A Favorite for Butterflies and Hummingbirds

By Norman Winter | Horticulturist, Author and Speaker

The Mexican bush sage has been blooming for a few weeks now, and like clockwork, it’s proving to be a favorite nectar source for Monarch butterflies heading south. It’s always fascinated me that, with so many other nectar flowers available in the fall, there’s something they especially like about this salvia.

Known botanically as Salvia leucantha, the Mexican bush sage is native to Mexico and Central America. It’s one of those plants I can’t imagine not having in my garden. A short-day (or long-night) bloomer, it starts flowering in late summer and keeps going through several frosts. The fuzzy, velvety purple spikes with white or purple flowers are produced in abundance. For cut-flower enthusiasts, this plant can easily yield a hundred stems for the vase. Even when not in bloom, its gray-green foliage adds interest to the garden.

As I mentioned, it’s a favorite for butterflies – especially Monarchs – but it’s also a regular feeding stop for hummingbirds. They’re drawn to the white blooms emerging from the velvety purple calyces. The ideal growing location is full sun, though the plant can tolerate a bit of afternoon shade. The soil must be very well-drained, so consider planting in raised beds or amending heavy soils with compost or humus. In fact, well-drained soil may be the key to encouraging a surprising spring return in regions farther north than expected.

When preparing your soil, incorporate 2 pounds of a slow-release 12-6-6 fertilizer per 100 square feet of bed space. Space the plants 24 to 36 inches apart, and plant them at the same depth they were growing in their containers. Avoid planting near streetlights or floodlights, as this salvia blooms in response to the number of dark hours.

Provide supplemental water during prolonged dry periods. After the first hard frost in the fall, cut the plants back to ground level and add a layer of mulch for winter protection. Feed again in the spring when you see new growth emerging, and continue feeding every six to eight weeks through September. For even more blooms in the fall, lightly prune once or twice in late April and early June. You can also harvest stems and tie them with sprigs of rosemary to hang in the kitchen – an aromatic and beautiful touch.

Mexican bush sage is mostly sold generically, but there are some standout selections worth noting: Midnight (with dark purple flowers), Kathiann Brown (a dwarf with lavender blooms), and the similar Santa Barbara (also a compact lavender variety). The standard form of Mexican bush sage typically reaches about 4 feet tall, while the compact varieties stay under 3 feet.

For companion planting, consider pairing with classic fall-blooming yellow mums – they’re an obvious but perfect match. In the herb garden, Mexican bush sage pairs well with rosemary, garlic chives, and lavender. The fall-blooming forsythia sage (Salvia madrensis), with its massive yellow flower spikes, also makes an incredible companion. Other great partners include yellow marigolds and golden lantana.

Mexican bush sage is perennial in USDA zones 8 and sometimes in zone 7, especially with perfect drainage and a protective layer of mulch. Even in cooler climates, it’s worth growing as an annual if you have a long enough season – just know it won’t bloom until August. In places like St. Louis, it typically blooms from mid-August through frost. It’s also one of the easiest plants to root from cuttings or propagate by division.

Spiky flowers always bring energy and visual interest to a garden, and Mexican bush sage is one of the best – providing nectar for pollinators, beauty in the landscape, and cut flowers by the dozen. At this time of year, it’s practically without equal. I hope you’ll give it a try.

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The Mexican bush sage is the perfect complement to fall planted marigolds, sometimes called Marimums.

This Ruby-throated hummingbird finds the Mexican bush sage to be just perfect.

The Golden Thyrallis is becoming popular in Texas and makes an ideal companion for the Mexican Bush sage.

The Mexican bush sage also dazzles in fall mixed containers.

I spend a lot of time and money every year trying to convince wildlife that I do not exist.

By bow season, I’ve got it down to a science. The right camo pattern for the terrain. Face covered. Hands covered. Everything sprayed down with whatever scent is supposed to make me smell like dirt, leaves, or possibly a rock that hasn’t been disturbed since 1987. I climb into my stand well before daylight and settle in, careful not to bump metal or do anything that would announce my presence to every deer within a quarter mile.

That morning, I was feeling especially confident about my setup.

The wind was right. The stand was tucked in perfectly. The camouflage blended so well with the tree that even I had trouble finding my own knees when I looked down. I remember thinking, If a deer spots me today, it deserves to.

That thought turned out to be a little premature.

It was still dark enough that shapes were more suggestion than detail, and the woods had that quiet, holding-its-breath feeling that only exists right before daylight. I was leaned back against the tree, bow hanging on the hook, watching the woods slowly come into focus.

That’s when I heard wings.

At first, it was just a soft rush of air. Subtle. Close enough that it registered, but not loud enough to make sense. I tilted my head slightly, trying to locate the sound without moving too much. The last thing you want to do in a tree stand is start acting suspicious.

Then it got louder.

Much louder.

I looked up just in time to see a large shape coming straight at my face.

There’s no graceful way to describe the reaction that followed. I didn’t scream, but I also didn’t not make a noise. It was some sort of half-grunt, half-gasp that came from deep in my chest as I instinctively leaned back into the tree.

The owl pulled up at the last second.

We were close enough to make eye contact, which is not something I recommend experiencing unexpectedly while twenty feet off the ground. His wings flared, feathers spread wide, and he hovered there for a split second like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

To be fair, neither could I.

We stared at each other, both clearly shaken by the encounter. I’m fairly certain he had planned to land on the tree right where my head happened to be. My camouflage had done its job so well that I had successfully fooled an apex nighttime predator.

There’s a strange mix of pride and terror that comes with that realization.

He banked hard and flew off, disappearing into the timber with a few annoyed wingbeats. I stayed frozen against the tree, heart pounding, trying to convince myself that my soul had not, in fact, just left my body.

I sat there for several minutes afterward, replaying the moment and wondering how close I’d come to becoming part of some owl’s story about “the weirdest tree I ever tried to land in.”

Once things settled down, daylight finally started to creep in. Birds picked back up. The woods returned to normal. I eased back into position, telling myself the worst part of the morning was over.

It wasn’t.

About an hour later, I caught movement to my right. A doe eased through the trees, cautious but unbothered. She passed under my stand without ever looking up. A few minutes after that, another deer followed. Still no alarm. No snorting. No busted hunt.

Apparently, owls are pickier about personal space than deer.

By the time I climbed down that morning, I hadn’t loosed an arrow, but I’d gained a healthy respect for just how invisible you can become when everything lines up. We spend so much time worrying about deer seeing us that we forget the rest of the woods is watching, too.

And sometimes, if you’re really doing things right, they won’t see you until it’s almost too late.

Next season, I might still wear the same camouflage.

But I’ll probably keep one eye on the sky.

^by Norman Winter | Horticulturist Author and Speaker

^{If you love garden fragrance and non-stop bee and butterfly activity, the sweet almond verbena or tree verbena is a must for your landscape. Those traits, coupled with drought tolerance and ease of growing, were just some of the reasons it was chosen as the Florida Plant of the Year in 2008.}

^{Botanically speaking, it is known as Aloysia virgata and is in the verbena family. It is native to Argentina but is truly at home in much of the United States. Despite the plant receiving the Plant-of-the-Year designation after experiencing Florida winters, consider this: In March at the Coastal Georgia Botanical Gardens, in Savannah, Ga., it was just emerging with growth after having been frozen to the ground. It quickly peaked at 12 feet in height with an 8-foot spread just outside my office.}

^{Those glorious spikes of white blooms were produced with reckless abandon from early May and continued well into November. In late afternoon, when you are ready to relax on the deck or patio, the fragrance intensifies, making the experience one that the whole family will treasure and remember.}

^{It is cold hardy from zone 7-10 and is grown like a woody perennial in zones 7 and 8, where it almost always freezes to the ground, and like a wood shrub or small tree in zones 9-11. The sweet almond verbena, however, has so much going for it that gardeners in colder regions grow it as an annual or large container plan}

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^{It is quite at home in the back of the perennial or cottage garden. My favorite use however would be the backyard wildlife habitat or pollinator garden which is perfect for North Texas and Oklahoma Farms and Ranches. With its nonstop glistening white blooms, it attracts a near-unlimited choice of companions. Add Blue Boa Agastache, Little Red Joe Pye Weed, Golden Lace Patrinia and Luscious Marmalade lantana, and you would create a pollinator heaven that would be tough, beautiful, and unsurpassed with activity.}

^{Choose a well-drained site in full sun. luxurious soil fertility is not needed nor recommended. Dig the planting hole two to three times as wide as the rootball, but no deeper. This wide hole allows for easy root expansion and acclimation in the landscape. As mentioned above, the sweet almond verbena is drought tolerant, easy to grow and has virtually no pests or diseases, making it an environmentally friendly plant. You may have to ask your favorite garden center to get them for you or order online.}

^{As you do your shopping, keep your eyes open for another great choice to make in your collection: the White-brush known botanically as Aloysia gratissima, which is native to Texas. If you know your soil ph to be above 8 this should be your first choice. It is just as intensely fragrant and flushes with blooms off and on all summer.} 

^{As I referenced it is native to Texas, New Mexico and Arizona and is about as tough a native shrub as there is. I’ve seen it blooming in areas where your first thought would be that plant life could not possibly exist. When in bloom, however, the butterflies magically appear for a feeding frenzy. It will be 3 to 10 feet in height and is only cold hardy in zones 8-10.}

^{These members of the verbena family have so many award-winning traits: drought tolerance, fragrance, bees, butterflies, hummingbirds and a beauty all their own. I hope you will seek them out.}