My 20th crown for August 19th had a sweet scent that was meant for the bees, not me, but I did appreciate the soft, vanilla perfume of the dusty-pink, hollow Joe Pye weed (Eutrochium fistulosum) that grows in the parts of my meadow that retain a little moisture. Along with it are the violet-purple flowers of New York ironweed (Vernonia noveboracensis); the big, yellow daisies of cup plant (Silphium perfoliatum); the small yellow blossoms of grass-leaved goldenrod (Euthamia graminifolia); and a few sprigs of rough goldenrod (Solidago rugosa).
The plants I gathered came mostly from my west meadow…..
….. where the New York ironweed and Joe Pye weed make excellent companions, appreciating the tiny extra bit of moisture at the midpoint of our sloping property and maturing at about the same height, 2-3 m (6-9 ft), depending on the season.
I think I bought my first plant at a nursery, but New York ironweed has popped up on our property in soil that was brought in from neighbouring woodlands. Provided it can maintain fairly damp feet, it is happy in our sandy conditions.
Bees adore it, as do butterflies like the great spangled fritillary, below….
….. and the ruby-throated hummingbird is a fan, too.
One of my favourite photos was of a female goldenrod crab spider disguised as an ironweed stamen, just awaiting her unwary prey.
The hollow Joe Pye weed attracts lots of bumble bees. It’s much paler than its spotted (E. maculatum) cousin.
Grass-leaved or flat-topped goldenrod is not a true goldenrod in the Solidago genus, though it was considered part of the gang until recently. It is one of the late summer “weeds” on our property, including near our Waterloo Biofilter septic structure, below, where it definitely emitted a light floral perfume (that was not that of the septic system).
Bumble bees, such as the red-belted bumble bee (Bombus ternarius) below, and other bees seem to love it during its rather short blooming period.
Another abundant goldenrod that occurs naturally on our property is rough goldenrod (Solidago rugosa). Better behaved than its cousin, Canada goldenrod, it is nonetheless proficient at spreading itself around, much to the delight of all kinds of bees. This species gave rise to the popular garden cultivar ‘Fireworks’.
Finally, a few words about one of the tallest plants in my meadows, cup plant (Silphium perfoliatum). I was given my first tuberous roots of this northeast native by the gardeners at Toronto’s Spadina House Museum, with a warning that it would be invasive and I might be sorry I planted it. Fortunately, my meadows are filled with invasives and they all like to duke it out, so for the most part cup plant has been kept in check. Here it is at the base of our stairs.
My meadows are dry and sandy which also works against its invasive tendencies. But I saw it on a riverbank at the Chicago Botanic Garden, below, and I can say that it would be much more aggressive in the moist soil that it craves.
It’s a great favourite of bumble bees…..
….. and, occasionally, of passing butterflies.
I’ve made up a little video on my cottage cup plants, with a humorously surprising last scene;
Finally, here’s a little August bouquet from my meadows to you… until the next fairy crown.
My 18th fairy crown for August 7th features a strange, wild creature having a seriously bad hair day. All right…. it just contains a lot of spike flowers and I ran out of horizontal room on the tiara so it looks like I’ve endured a shock. These are flowers and leaves from my Toronto garden. The lavender-blue spikes are Russian sage (formerly Perovskia atriplicifolia, now called Salvia yangii after DNA analysis proved it was in the sage family). The fuzzy dark-mauve spikes are Liatris spicata ‘Kobold’, aka blazing star or gayfeather. The stem with wine-red leaves and flower clusters is Sedum ‘Vera Jameson’. The chartreuse flowers cascading over my forehead are Canada goldenrod (Solidago canadensis) – at least, a few stems that I didn’t tear out to try to prevent it from spreading (which it will do anyway). The dissected leaves come from my Tiger Eye sumac shrub (Rhus typhina ‘Bailtiger’) and the vine falling over my right shoulder is Boston ivy (Parthenocissus tricuspidata). Those little, pale-pink bottlebrush flowers on my left cheek are ‘Pink Tanna’ burnet (Sanguisorba officinalis) at the end of its season. Finally, tucked into a corner on my forehead are a few red flowers of Petunia exserta that I forgot I’d thrown into my sundeck containers and they emerged in the midst of self-seeding oakleaf lettuce.
With its airy wands of long-lasting, light-blue flowers, the sub-shrub Russian sage is a big presence in my pollinator garden…..
…..and it offers nectar to bees for many weeks.
But it is sometimes short-lived and does not take kindly in our cold climate to being cut back in autumn. Much better to wait until spring when new growth has started.
It flowers at the same time as violet-purple dense blazing star (Liatris spicata ‘Kobold’)….
…. which is also a wonderful pollinator lure.
I adore the burnets and was able to source Sanguisorba officinalis ‘Pink Tanna’, which has interesting little “scrim” flowers. But I’m still on the lookout for the big, dark-red species which add such a zingy note to a meadow-style planting.
The Tiger Eyes sumac (Rhus typhina ‘Bailtiger’) is a favourite…..
…… and it retains its chartreuse colour well into summer, before turning a beautiful apricot in fall.
I forgive it its suckering-wandering ways because the birds absolutely adore it throughout winter.
As for the Boston ivy, well it’s pretty much a given in my garden… on my gate, below, and on my fence, and it would climb the house if I let it, but I don’t.
The little red petunias (P. exserta) were a seed-starting project a few years back and are quite rare and not found in garden centres. I wrote about them extensively in my 2020 blog My Motley Pots. This one managed to thrive in a container of self-seeding oakleaf lettuce on my deck.
As I wrote back then, my youngest son’s girlfriend Marta Motti did a painting of this petunia being visited by the hummingbird which she gave to me as a gift. I am delighted to say that she is marrying Jon on September 10th in Tuscany – and we will be there for the ceremony!
Sedum ‘Vera Jameson’ is in my backyard deck pots where it partners with the tough native grass sideoats grama (Bouteloua curtipendula). It’s very drought-resistant, given that these pots get watered very rarely, except by mother nature.
A few plants that are flowering now or in the next few weeks missed being in a fairy crown, so I’d like to say a few words about them now. The first is hoary or downy skullcap (Scutellaria incana), a native northeastern North America plant that I’m trialling in my front pollinator garden, where I’m hopeful it will be able to fend off the lily-of-the-valley groundcover.
Lastly, I’d like to give a nod to my favourite blazing star or gayfeather, Liatris aspera, aka rough blazing star. Though endangered, this is our regional native. Drought tolerant, it reaches 90-120 cm (3-4 feet) in height; it will start to flower in the next few weeks and is a superb, late-summer pollinator plant.
As for the Canada goldenrod….. well, it’s a useful weed but if you turn your back you’ll have a forest. So don’t turn your back!
My 16th Fairy Crown for August 1st is a simple affair featuring just one plant: Rudbeckia fulgida var. sullivantii ‘Goldsturm’. If it looks a little lonely, it’s because its normal garden partners had either already been fairy crown ingredients (hello, purple coneflower) or weren’t quite in flower yet (liatris and perovskia). But I think it gives a rather regal impression, as if a fairy queen had landed near a midwest cornfield and tried on the local wildflowers for size.
Speaking of American wildflowers, this particular blackeyed susan – or shining coneflower, as it is also known – is possibly the most widely-grown species of any North American taxon, given that it made its way back to our shores via the kind of circuitous route that features botanical discoveries, far-flung horticultural relationships, European plant propagation and the success of the American public relations machine.
I don’t always look at nomenclature, but since my fairy crown only has one ingredient, let’s explore this one. Rudbeckia. Even though it is a North American genus in the Asteraceae family, Carl Linnaeus – who in 1753 in his Species Plantarum assigned binomial names to all known plants — knew of it from the earliest plant explorers to leave Europe and gather new world seeds, cuttings and herbarium specimens. He named the genus after his Swedish mentor and patron, Olof Rudbeck the Younger (1860-1740), professor of botany at Uppsala University whose children he had also tutored.
In his dedication, Linnaeus wrote: “So long as the earth shall survive and as each spring shall see it covered with flowers, the Rudbeckia will preserve your glorious name. I have chosen a noble plant in order to recall your merits and the services you have rendered, a tall one to give an idea of your stature, and I wanted it to be one which branched and which flowered and fruited freely, to show that you cultivated not only the sciences but also the humanities. Its rayed flowers will bear witness that you shone among savants like the sun among the stars; its perennial roots will remind us that each year sees you live again through new works. Pride of our gardens, the Rudbeckia will be cultivated throughout Europe and in distant lands where your revered name must long have been known. Accept this plant, not for what it is but for what it will become when it bears your name.” The “type species” representing the genus is biennial blackeyed susan (Rudbeckia hirta), below, which I wrote about in my “songscape” blog Brown Eyed Girl(s), honouring Van Morrison. The other two species named by Linnaeus are Rudbeckia laciniata and R. triloba. The remaining 22 species had other authors, with R. fulgida, i.e. orange coneflower being described by the Kew-based English botanist William Aiton (1731-1793).
But back to my crown now; the correct Latin name of the species is Rudbeckia fulgida var. sullivantii. Sullivant’s coneflower, native from New Jersey west to Illinois and south to North Carolina and Missouri. The taxon rank “var.” indicates a variation of orange coneflower that was either described by or honoured Ohio-based botanist William S. Sullivant (1803-73), below. He later became a renowned bryologist, or moss expert. Another popular native variant of orange coneflower is R. fulgida var. deamii.
At some point, seed of Sullivant’s coneflower made its way to Europe and the botanical garden of Austria’s University Graz. From there, it was distributed to Gebrueder Schütz who grew the plants at his nursery in the Czech Republic. In 1937, Heinrich Hagemann saw the “a glorious stand of the plants” there and brought them back to his boss, Karl Foerster, below, at his nursery in Potsdam, Germany. Foerster was so impressed with the plant’s floriferous nature that he gave it the cultivar name ‘Goldsturm’ (German for “gold storm”). World War II delayed its introduction to commerce until 1949 and by the 1970s it was being grown widely in Europe and North America.
Erich Braun – Scan von einem Mittelformat-Negativ 6 x 6 Karl Foerster in his garden 28. September 1967
By the late 1970s, the German-born landscape architect Wolfgang Oehme and his partner James Van Sweden would use ‘Goldsturm’ along with ornamental grasses in large masses for their renowned “new American landscapes” inspired by the Great Plains. It was pictured with them on the cover of their 1997 book, ‘Gardening with Nature’.
Its popularity with American garden centres would result in it being named the 1999 Perennial Plant of the Year by the Perennial Plant Association (PPA). And many gardeners did what I have done, which is to mix it with purple coneflowers (Echinacea purpurea).
It is prominent in my front yard pollinator garden in Toronto…
…. where it is only moderately successful at attracting bees, including honey bees, because when echinacea is in flower, it plays second fiddle in the pollinator department.
Unlike biennial blackeyed susans (R. hirta) which flowers on single stems (and is in my next fairy crown!) the stems of ‘Goldsturm’ clump together and function as a mass of flowers 36 inches (90 cm) in height and 24 inches (60 cm) in width. It also likes richer soil and more moisture than than R. hirta.
In my garden it starts flowering soon after the echinacea begings to bloom and when the sedum ‘Autumn Joy’ is still green….
…… and continues flowering along with blue perovskia and other plants until the sedum turns red.
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.
Late spring… early summer… it’s flight time for the ‘cranesbills’ – all those lovely perennial geraniums that add that soft, billowy, romantic effect to perennial borders. Over the years, I’ve collected a series of combinations featuring many of these valuable perennials. Perhaps you might find some inspiration in those that follow – the bees will certainly appreciate it!
Our North American native spotted or wild geranium (Geranium maculatum) gets its name because of the spots on its leaves. Here it is with native golden Alexanders (Zizia aurea) at the Toronto Botanical Garden.
Here is G. maculatum with Welsh poppy (Papaver cambricum) at VanDusen Botanical Garden in Vancouver.
In my own garden, below, I grew Geranium maculatum under Solomon’s seal (Polygonatum biflorum). I must check to see if it’s still there, or if it’s been swamped by the aggressive Solomon’s seals.
G. maculatum looked lovely amidst hostas at Chanticleer Garden outside Philadelphia.
I just saw this combination at the Toronto Botanical Garden a few weeks ago: Spanish bluebells (Hyacinthoides hispanica ‘Excelsior’) with bigroot geranium (G. macrorrhizum ‘Czakor’).
Also at the TBG, here is the variegated form of bigroot geranium (G. macrorrhizum ‘Variegatum’) with catmint (Nepeta racemosa ‘Walker’s Low’).
Bloody cranesbill (Geranium sanguineum) is a popular, early-flowering cranesbill with magenta blossoms. Here it is with Phlox carolina at the Toronto Botanical Garden.
It makes an attractive, front-of-border mound, below, along with lady’s mantle (Alchemilla mollis).
This was an interesting monochromatic combination, of bloody cranesbill with Dianthus ‘Oakington Hybrid’.
I thought this was a pretty June border on a garden tour: bloody cranesbill with Siberian iris and bearded iris.
I believe the cranesbill below is Geranium sanguineum ‘Max Frei’, partnering with Veronica ‘Glory’ at the Toronto Botanical Garden.
There’s a pale-pink form of bloody cranesbill, G. sanguineum var. striatum (formerly G. lancastriense), that makes a very pretty partner to late forget-me-nots.
Peonies offer a vast palette of possibilities as cranesbill companions, including the spectacular Itoh Hybrid intersectional peonies (herbaceous-shrub crosses). Below is ‘Cora Louise’ with Geranium’ Brookside at the Toronto Botanical Garden.
Here’s lovely ‘Brookside’ (G. clarkei x G.pratense) with Sicilian honey lily (Allium siculum)….
….. and with Campanula ‘Sarastro’…..
….. and Veronica longifolia ‘Eveline’ and Achillea tomentosa ‘Moonlight’ at the Toronto Botanical Garden.
Here is ‘Brookside’ clambering around the wine-red flowers of Knautia macedonica, also at the TBG.
Geranium Rozanne® (‘Gerwat’) is a similar-looking cranesbill, but a cross between G. himalayense x G. wallachinianum ‘Buxton’s Variety’. Very popular and long-flowering, it was the Perennial Plant Association’s 2008 Plant of the Year. Here it is with the yellow Itoh peony hybrid ‘Sequestered Sunshine’….
….. and billowing atop lady’s mantle (Alchemilla mollis).
Rozanne adds a little lavender ‘zing’ to this green vignette of Molinia caerulea ‘Variegata’ and the striped leaves of Iris pallida ‘Variegata’.
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Flowering shrubs such as hydrangea can be enhanced by an underplanting of many varieties of cranesbill, like the unidentified one below.
The pale-pink flowers of French cranesbill (Geranium endressii) add a delicate note to Japanese painted fern (Athyrium niponicum var. pictum).
Magenta Armenian cranesbill (G. psilostemon) is rather fleeting in bloom, but looks lovely with Bowman’s root (Porteranthus trifoliatus, syn. Gillenia), below, at the TBG.
Just around the corner, it was used with tufted hair grass (Deschampsia cespitosa) in a lush design.
At wonderful Chanticleer Garden near Philadelphia (have you read my 2-part blog on this favourite garden?), I found G.psilostemon looking spectacular with chartreuse meadowsweet (Filipendula ulmaria ‘Aurea’).
Out at Vancouver’s VanDusen Botanical Gardens one spring (another favourite garden I’ve blogged about), I was taken with this vignette featuring the hybrid Geranium ‘Brempat’ with Allium cristophii and dark Heuchera ‘Crimson Curls’.
Nearby at VanDusen was the dark-coloured mourning widow cranesbill Geranium phaeum ‘Samobor’ emerging in a chartreuse sea of Bowles’ golden grass (Millium effusum ‘Aureum’).
The delicate-looking but vigorous mourning widow geranium has a white form (Geranium phaeum ‘Album’) that Piet Oudolf uses in his designs, including with Baptisia ‘Purple Smoke’ in the entry border at the Toronto Botanical Garden. (I’ve also written a 2-part blog about Piet’s design for this border.)
I also loved the way he interplanted Paeonia ‘Bowl of Beauty‘ just coming into flower with the white-flowered mourning widow.
This delicate, monochromatic combination, also in the Oudolf–designed entry border at the TBG features Geranium x oxonianum ‘Rose Claire’ with Astrantia ‘Roma’.
Hostas and cranesbills always look good together, as demonstrated by Geranium x cantabrigiense ‘Biokovo’, below.
Geranium clarkei ‘Kashmir Purple’ makes an interesting contrast to the tiny white flowers of flowring sea kale (Crambe cordifolia).
Geranium ‘Johnson’s Blue’ is an old-fashioned hybrid, a cross between G. himalayense and G. pratense. Doesn’t it look spectacular with the purple bellflowers (Campanula latifolia var. macrantha) and meadow sage (Salvia nemorosa) flanking the rose garden at Vancouver’s VanDusen Botanical Garden below?
Purple always works with chartreuse, and G. Johnson’s Blue’ is the perfect companion to Heuchera ‘Lime Rickey’.
Toronto’s Spadina House is my favourite cottage garden in the world, with a mass of artful flowers tumbling around expansive vegetable gardens. Meadow cranesbill (Geranium pratense) is much-used in the garden, as with lanceleaf coreposis (C. lanceolata), below….
….. and foxgloves (Digitalis purpurea)….
….. and small yellow foxglove (D. lutea).
I also found it growing in the fabulous Denver garden of plantsman Panayoti Kelaidis and his partner Jan Fahs. This romantic planting of roses, gas plant (Dictamnus albus var. purpureus) and G. pratense is actually Jan’s domain! (And, of course, I wrote a blog about PK and Jan’s garden.)
When I was having dinner at the spectacular Deep Cove Chalet restaurant in Victoria, B.C. one spring, I was enchanted by this unusual and richly-coloured combination: G. pratense with peach alstroemeria, yellow Phlomis russeliana and pink spirea.
Though most cranesbills flower from late spring into early-mid-summer, there are a few species that hit their stride in late summer and continue blooming well into fall. I saw one of them one August at the Piet Oudolf-designed Lurie Garden in Chicago (another fantastic garden from my blog). For my final homage to the versatile cranesbills, meet pink-flowered Japanese cranesbill (G. soboliferum) with lilac prairie petunia (Ruellia humilis).
