Autumn on the horizon. Will we know the difference?
It has felt like October for much of the summer this year. But today a mischievous sun peeks through fluffy clouds (such flirts!) and in the garden I find a buzz of pollinators partying among the plants. Great opportunists. True survivors. Perhaps they can help me plot a course for 2025.
How to plan for our new climate of uncertainty? I’m searching for ideas in the era of adaptation. The RHS gives excellent advice on planting for flood, wind and drought. Woodland Trust lists trees to Combat Climate Change. Wildlife Trust names plants for a nectar cafe. I can also learn a lot by walking round our wild and windy plot.
I’ve grown wary and weary of the wind, and even more tired of relentless heavy rain. But our trees are made of sterner stuff [see Every Tree Tells A Story at Pond Cottage]. A lot of them are on the Woodland Trust list and standing up well to wind and rain – birches, crab apple, willows and hazels, all in good health. Although conifers seemed to suffer some kind of needle dieback earlier this year they have recovered – much to our relief, Scots pine of all ages are looking properly green and happy again. Against expectations even many ash trees are looking more robust than last year.
And plants are full of surprises. A fitful spring made for a shorter than usual seasons of snowdrops, daffodils, bluebells and wild garlic. Tulips were spectacular but the Camassia meadow didn’t last as long as we expected. Disappointing for us gardeners, a matter of life and death for insects who arrive too soon or too late for flowers they feed on.
How to find a new natural rhythm?
That’s the crux for wildlife gardeners. Gardens can be sanctuaries for species at ever-greater risk of dying out. How do we meet the needs of birds, bees and butterflies when storms blow the blossom off our wild fruit trees and flowering times are thoroughly out of sync with birds, bats and insects hatching?
Perhaps answers are growing in the garden. When rabbits leave them alone, many of our planned (and paid for) flowers have put on a good show. As the weather finally warmed up a degree or two, cottage garden favourites – nepeta, geraniums, alchemilla, salvias, sedums – have been joyfully full of bees (bumble and honey), hoverflies and other winged creatures I can’t name. Echinops, buddleja and crocosmia are humming too despite the battering of summer storms
But it’s the beautiful self-seeding opportunists that have been the real stars of the show in our garden this year. I’ve never seen so many verbascums. So many! I think last year’s building work at the cottage must have churned up layers of dormant seed in poor soil. The result was a soft carpeting of velvety rosettes among the rubble. We transplanted and spread as many as we could dig up. From early summer, the cottage borders and new waterbank garden were punctuated with exclamation marks: handsome stands of native greater mulleins; here and there a dark mullein Verbascum nigrum and a positively promiscuous looking Verbascum densiflorum.
Mulleins are beneficial to wildlife as a pollen and nectar source when in flower, seeds are a food source for birds and in winter hollow stems act as a refuge for insects
RHS Verbascum nigrum
And foxgloves? Like verbascums, they seem to have benefited from disturbed ground. They clearly have no objection to being replanted around the garden and happily introduce themselves to all kinds of unlikely places. Clustering in the new raised beds, winding through ferns and loosestrife in shady woodland areas. Random mixes of red, pink and white, everywhere sending out signals to bees. On those days when it stops raining it’s such a heart-warming, smile-teasing treat to watch the bees burrowing deep.
Lots more: possibly now too many umbellifers but insects of all stripes and colours love them. In the last few weeks – while sharing a delightful half hour with a Common Darter dragonfly (as featured above) – I’ve discovered a happy accident in the vegetable garden. On sunny days, patches of bolted spinach and flowering parsley are absolutely fluttering with wings. And, oh my, just come and see the flowering leeks! Like alliums on steroids, they are paradise for pollinators.
So what’s the plan for 2025?
Good question. Two days after starting this blog post I’m staring out of the window at bucketing rain. But the weather forecast promises more sun during the coming week and insects will be back looking for food. Even today there are bees and wasps feeding amongst dripping wet herbs.
With insect numbers still dropping alarmingly, I’m increasingly aware that we need to plan and plant for greater supplies of nectar-rich flowers of many shapes and sizes in all seasons, at all times – night feeders like moths and bats are hungry too. We’re discovering that a thriving community of wildlife needs more than long stretches of rough grasses, nettles, docks and thistles. The plant lists are growing.
For autumn I can add michaelmas daisies, valerian, and devil’s bit scabious ( ‘Easy to grow from seed’ says RHS) to what we call ‘meadows’. Camassia meadow? Ray thinks that’s too grand a description but it is coming on and we will invest in more of these beautiful insect-pleasing bulbs for next spring. For summer we can spread sweet-scented blooms beneath trees, through borders, between grasses. And of course in winter – the best time for dead hedging and rabbit proofing – we can add to berries, seedheads, cones, nuts. In whatever order the seasons arrive, a richer ‘naturally’ buzzing habitat likes a helping hand.
First published on the author’s website: Plants Pollinators People (Pond Cottage Garden is open to the public through Scotland’s Gardens Scheme)
Featured image: Common Darter dragonfly ( identified by Buglife after I tweeted the picture )
Further reading and research survey: How is climate change affecting gardens? Royal Horticultural Society survey in collaboration with Universities of Sheffield and Reading runs until 15 October
First published on the author’s personal site. Images by her.
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