“Is it invasive?” — a common question gardeners ask me while plant-shopping. The word “invasive” gets bandied about a little too freely, in my opinion. I save the “I” word for non-native plants that have invaded our wild landscapes and pose a danger to the ecosystem’s balance. English Ivy suffocates trees and forest-floor plants alike; Purple Loosestrife gradually infests wetlands; Yellow Archangel smothers the forest floor: those are the evil genies that have escaped from their native habitats and flung off the constraints of their natural predators and ailments.*

Of course, some native plants are greedy for territory while some are fairly sedentary, content with their assigned space in the garden. Every plant in any native ecosystem has a niche to occupy that benefits the rest of the system. As gardeners, we do our best to provide a space for each plant that replicates, to some degree, the natural conditions each species has evolved to prefer.

Some plants have evolved to spread quickly, covering ground that has been disturbed by natural forces (fire, windstorm) or human forces (bulldozer, plow). Quick-spreading thicket-forming shrubs such as Nootka Rose (Rosa nutkana) and Salmonberry (Rubus spectabilis) prevent erosion and ready the land for trees such as Red Alder (Alnus rubra) and Black Cottonwood (Populus trichocarpa). Where winter storms have scoured the beaches, Coastal Strawberry (Fragaria chiloensis) recovers quickly, sending out rapidly-growing runners several inches at a pop, while the more mature plants anchor their roots deep in the sand. The rapid spread and evergreen leaves give cover to vulnerable dunes and limit erosion. Meanwhile, in the mature forest where the shade is too dark for many species, Redwood Sorrel (Oxalis oregana) happily thrives, its brittle white-and-pink rhizomes rampantly occupying territory until finding equilibrium with fellow native groundcovers. Even in dry areas of the forest, Redwood Sorrel has it made in the shade. The foliage efficiently photosynthesizes limited sunlight. The more moisture it has available, the happier it is, spreading its lush clover-like leaves flat to gather in as much light as possible, folding them down to protect them from rain damage.

These native plants act honestly according to their nature. They are not invaders in their own home territory; they are just doing their job, thriving in their natural niche. If someone plants them, expecting them to remain within artificial boundaries when it is obvious to the plant in question that more territory with favorable conditions is available, the personalities of the human gardener and the active native plant may clash. Understanding is called for on the part of the human (we are supposed to be the smart ones J). I prefer acknowledging the energy of these particular natives by describing them as vigorous, robust, rampant or perhaps even aggressive. Please don’t call them invasive – they are at home!

*Some good resources on TRULY invasive species:

Washington State Noxious Weed Control Board, https://www.nwcb.wa.gov/

King County Noxious Weed List, https://www.kingcounty.gov/services/environment/animals-and-plants/noxious-weeds/laws.aspx

Snohomish County Noxious Weeds, https://snohomishcountywa.gov/722/Noxious-Weeds

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I officially started Tadpole Haven Native Plants exactly 20 years ago, in June 1998, (after having spent too much money to call it “dabbling”). Starting a business on our family’s property was a concept that my sister and sister-in-law and I had been kicking around for a while. We kept coming back to the idea of growing something. My brother got wind of our discussions. He is in the road construction business, and regularly perused the Daily Journal of Commerce to see what projects were coming up for bid. He pointed out that there were many of these projects that were calling out for native plantings. Maybe we could grow native plants?

The idea struck fire with me. It appealed to my environmental sensibilities and seemed like a natural fit for the land, which is mostly in a natural state. We enthusiastically began learning more about native plants and came up with a name for the business: “Swamp Sisters.” My business-minded cousin Andy talked us down from that decision and we settled on the slightly more sedate “Tadpole Haven” which, a couple of generations before us, had been the name of a business next door to the homestead which raised bullfrogs for the Seattle restaurant market. The original Tadpole Haven went “belly-up” (so to speak) during the Great Depression in the 1930s. Frog legs anyone?

My original partners contributed labor and encouragement during our initial experimentation with growing natives, but eventually moved on to other projects. I threw myself into learning about natives. I had no background in horticulture. Looking back, it may have been more efficient to have gone through one of our wonderful community college horticulture programs, because my mostly haphazard education is still costing me money and time! The biggest help in learning about natives was going through the Native Plant Steward program of the Washington Native Plant Society. I highly recommend WNPS and its programs as a way to expand your knowledge of native plants.

Tadpole Haven began as a very part-time project with one person. Now it has taken over my life and threatens to do the same for my current partners, Brian and Lisa. But it’s all good! We are constantly learning, with the goal of growing high-quality plants in an environmentally-friendly way. Most of our plants are purchased wholesale for restoration of local parks and natural areas. Landscapers buy them for their residential projects, and some local retail outlets carry Tadpole Haven’s plants. And we also make our plants available to retail customers who want to help improve the health of local streams or welcome birds, butterflies and other wildlife to their yards.

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The red-and-yellow flowers of Western Columbine (Aquilegia formosa) are a-bloom in the nursery and in my yard. Earlier this spring, we discovered that many of our “Western Columbines” were imposters—hybrids with pink, purple and maroon flowers. Different species of columbines freely hybridize with each other (Brian* accuses them of being promiscuous) and undoubtedly, the seeds these sprouted from were off the native which had cross-pollinated with the neighborhood hussies. Shocking behavior! We sold some before we recognized that we had a ‘situation’; if you wound up with a non-native, we will happily replace it or otherwise make it right.

Western Columbine’s exotic flowers dangle from drooping stems like lanterns illuminating the garden. The blossoms stand higher than the foliage, up to 3 ½’ high. Western Columbines do well in full sun to partial shade and thrive in soil that is a little bit moist. Planted in compacted soil, a grouping of columbines—which have strong taproots—can help break up the soil, making it more friable.*

Western Columbine (Aquilegia Formosa)

Columbines are perennial, dying back in the fall, re-sprouting in late winter, and bloom most profusely in spring and sporadically through the summer. Hummingbirds and swallowtail butterflies come to the Western Columbine flowers for nectar, and birds such as finches, juncos and sparrows eat the seeds. Supposedly, the presence of Western Columbine will discourage deer from browsing (I think I will try that!).

One of the few orangey-colored flowers native in our area, Western Columbine is showy all by itself. But interplant it with other spring-blooming native perennials that appreciate similar conditions—for example, purple-flowered Big-leaf Lupine (Lupinus polyphyllus) and Showy Fleabane (Erigeron speciosus), creamy-flowered Goatsbeard (Aruncus dioicus), pink Henderson’s Checkermallow (Sidalcea hendersonii)—and you’ll have a stunning spectacle, reminiscent of an alpine meadow.

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In Tukwila this Saturday, we’ll be celebrating Wildlife; with our families on Sunday, we’ll celebrate our Mothers. You may think the two celebrations have no relation to one another, but you will discover the perfect convergence in our booth at the Backyard Wildlife Festival. Native Plants! They benefit the whole circle of Life AND make a great gift for your Mother, who gave you Life (you know I’m right).

 Here are a few ideas:

 Camas: Common Camas (Camassia quamash) and Great Camas (Camassia  leichtlinii)

• Blue or purple flowers.
• Grows from an edible bulb.
• Does well in soil that holds winter moisture – can be completely inundated — but dries out in the summer.
• Readily re-seed themselves, but it is easy to unwittingly weed out their seedlings, which resemble blades of grass.
• Check out a previous blog entry for more info.
• Beautiful and showy!

Small-flowered Alumroot (Heuchera micrantha)

• Native perennial with neat, ruffly, glossy, semi-evergreen foliage and frothy white flowers taller than the leaves. With the flowers, they can be up to approximately 2½’ tall.
• Partial to full shade, moist-to-wet soil.
• Not as show-offy as some ornamental Heucheras, but honest and classy–like your mom, right?

Black Twinberry (Lonicera involucrata)

• Deciduous shrub up to 9’ tall (in the sun, it grows full and fat; in the shade, tall and lanky).
• Moist to wet soils.
• Hummingbirds and butterflies come to the small paired yellow flowers which look like little trumpets and give way to two shiny black berries.
• As the berries ripen, the bracts (petal-like leaves) which hold them turn a striking scarlet-purple.
• Birds love the berries (inedible for humans)
• Beside a stream or on a wet hillside, Twinberry’s roots anchor the soil against erosion.

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Here are a couple of friends that we hang out with in the nursery: a long-toed salamander I found under a flat of Henderson’s Checkermallow () and a rough-skinned newt my son Erik found in the Cardboard Pile (Cardboardius dampii).

The swallows have been back for weeks, but I have yet to hear the Chorus Frogs calling here! I know it has been cold, but I’m a bit worried! Their new pond is waiting…

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The leaf buds on many of the deciduous trees and shrubs in the nursery have been stubbornly clamped shut until recently (a few still are holding out). A couple weeks ago, the Black Cottonwood (Populus trichocarpa) trees popped their fragrant orange buds off their newly expanding leaves. The smaller (up to 80’) Paper Birches (Betula papyrifera) are also sprouting their pointed, toothed leaves. Paper Birches are named for their papery, peeling bark that lightens with age until it is white. They tolerate shade and tend to grow on higher ground than the Cottonwoods, though they do fine planted in wet spots and actually provide good erosion-control beside streams and ditches.

A customer recently asked what specific wildlife value Paper Birch has, and I couldn’t answer except in the most general of terms. “Well, uh, yeah, it’s a native tree and, uh, native animals like native trees…” so I did a bit of research.

Planted along streambanks, Paper Birches help moderate temperature extremes that can harm aquatic life. Come autumn, the pretty yellow birch leaves fall into the stream, and along with bits of bark and other detritus sink and decay, becoming nutritious food for organisms at the bottom of the food chain. The overhanging branches harbor insects that fall from the trees and of course seeds provide food for creatures.

Paper Birch’s catkins produce many tiny seeds, food for bird such as grouse, pine siskin and goldfinch (our state bird!). Swallowtail (and other) butterfly larvae feed on the leaves. Birches can be prone to aphid infestations in the spring, but those aphids generally are harmless to an otherwise healthy tree AND provide meals to their natural predators,. Many other insects, including predator and other beneficial insects, call Paper Birch home, ‘inviting’ sapsuckers, warblers and chickadees to lunch.

As the tree ages (they live 60+ years), woodpeckers excavate holes in the trunk that are used by cavity-nesting animals—owls, squirrels, bats, for example. Paper Birch is deer-resistant (supposedly: just claiming deer-resistance inspires deer to take a liking to whatever they usually turn up their noses at). But indeed, the deer that browse the nursery leave the Paper Birch alone. Knock on wood.

Planting natives like Paper Birch supports life—wild and tame, natural and cultivated, owned and un-ownable.

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It’s almost Easter, and my love-hate relationship with bunnies is coming to a head. The rabbit has been seen for centuries as a symbol of fertility. It wangled its way into European Easter celebrations about 500 years ago as a delivery-rodent for another symbol of fertility, the egg. Many say the rabbit was a companion of Eostre, the Germanic goddess of spring/fertility. Fertility symbols illustrate in a down-to-earth way the Christian concept of New Life

As darling as bunnies are, there are too many of them lately! The babies are so tame and cute and curious. Last year, my son carefully fenced off a poorly-sited rabbit nest, so Tyrannosaurus Gus couldn’t get the “kittens”. But that was only one of several nests within 100 yards of the nursery. By the end of summer, I was ready to sic the dogs on the whole lot of them, call in trained falcons or reintroduce wolves to Paradise Valley! We should rename the nursery “Tadpole Haven Native Plant Smorgasbord”. Brian has a theory that there is a disease cycle that wipes the rabbits out every so often, and right now they are healthy and very fertile. I had noticed population fluctuations, but I always attributed it to coyotes coming through. I’m very proud of the high quality wildlife habitat on our property where the nursery is. But the rabbits are giving habitat a bad name! Rabbitat! We’ve got plenty of high quality coyote habitat — where are those guys when we need them?

So, I know this is late in the game, but I’d like to stop honoring the ravaging rabbit. So I urge everyone to boycott the Easter Bunny. In its place we will install the Easter Frog. The Easter Frog is an oversized Pacific Chorus Frog. The Pacific Chorus Frog actually LAYS eggs, thus is more qualified than a rabbit for the Easter job. If these little tree frogs haven’t started calling yet in your neighborhood, they will any day. At Tadpole Haven, we have a new pool waiting for them! We put in a couple types of vegetation suitable for attaching egg clutches: Western Hemlock (Tsuga heterophylla) twigs and Marsh Cinquefoil (Comarum palustre) stems. I tossed in three Wapato (Sagittaria latifolia a.k.a. Broad-leaved Arrowhead) bulbs. I am hoping that those will grow up and shade the pool from the hottest summer sun. This pool is much deeper than a kiddie pool, which we have used in the past. Those kiddie pools successfully raised several years’ worth of froglets, but they have gotten too hot during the last few summers, and all of the tadpoles perished, sadly. We will be celebrating Easter until summer’s end, watching the fertile New Life metamorphose and transform these small earthly beings.

PACIFIC CHORUS FROG EGGS

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Happy Spring! The weather has been terrific, but may get temperamental just in time for our Open Days on Friday and Saturday. But the greenhouse is a good hangout! Enjoy Lisa’s cookies and poke your nose outside to check out plants like the Bald-Hip Rose.

Bald-Hip Rose (Rosa gymnocarpa) a.k.a. Dwarf Rose, a.k.a. Little Wild Rose has fragrant pink one-inch-wide flowers. This adaptable deciduous wild rose-bush thrives in well-drained soil, in dry to moist conditions. It tolerates full shade to full sun. Grown in bright or dappled shade, it happily produces lots of blooms; its stems tend to get thin and gangly in full shade. It reaches 5’ tall, but can handle being pruned back. Though it is rhizomatous, it does not spread aggressively like its cousin, Nootka Rose (Rosa nutkana).

When the flowers fade, the “hips” form, containing seed. The hips of most species of rose retain the tiny, dried-up remnants of flower petals at the tip of the hip; the Bald-Hip Rose is called “Bald-Hip” because it sheds them. The smooth, brilliant red, somewhat pear-shaped hips are about 3/8” long and persist through winter, providing nutritious sustenance for native birds and bits of brightness on murky Northwest winter days.

Most of these hardy beauties in the nursery are just beginning to sprout new growth from their pruned back stems. They will fill out nicely as spring progresses.

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I first (literally) ran across Crown Brodiaea in the late 1990s while working road construction west of Rochester, Thurston County. At the end of a long day of chip-sealing, we parked our equipment on a patch of dry grass. As I climbed down from my roller, I spotted the most beautiful purple flowers growing in the grass, with glossy flared petals. Luckily, I had my trusty field guide (Plants of the Pacific Northwest Coast, Pojar and Mackinnon, Lone Pine Publishing) in my bag! I succeeded in identifying the charming blossoms (many of which I had just flattened with my 7-ton, 9-tired pneumatic roller). While we waited for a lift back to our cars, the other members of the crew laughed at me, book in hand, on my knees before the flowers.

 Crown Brodiaea (Brodiaea coronaria), a.k.a. Harvest Brodiaea, thrives in the gravelly soils of Thurston County’s prairies, making it a perfect candidate for a rock garden. No rock garden? Give it full sun and excellent drainage. For example, you could tuck it just under the edge of your home’s south-facing eave—it will be moist in winter, and completely dry in summer.

In the late winter, one to three narrow, grass-like leaves emerge from the underground corm. After the leaves dry up, the 4-10”-high flower stalks put on their show in June or July.

 Right now, the Crown Brodiaea in the nursery have leafed out. I am pretty sure most will bloom, since the bulbs/corms are relatively large. I am planning to plant a few beside the native bunchgrass, Roemer’s Idaho Fescue (Festuca idahoensis ssp. roemeri), and close to some other native prairie wildflowers: Great Camas (Cammassia leichtlinii Common Camas (Cammassia quamash), Western Columbine (Aquilegia formosa), and Big-Leaf Lupine (Lupinus polyphyllus).

Come visit! Things are now showing thoroughly encouraging signs of growth. And I promise I won’t make fun of you if get down on your knees before the floral denizens of Tadpole Haven!

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Until a few weeks ago, the nursery was not a very hopeful place. The shrubs and trees looked like sticks, the perennials had gone underground, the grasses were straw-like. But now, definite, if subtle, signs of Life offer a natural balm for any discouragement. But tromping through the nursery, I was not seeking Life–I was just scavenging for plants that looked Alive-Enough to sell at the sale this Saturday. But looking in detail at the plants calmed me and turned worry into appreciation.

White Fawn Lily’s (Erythronium oregonum) single mottled leaf twists open through the surface of the soil. Little by little, day by day, now pausing to let a few very cold days pass, Great Camas (Cammassia leichtlinii), Western Columbine (Aquilegia formosa), Big-Leaf Lupine (Lupinus polyphyllus), Bleeding Heart (Dicentra formosa) and Scouler’s Corydalis (Corydalis scouleri) emerge from the earth.

New leaves begin to swell and open on bare branches: a few Snowberry (Symphoricarpos albus) have tiny leaves, evidence that their spindly little gray twigs actually contain the juice of life. Indian Plum (Oemleria cerasiformis) as always is way ahead of the game. The big ones in the woods are sprouting blossoms, and all the Indian Plums in their nursery pots are sprouting leaves at least. And a few blooms!

White Fawn Lily (Erythronium oregonum)

Great Camas (Cammassia leichtlinii)

Western Columbine (Aquilegia Formosa)

Bleeding Heart (Dicentra formosa)

Scouler’s Corydalis (Corydalis scouleri)

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