The gardens have reached that ragged, tattered phase, that end of August look. The snails have had their way with the iris leaves, which are now in shreds. No real harm has been done to the irises—I know this from past experience—but they look worn out, ready to be clipped back for fall. The daylilies—magnificent this year—are pretty much done blooming, and they are all stalks and yellow leaves.
Even the bee balm, a glorious burst of red for well over a month, looks woebegone as petals fall and Japanese beetles feed on them. Still, there is that spicy bergamot smell coming from the bee balm, and true to its name, it attracts every manner of buzzing bee, from bumble bees to smaller bees whose names I don’t know.
Yesterday, as I ate my lunch on the patio, I watched a hummingbird moth work the phlox. Tufted titmice, chickadees, and woodpeckers came to the feeders at the edge of the patio. A few days ago, I saw a black and white warbler, the first ever at the little house in the big woods. If I were the type of person who kept lists, that bird would have been added lickety-split.
Hummingbirds come to their little red feeder, which I keep well stocked with sugar water. They also love the bee balm as well as the jewelweed, which grows at the edge of the lawn, just before the woods. In early summer, I disliked the jewelweed’s leggy look and invasive ways. I didn’t recognize the plant for what it was, and I pulled much of it out, intending to take care of the rest by summer’s end. However, other tasks called, and the plants left behind lost their legginess and matured into a dark shapely green lit up with a myriad of tiny orange blossoms. Bees and hummingbirds love these flowers, and the plants bob beneath the buzzing, hovering activity.
There is a lesson in all of this—be careful what you pull, be careful what you get rid of. What initially looks leggy and ungainly might very well mature into something bright and lovely and beloved.