Straw Bale Gardening at Frey Vineyards

chair
lovely wine barrel chair at Frey Winery
Take a seat, dear reader. We are off on a trip to Frey Vineyards, America’s first organic winery. I’d long told myself that a blogger living in wine country really ought to be posting now and again about vineyards and wineries. Right? So today is the day I’m inviting you to join me at a beautiful local winery. See? Vineyards.
frey
vineyards at Frey Winery

However, as much as I appreciate the beauty of the many vineyards among which I live, true to my independent spirit it was actually the straw bale gardens that motivated this trip! Yes, indeed. And here is our travel guide, Marie, resident landscape gardener at Frey Vineyards, and a bright and shining and generous spirit. Lucky us.
Marie
Marie, resident landscape gardener at Frey Vineyards

Adding to the fun is Puppy the poodle, one of the many dogs who live at Frey Vineyards, and who happily joins us in the adventure.
puppy

So here’s the skinny. It so happened that we attended a very large picnic which took place at Frey Vineyards over Labor Day, and I was totally enchanted with a number of things, particularly the straw bale gardens created by Marie. So I called and Katrina Frey kindly invited me to come out and gather information about this incredible way of gardening, which I fully intend to implement instead of the traditional raised beds I had been anticipating this winter. Hallelujah! So easy! You start here.
bale
simple straw bale

Are you already getting the idea? I knew you would! Marie suggests that you put two bales side by side and pile two on top of each. Of course this is ideal from so many standpoints! One doesn’t have to stoop as much, so much easier on the back and knees. One need not really dig. The bunnies are less inclined to munch. The dogs won’t you know what in it. The list goes on. I think it’s fantastic! So here’s what you do. You punch a hole in it. And you stick some dirt in the hole. And then you put your seed or starter plant in the hole. Water. Done! Here’s Marie showing me how to make a hole with her gardening tool.
hole

And here’s what you get!

bed
lettuces, basil and lobelia happily growing in straw bale

Is that not incredible?? And here’s a broader view of the beds, so you really get this technique.
beds2

Now as if I needed even a teensy bit more convincing, this was the best part for me: the natural composting that occurs, as straw, miraculously, turns into this!
dirt

Is this not the richest soil you’ve seen outside of your compost bins? With none of the work! Stunning!

“People think they need to feed their plants. What they don’t realize is that they need to feed their soil and their soil will nurture their plants.” ~Marie, resident landscape gardener at Frey Vineyards

So, after a couple of years these straw bales break down into that delicious treasure in Marie’s hand, and you can use that as a basis for your expanding beds, or start over. What was truly amazing to me was when Marie told me that a local Waldorf school teacher built a vegetable garden on asphalt with her second graders using straw bales! Can you think of the possibilities? Or you could put them on a sturdy roof! Or you could suggest a straw bale garden at a local nursing home. Perhaps you have an aging family member who loved gardening and this would be the door. Or maybe someone (you?) were longing for a garden but you only have a driveway? I mean, really. This could fly.

Not quite ready to leave Frey Vineyards in spite of learning what I’d come to learn, I asked if we might go see their beehives, as I knew they had an unusual hive from Germany that some beekeepers were ooing and awwing over on Labor Day, and about which I’d read. Marie was graciously happy to oblige. Here’s what that looked like. I was careful to not stand anywhere near the front, blocking bees from their intentional comings and goings.
Germanhive

And here are some of the other more traditional hives, a short distance away.
hives
Marie kindly explained to me that they are raised up to the exact height that would put, oh, say, a raccoon’s face right in line with the front door (and flight path) of the bees. This would not be good for the raccoon, but handy for the bees. She says the dogs (and there are many on the property) never go near the hives. Good to know.

Ironically, as I was bidding farewell, Marie brought to my attention that, given that it’s harvest season, the winery workers are bottling today. Perhaps another day? Instead I turn my attention to the beauty of a very large perennial lobelia displaying her flowers in her final days. Today I’ll go with her.

lobelia2

I am grateful for a lovely day.

Love and gardening blessings,
Kathryn xoxo

Book Notes: Bringing Nature Home

In all honesty until reading Bringing Nature Home: How You Can Sustain Wildlife with Native Plants by entomologist Douglas W. Tallamy I think I was rather avoiding the subject of native plant rearing. In asking myself why? I had to admit that I associated the largely misunderstood concept of native plant selection as a choice that would entail having to “give something up.” After all, the name of my blog is Plant Whatever Brings You Joy, right? Once into Doug’s book, however, I realized how myopic that thought was, and my world expanded into a much deeper understanding of the importance of maintaining native plants in our environment. Pondering what I was reading, I came to realize that planting whatever brings you joy was not the child’s view of, “I’ll have one of these and one of these and one of those,” that (ahem) the nursery industry inadvertently seduces us into thinking is Just Fine. No. It is the wise sage who understands that the selection of one’s plants that truly brings one joy is in the context of making conscious selections that are in keeping with what was there before, creating both continuity and a healthy sustainability by honoring the thousands of years of evolutionary history that preceeded our humble and minute arrival on the scene. See? I know it’s a mouthful and I will freely admit that reading Doug’s book at first overwhelmed me, as in utterly. My first attempt to integrate what I was reading led to both my posts on butterflies, to break down some of the realizations I was having into smaller parts which I might digest and make sense of in increments. I started with the lovely butterflies, and the importance of including host plants for their eggs.

nectaring on butterfly weed

Not as easy to broach is the matter of bugs. I found myself understanding that I’d been conditioned to think that any sign in my garden of leaves being eaten was a “problem.” In my anthropocentric state of unconsciousness (oh, yes, I was) I had never really entertained the idea–as you must admit, there is scarce drawing our attention to the fact–that bugs must eat. Mostly plants.

“…most insect herbivores can only eat plants with which they share an evolutionary history…our native insects will not be able to survive on alien plant species.” –Doug Tallamy

And that far from that being a problem, I was now facing the reality that this was something I not only needed to embrace, but to (shudder) possibly encourage and cultivate. Why? Anthropocentricism really does a grand job at allowing one to become blind to wee small critters that have their rightful place on planet Earth. A place so important that without them many other creatures who are dependent on them for food, would die.

larvae of the giant silk moth

But wait, you say. Isn’t pest-free a good thing? Turns out, not exactly.

It gets bigger.

Imagine the importers who have brought “pest free” plants into our country, touting their “pest freedom” as a Very Good Thing. Uh, not so fast. Apparently what comes with that “perk” is a plant that is introduced into a landscape with no natural enemies. Think kudzu or honeysuckle. Apparently plants that have taken centuries to negotiate their rightful, balanced place in their native country, can go aggressively berserk in a land that holds no such environmental contract. Ditto bugs. (I find myself wondering if those sneaky killer bees that escaped a scientist’s hold which now inhabit our Southern borders, might not have had a balancing force in their rightful home. Get it?)

So now I’ve added some new words to my vocabulary. Like “ornamental aliens.” I am unbelieveably reticent to take this kind of stock of what I have regarded as a very varied garden, but I am facing the likelihood that for as impressed as I was to think of the numbers of different plants that grow on this property I largely suspect that the majority of them are, indeed, ornamental aliens. I have a whole new respect for my hollyhocks, the native violets and even the lowly wild onion that I used to frown upon in the far back corner of the yard when they emerge each spring under the apple tree. Not anymore.

I spoke with Doug on the phone. If I had to distill what I learned into two words it would be complexity and native.

“Norway maple (Acer platanoides), an alien introduced into the ornamental trade from Europe, is now the most common shade tree in North America. As with many ornamental species, it has escaped cultivation and is rapidly displacing native trees.” –Doug Tallamy

(Gulp.)

Apparently by my introducing a healthy dose of native complexity I will do an immense good to my garden, with important ramifications. Probably very little of what was living here prior to civilized cultivation has sustained itself in the face of our arrival. And that is an unconscious violation of the contract this land had with itself. And how dare I?

I realize I’ve been sold a bill of goods. The bill of goods read, “Your yard is a blank canvas. Plant whatever you want.” So not true.

As complex as this garden may seem, it is foreign to native critters, precious bodies that are becoming extinct. What compromise can I offer? And how can I reeducate myself to appreciate the beauties of the native plants of California? To not be appalled at the first sign of Chewing? But to possibly celebrate it instead? How do I face the task of learning which bugs have natural enemies, which ones are beneficial and intrinsic to my garden and which ones are running amok, unchecked, after hitchhiking in on a ship from heaven knows where? It’s daunting, I’m the first to admit. But my moral task is clear.

wood thrush, hit particularly hard by habitat loss

Doug Tallamy’s book Bringing Nature Home is a gift. It’s not the kind of gift wrapped with a pink ribbon and a tiny rose tucked into the bow. It’s the kind of gift that shakes you to your core and sets you on the path of healing. Your garden. Your planet. One plant at a time. Open it.

Love and gardening blessings,
Kathryn xoxo

Butterfly Gardens: Host Plants vs. Nectar Plants


Dutchman’s pipevine

How I managed to garden all these many years and not know the difference between host and nectar plants for butterflies is beyond me. Honestly? I’d never really thought about it, primarily because no one really brought it to my attention! It was only through my recent field trip to Hallberg Butterfly Gardens and the subsequent research that I did that it truly dawned on me that there was a very big difference. Did you know? Maybe you did. Maybe not. But here are some highlights from what I discovered.

Let’s start with the most extreme example I encountered, but I must forewarn you that I’m beginning to believe this is not as uncommon as one might think. The above photograph, taken just in front of Louise Hallberg’s home, where she has lived for the last 92 years, is of the pipevine, which really began her whole journey into the world of butterflies. Louise’s mother planted this pipevine, but so very long ago that in spite of being very slow growing, has, over the decades made its way throughout the gardens surrounding Louise’s home. The magical result? Pipevine swallowtail. Why? Not because butterflies are drawn to a flower. No. Butterflies are drawn to the leaf because that is where they need to lay their butterfly eggs. (Yes, did you ever even think of a butterfly egg? No, neither had I.) Because when those little eggs hatch (the ones not eaten by neighboring spiders, etc.) they are going to be hungry little baby caterpillars. And pipevine swallowtail caterpillars need to eat pipevine leaves for six weeks! Period. As in, that’s it. If they don’t have pipevine, they will not survive as a species. After they eat and eat and eat, each one creates a little chrysalis, hopefully in a safe place, where they will remain for nine months! True story. As most of you know the butterfly that emerges is apt to live a couple of weeks. Please let that sink in. Because we need to begin to exponentially let in those little details in order to begin to understand just how fragile the world of butterflies is. Yes, indeed. Very fragile, indeed.

It would seem, if my newfound knowledge and careful contemplation is correct, that gardeners tend to be told that in order to enjoy the beauty of butterflies we are to plant certain flowers. Butterfly bush comes to mind, right? Sure enough, I did that, and it worked. I just spied this beautiful Western tiger swallowtail on the butterfly bush I planted last year, and, boy, was I happy! It did rather break my heart to notice the big tear in one of her wings, however. Poor dear.

Western tiger swallowtail

This Western tiger swallowtail has come to my butterfly bush to drink nectar. This you most likely knew. This part we are routinely taught, most likely, my dears, because nurseries sell us these kinds of plants to “attract butterflies” and we are more than happy to oblige.

But what about the host plants? Uh, maybe not as pretty? But maybe so! Being in the butterfly meadows I took advantage of Louise’s vast knowledge and took fastidious notes, which I later returned and verified last weekend, taking Antonia along, who readily caught the Butterfly Bug and was soon on her knees with her camera!

A family from the East Bay joined us and Louise took us on her butterfly rounds, initiating our tour with a very special treat–releasing an anise swallowtail she had protected as a caterpillar in a butterfly cage, who had just recently opened her wings. Gorgeous creature!

anise swallowtail

The anise swallowtail lays eggs on fennel. Those of you in the right locale might want to consider including fennel in your gardens to help ensure the survival of the anise swallowtail. Louise says they are on the decline. She attributes the decline of butterflies to loss of habitat, global warming and pesticides. She knows there could be other factors, but in her 92 years of contemplating her property, that’s her best assessment, folks. I take her word.

As we moved about the property I verified my original notes. Yes, the West Coast lady lays her eggs on wild mallow.

mallow with little companion spider

Western tiger swallowtails and mourning cloak butterflies both like willow for laying their eggs. The red admiral prefers stinging nettle. The humble plantain is home to the eggs of the buckeye butterfly. West Coast lady also likes hollyhock. I was relieved to hear this, as hollyhock lives in my garden in abundance. My guilt subsided when I heard this, as I have been integrating how lopsided my support of butterflies has been over the years. I need to add native plants, after carefully researching which ones are needed by which butterflies. I must do my part.

Now. The other half of the equation is so much easier, and probably most of us have been supporting the nectaring needs of butterflies for a long long time. Louise says they do, indeed, favor the butterfly bush and the salvias.

hot lip sage

blue sage

But here are others I found on her property you might want to consider including, if you have not already done so, and want to offer sweet food for butterflies who have emerged from their long journey of becoming.

aster

pink sedum

Louise says the bees adore the sedum, and, indeed, it seemed so.

showy tarweed

“It’s sticky,” says Louise.

Mexican sunflower

Apparently the Mexican sunflower is a favorite of the monarch butterfly. I’d love to see that!

scabiosa

Queen Anne’s lace

milkweed

Note that milkweed can be a nectar food and a host plant. Monarch butterflies use them as host plants.

thistle

Thistle is a plant that the California dogface likes to nectar on, so we are hoping the ones Louise released last week will find these plants, feel at home, overwinter, and establish themselves next spring. Oh, may it be so!

Returning to the house I spotted this plant, thinking it was a butterfly bush, but Louise corrected me by telling me it was vitex.

vitex

Here is what I’m hoping, dear readers. I’m hoping you will become inspired perhaps during the winter to make some time to discover what the native butterflies are in your locale, to find out what their host plants are, and to pick one or two, include these host plants in your garden and see if you can help ensure that your local butterflies get both the host plants they need for laying their eggs as well as the nectar plants I bet you have already established in your gardens. You might be surprised that one of the “weeds” you have been routinely pulling up is actually a host plant to some lovely butterfly, desperately needing it for her eggs. (Scary, huh?) Please do write to me and let me know. Please triple check your research. The more I learn the more I realize that many butterflies have an very narrow spectrum of host plants they can utilize in spite of sites touting that the butterfly can use dozens. Not so, says Louise. By adding your knowledge to the comments section, specifying your locale and what butterflies live there and what they need on BOTH ends, you really can contribute to the well being of one of the most beautiful of creatures we are blessed to share our planet Earth with. Thank you for your loving care and concern.

Love and caterpillar blessings!
Kathryn xoxoo

Footnote: Just heard from a fellow named Jeffrey Caldwell, a friend of Louise’s and he had posted a list of plants in CA that would attract mama butterflies here.

© 2008 - 2025 Kathryn Hall. All rights reserved.
For optimal viewing Mac users using IE should access via Safari.
Pixel Surgery by Site Mechanix