Did I Get Suckered Into This?

A native plant garden is full of surprises (and drama), but this one I was not expecting.

Another heat advisory, like a mean eyebrow on my phone’s home screen that I would rather not address. But as it turns out, my patio, with a plain teak table faces west. So that advisory becomes null and void between the hours of sunrise to 10:30 am. I step outside, and immediately the blue jay is doing his stand up comic routine of a red-tailed hawk, the female hummingbird can NOT catch a break from the incessance of the male. They never come to terms. Ever.

Before 9:30am there was a chase around the yard involving at least four hummingbirds. This one takes his territory very seriously.

The rudbeckia flowers are standing tall trying with all their might to take over the patio completely. And the elderberry shrub is getting a temporary rest. The dark aubergine berries that were ripe last week have all been picked off, while the next batch is still coming along. The gray catbirds, having eaten every ripe one, have finally left my garden alone. For now. Then, the tiger swallowtails grace the garden with their ethereal, silent presence. If the cicadas quiet down long enough, I hear the heated debate between the hummingbirds continue, and the occasional peep from an American goldfinch as he chips and dips overhead.

As is the case most mornings, the bird fountain and bird rock are always in need of a refill. And with the heat advisory looming, I can’t let the water sources run dry. Standing there with the hose, amid the sea of amber-golden rudbeckia something caught my eye and later, my brain, in an off way. Like finding a shelf-stable condiment such as honey in the fridge. I stood there, head tilted, a temporary cartoon character. With an imaginary thought bubble “huh?” above my head.

In between the flowers that were all one color trying to take over the garden, one tiny white cluster stood out among them. This jar of honey seemed wildly out of place yet, completely content. This flower would not have been any cause for a comic strip analogy in early spring when it is supposed to bloom. But in August? What was it doing there?

Dwarf chokeberry, (Aronia melanocarpa) is a small shrub with spring interest providing for early pollinators, as well as deep red foliage in the fall. And, as the name implies, it’s a smaller more compact version of its larger cousin.

I left my cartoonish character behind, figured out what it was, and continued with my water filling obligation, grinning like a schoolboy that just found a toad. As far I as I was able to concur, the new bloom is simply a “suckering” plant from the original drawf chokeberry. And apparently, an over-achiever. In its mind, I guess it was spring? “Suckering” as I, the non-gardener interprets it, means that plants readily send out new growth from the original in underground, unseen little highways. You buy one, but over time, you get a lot more. Whether you want them or not. I am one to want.

When this wildlife garden was first planted, I think we planted four of them. Now, there may be as many as seven. And with this new sighting, the number climbs to eight. I am not going to ask Google: “Why is my dwarf chokeberry blooming flowers in August?” Because, honestly if I did that, the results would probably result in me keeping this post as a draft and never bringing it to the light of day. And your inbox would be empty on Sunday. I like a garden with a little bit of drama. Native plants are really good at that. I recall a foxglove beardtongue that bloomed in September. Was I going to tell it that it was not supposed to do that? Heck no.

But what I will do instead is tell you that before I stepped outside, I was drinking my coffee on Saturday morning thinking, I wonder what I should write about in my Sunday essay? I finished my coffee, still thinking.

Twenty minutes later, with hose in hand, a moment of wonder and surprise mixed with what the heck? led us here. After I put the hose away, I had a date with my laptop to bring you this story. I was interrupted multiple times by hummingbird wars. But finally at one point she had some time at the coral honeysuckle. Without being chased out.

I so rarely capture the female hummingbirds in my photography, so this moment was extra special!

An indigo bunting is now singing from a spot I can’t see. And it is truly a beautiful summer morning. It is now 10:45 and the roof line is losing its unseen battle with the sun, which is now reaching the table. My laptop is reaching a tipping point of overheating, and with that, I will see you in the next one.

I did not realize how much time has passed!!! Here’s a side by side shot. Our garden when it was “non native” and what it looks like today. The patio garden with native plants (right side photo) was planted in November 2022.

Wildlife Garden before (2019) and after (today). Designed by David Hughes, Weatherwood Design, LLC. In the mound of black-eyed Susans (in the center of the photo) is where I spotted the little plant.

Does your garden surprise you in ways you didn’t expect?