Abalone shells and lavender blooms--two small things making a big impact in my garden

The makings of a backyard wildlife habitat are often unexpected, small and don't seem like they would be significant at first glance. The same is true for all the wildlife that benefits from the small additions. Most wildlife that will benefit from a backyard wildlife habitat is small and diminutive like birds and beneficial bugs. But these small creatures can provide very large benefits to your outdoor space.

Saving money and time
By working as a partner with these little guys I've stopped having to spend money on bug sprays and killers, I spend less money conditioning the soil to get things to grow well, and my garden maintenance chores have slowly decreased because nature does a lot of the work for me.

Abalone shells as "water features"
Decades-old abalone and clam shells left from a fishing trip on the Bay that happened long before we came here, now grace the raised garden beds I made from chunks of repurposed concrete. The shells catch water from rainclouds or the garden hose so lizards, bees and butterflies can get a sip of water when they need it.

Just about everyone loves seeing butterflies in the garden, but why do I want lizards and bees to have a place to drink?

Why I want lizards in my garden
Lizards are a key component of my garden because they eat a lot of bugs (A LOT). They eat all the bugs I don't want including big nasty flies, young cockroaches and other creepy crawly nasties. And that's not all when it comes to the most prevalent lizard in my garden, the Western Fence Lizard. According to the California Academy of Sciences, the Western Fence Lizard's blood contains a protein that kills the Lyme disease-causing bacterium (Borrelia) that is carried in the guts of ticks. But if an infected tick bites a Western Fence Lizard, the Borrelia is killed off completely, leaving the tick's future bites harmless to other creatures. So the occurrence of Lyme disease is lower in areas where these wonderful little lizards live and thrive. Of course I want them as permanent residents!

Why I want bees and paper wasps in my garden
Bees (honeybees, carpenter bees, paper wasps and others) are also a key component of my garden. They pollinate all the fruits and vegetables to make a good harvest possible. They are all extremely docile while on the hunt for nectar and water. I never worry about being stung. I provide them with year-round nectar with hardy bloomers like the lavender. Even though it's November right now, the lavender is in full bloom again, and the pollinators are happy. The lavender will continue to be a nectar source throughout the bloom-deficient winter months when bees in our climate still forage because daytime temperatures are often mild and above 40F/5C on the coldest days.

Benefits of potted lavender
Again, the lavender is growing in simple terra cotta pots set directly on the ground. They take up little space and are drought tolerant.  The large pots also provide habitat for the lizards to hunt in and around. I often find them sunning themselves by one of the lavender pots waiting for a flying insect to come into range so they can pounce on it. Over time, each potted lavender has turned into a mini-hub-habitat. Strategically placed throughout the garden along paths, these pots help to balance each area by drawing the attention of beneficial bugs and critters to every place I need them. The added bonus of the simple system of potted lavender is that the scent of the lavender repels bugs I don't like (e.g., mosquitoes) away from places I like to sit. Another added bonus is I can go out and harvest lavender anytime I want to bring sprigs inside to repel unwanted bugs in the closets or pantry.

Back to the benefits of the simple abalone shells strewn about the garden beds...
If I lift one of the shells, I often find other insects have made a home underneath in the cool damp space out of the sunlight. Skunks and opossums rearrange the shells periodically to get to the grubs living under there. I patiently right the shells that get turned over so they can hold water again and brighten the garden with their pearly interiors.

Why I want skunks and opossums in my garden
Skunks (despite their smelly reputation) are great omnivores that eat insects, small rodents, lizards, and frogs as well as roots, berries, leaves, grasses, fungi (like mushrooms) and nuts. Opossums eat insects too--beetles, cockroaches, snails and slugs. Both skunks and opossums eat fruit that's fallen from fruit trees that would otherwise lay around and stink up the garden as it rots. Thanks to these two great critter species, I no longer have a problem with snails and slugs eating my beloved garden plants. And I don't have to spend money on pricey snail and slug bait to get rid of them either. These two species also keep my home and garden free of small rodents, as well as successfully preventing my garden from being taken over by the non-native bullfrog that can be a nuisance resident.

Little things mean a lot to Mother Nature
Over and over since I embarked on this journey of being a steward over a backyard wildlife habitat, I have had one simple truth reaffirmed... little things mean a lot. This is especially true when it comes to the beautiful balance nature can provide if given the opportunity.

Whether you have a windowbox, a balcony, a postage stamp yard or an acre

you can have a backyard wildlife habitat

Click here to find out how

Lavender, Japanese water iris, and one little worker bee

At the base of the deck stairs there are two large terra cotta pots--one on each side. In each pot is a single massive globe of lavender. The pots sit on the ground so each of the lavender bushes have most assuredly sent tap roots down through their respective drainage holes by now and firmly rooted themselves where they sit. Winter frosts are not severe enough to kill their foliage, so they are growing year round. Sometimes in the winter they are the only thing blooming in the garden.

If I sit at the base of the stairs (which I often do), I can sit and watch a plethora of activity in either of the lavender plants. Bees, butterflies, flies, wasps and even hummingbirds come to sip the nectar from the tiny lavender blossoms.

The other morning, I was sitting on the lowest stair with my camera. On schedule, the tall grasses that I've let grow tall (probably too tall) have changed from a spring green to a pale golden blonde color. That means it's summer. The color of the lavender blooms against the grass in the background looked so magical to me in the clear sunshine. I wanted to see if I could capture that magic.

Every once in a while I'd see if I could catch a bee on one of the blossoms, but they darted from one blossom to the other so fast I couldn't focus quickly enough. So I gave up. I was content capturing the lavender.

Before I went inside I walked across the path to take a couple of shots of the new Japanese water iris bloom that had emerged deep dark and regal in its purple majesty.

It wasn't until today when I sat down to post-process my shots that I discovered that I had captured a perfectly in focus shot of bee completely by accident. Just one shot. That's all. It only takes just one. I had no idea that I had gotten that shot when I took it. It was what I call "photographic serendipity"--a fleeting magical moment that I just happened to capture with my camera.

As I look at the three shots in this post, I am struck by some observations...

The Japanese water iris is a showy flower that grabs attention before anything else. It stands in a proud pose as if it wants to be photographed. I could see it from the other side of the garden. I was drawn in by it. Most flower photographers would immediately gravitate toward it with their cameras and shoot away.

Then there's the delicate, humble and understated lavender. Although one stalk is lovely, the real beauty happens when the stalks are all together. En masse the purple stalks create a lovely show against the straw background.

But, to me, the most engaging photograph of the three is the one with the solitary bee flying away from the camera. One little bee. She's not fancy or showy. She's just a little worker bee. But her presence in the composition makes it magical.

In this world there people who are Japanese water irises. They are people that draw your attention immediately because of their sheer beauty. They are few and far between.

In this world there are many more people who are lavender. They are humble and understated. The trials of life are all around them but winter's trials don't take them down. They just keep going. Alone they may not have a great impact--at first glance. But when these wonderful individuals come together they can create amazing beauty--wonderful beautiful acts of kindness, charity, and compassion that can move mountains.

And, also in this world, there are people who are the plain worker bees. They are small. They go about their work with determination and often without accolades or recognition. But... one little worker bee can make a difference. One little worker can change the overall picture without even knowing it. One little worker bee can create magic.

This is dedicated to all the "lavender people" and "little worker bee people" right now in Oklahoma.

Reflections on being brave

"Don't take the big camera out with you," I silently say to myself, "Just take the iPhone. Only the iPhone."

The clear light is so beautiful... and so fleeting.

My photographer's heart tries to argue with my head, "You could miss something really special and not have the good lens with you. You've got to go back and get the real camera... not this toy."

By this time, I'm out the back door and already seeing the first photographic opportunity as the sun shines hot and bright through the glimmering petals of newly bloomed snapdragon volunteers growing in a pot from last year's seed.  



The garden kitty greets me and meows for me to stay. Good thing. Otherwise, I'd be back inside in a flash to pick up the "big gun". I sit down on the deck stairs behind an overflowing pot of lavender alive with the movement of bees and the intermittent May breeze. Again, the light is perfect. I can't really see what I'm shooting. I can barely make out the display from the glare.

"How do these iPhonographers do this?" my heart says as my head says, "Just persevere. You can see it all later out of the sun."

Oddly, the roles of head and heart are reversed (again) with my head the creative brave part of me and my heart the cowardly lion. My head tells me I must push myself to explore new creative horizons and places I haven't experienced yet. My heart wants to go back to the comfy cozy place where it feels all warm and fuzzy--the creative terrain I've tread for some time now. This seems to be a theme for me for the past few years. I think of it as trying to "be brave". It's a strange thing for me to face.



When I was a kid I was used to change, new horizons to explore, and facing the unknown. After graduating high school, I had a perpetual case of wanderlust that lasted all through my twenties and into the early part of my marriage in my early thirties. Hubby and I got so good at traveling we had our carry-ons permanently packed with the essentials. All we had to do was throw in clothes for the trip and go. Change was exciting. Change was romantic. Change was a constant (if that makes sense).

Then we moved here. I settled into our home. After living here four years, I officially set a new life milestone for how many years I lived consecutively in the same house. Four years turned into eight. And eight years suddenly were twelve. Roots grow pretty deep in twelve years--in gardens and in people.

So is this why I am often facing the challenge to "be brave"?  Is this why it's so ridiculously difficult to take photos with my iPhone instead of my DSLR? It feels like it is, but maybe not.

Then I realize that by having roots that run so deep I am treading new territory--more unknown than any other horizon I've ever walked toward. Allowing myself to feel this sense of place... being like the oak tree instead of the dandelion... this could be the most brave I've ever been. And it's my heart that's leading me with this one.

Lavender blue and garlic blossom purple

Is anyone else mesmerized with the cool tones of purple and blue flowers as much as I am? What is it about those colors on a flower that makes me swoon? They always have, and they always will.

Last year, a 5-inch+ diameter garlic blossom volunteer showed up growing next to the pond. I loved it so much I didn't dig up the garlic bulb to use in the kitchen. Instead it stayed in the ground... and multiplied. This year I have THREE blossoms to enjoy! 

I know that I could probably grow more showy alliums, but I don't ever seem to get around to buying and putting in the bulbs in the fall.

Maybe I love blue and blue-ish purple flowers so much because of one of my favorite childhood songs--the 1948 recording of Burl Ives singing Lavender Blue for the little-known Disney film "So Dear To My Heart".

Mr. Ives restful voice singing the words "Lavender blue, dilly dilly... lavender green... If I were king, dilly dilly... I'd need a queen" would tug at my little heart strings and make my insides ache. Even as a 4 year old child, there were some things that would do that to me. Sometimes my eyes would tear up as I listened to the scratchy record play on my little portable phonograph with one speaker. The sentiment truly would pierce me to my core.

All those hundreds of times listening to Burl Ives and imagining what lavender blue and lavender green must look like... I didn't know because I couldn't remember every seeing real lavender before (I wouldn't until I was a 10 or 11). I only knew the colors from my box of Crayola crayons. Thinking of those colors on flowers seemed so magical.

Maybe that's why I love blue flowers so much.

If you're a lover of blue blooms, why do you think you love them so much?


Click here or below to listen to the version of "Lavender Blue" I listened to as a child

I wonder what Spanish lavender honey tastes like

Just outside my studio window sits a row of pots that I planted with mostly flowering annuals like the snapdragons I put in at the beginning of the winter so I could enjoy some color during the colder months. One pot, however, contains a perennial Spanish lavender that is in full bloom right now.

When I'm sitting at my computer working, I can look to my right toward the window. If I look past the plethora of pluck marks in the window screen courtesy of very naughty ginger tabby, I can see honeybees buzzing about the brilliant purple heads of lavender.

When I need a break, I go out on the deck next to the pots of flowers and pull up a comfy thick-padded patio chair. I sink into the cushions, stretch out my legs and just watch the bees.

Today the honeybees were busy. A Valley carpenter bee joined them periodically, but was not as industrious as the busy girls that buzzed from bloom to bloom, their legs laden with bright yellow pollen.

I don't know where the bees go with all that they collect. Where their hive is located remains a mystery.

But wouldn't it be wonderful to find it and take just a bit of the honey to see what lavender honey tastes like?

The dance of the skippers and the romance of butterflies

The sun is finally out after seemingly endless days of unseasonal cool rain and grey skies. The critters in the garden aren't wasting any time enjoying the warm rays.

I took a stroll through the mid-afternoon garden with my camera (and new lens) to see what serendipitous moments I could discover. I always stop at the potted lavender that attracts so many pollinators to its blossoms.

I spotted the female Skipper butterfly first (above). Then she began to flutter her wings while remaining on her perch (below).

A frantic flapping male quickly fluttered into the scene (above).

She kept gently fluttering her wings while he flitted all over. He was so fast and fleeting, it was hard to track where he was.

She would flutter to another stalk and the dance would commence. Then she would move again, and it would continue once more. Sometimes she would take flight and the two would dance in mid-air around me, performing a high-speed reel. I stood in one place and turned to see where they would sashay to next... to the mandarin tree... to the lavender... to a nearby stalk of milkweed... and back to the lavender.

So intrigued was I in the frenetic pace of their courtship. Romance seemed quite exhausting from my vantage point.

I have to chuckle. It's much the same with people in love. The frenetic pace of romance, particularly young love, seems so exhausting to those on the outside of the gyrations of courtship... yet many onlookers wish they could join the dance with their own partner nonetheless.

Bees and Lavender Blossoms

I only have one surviving lavender bush (at one time I had three). I almost lost this one too due to a very rude fennel that was its neighbor (fennel isn't good at maintaining "personal boundaries"). I cut out the fennel and then trimmed the pathetic sun-starved lavender back severely with the hope that it would come back.

Well, it loved the haircut it got and has thanked me with a profusion of lovely blue blossoms. This round little orb of a bush has been a favorite of the bees since it started to bloom a couple of weeks ago.

I went out a couple of days ago to look at it and all the buzzing activity going on. In less than five minutes, I saw two different kinds of bumblebees and also honeybees climbing around on the blue blossoms! It seemed so magical and serene, I ran inside and got my camera to try and capture the moment.

As I took these photographs, I couldn't help but think of Penny over at Lavender Hill Studio. If you go take a peek at her blog (and website), I think you'll see why. So these photos of this year's lavender bloom are dedicated to Penny.

Too bad no one has invented smell-a-vision for the internet, huh?