One spring, I was gifted a wood poppy. I call it my spark plant: the plant that ignited my interest in native plant gardening. An early spring bloomer with cup-shaped yellow flowers and foliage reminiscent of oak leaves, it’s a friendly-looking plant appropriately matched to the task of welcoming spring’s longer days and warmer temperatures. When I considered where in my yard to plant it, I took a mental inventory of potential sites. At the time, it had been two years since I moved into my house. I had spent those years watching and waiting to see what came up in the gardens and learning the pattern of sun exposure throughout the day. I had also identified some problem plants and began removing undesirable and poorly aging non-natives, such as barberry, spirea, lilac, and weigela. The enormous burning bushes, much to my chagrin, seemed to be thriving. I learned that the tall, wide trees in the front yard were Zelkovas, which was a tree I had never heard of before. There was also one cherry tree and three plum trees, all ornamental. A Kousa dogwood sat awkwardly close to the garage, and a Japanese maple kept guard near the curb in the front yard. There were a few other evergreens, arbor vitae, and beetle-attracting shrubs scattered throughout the foundational plantings.

The wood poppy, I decided, would work best in the shade of the ornamental cherry tree where I had removed the barberry bushes. As soon as I planted it, I knew I needed more than just one. To accomplish that, I took my first trip to a popular local native plant nursey. I browsed row after row of pots identified with tags listing bullets points about each plant’s growing habits and sun and soil preferences. The tags also specified if the plants were larval hosts for butterflies and whether their flowers and berries attracted bees and birds. It became clear that incorporating natives in my landscapes wouldn’t only add life in the form of new plants but that these plants would support the lives of pollinators and birds visiting the yard, too. Butterflies would lay their eggs on the leaves and ideally complete their lifecycles there; birds would feast on the berries and come to recognize my yard as a reliable food source. I knew then that this was how I wanted to garden.

The trees and shrubs occupying my landscaping suddenly struck me as a waste of space. The best thing I could say about them was that they provided shade for my house and coverage for birds moving throughout the yard. They weren’t host plants, and nothing good came from the berry seeds spread by the birds. I was miffed that they didn’t align with my newfound enthusiasm for native gardening, and I wasn’t sure I could even call myself a native plant gardener with these species on my property. Removing every last non-native and invasive shrub would cost a small fortune, though. I was not prepared to take that on just yet. I would have to work around them, raising my yard’s ecological value plant by plant.

Looking back at how I handled introducing native plants to my landscaping, these are the guidelines I followed.

Start Small

The wood poppy I was gifted was just one plant, but it sparked an obsession with wanting to plant more wood poppies and more natives in general. After planting it in the shade of the ornamental cherry tree, I bought two more to create a trio. Then I divided native violets growing naturally in my backyard and added half a dozen of them around the wood poppies. The final addition to this spot was a cultivar of columbine, the purple-blue Aquilegia x hybrida. What began as a tentative, tidy group of plants in a neatly mulched garden bed has grown into something wild and leafy with the violets rapidly gaining groundcover status.

Wood poppies and violets in bloom

Violets showing spread as functional ground cover

Inspired by my success with these under-plantings, I decided to try again with foam flowers under a Zelkova tree in my front yard this spring. I am testing its deer- and rabbit-resistant nature by starting with six plugs. Foam flower can spread to form a groundcover, which would be welcome, as this bed relies heavily on mulch. If it proves to go ignored by deer and rabbits, which so far it has, I’ll fill in with additional plugs while leaving room for natural spread.

Starting with small quantities allows me to experiment without feeling as though I’m taking a big risk. It also allows me to edit without much guilt. It’s much easier to replace a few of anything than a whole garden bed if the plant turns out to be something I don’t like or if it doesn’t perform well. And if it seems happily sited, I’ll feel good about investing in more of it and expanding its presence.  

Think in Layers and Thematic Groupings (Color, Height, Staggered Bloom Times)

Continuity and cohesion make a garden feel intentional and complete, and these are two things that my yard was lacking when I first moved in. Flowering perennials in sites not properly matched to their sun and shade requirements struggled to grow around the house, and for some reason there was always just one of them. One (non-native) bleeding heart. One sedum. One catmint. One bright magenta hydrangea fighting for its life in hot, dry soil.

Lately, I’ve been thinking about the relationships flowers have with each other in terms of color, size, and bloom time. I’ve also started to think about repetition and symmetry. Going back to the wood poppy patch, one reason I added violets and purple columbine there was to achieve a complimentary color scheme (yellow and purple are opposites on the color wheel). In a bed that I planted last year, I adapted this color scheme to yellow goldenrod, bright purple ironweed, and deep purple anise hyssop. Interspersed are white coneflowers, white yarrow, and white Culver’s root. This combination of plants will bloom at different times throughout the season, with goldenrod and ironweed providing late summer color and food when the other plants start to go dormant. There’s also a lot of play with height: Culver’s root and anise hyssop stretch toward the sky, ironweed and goldenrod fill in throughout the middle, and the coneflower and yarrow flower lower to the ground.

Culver’s root, goldenrod, coneflower, yarrow & anise hyssop

Flowers on goldenrod (Solidago rugosa ‘Fireworks’)

The bed where the magenta hydrangea withered away has only started to make sense to me with regard to symmetry and curb appeal. Last year I planted a combination of Calico and Foxglove beardtongue and spiderwort in place of the hydrangea, along with a smattering of Canada anemone (Anemone canadensis). This year, the plants came back healthy and happy, showing signs of spread. This bed is mirrored just across the driveway, where another parched hydrangea sits. Both beds border the road. I plan to repeat the same combination of penstemon, spiderwort, and Canada anemone in the other bed, which will result in two nearly symmetrical garden beds. It will also boost curb appeal by creating a cohesive welcome upon arrival.

Canada anemone in bloom

Calico and Foxglove Beardtongue