You Are Connected: How Native Plants Reconnect Us with Nature

Although I have run a seed business for nearly a decade, I have never considered myself a businessman. Nor am I an especially talented gardener. My tomato plants are often skinny, and my cucumber vines sometimes fail completely. At heart, I am a conservationist.

You can easily find organic cucumbers and sun-ripened tomatoes at a supermarket. If you prefer to support local farmers, you can find them at a farmers' market. But you will rarely find Common Milkweed or Canada Goldenrod for sale, even though these hardy native plants are among the most important species in our ecosystems. They are the very plants that monarch butterflies depend on for survival.

So how does a small butterfly relate to us? Does it really matter?

Years ago, one of my children came home from school and excitedly told me she had seen a monarch butterfly. It was flying from place to place, searching, but it could not find a single milkweed plant.

"Plant more milkweed," she said.

"I don't need more tomato plants."

Her words stayed with me.

I know there is always a trade-off. We have only so much space. Should we grow food, or should we grow native plants? At the time, my child was too young to worry about grocery bills. Today, with food prices continuing to rise while real incomes barely keep up, many families grow their own food to help reduce living expenses. I am one of them.

So how can we help monarch butterflies without giving up our vegetable gardens?

My answer is simple: grow both.

I reserve the most difficult corners of the yard for native plants—Common Milkweed, Canada Goldenrod, and New England Aster. Once established, they thrive with very little care. The richest, most productive areas are reserved for food crops such as hazelnuts, American plums, and honeyberries.

One remarkable thing about native plants is that they seem to "walk." If a spot becomes too salty from road salt or too shady as nearby trees mature, many native species gradually spread to more suitable locations through their underground root systems. Year after year, they find where they belong.

This kind of garden connects everyone in the family with nature.

My spouse eagerly counts the colorful insects visiting the milkweed patch. My grown children stand quietly watching native bees, just as they did when they were in elementary school. The garden is constantly changing because it is alive.

You also begin to measure the seasons differently.

American Plum is among the first trees to bloom each spring. When the sweet fragrance of Swamp Rose fills the air, you know summer is near. New England Aster boldly announces the arrival of autumn with its brilliant purple blossoms. And when most plants have surrendered to early winter, Wood Sedge remains calm and green, keeping its leaves through the cold.

One summer morning, I stepped outside into this native garden and immediately caught a familiar scent.

It smelled exactly like a woodland edge.

After spending countless hours hiking through forests and meadows, I recognized it instantly. It is a fragrance you will never experience from a lawn or even a vegetable garden.

The aroma reminds me of an upland meadow in Muskoka—a blend of everything that belongs there. A hint of asters. A touch of Eastern Red Cedar. The freshness of maple leaves. Countless plants mixing together into something impossible to describe.

Nature's own perfume.

I stopped trying to identify every scent and simply stood there, enjoying it.

Right in my own yard.

That is one of the reasons I continue to advocate for native plants. Their gifts extend far beyond what most people imagine, and many of them can only be appreciated through experience.

In the end, you may think you are rescuing native plants.

But perhaps, in their own quiet way, they are rescuing you.

Header Picture: A Monarch Butterfly resting on the flowering branch of Canada Goldenrod (Solidago canadensis).

Footer Picture: Wild Bergamot (Monarda fistulosa) in full bloom within a natural upland garden setting.