Twenty-six years ago when I moved into my old farmhouse in Central New York, I was blessed with a cluster of Joe Pye Weed on the banks of my pond. Every years it rewards me and pollinators with its blooms. I let it sit as is over winter to feed the birds. Its presence is comforting in its ties to indigenous people and early American history.
Twenty-six years ago when I moved into my old farmhouse in Central New York, I was blessed with a cluster of Joe Pye Weed on the banks of my pond. Every years it rewards me and pollinators with its blooms. I let it sit as is over winter to feed the birds. Its presence is comforting in its ties to indigenous people and early American history.