my bumble bees shamelessly adore. I could try to eradicate it, but it would be mission impossible.

Because it blooms so early, I often miss the flowering of the native red elderberry shrubs (Sambucus pubens, formerly S. racemosa) that grow in moist, part shade behind our cottage. But it’s impossible to miss the bright-red, early summer fruit – provided hungry birds haven’t stripped it clean already. Unlike black elderberry (S. nigra), the bitter fruits of this large shrub, though ostensibly edible when cooked, are not tolerated well in quantity by humans. Leave them for the birds!

I have become increasingly enchanted with the airy, branching scapes and little white flowers of native daisy fleabane (Erigeron annuus). An annual (or occasionally biennial) pioneer species that spreads easily by seed (and thus appears on agricultural weed lists), it blooms for weeks on end, adding a jaunty bit of lightness to the edges of my path and meadows where it grows 3-4 feet (90-120 cm) tall. It attracts numerous small bees, wasps and syrphid flies. 

In a sense, this fairy crown represents my gardening philosophy:  a little bit tame, a lot wild, and don’t sweat the weeds if the bees can use them. 

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Here are the blogs on my fairy crowns to date:

#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

Fairy Crown #11-Sage & Catmint for the Bees

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The 11th edition of my year of fairy crowns for June 13th features the indigo-blue spikes of woodland sage Salvia nemorosa ‘May Night’ (‘Mainacht’) and ‘Caradonna’; the soft lavender-blue of ‘Dropmore’ catmint (Nepeta x faassenii);  the airy purple globes of Allium cristophii; the tiny white flowers of graceful Clematis recta ‘Purpurea’; the almost-hidden flowers of native ninebark (Physocarpus opulifolius); and a few cheerful sprigs of old-fashioned yellow loosestrife (Lysimachia punctata). 

 My front yard pollinator garden begins its serious work in June, when the woodland sage (Salvia nemorosa) and catmint (Nepeta ‘Dropmore’) come into flower.  It’s been a few weeks since the final brilliant tulips and camassia withered and the garden settled into a quiet green period.

Now the sage’s deep-blue or pink spikes and catmint’s pale-lavender racemes impart a soft quality to this little garden amidst the lush foliage of the emerging summer perennials.   

The spiked flowers of the woodland sage and the cloud-like blossoms of catmint contrast beautifully with each other. Though neither is native to my region – both originate in Europe – I had no hesitation in including them in my garden.  Interestingly, ‘Dropmore’ catmint is an ultra-hardy Canadian cultivar bred in 1932 by Dr. Frank Skinner in Dropmore, Manitoba, a cross between  Nepeta mussinii and N. ucranica.  Its silvery, mint-scented foliage forms a large, attractive clump and is easy to divide in spring.  My woodland sages are a mix of no-name varieties, most of which were included in a four-pack of perennials, along with milkweed, to support monarch butterflies.

As a photographer, I have always had a keen interest in capturing the ageless evolutionary pact between flowers and insects that sees nectar and pollen exchanged for pollination services. Translated: I love photographing bees! And catmint with its bumble bees…

…. and sage with its honey bees are perfect models for insect photographers.

In the back garden, June brings the ebullient flowering of the herbaceous clematis, C. recta ‘Purpurea’.  Unlike its vining cousins, this clematis – sometimes called ground virginsbower – is bushy and covered with masses of tiny, scented, white flower clusters. 

Because its abundant, slender stems grow about 4 feet tall (1.3 m), it tends to collapse in a heap once in full bloom, so I added a filigreed, iron screen behind it to make it fall forward, at least. It benefits aesthetically from its juxtaposition with the white-edged hostas nearby.  

It also attracts native bees and hoverflies and makes a useful, frothy filler in June bouquets.  

There’s an old-fashioned perennial that flowers in one of my borders now called yellow loosestrife (Lysimachia punctata).  It’s one of those plants gardeners buy before they develop ‘sophisticated’ taste, and later find a comfort because they come back reliably each year, have no pests, and ask no special care.  They are tough. 

In the border, yellow loosestrife nestles itself between large hostas, tolerates an insistent regiment of ostrich ferns at its back, and manages to hold off June’s ubiquitous weeds, including enchanter’s nightshade, garlic mustard and wood avens.  Weeds, of course, are part of the gardener’s lot and early summer is paradoxically the most joyfully floriferous and alarmingly out-of-control time of the gardening year. If attacked now, weeds can be kept at a manageable level.  Or, as I have discovered, they can be largely ignored and the “manageable level” becomes a moving target. The secret is not to stress too much.

Beside the yellow loosestrife, I planted a few star-of-Persia alliums (Allium cristophii).  They are now seeding through the border, their big, lilac umbels very attractive to bumble bees…..

….. and other native bees like Agapostemon virescens.

In a back corner of my garden is a large, native ninebark (Physocarpus opulifolius) that blooms now with spirea-like clusters of small, white flowers that cover the shrub and attract native bees. 

After the flowers fade, the seedheads turn an attractive red that seems like a second flowering (see below); in late autumn, the foliage turns yellow. Garden experts often describe ninebark as “coarse” and I have to agree; more problematic is that branches often die off and have to be removed. Like lilac, ninebark can be rejuvenated by pruning back the oldest stems to the ground, a practice that encourages the newer stems, more productive stems to grow.

Finally, a “quiet” little bouquet to celebrate this “quiet” time in the late spring garden, before the summer perennials hit their stride.

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Here are my earlier crowns and their stories:
#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