Building a Pollinator Garden

I have a patch at the back of my yard where the ground dips to a low spot just beneath a silver maple tree. For years, I considered this spot a conundrum: it’s drenched in afternoon shade, it hoards rain water when storms move through our area, but somehow transforms into cracked earth during stretches of dry weather. Determined to make something of this nook, I spent several summers trying to cultivate an award-winning garden by adding popular perennials, such as delphinium and daffodils. Nothing thrived. 

Then I tried a different tactic: planting flowers native to our growing area.

I’ll be honest, I go for the “wow factor” when designing my garden beds. I value designs that draw viewers in through enticing colors, patterned arrangements of plants, and aromatic scents. Thus, when designing this area of our yard, I selected flowers that added height to the landscape or that produced luminous colors. More than anything, I wanted this area to thrive so I could harvest flowers for bouquets during the summer months.

And then something remarkable happened. After planting Joe Pye weed and liatris, pollinators arrived. While I intended to create a garden of hardy native plants that could endure unpredictable levels of moisture and mixed sunlight in an unforgiving spot of the yard, I actually created a sanctuary attracting birds, butterflies, bees and beneficial insects. I created a pollinator garden. 

The Joe Pye weed grows tall now, and recently added loosestrife shines yellow like a beacon in early summer. Over the years, I’ve deepened the design by including low-growing plants, like cranesbill, monarda, agastache, Siberian iris and false indigo. Colorful annual plants, like sunflowers, along with select perennials (peonies, hostas, ajuga) round out the blossom cycle each summer. A small bird bath adorns a spot near the middle of the garden, where birds can find respite on long, hot days. 

I know the rhythm of this garden. In late June, just before Independence Day, the red monarda dazzles like fireworks, attracting bees to delectable blossoms. By August, purple liatris plants tower over the garden where monarch butterflies feast on the flower heads, sometimes in groups of two, three or four. I watch them dance around each other as they flit toward the flower’s abundant pollen.

Of course, gardens shift, change and evolve. I continue to encounter challenges that require adjustments to my design. Last year I added turtlehead flowers after receiving a clump as a gift, but they didn’t survive—a casualty of our prolonged drought, I’m sure. And I keep a close eye on the golden-colored rudbeckia, which easily overruns nearby vegetation in early fall if not kept in check. 

I create watercolor sketches of my garden beds every year to keep track of changes between growing seasons. Because these sketches are just for me, I don’t worry about capturing the flowers realistically; instead, I document the location of each flower and the garden’s general color palette. Then, I often look back at the previous year’s renderings to note which varieties spread beyond their original location and which areas of the garden need further vegetation. In a way, these paintings function like a garden journal. And when I am ready to expand, I visit local nurseries, like Shelterwood Gardens in Minnetrista, to purchase hardy native flowers.

What started out as an unsightly stretch of yard has since matured into a pollinator-friendly haven with spectacular blossoms from spring to fall. It’s now one of my favorite locations in the garden.

Betsy Maloney Leaf is an educator, writer, artist and gardener based in the Twin Cities. She’s the creator behind Roots & Vines on Instagram and Substack, where she shares short-form observational writing about gardening and original photography. Her gardening interests include growing flowers and a small kitchen garden, and she’s always trying to find ways to incorporate fresh herbs into floral bouquets.