“We make a decision every time we remove, or introduce, a plant to the habitat.”

Such was the premise of a recent presentation at the library on “birdscaping”. A simple principle we’ve all applied, mostly for the purpose of aesthetics. We’ve experienced the impact of a crab apple upon its planting, with its bowers of spring blossoms and later with its glossy fall fruits; and the venerable old trees removed from our village this year strike us at first like missing teeth from a familiar smile. Implications for the natural world are not as immediately evident, though it takes only a season to realize the peril to our gardens of an unbridled bittersweet, or to the hostas which scorch when a leafy canopy of oaks is lost to gypsy moth defoliation. When consequential changes occur, the repercussions to wildlife are less readily perceptible to us, yet once we realize the bees or the hummingbirds are missing, it leaves a troublesome hole in the garden. Fortunately, while it might take a little longer to detect, it’s quicker to fix than the sudden absence of shade or the eradication of bittersweet.

In order to protect and promote the presence of birds in our yards, we must understand the environment in which they prosper. Ours is an early successional habitat, wherein one plant group is replaced with another over time. Exposed ground, grasses and wildflowers, fills with small shrubs and tree seedlings, which slowly grow into a young, and eventually mature, forest. The cycle has occurred naturally for thousands of years, the necessary deforestation due to fire and water: lightning strikes during dry conditions and land flooded with the activity of beavers. Every stage of development is essential to certain birds, many requiring more than one type depending on need – a habitat for nesting, for example, or for food.

The first rule in birdscaping is to rid your property of invasive weeds, which wreck havoc as they destroy the plants birds depend on. It seems as if certain invasive trees and shrubs are grown for their fall foliage, as evidenced in their deliberate inclusion in landscapes. But there are always viable, and valuable, substitutes. Rather than relying on Norway maples to supply us with golden autumnal crowns, use birches, natives with shimmery yellow leaves and edible seeds; and instead of burning bush, which ignites in October with brilliant crimson flames, plant blueberry, another native which provides as glorious a fall display as well as summer fruits. Often the trees we plant for aesthetic purposes, such as the dogwood for its ivory bracts in spring, burgundy fall foliage and winter silhouette of lacy, horizontal tiers, prove very beneficial to birds. Observe your property throughout the year and note the birds that visit, when they return in spring, their breeding habits in summer, the fall migration, and especially the year round residents who remain through winter. Basically, cater to the birds that live in your own habitat by providing a welcoming environment.

Trees and shrubs with fruits and berries are havens for birds. Crabapples top the list with spring flowers and fall fruits, treasures for bees and birds and the garden. Plant holly and evergreen cedar for their winter fruits, serviceberry, a native which offers summer fruits along with snowflake flowers in spring and a mosaic of harvest hues in autumn, the several varieties of viburnum with arrays of cherry red, indigo, pink, scarlet, and crimson berries, clethra for the nectar and the seeds of its fragrant spires of summer flowers, and beauty berry with clusters of violet flowers followed by amethyst berries which persist till Christmas. The elderberry that seeded itself near our window proved the preferred place for nesting cardinals and convinced us of the worth of allowing wild shrubs to self-sow in the garden. We no longer remove chokeberry, pokeberry or inkberry, encourage raspberry and blackberry canes when they sprout along the stonewall, and vines of Concord grapes and Virginia creeper when they twine on the trunks of trees. Cultivate columbine, bee balm and coral bells to attract hummingbirds, and let thistles self-sow for goldfinches which rely on their seeds and their down for nests. Brush piles are hospitable places for birds in the winter, and dead trees at the perimeters of the property, far from where people play, walk, or mow, for cavity dwellers. Place bird houses everywhere – they’re so charming and simple to make, and bird baths in the shade since water heats in the sunshine.

When you plant for birds you’re planting for insects, “the little things that run the world,” biologist E.O. Wilson famously stated. With the exception of gypsy moths, “Something’s eating my plants!” is usually good news. Many of the native plants essential to insects visually enhance our gardens: sheaves of goldenrod threading purple sprays of aster; black-eyed Susans mingling with echinacea, their similar forms uniting the sharp contrast of their colors; mauve spears of turtlehead and billows of Joe Pye weed rising over crests of pink phloxes. Umbels of Queen Anne’s lace supply the nourishment for swallowtail caterpillars, the butterfly weed which sprouted profusely in a thyme lawn this year resulted in multitudes of monarchs, and the tall stalks of boltonia, a flurry of tiny white flowers in fall, were visited constantly by both butterflies. The bulbs and perennials we cultivate provide a steady supply of nectar to attract bees throughout the gardening season, from the golden challises of spring’s crocus to the raspberry saucers of autumn’s sedum.

Remember especially the importance of the plants after the flowering season and leave their fruitful remains for the winter. The bristled cones of echinecea and rudbeckia, the seed pods of Siberian iris and baptisia, the studded spires of turtlehead and lamb’ ear — all of these will nourish visitors through the harsh months of winter. Of all the reasons to plant sunflowers, and there are several, chief among them are the seeds they produce for the chickadees. This, to me, is the sunflower’s finest hour.

The more I consider seeds, the further I wander from my original gardener. I’m less of a colorist because of the swapping of asters and balloon flowers and phloxes surprising me every season with their new assortment of colors, ranging from the palest pinks and lavenders to the deepest violets and fuschias. I’m not as meticulous a planner — where the seeds of wildflowers, buttercups and daisies, cinquefoil and Queen Anne’s lace, goldenrod and Joe Pye weed, sprinkle themselves among the careful orchestration of perennials. And because of the birds in winter, which I observe feasting on the spent coreopsis, their footprints in the snow circling the liatris stalks after a storm, I no longer consider myself a tidy gardener.

Dayna McDermott