Meadow Madness

Borage and black-eyed Susans in the orchard low meadow.

At our last home, we had a roughly quarter-acre strip between our yard and the woodland border that we aspirationally referred to as “The Meadow.” It wasn’t fenced, so the deer regularly made meals of the black-eyed Susans and purple cone flower. But some years we got lucky, and the cosmos reseeded themselves, the daisies thrived, and the lupine didn’t succumb to aphids. It wasn’t much of a show, but I loved it.

When we moved to the farm in Stone Ridge, I had a shot at a real meadow — about four acres of potential loveliness. Sure, it was inundated with blackberry brambles, autumn olive and burning bush, and the deer topped just about everything that might flower except the spurge. But it had potential.

We brush hogged the field in early 2021 and scraped the top several inches of soil in one big section to buy time for some natives to get established before the invasives took off again. In early spring the deer fence went up. That was a big design project — we wanted the fencing to be as unobtrusive as possible, and we needed good coverage for the orchard, the veg garden, the ornamental gardens, and of course the meadow. We probably ended up fencing about five acres, and it was an investment, but for a gardener, it was so worth it.

Even before the seeds we threw down germinated, we started seeing more color and variety. Apparently, there was a lot of purple loostrife down there! The deer are supposed to hate it, but we had never seen any bloom, so they must have been topping that, too. The lower 5 feet of the sumac filled in. The gray and silky dogwoods bushed out. Hummingbirds darted amongst the orange jewelweed. Native clematis twined with the grasses.

Drowning in black-eyed Susans on the meadow walk.

I’ve heard so many folks express discouragement over their efforts to seed wildflowers. Growing a meadow—or even a scrap of a meadow—from seed takes time and patience. Even if your seed germinates nicely the first year, most perennials will not bloom until the second year. Black-eyed Susans are one exception, and we had a really nice show that first summer. It’s often a good idea to throw in some annuals that will bloom the first season. Many annuals will successfully reseed themselves, though, so be sure to incorporate them in the longer-term design of your meadow.

Soil and sun conditions also have to be appropriate to your seed mix. Unfortunately, 2021 looks to have been a turning point for water levels in our meadow. While the back half was quite marshy and often had standing water, in the first two years we lived on the farm most of the meadow was reasonably, not overly, moist. Now we routinely see inundation throughout the meadow. Some species did not thrive in the new, wetter conditions. But the Joe Pye weed (Eupatorium fistulosum) loves it, and I love Joe Pye! We’re also seeing a cousin to Joe, Boneset (Eupatorium perfoliatum), poking through here and there. The hyssop doesn’t seem to have made it, but we’ve got a bunch of lovely stands of lavender bergamot, wild senna and blue vervain. We’re also seeing plenty of milkweed, lanceleaf coreopsis and prairie fleabane. It’s such a treat to round the corner on our meadow path at this time of year and be engulfed by a profusion of blooms.

Check out the trollish knees on this bald cypress at Innisfree Garden in Millbrook, NY.

It’s still a work-in-progress, of course! This is only our second year, and we’re still feeling out the moisture levels in the soil. Our property has been identified as a head of wetlands by the Wetlands Trust—we have at least two springs coming to the surface—and they tell us after several years of very low water tables, what we are seeing now is closer to normal. So the meadow might regularly be wetter than we initially anticipated. This fall, I’ll reseed a few specific varieties of marshy wildflowers and see what takes off. I also plan to incorporate some water-loving shrubs and trees at the edges, like cottonbush (Cephalanthus occidentalis), a low shrub with big, white, pin-cushion flowers whose funky seed heads can last into winter, and bald cypress (Taxodium distichum), whose roots throw up knobby “knees” in wet conditions.

I’m going to go back to using seeds from American Meadows—we had used Prairie Nursery when we launched this meadow, but I wasn’t crazy about germination rates. They had a “Pretty Darn Quick” mix of annuals that Pretty Much Failed. They’ve since taken that mix off their website and completely revamped their product line, so I can’t speak to current formulations. But I love the diverse selection of seed mixtures offered by American Meadows, and they also have a lot of single-species seeds in bulk. It’s easy to curate your own mix by plugging in your USDA zone, growing conditions, and even the colors you prefer. Pick several types that bloom in different seasons for a meadow that is beautiful to you and a haven for birds, pollinators and other beneficial insects.

Finally, enjoy your meadow! It’s a complete sensory experience — from the joyous blossoms to the calling birds and buzzing bees that are thriving in the habitat you built. Here’s a short “moment of zen” from our meadow.

Birds call as a gentle breeze dances through the black-eyed Susans, wild bergamot, gray dogwood and cinnamon ferns.