I call it my 'Let it Be' garden

On the other side of the driveway across from the kitchen window, a four-foot by four-foot patch of ground bursts with life. All day long, bees, butterflies and beneficial wasps zip from one blossom to another in search of nectar. As the insects search for sweetness in the depths of floral throats, they brush sticky pollen, which adheres to their bodies. In the process of feeding, they become inadvertent pollinators.

My 'Let it Be' garden has little order. Whenever an appropriate plant comes along, I grab a trowel, find a space and dig it in. While little thought has gone into the garden arrangement, all plants share one common trait — they must not be fussy. To have a successful 'Let it Be' garden, each plant must thrive on neglect. The only water it gets is from the rain. I rarely weed. The soil was amended with compost and manure before anything was planted but since then, the only addition has been an occasional layer of grass clipping mulch.

Rain is the only water my 'Let it Be' garden gets, except when our grandkids are visiting

Yet, despite such neglect — or maybe because of it — this garden has thrived. The small rooted cutting of African blue basil that my daughter Amber gave me has grown into a sprawling mass of dark blue flower spikes covered with a continuous array of pale pink blossoms. This Florida-friendly plant is a true pollinator magnet. Not only does African blue basil attract a constant stream of nectar-seeking insects, it is also an edible herb that can be used to make pesto or any culinary preparation that calls for basil.

Another plant in my garden is easy-to-grow tropical milkweed, Asclepias curassavica. This prolific bloomer is a nectar source for all butterflies, including monarchs. 

But in scientific communities, controversy hovers over whether this non-native plant is beneficial to monarch populations. Monarchs lay their eggs on milkweed plants and when the eggs hatch, caterpillars eat the leaves. 

Queen butterfly caterpillar chewing its way through a tropical milkweed plant

Unlike native milkweeds, tropical milkweed leaves regenerate quickly after defoliation. Critics fear such a ready supply of food upsets monarch butterfly migration patterns, theoretically leading to diminished populations.

In keeping with the garden's theme, my take on the tropical milkweed controversy is to let it be. The orange and yellow flowers of this self-pollinating beauty attract many other butterflies in addition to monarchs. I've seen skippers and zebra longwings, swallowtails, queen butterflies, viceroys, sulphur butterflies and gulf fritillaries all fluttering in and about the tropical milkweed flowers. 

Gray hairstreak butterfly on African blue basil

Bees and beneficial wasps like it too. It is a fast-growing, no-fuss plant to have in a butterfly or wildlife garden.

Pink rain lilies, some dark colored coleuses and a low-growing plant called Asystasia gangetica, are among the basil and milkweed. Asystasia, commonly known as Ganges primrose, Chinese violet and creeping foxglove, was new to me so I had no idea how hardy it was or how well it could handle a very limited amount of human attention. It turns out Asystasia is quite the trooper. It's holding its own beneath taller plants like the tropical milkweed and seems to attract a variety of moths and small skippers.

Hummingbird moth on Ganges primrose

Other cultivars in my 'Let it Be' garden include a volunteer cluster vine, which has climbed up and over a shepherd's pole from which a birdfeeder hangs, and a few millet plants that sprouted from seeds that fell out of the feeder.

A volunteer hairy cluster vine (Jacquemontia tamnifolia) climbs over the shephard's hook

Yesterday I noticed one new addition to the garden. An armadillo has excavated a deep hole beneath the dense cover of the African blue basil plant. My 'Let it Be' garden proves that if you choose the right plants, you can have a productive, wildlife-attracting space without having to do much work. The secret is not really a secret at all. Simply, let it be.

A spider that acts like a cat

If I were a dragonfly, wasp or bee flying over a lake in search of a place to land, I’d stay away from peelbark St. Johnswort, Hypericum fasciculatum, a yellow-flowering, shrubby plant that grows in and around wetland areas.

I’d be especially cautious September through November when female green lynx spiders living on St. Johnswort plants are guarding egg sacs and young spiderlings. Spiders are always looking to catch a flying insect that unwittingly lands on the wrong plant at the right time. That’s especially true when they’re raising babies.

And there’s a lot of baby-raising going on among arachnids living on plants in our lake right now.

Green lynx spider with egg sac on peelbark St. Johnswort

The other day while out rowing, I decided to take a survey of peelbark St. Johnswort shrubs and green lynx spiders, Peucetia viridians. Of the 340 plants I tallied, more than 7 percent contained a hungry and protective mama spider. Most of the spider-inhabited plants were located a short distance away from other St. Johnsworts, and I never saw more than one adult female arachnid on any plant.

Spiders were more likely to choose isolated plants like this one on which to raise young 

Since autumn is a green lynx spider’s reproduction season, each of the 24 spiders was either protecting an egg sac or guarding newly hatched spiderlings.

A green lynx spider’s egg sac is much easier to spot than the spider itself. The sac is a slightly bumpy, sand-colored container housing up to 600 bright orange eggs that will hatch within 11 to 16 days. The sac is about an inch diameter with one flat side and one rounded. After its construction is complete, the female spider surrounds the sac with a sketchy tent of randomly woven silky threads. She then protects it further by clutching it with her legs as she hangs upside down.

Lots of bright orange eggs surround this green lynx spider's egg sac along with a captured dragonfly 

Although birds may present the most obvious danger to lynx spiders, ants are a serious threat as well. Ants chew through egg sacs and carry away eggs. They can also attack adults. Perhaps choosing to raise young on an isolated plant in a waterlogged location makes it harder for ants to harm them.

Whatever their reason, female lynx spiders continue to protect their offspring until they can fend for themselves, which happens about 10 days after they hatch. When the young spiders are ready to leave, they do so by “ballooning.” They climb to the highest point they can reach, stand up on their hind legs and produce slim strands of silk that create a sort of a parachute to float them away on their random flight for life.

Green lynx spiderlings almost ready to 'balloon'

I have yet to observe spiderlings take flight, but I’ve marveled at the progress of egg sac development through the early stages of spiderling growth. I’ve also noticed a wide variety of invertebrates captured by female lynx spiders.

Wasp held in the clutch of a green lynx spider

Unlike spiders that spin webs, a green lynx catches food by leaping onto whatever hapless prey lands nearby. As its name suggests, this predatory arachnid has a cat-like ability to run fast and jump far. It also has keen eyesight, thanks to eight eyes positioned in such a way to monitor its surroundings from multiple directions simultaneously.

I like the way a green lynx spider’s well-camouflaged body make it hard to find unless you know where to look and what to look for. I admire the diligence with which females guard and protect their egg sacs, and I appreciate the way these relatively small spiders — females are a little less than an inch long with males half that size — fearlessly pursue prey far bigger than themselves.

Although just the thought of spiders strikes fear in many people, I think these eight-legged arthropods are beautiful creatures that provide an important service by eating insects that harm plants and bother people. Of course, not all the prey caught by arachnids can be considered a problem. Some of their victims are beneficial insects like potter wasps, honeybees and dragonflies.

That’s why if I were a dragonfly, wasp or bee, I’d stay clear of peelbark St. Johnswort plants — at least in autumn on small lakes in Central Florida. Doing so may not assure my safety, but it could prevent me from becoming the next meal for a green lynx spider.

Bee happy...plant bee balm (far away from other plants)

My spotted bee balm, Monarda punctata, is a hub of activity. Bees and beneficial wasps are constantly flying in and around the plant’s speckled lavender-pink blossoms. The blooming period for this herbaceous perennial also known as horsemint is August through September.

A carpenter bee snuggles up to a spotted bee balm blossom

This is my first year growing spotted bee balm. Last August, my daughter Amber and I found a patch of the Florida native wildflower growing along the shoulder of a bumpy dirt road. We pulled over, uprooted a couple young plants and took them home for our own gardens.

While my intentions were good, my follow-through was not. The plan — it’s so easy to make plans — was to pot up my rescued plant (I kept one and Amber kept the other) in a small container. Once it had recovered from the shock of uprooting, I intended to transplant it directly into the soil.

I had no trouble doing the first part. I potted up the bee balm — it was quite small at the time — and I placed the container in a garden bed next to the garage where several other plants were already growing. However, as the weeks went by, projects kept popping up and I never got around to transplanting bee balm into a permanent spot in the ground.

As it turns out, spotted bee balm is a forgiving plant. Not only is it attractive to bees and pollinating wasps, it’s also tolerant of neglectful gardeners.

That single uprooted seedling is now a behemoth bush despite the fact that its base remains encased in a black plastic pot. 

Recently I attempted to remove the pot but was unable to do so because the plant’s roots had broken through the container’s bottom anchoring it to the ground. My small pot of spotted bee balm has turned into a sprawling shrub about three feet wide and three feet tall. It looks quite at home.

That may be a problem.

Like all other members of the mint family, spotted bee balm is a strong-willed plant that tends to dominate space. Once it puts down roots, it has a way of taking over. That’s why the wise place to plant bee balm far away from other plants.

Unfortunately, my bee balm is not growing all by itself. I unwittingly set it down in a garden bed already occupied by several succulents, bugleweed and a young pineapple, plants I’d like to keep. However, from the way the bee balm is sprawling, it will soon spread over and smother its neighbors unless I intervene.

Spotted bee balm infringing upon space allocated to the succulent Stapelia gigantea 

My plan — here I go again with plans — is to leave the spotted bee balm where it is until it stops blooming at the end of September. At that point, I intend to severely prune its branches before relocating it to a new spot. This time, assuming I follow through on my intentions, I’ll take it out of the pot and place it in a bed of its own where it can sprawl as much as it wants without infringing on any other plants’ space.

I like spotted bee balm because it attracts so many pollinators to the yard. I like that it’s an easy plant to grow, unbothered by pests, tolerant of dry conditions and accepting of poor soil. I like that its flowers are pretty and that it has a fragrant scent. I also like it because it proves a point: If you’re not careful in the garden, a plant may take over and when it does, other plants will suffer. If bee balm can teach me to be better at following through with my intentions, it will be a lesson well learned for gardening and for life in general.

Bad weed or good insect magnet...?

Simply Living

Yesterday, I watched three different kinds of bees fly from one red blossom to another on the small patch of Florida tasselflower in the front yard.

Florida tasselflower (Emilia fosbergii) is a weed. It’s also a pollinator magnet. Butterflies, bees and wasps are drawn to this lowly member of the aster family.

Even though most people consider this annual a nuisance, I like tasselflower. It does pop up in lawns and garden beds — places where it is usually unwelcome — but it also attracts important insects that aid plant pollination.

Although one of its common names is Florida tasselflower (other names include Flora’s paintbrush and Cupid’s shaving brush), Emilia fosbergii isn’t a Florida native. Sources suggest it may have originated in east or central Africa but quickly made its way around the world. It now grows throughout the West Indies, Mexico and South America as well as in Hawaii and parts of Indonesia. In Florida, it appears statewide except in the north and the Panhandle.

I’m not sure when tasselflower found its way into my yard but I remember taking note of it a few months ago. I was sitting outside enjoying the sunlight bouncing off the lake when I noticed a queen monarch butterfly landing on this thin-stemmed flower topped with several bristly red blooms. 

Several other blossoming plants grew nearby, but the butterfly ignored them all, settling repeatedly on this single species, going from one red flower to another. At the time, I didn’t know the plant’s name, but it was obviously the butterfly’s favorite.

Since that day, I’ve learned much about the humble tasselflower and paid attention to it whenever I see it. In doing so, I’ve been amazed by how many butterflies, bees and wasps land on its blooms. The insects come to sip nourishing nectar and, in the process, they do the essential work of moving pollen from one plant to another.

Zebra longwing butterfly on tasselflower

Yet, despite the ability of this pretty little wildflower to attract pollinators ­­— insects that are disappearing at an alarming rate — most people want nothing to do with tasselflower. They want it out of their yard, and they’re not averse to using herbicides to get the job done. After all, they reason, tasselflower is a weed, not a grass. Sure, it’s colorful and doesn’t have thorns or prickly burrs, but it grows taller than grass and that makes a neat lawn look messy.

If the object is to have a weed-free, all-one-level, green-only lawn, I suppose the appearance of volunteer tasselflowers can mess things up. But so can the spraying of herbicides. 

Wildlife that eat sprayed plants can be poisoned or even killed by toxic chemicals. Other plants can be harmed by over-spraying and runoff can have negative effects on groundwater.

It seems to me that if volunteer plants such as Florida tasselflower can satisfy the needs of beneficial insects like bees, wasps and butterflies, I should do my best to keep those flowers around. I may not live on the neatest, most manicured property but that’s the way I like it. 

Apparently, wildlife likes it too.

My neighbors are wasps

SIMPLY LIVING

Although I’ve lived next to lakes with sandy beaches for most of my life, I had no idea sand wasps existed until this summer. 

I became aware of them one day while sitting on a chair near the water.  When I gazed down, I noticed numerous wasps buzzing around the beach.  As I looked more closely, I realized the wasps weren’t flying randomly.  They seemed focused on precise locations.  A single wasp would land on a specific sandy spot and madly begin digging its way underground.  After a furious effort, it would disappear completely only to reappear moments later, fly away and then return to begin the process again.

The more I watched, the more fascinated I became.

A black and white striped sand wasp prepares to excavate its sandy burrow

My fascination increased when I saw one wasp return to the site with a caterpillar in its clutches.  The wasp inserted the caterpillar (which was almost as large as the wasp itself) into the tunnel.  It then proceeded to spread sand over the entry hole until it was impossible for me to tell where the tunnel had been.

Immediately, I thought of the potter wasps that I had learned about in July.  Potter wasps are solitary wasps.  The female builds a marble-shaped nest attached to a stick, wall or other surface.  When the nest is complete, she lays a single egg inside the nest and then drags in numerous paralyzed but still alive caterpillars for her larva to feed upon as it develops.  Once she has laid an egg and inserted a sufficient number of caterpillars into the nest, the adult wasp seals up the hole and lets nature take its course.  If all goes well, the developing wasp will dine on the inert caterpillars until it is ready to drill its way out of its single-celled home to begin the cycle anew.

A potter wasp in the process of building a nest

Because of what I knew about potter wasps, I figured I was observing a similar cycle with a different species of solitary wasps that nested on sand.  Eager to know more, I left the beach behind to seek information online.

What I discovered is that the insect I’d been watching is indeed a solitary type of wasp called Bembix speciosis, better known as a sand wasp.  Although I observed a sand wasp carrying a caterpillar, it mainly catches flies, stuffing its dugout nest with dozens of houseflies, deer flies and other annoying pests. 

Although the female is capable of stinging people (the male isn’t), she rarely does.  Like potter wasps, sand wasps are beneficial insects.  Not only do the adult wasps capture caterpillars and flies to feed to their young, they themselves feed on nectar, which helps pollinate flowering plants. 

Bembix speciosis is just under an inch long with large eyes, transparent tan wings and a black-and-white banded body and bright yellow legs.  Its elongated mouth doubles as a digging tool, which comes in quite handy when excavating a burrow, an occupation that takes up a considerable part of a sand wasp’s life.

Sand wasps don’t linger long in one spot.  These industrious insects are constantly coming and going as they build one nest after another (often close together).  Each deeply tunneled home – a tunnel can be 10 to 20 inches long - contains a single egg.  When the female wasp is not busy enlarging her burrow, she’s out hunting for food to fill it.  After each visit to her underground lair, the wasp seals the hole tightly to deter predators from finding her undeveloped offspring and its stash of food.

Despite her valiant efforts, most wasp larvae never make it to maturity.  Grub-seeking armadillos eat some and I’m sure I’ve inadvertently destroyed quite a few developing sand wasps myself when I’ve weeded the beach or dug holes in the sand with my grandchildren.  It’s not easy being a sand wasp.

Armadillos disturb many sand wasp nests in their search for grubs

Most of us could care less about wasps.  We lump together all potentially stinging creatures in one category:  Bad Bug!  Armed with cans of insecticide, we kill indiscriminately without hesitation, remorse or a sense of wrongdoing. 

But not all bugs that look scary are bad. 

In fact, insects like the sand wasp and potter wasp are among the good guys working hard to make our lives better.  If you see a large black-and-white striped wasp zooming around the beach sand this summer, don’t freak out, run away or reach for the Raid.  Sit back instead and watch the show.  You are privy to a flying marvel of maternal instinct, determination and indefatigable effort.   

The only sting you’re likely to get from this wasp is the sting of regret for all the times you’ve overlooked observing one of nature’s small wonders.

Miniature "pots" contain beneficial wasps

SIMPLY LIVING

At first, I wasn’t sure what they were:  Four tiny round structures firmly attached to a thin willow twig in shallow water.

Four marble-size structures attached to a thin willow twig in the shallow lake water

   

Nests, I presumed, belonging to some sort of insect.  The dwellings – if that’s what they were – appeared to be made of mud, bleached white and dried by the sun.  Adding to their mystery and allure, each marble-shaped building had a single entry hole.  I was immediately intrigued.  Although I saw no insect entering or leaving, my gut said the nests belonged to some sort of wasp. 

Curious, I began researching as soon as I returned home.  What I discovered reinforced my instinct – a wasp did indeed make the nests.  More importantly, the information I uncovered introduced me to a world of wonder and fascinating facts about one of nature’s often unnoticed but important creatures.

The tiny structures I observed were built by Eumenes fraternus, commonly known as ‘potter wasp’ or ‘mason wasp’ because its small round nest looks so much like a miniature hand-thrown clay pot.  A potter wasp is just under an inch long, predominantly black with thin ivory bands along its thorax and abdomen and a noticeably elongated, narrow waist.

Potter wasps have very narrow waists and distinctive colors that make them easy to identify.  Photo credit:  www.organicgardeninfo.com

Unlike social wasps that live in groups, potter wasps are solitary insects.  Adults feed on flower nectar and are not aggressive toward people.  They rarely sting, even when inadvertently touched and are considered beneficial because they control caterpillars that harm garden plants. 

I found little of note about the male wasp since his role centers on the act of procreation alone.  However, the female, who is larger than her male counterpart, has multiple jobs.  After mating, she must find a nest site, gather materials needed for the laborious job of building a structure and then procure enough food to secure her future offspring’s survival.  Only then does she deposit eggs – one egg per domed cell – before sealing it within the cell with more mud over the entry hole.  When all these tasks are complete, she flies off to begin the process again in the next structure.

Although the initial nests I found were on a willow twig growing in the lake’s shallow water, I’ve since discovered other potter wasp nests on window screens, attached to shrubbery and irrigation pipes.

Potter wasp building nest on our irrigation pipe

Apparently, the main factor the female wasp seeks in a location is to be somewhat close to a source of mud, since mud is the main component of the soon-to-be-built nest.

A potter wasp nest is an architectural marvel.   The female wasp begins by finding a wet patch of sandy soil.  Using her mandibles, she rolls a portion of the muddy soil into a ball, which she carries back to deposit on the nest site, spread out and mix with saliva to increase its hardness.  This tedious procedure involves repeated mud-gathering trips until an adobe-like round brood cell takes shape.  When the structure is an appropriate size (big enough to accommodate one egg and enough food to sustain its growth) the female flies off to stock the larder with caterpillars. 

This is when things get interesting. 

When the wasp finds a caterpillar, she stings it just enough venom to cause paralysis but not death.  She then lugs the inert bug back to the cell to stuff inside the small round opening she left in the jug-like structure.  After much effort, the hole is filled with anywhere from one to twelve caterpillars.

The sex of the future wasp depends upon the number of the caterpillars upon which it will feast.  In nests containing more than five caterpillars, a female wasp will emerge.  If the nest contains fewer caterpillars, the wasp will be male.

Once she has secured an adequate food supply, the female lays a single egg suspended above the caterpillar mass by a strong thread, backs out of the hole and covers the opening with more balls of mud moistened and smoothed out with saliva.  At this point, her responsibilities to that particular egg are over and she is ready to repeat the procedure for her next future offspring.

Meanwhile, inside its mud incubator, the developing wasp larva feeds on the fresh meat of the unfortunate caterpillars until the food is gone and the wasp is ready to leave the nest.  At that point, the emerging potter wasp drills though the side of its adobe abode to begin the cycle anew.

I had no idea my discovery of four white, round domed shells attached to a willow twig would trigger such a wealth of new information.  

Every time I observe some previously unfamiliar object like the potter wasp, I can’t help but wonder how many other unknown marvels I miss even though they are right there in plain sight. 

The discovery of the potter wasp nest was my latest reminder that nature has so much to offer if I only take the time to look. 

A "Simply" Extra

I found a fascinating 8-minute video online documenting how a potter wasp builds its nest, stuffs numerous caterpillars into it and then seals it up tight.  You can watch it by clicking on the following link:  Potter Wasp or Mason Wasp - Master Architect.