House Wrens and a Sea of Green

With the exception of the viburnum, whose flower heads went from greenish yellow to bright white and have now faded before they will eventually produce red berries, all the trees and shrubs in my garden have lost their flowers. No more pink flowers on the dogwood or white blossoms on the apple and pear trees or yellow on the forsythia. The rhododendron and azalea flowers have shriveled and fallen. The irises have finished their bloom and so has the peony.

Viburnum flowers (Margo D. Beller)

Other perennials are now growing and will soon flower. The weeds are way ahead of them and I've already made several long, painful attempts to contain the spread by pulling what I can reach over, under and behind the deer fencing. 

For the most part my yard is a sea of green except where the clover is showing its white flowers in the grass. In the midst of this green sits the house wren nest box.

At this time of year what birds I find in my usual places have ended their migrations to nest and breed. Many of them now have young that need feeding. I hear the young birds calling for food and I see their parents zipping around, gleaning insects from tree leaves. The tree foliage is so thick now I can't see the birds well up there, I can only hear them unless they happen to come lower to hunt on the ground.

The house wrens living in my yard also have young. I estimate they have at least two, maybe three. I'm not sure when exactly the eggs hatched but Mom was in the box a lot at first and now both parents are flying back and forth from the box to remove waste and bring food. Last week the young were small enough for both parents to go inside the box at the same time but usually it is just Mom who goes in. If Dad brings food while she is in the box he gives it to her to give the young.

(I am not humanizing these birds, but it is easier to call them Mom and Dad than to keep saying "the female house wren," etc.)

This year's male house wren. (Margo D. Beller)

After Dad has delivered the food to the nest he sometimes goes to a higher branch in the dogwood and flutters. Then he sings. I don't know what the fluttering means. The singing is the only way I can tell male from female.

Soon the young will get so big both parents will feed them from outside the box, except when Mom squeezes inside to get the waste matter. Eventually, the chicks will be induced to leave the nest and try flying to their parents. With luck they'll make it to the safety of the thick shrubbery across from the box and eventually learn to feed themselves. Then the family will disperse.

Always, there are dangers.

So far this year I have shooed away house sparrows trying to reach into the box to destroy the eggs and take the nest for themselves. They are bigger than wrens so I knew they couldn't get past the small opening on the box to destroy any eggs. Still, I ran them off. I have also run off squirrels several times in the last week because I don't know if they are climbing the dogwood to find insects in the leaves or any fruits being formed or to grab a wren chick.

Until yesterday what I thought was the most horrifying attack I've seen on the nest box - and who knows how many I have missed - was the male red-bellied woodpecker that flew to the box and then stuck its long bill, and longer tongue, inside. At that point there were only eggs. I chased the bird off and later learned from an article that many types of woodpeckers, including the red-belly, eat baby bird brains. I can no longer hear a red-belly in my yard without apprehension.

But worse than that attack was the Cooper's hawk.

Another immature Cooper's hawk atop another feeder pole.
(Margo D. Beller)

Sitting on my enclosed porch with my coffee early in the morning, trying to wake up, I was horrified to see a hawk fly at the nest box as the parents were shuttling back and forth to feed their young. Based on the size I thought, "Cooper's hawk." After hitting the box it flew back to the nearby privet shrub. I ran out clapping my hands to scare it off. When it flew I realized the bird's wings were brown - an immature bird. (Adults have gray wings.)

As I stood near the dogwood after the hawk flew off I heard the cheeping of the wren young.

I went back to the porch and waited for at least one parent to return. After what seemed an eternity, Mom returned and zipped into the box, then left to get more grub. I did not hear the male. It will be much more difficult to feed all those young with only one parent, I thought. That happened several years ago when the male disappeared, the female did all the feeding and then a new male appeared to help her.

(Margo D. Beller)

I went out for a while to do some birding, not wanting to know if the juvenile Cooper's had succeeded in grabbing a meal. (Adult birds are usually much more successful than juveniles that are still learning to hunt.)

When I returned from my time away I went back to the porch, this time with my breakfast. And then I heard Dad. Then I saw Dad and Mom shuttling to the nest box to feed their young. 

The Cooper's had missed. It was as though the attack had never happened. 

This is what life is like for a bird - you migrate, you pick a territory, you find a mate and raise young. If you are lucky they will live to feed themselves, migrate, then come back next year - perhaps to the box I hang in the dogwood - and do it all over again. If a chick trying to fly falls to the ground a jay may grab it for a meal, as I've seen happen. The parents continue feeding what young remain. Do they mourn the loss? Mourning is a human concept. 

Life and death are everyday occurrences in nature. There is very little I can do, but I try to keep the cycle going in my yard.

For now I'm watching the nest box like a hawk.

My Evolving Garden

"Gardening is an instrument of grace." —May Sarton

I went outside one morning between rain storms to cut some flowers for the kitchen. At the time what was blooming were white Shasta daisies, yellow daisy-like flowers that have spread beyond the two plants my sister-in-law gave me, purple salvia, some zinnias and purple coneflowers. The early spring flowers were long gone and the fall flowers - rose of Sharon, sedum - were still in bud. 

Garden flowers - zinnias, yellow daisies, goldenrod, coleus, coneflower.
(Margo D. Beller)

As I was preparing the flowers for the vase I thought about how my garden has changed over many years .

When we bought our house decades ago, the area in front of the bay window was flanked by two large rhododendrons and three azalea shrubs between them. At the side of the house were drifts of daffodils. In the back was a plot of the ground cover pachysandra. There was no patio, no paving-stone walkway. In the front, the dirt path had large flat stones for walking to the front door. I don't remember if anything was growing along that walkway.

Then we had to have major work done on the foundation. All those plants I mentioned above - gone. I regretted losing those daffodils and the rhododendrons.

The rhododendron I planted. (Margo D. Beller)

So when the work was done and it was time to plant a new garden I had to take into consideration zoning rules (a "park-like" lawn on the 35-foot setback that came nearly to the house), whether the plants needed sun or shade and, especially important for me, what kind of pretty flowers would they produce.

I planted a rhododendron where one of the previous owner's plants had been. I flanked the area with two rose of Sharons. In between were a row of yellow and green euonymous shrubs and purple asters at the front. I was not thinking in terms of perennials vs. annuals or how fall-blooming plants like asters would look in the spring. Like the plants, my thinking would eventually change.

Along the now-bricked front walkway I put in azaleas. In back, small yew shrubs. Where the daffodils had been, some andromeda bushes.

It didn't take long before I started learning about the animals that roamed the property, especially rabbits and deer.

After too many mornings when I discovered a rabbit nibbling on the asters, I bought a small fence to keep them away. That sorta worked (and thanks to the increase in the fox population I haven't seen a rabbit in the yard in years). But then I'd see damage to the asters and the euonymous shrubs and figured out something bigger was stepping over the low fence and helping itself. 

I can't remember how long it took to figure out I had a deer problem. I started reading about deer and what they are likely to eat, and quickly realized I had created a veritable White Castle for Odocoileus virginianus.

Columbine (with seedheads) that sprung up between euonymous shrubs.
(Margo D. Beller)

There are ways to deter deer. You can continually spray foul-tasting stuff on your plants, you can get a dog to patrol the property and pee in the garden so the deer smell it and stay away from a potential predator, you can put up barriers such as a fence or you can plant things that a deer is generally presumed not to like (but I've found will try anyway).

I eschewed the spray and I don't have a dog, so I went with fencing and plants - such as ornamental grasses and onions - in areas where I didn't put up a fence. 

After the azaleas stopped blooming I realized having just these plants looked boring, So I planted low juniper bushes between each azalea to make it more interesting. I discovered the joy of daffodils when a now-former neighbor insisted I fill a bucket with them after her son-in-law rescued hundreds from a garden crew that had dug them up from an office park. I bought more daffodils and got even more from a friend who said she didn't want them in her garden. Eventually daffodils were planted with ferns between the andromedas as well as in the spaces when the junipers eventually died.

The asters eventually died, too. I planted hyacinths, crocus and glory-of-the-snow and lilies. A friend gave me some goldenrod and snowdrops. A charity mailed me a packet of Shasta daisy seeds, most of which have sprouted. These are all behind deer fencing.

Fencing protecting yews. Behind them are the hostas.
(Margo D. Beller)

From an annual plant fair I bought butterfly bush, butterfly weed and hellebore. After several attempts to grow black-eyed susans failed I succeeded with purple coneflowers. I found columbine that had produced seedheads in a vacant lot about to be built over. These seeds have produced daughter plants everywhere I've spread them and beyond. I did not, to my regret, rescue a peony so I bought one that has flowered beautifully each spring. 

I bought a hydrangea bush to remind me of my parents' garden, but between the deer trying to eat it and the chipmunks tunneling underneath it didn't last. 

I planted joe-pye weed that grew 10-feet tall and threatened to overwhelm the bay window plot so I had to move them. They did ok after the move but they are now gone. The ornamental grasses I planted did much better than the Scotch brooms and lavenders I tried in the backyard.

Joe-pye in the wild. My experiment with them did
not turn out as well. (Margo D. Beller)

When a friend was breaking up her garden she begged me to take some of her plants, so I took irises, lily of the valley, astilbe, perennial geranium, fringed bleeding heart, yarrow, bishop's weed, monarda, vinca and several hostas. These plants have since been moved several times or have died, either because they reached their mortal limits or because they became so invasive I had to pull them out. Some of those that died I replaced with the same type of plant. 

In the case of the hostas I tried to get rid of as many as possible after the time deer ripped through the netting and nearly destroyed the potted plants, which I'd foolishly put in front. I now have two hostas hidden behind other plants. The others I gave away. 

And, of course, there are always weeds.

For my fencing I started with heavy metal poles I could never get fully in the ground. Then I discovered thin metal poles coated in green plastic that had no hooks. These don't last as long but I can hammer them into the ground. I developed a way of attaching the netting with green plastic garden ties, looping the top of the netting around the top of the poles. I also moved the low fence, putting it around my compost pile.

May Sarton wrote about her garden in her journals. She had vast drifts of flowers at her place in York, Maine. I don't remember her complaining about deer or about overdevelopment or climate change making the Earth too hot and changing when those flowers bloomed and when bees, birds and other pollenators would be stopping by to feed. 

Perennial geranium I bought and potted, and a hosta I kept that is not
yet hidden by the yew. (Margo D. Beller) 

But all that is happening now. With so-called development wiping out natural areas for residential and commercial lots the increasing deer populations gather and eat in small garden plots and suburban yards because there are no woods anymore (or predators that have been wiped out, or fear of being shot where people are now living).  

Meanwhile, the planet is getting hotter and plants are blooming before insects and birds can pollenate them. In years of massive insect populations the leaves of many plants are turned into lace. In other years, like this one, there has been so much rain my dogwood bloomed and the red spider mites were kept away from the flowers. Our recent heatwaves have been punctuated with massive downpours turning the street into a river and our driveway into a tributary.

The perennials have been growing in my garden long enough to be used to the conditions and can take care of themselves, which is fine for me. Annuals don't do nearly as well so next year's garden won't have them. If climate change makes my garden evolve into a desert or a floodplain, so be it. The garden (and I) will deal with it.

Food for Flight

As usual, the year is flying by. It is now August. For many birds, nesting is complete and the young have dispersed. The days are starting to get shorter and the winds are coming out of the north. Instinct tells them it is time to head south for the winter.

Jewelweed (Margo D. Beller)

Birds travel light, literally and figuratively. A hummingbird weighs less than an ounce. An osprey can weigh up to four pounds. Even the biggest birds can be thrown off course by high winds and heavy rains, making their travel perilous, especially when they have to fly over open water such as the Gulf of Mexico or the Atlantic Ocean.

They also don't travel with a cooler filled with snacks. They have to depend on whatever foods they can find when they land after a day (diurnal flyers such as hawks) or night (most small birds including warblers) of flying. For the osprey, that means fish. For other raptors, that means small mammals or birds (which is why most small birds travel at night). For the smaller birds, that includes insects, the seeds and fruits ripening now, and whatever they might find at people's feeders.

The privet shrubs in my backyard are filled with small, round, black berries favored by such fruit eaters as robins, mockingbirds, catbirds and cedar waxwings. The wild cherry tree has also attracted birds because it is fruiting, which is good because the viburnum and dogwood are not going to provide much to eat this fall. There are also red berries all over the yew hedge.

In my travels I have seen plenty of food Mother Nature has put out for migrating birds.

Hop hornbeam with hanging seeds (Margo D. Beller)

There's the hop hornbeam, for instance. I would never have even noticed this tree had I not almost walked into a low-hanging branch and noticed the seeds dangling from it. Once I identified this tree I found it everywhere - on hillsides, along river banks. It is an understory tree, meaning it grows below the canopy of larger trees. Apparently it thrives on being left alone, which may be why they were planted years ago by municipal parks departments. I've seen cardinals and cedar waxwings eating the seeds from this tree. 

There are also nectar-filled or seeding flowers. Thistle and goldenrod bloom now, and when they go to seed they will feed goldfinches, sparrows and other seed eaters. Weeds are also a wonderful source of seeds, including the ragweed that torments my sinuses and always seems to come back no matter how much it is mowed or pulled out.

The cardinal flower has a gentle spike of red flower and prefers moist areas, which is why I see it near streams and why I've had no luck growing it in my garden. Hummingbirds are attracted by the color and feed on the pollen. Another hummingbird favorite is jewelweed. This one also favors wet areas along stream banks or bogs but unlike the cardinal flower it is orange-yellow. However, its flower is a trumpet that attracts the hummingbird. Apparently it is also used to make medicine, but thankfully no one has touched the stands of jewelweed I've seen attracting hummingbirds, bees and insects.

Cardinal flower (Margo D. Beller)

These food sources are not everywhere, of course. The insect population is in decline, which will have a devastating effect not only on birds but on humans because most of our food needs to be pollinated by bees and insects when it is first flowering. Ocean waters are much warmer than they should be this summer. According to NOAA, we are in an El Nino year. That means:

Our global climate models are predicting that the warmer-than-average Pacific ocean conditions will not only last through the winter, but continue to increase. There is a good chance—approximately 2 in 3—that the peak Oceanic Niño Index this winter will match or exceed 1.5 °C, our informal threshold for a “strong” El Niño event.

El Nino, according to NOAA, is a "naturally occurring climate pattern associated with warming of the ocean surface temperatures in the central and eastern tropical Pacific Ocean, which can significantly influence weather patterns, ocean conditions, and marine fisheries worldwide."

When the Pacific Northwest is as hot as Houston, when wildfires destroy millions of acres of forests and homes, when parts of the U.S. have not gone below 100 degrees F in months, when New England is hit with tornadoes, when the mid-Atlantic states are hit by several 100-year floods in one season, what is a "naturally occurring climate pattern" anymore?

I just hope the birds make it.

 

Summer Doldrums

This seems like more of a hellish summer than usual, which is what I think every year. Summer is always a time when I stay indoors with the air conditioner on if the heat and humidity get to extremely uncomfortable levels. Even when it is cool in the very early morning I have to dress in long sleeves and head covering, my pants tucked into my socks, to protect myself from the many insects that would otherwise bite any uncovered area.

Summer flowers - coneflower, zinnias, daisies,
coreopsis (Margo D. Beller)

This year's weather has produced enough rain to make me glad I did not call for the sprinkler to be turned on, and to produce mushrooms in the lawn. It has kept my half-dead dogwood tree alive and given my yard guy gainful employment.

The rain has been good for my cannas and my flowers, including the zinnia and marigold seeds I planted. With the daisies, coreopsis and conflowers blooming now I can finally cut my own bouquet instead of paying to make one at the farmstand I frequent for summer vegetables. The rain also prompted enough weeds to force me to pull them from all over the garden over the course of three early mornings, before the sun, humidity and my sore body drove me inside.

I gave up on what I had thought were pepper seedlings. They were weeds, so I'll be buying my peppers this year.

Not a pepper after all. (Margo D. Beller)

And then there is the continual prospect of smoke from Canadian wildfires mixing with the usual high levels of ozone each time the wind comes out of an otherwise pleasant northwesterly direction. Will the fires continue into the fall when the migrants start heading south?

It has been hard to get myself walking in this weather, even harder to go listen for birds. At this time of year it's rare I find a bird that I couldn't find in my backyard, so I don't usually bother. In the backyard the robins are going after ripe fruit in the black cherry tree, the catbird family members chase each other around the yard, and chipping and song sparrows call from the trees. I hear the cardinals in the morning and have a brief temptation to put out seed for them. But then I remember these birds eat the insects that plague me and don't need my seed now.

I could follow the usual flock of birders down the coast and look for the shorebirds that spend the summer in New Jersey. But the one time we went shorebirding in summer we were attacked by greenhead flies, which meant staying in the car with the windows up as we drove the tour road. 

So I sit on my porch in the early morning with the fan on, sipping my coffee as my neighbors go off to work or get their kids ready for camp. That is how I see the cardinals, robins, catbirds and occasional others in my yard. (The hummingbird feeder has yet to draw a single bird, unfortunately, even with the pink flowers in bloom near it.)

Wren nest box (Margo D. Beller)

Then there is the house wren box. A few weeks ago, long after the first pair of wrens and their young departed, another pair actively investigated the box and seemed ready to use the old nest inside. Then, once again, something happened. 

After a few days when I wasn't on the porch I came out one morning to find a male singing loud and long but no activity at the box. In fact, over the next few days if a female showed up he chased her away. We went away for a few days but as of yesterday he was still around, tho' not singing as loudly or as often. I am no expert on house wren behavior despite all the writing I do about them, so I have no idea what is going on. 

In a few weeks the male will be gone and the box will be brought down and emptied. The summer heat will be a distant memory, I hope.

Catching Up in the Garden

Last week, New York City had the dubious distinction of having the dirtiest air in the world because of the smoke blown on winds out of the north from wildfires that continue to rage throughout Canada. At its worst, the smoke made the sun look deep orange, kept the temperature to the mid-60s (F) and turned the sky brownish-yellow. The smell of burning wood was thick.

Stargazer lilies, supported by a tomato
cage, protected by deer fencing.
(Margo D. Beller)

Living as I do 35 miles or so due west of the Big Apple, I could not avoid this manifestation of the continuing harm of what is now called "climate change," but I still refer to as global warming. (I know there are differences between the two terms but the overall destructive effect is the same.) There has been very little rain anywhere in my area, and apparently the same is true of Canada.

This is not the first time smoke has filled the skies over my part of New Jersey. Usually the smoke comes from wildfires in the southern part of the state, such as in the Pine Barrens, during extremely dry periods during the summer. The smoke is blown north on hot winds from the south. This year will likely be no exception because with the lack of rain those fires continue, unfortunately.

But this thick yellow smoke from Canada was unprecedented. A persistent low off the eastern coast kept pulling the smoke into my region until the air was toxic to breathe for those of us in "vulnerable" groups, who were urged to stay inside with the windows closed. I was under house arrest, for the most part. If I absolutely had to go outside, I kept it short and wore a mask. 

Blooming viburnum (Margo D. Beller)

The world continued on without me, of course. People were urged to limit their pets' time outside but the wild animals - including birds - were still out there foraging for food, both for themselves and for their young. Somehow they managed, but I have to wonder about the effect of that poisonous air.

When the smoke finally cleared, literally, it was with relief I could go back outside. I walked around the yard and found some flowers had faded - the rhododendron, irises and the peony - while others were blooming (viburnum, salvia and stargazer lilies) or growing to the point where they would soon bloom (butterfly weed).

Meanwhile, what I thought were peppers growing from the seeds I'd planted a few months ago are not peppers. I'm not sure what they are. I've moved those pots to make more room for the pots of marigolds and zinnias that are definitely growing from seed. 

I don't know what this is but it isn't
a pepper. (Margo D. Beller)

The apple tree is filled with growing fruit that has been getting knocked to the ground, still too raw to be usable. I'm not sure if the squirrels are searching for ripe apples to slack their thirst of if the tree is dropping apples to save energy because of this drought. Maybe both. 

I also took note of the birds. One of my few trips outdoors was to make sure the water dish was full. It drew a pair of goldfinches, a song sparrow and a jay. (I'm sure there were others, including squirrels, but I didn't see them.) Every so often I would see the resident cardinals and catbirds hunting around the yard. Overhead I heard cedar waxwings and chimney swifts, hunting for seeds or insects. 

Apples in tree (Margo D. Beller)

And, of course, I was able to see what was happening with the house wrens. Based on their activity the eggs had hatched but the young were still small enough for either parent to go inside to feed them. When the young get bigger they will jostle for position and the parent will only be able to feed the one or ones that can push to the nest box opening. Right now the parents go in with food and come out, sometimes with chick poop, which must be removed to keep bacteria out of the nest. I estimate two or three young are in the nest.

As I watch the wrens following their instincts to feed their young so they will one day (soon?) fledge, feed themselves and continue the cycle, I have to wonder why it is that humans, the top of the food chain and the only creatures capable of creating weapons - and now weather conditions - to destroy themselves, are considered to be so damned superior.

This cropped picture was taken through my porch screen. if you look
carefully you will see the parent wren over the box. Less
obvious is the wren looking out from inside.
(Margo D. Beller)

Pre-Autumn Colors

Coleus, coneflower and euonymous bushes
protected by deer netting. (Margo D. Beller)

At this time of year it is hard to deny summer is finally ending.

Labor Day has been and gone. Children are either back in school or in their homes doing their learning remotely because of the continued coronavirus pandemic. It is now dark until about 6:15 a.m. and is dark again around 7 p.m. Even on warm days the evenings and overnights are cool enough to keep the air conditioner off. Several times this week the temperature will dip into the 40s for the first time in months.

Perhaps the best sign of autumn's approach is to see what is growing in the garden. It's more enjoyable to look around now that I've finished with my weeding. The late summer heat diminished the coreopsis, the coneflower and the daisies. However, now the garden is full of pinks and purples from the Rose of Sharons, the liriopes, the sedums and the big pot of 4 coleus plants I had indoors over the winter, and which grew and filled in with the summer heat.

Peppers on plant, 2020 (Margo D. Beller)

There are other colors. The green of the viburnum is contrasted with the red berries growing where the flowers were too high to be browsed by deer. The berries will be eaten by birds, I hope, rather than squirrels. There are a number of green peppers that started coming in with the late-summer heat and are now very slowly turning red enough for me to pick and use. Until recently there were tomatoes ripening to gold. But now chipmunks have picked off the small, green fruits and I've brought what's left of them inside.

The green lawn is looking lusher now that it isn't being blasted by intense heat. But when MH does not get to mowing it, the long grass hosts other plants, in this case some of the nearby sensitive ferns and small locust trees growing from the root of one or more of the trees at the curb. I do not care to dig up the yard so I must depend on MH's mowing or me cutting these mini trees down with a lopper.

Rose of Sharon, a favorite with bees
(Margo D. Beller)

The birds are in transition, too. I have seen no hummingbirds at that feeder since Aug. 31. They are on the move south. Now that nesting is over and the young have left, some of the yard birds are making noise again. The cardinal calls "teek!" as it flies around the backyard, waking me at first light, and I am reminded it will soon be time to put out the feeders. Titmice are coming to the water dishes and there is still a catbird calling from the bushes. The catbird will be gone by winter. On those mornings I can make myself get up in the dark and get out to look for them, there are warblers in their autumnal coloring and other birds I haven't seen since spring, all heading south for the winter.

Unlike the spring birds, these fall migrants are mainly silent, which means I must work harder to find them as they dart around in treetops feeding on insects after a long flight to my area from their northern breeding grounds. When I can find them I am pleased, especially if I can identify them. It doesn't make it easier that I must now contend with floaters in my left eye that make me think there is something flying above me when there isn't.

There are also raptors. They migrate, too and, unlike the smaller birds, they travel by day on the warm winds called thermals that rise off ridges and mountains. The hawk watchers have been been busy doing their counting since August, and I have been lucky to see hawks, eagles, accipiters and ospreys.

Joe-Pye weed, goldenrod, ferns at Tempe Wick Reserve,
Mendham Township, NJ 2020 (Margo D. Beller)

Of course, the most obvious sign of autumn's approach is the leaves starting to color. The dogwood's are going red, the apple tree has been losing leaves since the apples stopped in June and there are plenty of little yellow leaves in the street, on the lawn and tracked into the house from the locust trees. Soon the oaks, maples and elms will drop their colorful leaves and MH and I will be out with rake and tarp. So far I have not seen many locust pods so I am hopeful that, as with the apple tree this spring, this won't be a year of plenty.

I will enjoy all these garden colors for as long as possible, but I know that, inevitably, winter will return, too.

Sad at Midsummer, Again

Flowers from my garden, 2020 (Margo D. Beller)

Every year, in late July going into August, I start feeling sad. Perhaps it is the continued heat and humidity forcing me inside with the air conditioning while the weeds proliferate. Perhaps it goes back to the days when I was a student and I knew that, come September (or August when I was in college), it would be time to go back to school and I'd lose my freedom. Or perhaps it is seeing the darkness in the early morning when it was once light, or seeing the sun's arc getting smaller as the days get shorter.

So it is this midsummer, except it is worse because this is not a normal year. It is the year of the coronavirus and things may never be the same again.

My life is one example. Doing simple things such as going to the supermarket or getting my hair cut has become more complicated. I have been working from home since March and will continue working from home through the end of the year, and likely beyond. I am OK with that. I find I am less and less comfortable walking outside where I can come into contact with people except for when I can get myself out early to walk on a trail and listen for any birds. But getting up and out is getting harder to do and I am feeling disconnected from nature. I try to go out on the weekends for a walk with MH or to run errands such as to my favorite farm market, particularly now that it is tomato season.

Tomato, basil and peppers, 2020
(Margo D. Beller)

Here, too, things have become complicated. I must be masked, stand six feet from a guy behind the vegetable bins, pointing to what I want, asking it not "be so wilted." Where once zinnias and other flowers grew for picking, every inch of land is filled with a variety of vegetables. That's a good thing because this farm feeds not only casual shoppers like me but members of its CSA community plus it donates produce to local organizations feeding those who would otherwise go hungry. (But for the grace of God that could've been me, too.)

To keep myself from feeling too sad, I think of what COVID-19 hasn't changed.

My flowers - yellow coreopsis, white daisies, purple coneflowers, goldenrod and the deep red flowers of the cannas - are in bloom. If I can't pick the farm's flowers, I can selectively pick my own.

My vegetables are growing, finally. I am waiting for a dozen little green cherry tomatoes and two large, still-green Italian frying peppers to ripen, and there will be more to come. The basil continues to produce big, green leaves I pick for sandwiches and to make pesto.

Fritillary butterfly (RE Berg-Anderson)

Hummingbirds have been visiting the canna flowers in the front yard and the feeder in the back. At this time of year the females need energy to find insects to feed their young. Soon the young will need energy to hunt and may follow their mothers (the fathers will have left long before) to the feeder. The birds started coming later in July than usual but now they are more frequent visitors.

The house wrens are long gone. They and other birds will be heading south soon, if they haven't already started. Those passing through won't be as gaily colored and they won't be singing territorial songs but knowing they're out there might be just enough for me to leave the house and reconnect with the outside world, in spite of this pandemic. The birds need to head south to reach their wintering areas and what we're going through will not affect nor deter them. Those not flying as far south will be stopping (or staying) in my yard when I put the seed feeders back out after Labor Day, less than a month from now.

Monarch butterfly (RE Berg-Anderson)

Butterflies will be heading south, too. I have noticed more tiger swallowtails on the purple flowers of the butterfly bush and some of the smaller butterflies such as the fritillarys. I am waiting for the first monarch butterfly to come.

The days will get even shorter, and there will come a time all too soon when it will be dark before 5 p.m. The inevitability of that depresses me. August is my late mother's birth month and the month her mother as well as one of my good friends died. It adds to the sadness of the period, much as I try to enjoy the flowers, birds and butterflies.

I expect I'll get out of this funk eventually, as I do every year. This year it might take a little longer.

Disposing of the Fruits of My Labor

Dahlia, Autumn 2019 (Margo D. Beller)

As I sit on my enclosed porch, the weather is most definitely autumnal. I am in my warmest robe. The windows are closed. A feeder has drawn cardinals. The sun's arc is shorter and it doesn't rise as high in the sky. Days are most decidedly shorter.

And in the corner are four pots of vegetables continuing to grow.

Every year around this time I begin the slow task of closing the garden and getting the house ready for winter. I wait for as long as possible before bringing indoors the houseplants I've put on the porch for the summer because they are going to get more humidity outside than in, especially once I start using the furnace. This year I made it until the beginning of October when the projected overnight low one night would be 37 degrees F. My porch would've kept the plants a degree or two warmer but since many of them are tropicals they had to be brought in.

The pots of cannas and dahlias in front behind the deer netting are staying put for now. The dahlias are autumn flowers, just starting to bloom. The cannas' leaves still look fresh although what flowers they had are long since done. Once frost hits and the foliage goes brown I can cut it off and put the pots in the garage, while I pull up the dahlias and store the bulbs, wrapped in newspaper, in a box nearby.

Tomato plant, still bearing fruit (Margo D. Beller)

That leaves the vegetables. Most people, if they grow vegetables, seem to harvest what they can and leave the rest to rot. I've seen this in my town's community garden. I've walked there after a frost and found many tomatoes still on the vine until the plot holder makes it there to rip out the plants. (One of those holders allowed me access once and now I know what a frozen tomato looks and feels like.)

I, however, grow vegetables in pots. Usually I have anywhere from two to five pots of peppers and one of basil. The basil is used up first, long before the first frost. But if the peppers are covered with flowers (connoting the fruit to come), I bring them indoors for the winter.

Things are different this year.

Two autumns ago, I found a tomato seedling near my compost pile. I potted it and it grew into a tree that was difficult to keep upright. Just as it was about to put out fruit, it became infested with white flies that also affected the nearby peppers and my houseplants. Out went the tomato and the peppers, the former into the front yard where, despite the sun, it died in the cold, the latter into the one corner of the enclosed porch where the sun shines the longest. (Each houseplant was examined and cleaned outside before coming back in.)

Peppers  and base of tomato plant; note the pepper flowers
(Margo D. Beller)

This year, I had two of the four peppers I had kept inside for the winter (two died and the other two were continually moved to rid them of white flies) plus a basil, a third type of pepper and a cherry tomato plant that also grew to be like a tree. All were in a protective cage but the deer soon discovered they could reach up and eat the upper parts of the tomato. Thus I covered the tomato and the cage in netting. The plants continued to give me vegetables and, as usual, seemed to get a second life late in the summer.

So once the houseplants were brought into the house, I transported the four pots to the porch where I continue to pick tomatoes even as more grow. Of the peppers, one has been a disappointment (the one decent pepper it produced wasn't particularly good), one is nearly done but the last is covered with flowers and growing fruit.

Tomato flowers and small, unripe fruit (Margo D. Beller

What is different this year is my attitude - none of these pots are going to be taken into the house. I am done with battling white flies. I am done with moving heavy pots. In the autumn of my life, there are more important things I must consider, such as my declining physical strength.

Next year I plan on following Thoreau's dictum of "simplify, simplify" and have one pot of peppers and one of basil. I'll leave the majority of vegetable growing to the farm markets.

When the really cold weather comes, which it inevitably will, I will pick what tomatoes and peppers I can use and leave the plants on the porch and let nature take its course. Then the plants will be pulled out and composted to feed the worms.

The Danger Time

Canna, with bitten foliage, 2018 (Margo D. Beller

In my yard, September going into October is a dangerous time to be a plant.

There are many resources that will tell you which flowers, trees and shrubs are resistant to browsing by deer, but if they are honest they will tell you that a hungry deer will try eating just about anything.

Take my cannas. This is a tropical plant grown for its foliage. As an extra gift it sends up spikes of red, trumpet-like flowers that have been known to draw hummingbirds. Cannas are considered "very resistant" to browsing, according to New Jersey's Rutgers University.

Dahlia, in its new spot after deer "pruning" (Margo D. Beller)

That is not completely true in my yard. Because cannas are tropical, if you put them in the ground they must be pulled out, wrapped and stored before the winter cold can kill them. After the first year, I stopped doing that. I keep them in big pots and then cut them back in late fall and store the pots in the garage. Last year, a deer came to one of the pots and chewed off the flower stalk. The plant did not bloom again.

This year, I put the pots within wired fencing to create a cage. I also put in a dahlia, a late-blooming, flowering plant that must also be stored for winter. Both pots of cannas had lots of flower spikes during the rainy, hot summer.

Then came September. One morning a couple of weeks ago I came out to discover a tall stalk of dahlia flowers had been chewed off and left on the ground, the flowers I'd waited for gone. Then the deer decided to try for the canna flower stalk. It could not reach it. As compensation it took several large bites out of the foliage it could reach, leaving some of the leaves in tatters. I moved the dahlia pot and recently saw new growth and flower buds resulting from the unintentional pruning by the deer. The cannas, however, are still in the cage and every so often another bite or two is taken when the deer comes looking for that dahlia. Soon enough the foliage will be cut off and the pots put into the garage

Rose of Sharon flowers (Margo D. Beller)

Deer are threatened at this time of year, too. Perennial flowers they like to eat have died back. People, or their lawn services, have mowed their grassy lawn to within an inch of its life, leaving nothing for the deer to graze. So this is why they start hitting the shrubs such as the euonymous (the one known as Burning Bush is a particular favorite, if my neighbor's is any indication) and the yew hedges. I've put double netting on to protect the plants in several beds because deer have either eaten through the single netting or have somehow managed to slice a big hole so they can put their heads in and eat unimpeded.

Also at this time of year, there is bow and arrow hunting of deer allowed ahead of the annual November shotgun hunt, coincident with the time when mating generally takes place. So deer are on the move and when not looking for love they are looking for greener pastures. Literally.

Pink sedum and purple-spiked liriope (Margo D. Beller)

Meanwhile, back in my garden, the Shasta daisies, joe-pye weeds and goldenrod that I've had damaged by deer before (and which are now better protected) are no longer blooming. These have been cut back. What are blooming are the purple-spiked liriope and the pink sedum, both behind double deer netting. The rose of Sharon is fading, as is the butterfly bush. The leaves of the ferns, peony and astibe are browning. I'm counting down the days until I can cut back the last of the perennials and put burlap on the evergreens that will be the only thing available to the deer.

There are few in my area who go through this winter preparation. Then again, many of my neighbors' houses are landscaped with plants designed to be "carefree" and easily replaced when the deer inevitably come to eat them.

Soon the seed and suet feeders will be back up and I will enjoy watching the hungry birds. The deer, however, are on their own.

Make Way for the Monarch

Birds are not the only creatures heading south for the winter. Monarch butterflies are filing the skies, heading to winter grounds in central Mexico. The changing colors of the tree leaves get most of the attention of travelers in late September into October, but for those with the patience to stop and look around comes the reward of seeing the majestic orange and black wings of this large butterfly as it stops at fall asters, sunflowers, goldenrod and other flowers for food to power its trip south.

Biddeford Pool, Maine, Sept. 2018 (Margo D. Beller)

Think about it: This butterfly, which weighs next to nothing, has to travel thousands of miles if it is going to live to fly north in spring, find plants suitable for laying eggs and then die. The travel is treacherous. Winds blow them off course, forcing them to use precious energy to keep going. I've seen monarchs traveling over water as they hug the coast, such as the dozens MH and I saw along the coast of Maine, undeterred by strong northwest winds pushing them from the side.

Monarch and bees on sunflower, Morris Townwhip, NJ, Sept. 2018
(Margo D. Beller)

They must avoid other hazards - hungry birds, spider webs (I've saved many a monarch from a web laid across a thick bush of dune rose. Have you?), careless humans accidentally or intentionally catching and killing them. Like the birds, they keep going. They are programmed to do this. If you provide them with suitable plants, they will stop in your yard and then continue. I've seen monarchs take advantage of all the flowering autumn mums currently offered by garden centers for suburban front doorways, for instance.

We hear about the importance of milkweed to the life cycle of monarch butterflies and other pollenators, and I've been seeing more and more of the plants growing in local parks and roadsides. But the flowers still blooming at this time of year - coneflowers, butterfly bush, asters, goldenrod - are, to me, just as important because without them the butterfly would not be able to travel far and would be killed by the inevitable cold weather.

There are many other butterflies, of course, but monarchs are threatened by habitat loss in Mexico. Up here, in my part of the world, unless you have planted many types of flowers to draw butterflies, you won't see them much if you have the usual kinds of nonflowering shrubs planted to make it as easy on the homeowner (and landscaping crew) as possible.

(Margo D. Beller)

This year's weather was not kind to my butterfly plants, which is why I have seen few monarchs in my yard. The spring rains washed out a lot of the soil where the joe-pye weeds grow, resulting in few, spindly plants and fewer pink flowers. The orange butterfly weed - a type of milkweed - bloomed and busted earlier still. I no longer grow asters - something I should rectify - and the type of goldenrod I grow did most of its blooming in the heat of summer.

Luckily, I have seen many other flower gardens elsewhere that have been drawing monarch butterflies, and for that I'm grateful.