Home Again, To My Own Sun-baked Jungle

After over a week away in the lush and lovely mountainous jungles of the Caribbean island of St. Lucia, I returned to my own lush and lovely jungle in my own Saratoga Springs back yard. Well, it's looking a bit more lovely right now than it did the day I returned, now that I've mown the shin-high grass and yanked the errant Virginia Creeper and Moonseed vines from the flower beds and dogwood boughs.  The Tall Goldenrod and native Pale-leaved Sunflowers that flank the red-flowered Oswego Tea have yet to bloom, but the Ruby-throated Hummingbirds have been feasting on those red flowers, and a Catbird has returned to hide in the thickly-vined fence before visiting the birdseed or birdbath on the side yard.  What delights me the most, however, is to see how bushy and tall the Black Locusts have re-grown along the fence line and how thickly the vines have also regrown, once again shielding our summertime view of our rear neighbors' parking lots. Two years ago, this was quite a different scene.

Two years ago last spring, this (photo below) was what the same fence looked like, after our new neighbor cut down every tree in his vacant lot and sheared all the deciduous and evergreen vining growth from our fence, which he erroneously declared intruded on his newly acquired property. (This being early spring, our perennial flowers (like the goldenrods and monardas) had not yet revived for the year.) This denuding occurred without warning, as we awoke to the roar of chain saws.

But there is a good reason Black Locusts are often called "weed trees."  If you cut down one, dozens of scions spring up "like weeds" from the hewn trees' spreading roots.  Our rear neighbor's still-empty lot is once again thick with locust saplings, and after I weeded out the scions from my lawn and flower beds, I left several that had sprouted on my own property to grow in selected locations.  Two of those now tower well over 25 feet tall and are starting to cast cooling summer shade across our yard. And now those trees are OURS!

In the intervening two years, however, bright sunlight flooded our previously shaded yard, and all kinds of wild plants sprouted up to feast on that sunlight.  Some flower seeds doubtless arrived in the birdseed we spread on our patio (or the poop of the birds themselves), and others might have been there all along, just waiting for the light to return.  It sure has been interesting to observe what uninvited but not unwelcome strangers now make themselves at home at our home.  Here's a list of some of them, in alphabetical order:

Acalypha rhomboidea 

Acalypha rhomboidea, also known as Three-seeded Mercury, is an attractive low-growing native plant, even when pin-dotted with holes from the critters that feed on it. But that's exactly what native plants are here for,  and these wildflowers remain short enough and grow densely enough to serve as a native-plant mulch, depriving non-native, perhaps invasive species from gaining a foothold in the same patch of dirt.

To explain the odd vernacular name of this plant, a close look at the flowering stem reveals both the calyces that resemble the wings on the heels of the Roman god Mercury, and the three-parted pod containing the seeds.

Amaranth (species unknown)

I imagine the many Amaranth plants that sprout from the cracks in our bird-feeding paved area arrived there with the birdseed we spread.  We leave the plants to mature and remain all winter, for the birds and other wild critters to harvest the seeds.  One year we had a young groundhog come daily to do just that.

Black Nightshade (Solanum emulans)

The evil-sounding vernacular name of this ubiquitous tiny-tomato plant probably convinces some folks that its fruits must be poisonous.  But some folks who long ago newly arrived in The New World from Europe believed that tomatoes were also poisonous.  While it is true that the green fruit shown in this photo contain the same toxin present in green tomatoes, when the fruits of this native plant are allowed to thoroughly ripen to a glossy pure black, they are even sweeter and more concentrated in tomato flavor than its big red cousins sold in every food market.  And I can attest that sampling them has neither sickened nor killed me.

Buffalo Bur (Solanum rostratum)

Buffalo Bur was a new one in my yard this year. And a new one to me, as well. I sure could not find it in any of my wildflower guides that feature both native and non-native flowering plants of northeastern North America. That's because it is native to America's southwest, where I suppose it earned its vernacular name by being a pest where buffalos roam.  Poor buffalos!  Those spiky thorns are sharp! But thanks to some sharp friends on Facebook, I now know that this plant, a member of the Nightshade Family, has made its way across the continent to every state in the U.S. except Florida. And also to my back yard.

Garlic Chives (Allium tuberosum)

I may have long ago purchased a  tiny pot of Garlic Chives to grow in my herb garden, but these onion-family plants that are native to China did not survive the encroaching shade cast by growing Black Locusts.  Part of them must have survived, though, since ever since strong sunlight has heated the bricks near their original site, they have sprung up in nearly every crack.  Welcome back, dear tasty non-native!  Not only are they delicious snipped into potato salad or atop scrambled eggs, but they also produce slender gracefully curving stalks topped by clusters of pretty white flowers, currently in bud.

Giant Ragweed (Ambrosia trifida)

Whoa!  How big is this Giant Ragweed plant gonna grow? In the one hot rainy week I was gone, it climbed from the top of my side-porch railing to the middle of my kitchen windows.  And I bet it's not done yet.  I have seen this native flowering plant grow about 15 feet tall with stalks as thick as broomsticks. There's no sign yet that it's ready to flower, so I think it still has some height it means to achieve, the better to waft its allergenic pollen on the wind.   Lucky for me and my husband, neither of us suffers from Hay Fever.  I hope that's true for my nearby neighbors, since I do not have any plans to remove this fascinating freak of nature before it fully matures.

Horseweed (Erigeron canadensis)

When this row of green leafy plants started to grow between my slate walk and the paved area where we spread bird seed, I thought the short young plants looked quite attractive. So I left them to grow taller.  And taller. And taller! And finally they sprouted their tiny aster-like flowers the bees and wasps are now avidly feeding on, so now I know they are our native Horseweed. Okay, not so attractive, perhaps, although they do supply a lacy curtain between our house and the often untidy bird-feeding pavement. And boy, do those bees and wasps love them! So there they stay.  Which means we'll have lots more of them next year, prolific seeders that they are.

Lady's Thumb (Persicaria maculosa)

I have become aware, because of Facebook sites that focus on native plant gardens (not native habitats), that this small pretty non-native wildflower is frequently despised. But what's all the vitriol about? Lady's Thumb is such an adaptable smartweed, occurring in both wetland and dry habitats, and it amply spreads to generously and completely cover ugly patches of dry or damp dirt, so no other non-native, much uglier weed can horn in.  I think it is truly pretty, with slender spikes of deep-pink buds and pale-pink mini-blooms held high above dark-smudged green leaves, and lots of small flying insects feed on it, including the adorable Bee Fly. And if I want to plant something else where it's growing now, it's easy to pull it out.  But I'm not a gardener. I love plants that just move in and beautify the place without me having to lift a finger to take care of it. Also, it tolerates the sun as well as the shade. So the Black Locusts may come or go, but the Lady's Thumb abides!

Lance-leaved Sage (Salvia reflexa)

One of the alternative vernacular names for Lance-leaved Sage is Prairie Sage, which hints at this plant's native origins: right smack dab in the middle of the United States (the Central Plains).  But current distribution maps on BONAP (Biota Of North America Project) indicate this small-flowered Mint-family plant has also extended its range to both coasts and north into Canada.  But not into southeastern nor New England states, although its range does now include New York State. And my back yard.  It showed up last year and is flourishing here better than ever this year.  Sadly, it smells neither minty nor sagey, so it's not a culinary herb I could use, but I do welcome it for its pretty blue flowers and its modest habit of growth. So far it has not taken over the place, the way some other mints are known to do.  The New York Flora Atlas claims it does not persist where it suddenly volunteers.  So I shall see.  At least it came back this year.  If our ever-growing-taller Black Locusts once again shade the sunny spot where it's currently growing, it might indeed not persist. If it peters out in the shade, I'll kind of miss its dainty blue flowers.

Purple Morning Glory (Ipomoea purpurea)

About 45 years ago, before Black Locusts grew tall enough to shade the south-facing side of my house (and before I turned over most of my gardening duties to Mother Nature),  I planted some Heavenly Blue Morning Glories. A single seed from this Purple Morning Glory must have come in the seed packet, for there among the Heavenly Blue flowers appeared a deep-purple one with a hot-pink star in the center.  The blue flowers never came back on their own each year, while the purple ones did, and robustly so.  Until the shade grew oppressive to them, oh, maybe 35 years ago.  Not a one had I seen until my backyard neighbor stole all our shade, and that very same summer, look who poked up to eat up all that sunshine once more. Yeah, yeah, I know it's not native.  But oh boy, it sure is beautiful!  And abundant. And now its the third year it came up again on its own and started blooming like crazy this week.  Just the kind of garden flower this non-gardener loves!

Sunflower (Helianthus species)

What species of sunflower produces the seeds that come in bags of mixed birdseed?  Whichever species that may be, the seeds have always sprouted here and there around my backyard, and now with much increased sunlight, they sometimes grow very tall and give me more birdseed when they mature.

As I mentioned, the seeds sprout here and there.  Not always where they will thrive. Sometimes even where this homeowner will rudely yank them out.

White Avens (Geum canadense)

Who would believe that this scrappy looking, tiny-flowered, bur-seeded plant was a ROSE? Well, it is! It's in the Rose Family, anyway.  And who would ever dream you could make a pretty good hot-chocolate drink from its roasted roots? Well, you can, and I will attach a video I found on You Tube that shows you how to do it. Sunny or shady, this modest-appearing native wildflower has popped up in my backyard for years, but I only paid attention this week because I wanted to include it here and I didn't know much about it.  There's probably lots more to learn about it, but the hot-chocolate thing really blew my mind, and I can't think about anything else right now. Who could have guessed such a thing?  I knew that coffee grew in that Caribbean island I visited last week, but I sure never knew that a chocolate-tasting root grew abundantly right in my own back yard.