Recent strolls through my front garden gladdened my gardener’s heart. This formerly shade, now full sun space, has delivered in blooms and foliage beyond my original dreams for it! It’s a hot garden in the long summer months, though full of flowers, with attending birds and insects busy with their lives, beauty and utility on full display. In those months I enjoy the early mornings and late evenings, the hot afternoons are a time to assess the plants’ viability. Those visits are short bursts of garden appreciation and sometimes, a recognition of design mistakes. Texas summers demand respect and practicality.

The autumn bloom-up, our so-called second spring, sometimes starts in October, sometimes in November, rain and temperatures being the deciding factors. This year, November is the graced month, with a bit of rain (though not enough…) and cooler temperatures. I traveled most of October and thought I would miss a good deal of the second spring, but warmer-than-normal temperatures and little rain at that time delayed the show. My garden has performed admirably in November and I have enjoyed every minute!

Autumn specialty plants, those which show-off in fall, are plenty and varied. Here, Fall Aster, Symphyotrichum oblongifolium, perky and pretty flowers abloom, bask in the late season gentle sunshine.

Some asters share space with Globe Mallow, Sphaeralcea ambigua, dark green, tiny leaves of the aster and its purple ray flowers a perfect companion to the grey, ruffled leaves and dreamsicle orange mallow blooms.

On colder days, the mallow blooms are reluctant to open up for pollination business. I’ve watched honeybees struggle to nuzzle their way into the center of the mallow, determined to work in the tight space. Sometimes they make it, sometime they shrug their little bee shoulders and move on to a more amenable prospect.

On warmer days, honeybees go all in–literally–working the blooms!

When our large freeze-damaged Arizona Ash was removed in 2021, it was the native grasses that I was most excited about adding to my garden as my garden space had never enjoyed enough sun to make native grasses happy and fulfilled. I now grow six Big Muhly, Muhlenbergia lindheimeri, their silvery blooms and graceful presence a signature of my fall garden.

I attempted to grow Gulf Muhly, Muhlenbergia capillaris, for years and failed miserably–there was no place in my gardens for the Texas sun to blast these grasses from sun-up to sun-down which is their preference. I now grow several of these pinky, plumy beauties. Mine still aren’t the head-turners like others I see around town, as they do live in a tiny bit of shade as the days shorten. But beggars cannot be choosers and I’ll take what loveliness they offer, especially when paired with Gregg’s Mistflower, Conoclinium greggi.

Honeybees are around, as they will be all winter, but native bees are done for the year, tucked in for winter or finished with their lives. It wasn’t a great year for butterflies; drought, I assume, took it’s toll. Monarchs have come through and are on their way to Mexico; it was a decent, though not great, migration.

This day, a Queen butterfly (and several of its buddies) adore the sweet, fuzzy blooms of the Gregg’s Mistflower.

Plateau Goldeneye, Viguiera dentata, grows tall and wide throughout the season, a sprinkling of sunny flowers cheery gifts during the summer months. October and November see the shrubs explode yellow, the pollinators thrilled with their abundance. Once the flowers are done, various birds descend, the seeds delectable.

I like this shot: one bud on the right preparing to bloom, open flowers, spent bloom atop and to the sides, stripped seed husks surrounding.

Turk’s Cap, Malvaviscus arboreus var. drummondii, is long season bloomer, but it’s near time for them to sleep. This shrub showcases a few individual crimson delights, but it’s clear that some chilly nights have impacted the foliage, turning burgundy from lush green.

Rock Rose, Pavonia lasiopetala, another April to December flower-power plant, still blooms! Honeybees are happy to muck around in the bed of pollen!

Four-nerve Daisy, Tetraneuris scaposa, grows happily in several spots of my front garden. Thriving in full sun, these plants rarely are without flowers. Even when this daisy freezes, within a couple of days, buds will appear, ready to yellow-up again. I guess you just can’t keep a good plant down!

Spring is already announcing its presence with a number of spring wildflower greens popping up and spreading out. This bit of Blue Curl, Phacelia congesta, greenery will grow through the next months, then unfurl its petite blue-purple blooms in April and May.

I’ve toured the garden and now it’s time for a break, to plop down and rest in the chairs, sip some nice Stash tea before the next cold front blows in. Thanks garden and plants and wildlife–you deliver joy and meaning.

Spring sprung many months ago, summer’s hardy floral gifts, amidst Texas heat and drought, delivered color and life with attending pollinator action throughout those toasty months. Summer is finally done and autumn is a robust flowering period, full of blooming goodness. A pollinator frenzy is in full swing in my Austin garden.

The yellows, especially Plateau Goldeneye, Viguiera dentata, are the pollinators’ delight. Monarchs have mostly drifted southward along gusts delivered by the last cold front. Other butterflies seem to be on vacation, but bees are still around and about–and pollinating. Most folks know about honeybees, but native or wild bees, are common and vital in any healthy ecosystem, whether in a natural green space or a planned and loved garden. In a recent stroll through my garden, I observed multiples of three kinds of bees that were all-in with their pollination business, sharing flower space they buzzed about a Plateau Goldeneye.

Here, a honeybee works the flower, her little leg splayed out, maybe for balance or perhaps preparing to scoot over to the next flower. A bee’s version of getting a leg up?

The same bee on the same flower, all hunched up and nectaring away!

This bee isn’t a honey, but a native, or wild, bee. My best guess, utilizing this website hosted by an entomologist at The University of Texas whose research focuses on native bees, is that this little gal belongs to the leafcutter bee family.

I like this bird’s-eye view of the leafcutter bee, pollen pantaloons (aka, corbiculae) full-to-bursting with a packed load of beautiful, golden pollen.

The third bee sort zipping around was this tiny thing, most likely a native sweat bee. All native bees are efficient pollinators, regardless of size, though size dictates how much nectar is consumed and the amount of pollen that is gathered. This little one won’t sip as much nectar or pack as much pollen as her bumble relatives, but she and her sisters are excellent in their important work.

This shot captures the difference in size between the sweat and the honey bee. Both are focused on their respective flowers.

Some bees are generalists, visiting a variety of flowers, others are more particular, arriving when certain flowers are in bloom, absent from the garden when that plant is in a resting stage. How the bee knows when its favored bloom is ready for pollination is a mystery, at least to me. Entomologists understand much about honeybees, but there’s comparatively little research on native bees. There are roughly 20,000 native bee species in the world, about 4000 reside in North America, and 350 in Texas. In fact, a new bee was recently discovered and named, existing only in Texas and Oklahoma: the Andrena androfovea–a blue bee, which you can read about here. This blue bee is one of those bees that sips from only one species of plant!

I’ve “identified” roughly 15-18 native in my garden over the years. I don’t necessarily know the name of each (though I know some), as there’s not much information available, so I look at photos and make guesses. Lots of guesses. But I have learned to recognize a bumble from a carpenter, a sweat from a leafcutter, a metallic from a bee mimic. I’ve become familiar with their habits: some are wood nesters, others nest in the ground, most (except for honeybees) are solitary and make small amounts of honey to feed their offspring. I recognize the leaf ‘damage’ that bees do to certain plants in my garden, as they pack their nesting sites with leaf matter, mud, and pollen. Some native bees forage for a brief time in early spring , lay their eggs in protected wood or plant stems, then die. Others are around throughout the growing season, procreating and nectaring all the while.

Native plants and native wildlife, insects included, evolved together and need each other to survive. A vibrant ecosystem will support this symbiotic relationship which defines the life cycles and relationships of flora and fauna. Go native and watch your garden and its inhabitants bloom with life and activity!

Purple Coneflower, Echinacea purpurea, is an excellent pollinator plant. But where pollinators feed, predators lurk.

This white crab spider, front legs outstretch for maximum grabbing ability, waits with supreme patience for a pollinator to appear, hoping for nectar and pollen, naive about what other dangers might lurk.

And so it goes in nature: food is provided for a variety of wildlife.