How to start an argument among gardeners

Jill Severn

If you want to start an argument among gardeners, ask what they think about growing native vs. non-native plants. This is a topic that elicits strong opinions, often based on weak information.  

Native plants provide habitat for native critters, ranging from bees and other pollinators to rabbits and deer. Some gardeners think that growing only native plants is the path to heaven, and that any space devoted to non-native plant is a sin because it robs the natives of their birthright. 

However, others argue that including a carefully curated, long-blooming selection of non-natives extends the season of pollen and nectar, and provides bonus nutrition to many of the species of bees and butterflies around us. 

Those inclined to be purists opt for all natives; the middle-grounders grow some of each; and an unknown percentage don’t give a damn about plants’ provenance; they focus on color, size and success in their garden. 

In an undoubtedly futile attempt to please all three factions, here are three easy to grow native shrubs that do as well in the garden as in the wild: 

Thimbleberry, Rubus parviflorus, is also known as Bearberry and probably other localized popular names. The berries do resemble thimbles, but since a shrinking number of people have ever seen or used a thimble, that descriptor may be losing its punch.

It’s pollinated by both bumble and regular bees, and by beetles. It can also pollinate itself, a process called "apomoxis." This self-pollination is a plant’s DIY form of cloning. 

Thimbleberry is a vigorous grower that may compete with its neighbors for space. Its maple-shaped leaves can infiltrate a patch of Japanese anemones, whose leaves are similar.

But it can’t hide among them for long, because it grows at least a couple of feet taller than they do. It’s easy to prune, which is a good thing, because it’s a fast grower, even in the shade. It’s harder to pull up. If you think you’re a terrible gardener, plant Thimbleberry for an easy, confidence-building win. 

It has simple white flowers in the spring, and a modest crop of reddish berries in summer that are nice, but would never win a taste contest with raspberries. 

Ocean spray, aka Seafoam and various other names, is a shrub most people don’t notice except when it’s blooming, but when it does bloom, near the end of June, its graceful, creamy white pendant clusters are eye-catching.

However, as the flower clusters fade, they turn a dismal brown and hang on for a while, looking forlorn. This shrub is tall and rounded, a bit like a 6-12 foot version of a poplar. It’s both sun and shade tolerant, hardy and hearty, but not inclined to reproduce wildly. When its bloom time has passed, most people stop noticing it altogether.  

 Snowberry This is an aptly named plant: it produces decorative small white berries that hang on through the winter. They’re especially fun to see when there’s snow on the ground beneath them. This is a smaller shrub than Ocean Spray or Thimbleberry, with roundish leaves and tiny pink flowers that are unfailingly likable.

While it usually only grows about 3 or 4 feet tall, its roots travel deeper than that underground. Shoots of thimbleberry are likely to come up in the middle of patches of other plants, where they require disruption to dig up. It does well in front of or among Thimbleberry or Ocean spray.

There are a zillion other native plants ranging from the tiny to the towering, and you can learn about all of them from the Washington Native Plant Society. In the spring, there’s a local native plant sale, which is a wildly popular event.  

Even if you do nothing, it’s likely that some native plants are now in your yard — or have been or will be. After all, they have been here long before we showed up, and their survival skills are adapted to life in this location. On my block, several of us have native bleeding hearts in our gardens, and none of us planted them. They just showed up a few years ago.

We practice peaceful coexistence — except, of course, for invasive morning glories (aka bindweed), which unite us in communal fury. You could not start an argument among gardeners about morning glories. They are universally reviled. 

Jill Severn writes from her home in Olympia, where she grows vegetables, flowers, and a small flock of chickens. She loves conversation among gardeners. Start one by emailing her at  jill@theJOLTnews.com.