My Battle with Creeping Bellflower

It’s pretty disheartening fighting a war you will likely never win. But my battle with Campanula Rapunculoides, also known as ‘Creeping Bellflower’ has been going on in my garden for nearly two decades — ever since receiving the flower as a tagalong companion of another digging from a fellow gardener’s plentiful flowerbed. To the other gardener’s credit, she did warn me that the gifted flower might have a problematic plant tagging along. I wish I had heeded the warning and not planted the gifted plant, or just put it in a pot for a season or two, for an invasive I have come to know as creeping bellflower was indeed lurking in the soil.

This beautiful adversary is not to be confused with its better behaved look-alike, Campanula Rotundifolia, or harebells. I am personally familiar with this confusion between such similar plants, having mistakenly applied an herbicide to a little group of harebells. Sadly, as you can imagine, I had more success killing the wanted plant than I did with the unwanted invasive.

Creeping Bellflower is a bodacious beauty with a bit of folklore in its story of how it became a gardener’s curse. As I recall, it’s somehow linked to the story of how the Rapunzel of fairytales got her name. Unable to resist the allure of beautiful Campanula Rapunucloides’s lavender bells, her father stole a beautiful flower from the garden of the local enchantress and planted it in his own garden. The evil witch got her revenge by hiding Rapunzel away in a tower and cursing this flower to be a rover that takes over gardens in its path.

First year Campanula Rapunculoides rosettes invading the area surrounding a favorite peony
The plant creates these beautiful flowers the second year

Fairytale curse aside, it really does look pretty intermingling with other plants.

So why get rid of it?

The problem is, this innocent looking bit of gorgeousness is so prolific, it will wage war and spread like a cancer in your garden in just a few seasons using several tactical manuevers to conquer every bit of garden space it can. The plant, also known as Rover Bellflower, is a biennial which produces a small rosette of leaves its first year, then flowers the next with the flowers producing seeds which will start the whole cycle again.

Fortifying its stronghold in the gardener’s territory, each plant sends out long, thin fingers of white lateral roots just under the surface of the soil. These slightly hairy fingers push their way through the roots of nearby plants, entangling the two plants in a messy, conflict-destined skirmish for territorial rights. This persistent perennial also sends down thick, tuberous water-seeking roots. Once nestled under the earth, a rhizome is created from which future generations of the plant will thrust their way upwards. Pulling the plant while you are weeding your flowerbeds will definitely help prevent it from going to seed (each plant produces thousands of seeds), but any portion of the root or its tiny hairs left behind will regenerate and produce a new generation of unwanted roving garden thugs camouflaged in lovely purple-ness. To complicate matters, the plant has a tuber which resides about a foot beneath the soil.

In my less than expert opinion, getting rid of weeds and unwanted vegetation without the use of chemicals should always be the gardener’s first line of defense. My personal first line of defense is to take out the enemies I can see, thus preventing the flowers from going to seed. I usually head outside to weed just after a good rain has softened the earth. If I can keep each year’s growth de-flowered, I theorize that the root system will eventually be exhausted, weaken and die. My next tactic involves a shovel and painstaking removal of the plant’s root system. As I have mentioned in a previous post, these insidious non-native plants have made my state’s list of invasive plants, so I bag them up and dispose of them according to their recommendation. My county has a special process for disposing of invasives, so I take them to an appointed drop-off place where they will be properly handled and destroyed. It is NOT a good idea to add these to your compost heap.

Smothering the plants when they are in the first-year rosette stage of growth can be somewhat effective in preventing the current generation of plants from making progress, but does very little to attack “the root of the problem” – that fibrous tuber lurking beneath the earth. I do occasionally use this method, especially in pathways and garden edges (see photos below), but generally take the time to dig out whatever I can and then lay down layers of newspaper or sheets of black plastic, topped with a few inches of mulch. Smothering buys me a year or two of reprieve, but the war isn’t won.

I may make some enemies here, but I think the battle with creeping bellflower requires judicious use of an appropriate chemical over the course of several seasons. Applying an herbicide directly to the plant and allowing the plant to systemically take the chemical to its own arsenal of innermost growth paraphernalia is the most effective way to eradicate this particular foe.

I had a moderate degree of success in a few infested areas where I have used Monsanto’s glyphosate-based herbicide, Roundup. No other weed killer that I have tried has been able to kill this invasive plant. However, a great deal of care needs to be taken when applying glyphosate, as it is a non-selective herbicide, meaning it will also kill nearby plants and grass if it comes in contact with them.

Sadly, Roundup is also known to harm beneficial insects, which is a huge problem in these days of endangered bee and butterfly populations. For this reason, whenever I judiciously use Roundup (or any herbicide), I carefully remove the tempting flowers from any plant I am treating. I choose a day when the air is rather still and when rain is not predicted for a few days. Armed with gloves to protect my skin, and a sheet of cardboard, I set to work on a group of plants. Using the cardboard to shield any nearby plants, I target and spray the leaves of the plants I am trying to eradicate. Within a few hours the leaves begin to carry the herbicide to the underground parts of the weed, the leaves begin to brown and then shrivel and die.

Another great concern related to the use of glyphosate is that it has been classified as a carcinogenic in the United States since 2015, so care must be taken to avoid or minimize personal exposure to it. In fact, this herbicide may no longer be available for purchase in the near future. Bayer (Monsanto’s parent company) has announced that it will be removing Roundup from retail store shelves by 2023 due to costly lawsuits related to cancer cases.

A Canadian blog-reader of mine, Lyle Tremblay, has given me another weapon to try. Lyle once read a post I had written about my war with this plant and contacted me personally to tell me that he was working on a chemical answer to this problem which is prolific in his country as well. Lyle sent me a sample of his experimental treatment and asked me to trial his product in my garden. It was just a small sampling, so I chose a little corner of my garden that was deeply infested with bellflower. I applied the herbicide, as per his instructions. It’s two chemicals, each applied separately.

It’s a somewhat tedious process, due to the need to paint two different chemicals on the leaves, but it worked. The area I treated in early summer has remained free of the weed, while the surrounding area is still infested.

This treated area remains bellflower-free.

If you are in a similar war with this foe and would like to learn more about Lyle’s experiment, you may contact him directly via email: maracon1@shaw.ca

Front Row Charmer

Hemerocallis ‘Eenie Fanfare’ is fairly new to my upper Midwest garden. Purchased in August of 2019 after it had already bloomed, she found a place gracing the edge of a little strip of full-sun garden nestled alongside our backyard’s flagstone pathway. She’s a tough girl, having survived a crazy winter and a 2020 attempt on her life by a hungry rabbit. Standing a demure 10-12 inches tall, I may purchase two more to flank either side of her to create a little short-stuff trio. A few years down the road (barring further late-night snacking by the rabbits), I hope to be able to divide these little beauties and create a grouping in another flowerbed.

Her thick grass-like leaves are a lush green and will provide visual interest long after the flowers fade. Her plant tag says she’s supposed to be “velvety red,” but I would describe ‘Eenie Fanfare’s’ flower as a very dark pink (almost red) with a lovely chartreuse throat, and a thin white pencil-edge outlining each slightly crimped petal. She may be getting a little too much sun. In my gardening experience, red-petaled daylilies stay truer in color if given a bit of shade and protection from late afternoon sun. I’d like to experiment with this plant beneath the dappled light of my locust tree.

I would encourage my daylily-loving friends to give her a whirl in your garden. She’s a charmer, so be sure to give her a front-row seat.


“God writes the gospel not in the Bible alone, but on trees and flowers and clouds and stars.”

Martin Luther

Year of the Sunflower Update

One walk past my yard this time of year and you would definitely know that

I love daylilies!

To this gardener, a daylily just says “summer is here!”

When the heat of August arrives and most daylilies have finished strutting their summer beauty in Midwest gardens, another flower is poised to shout the news heralding “Summer’s not over just yet!”

The sunflower!

Sunflowers are charming – they make me smile. So, why do I rarely plant them in my gardens? Squirrels will occasionally steal some seed absconded from the birdfeeders and bury them willy-nilly in the yard, so I do get the occasional volunteer.

I am thankful my hubby surprised me earlier this summer with several packages of sunflower seeds, paving the way for 2021 to be the Year of the Sunflower at my house. At the end of that post I wrote:

We have a HUGE bunny population this year, so I won’t be surprised if my smattering of sunflower seedlings become their next snack. However, I hope they will save me at least a few to provide late summer splendor and autumnal color. I’ll keep you posted. 

Cindie Winquist, in the “Year of the Sunflower”

So, here I am again, keeping you posted.

I planted those gifted seeds a little later than I should have, but faithfully watered. Heavy spring rains threatened to drown them, and the heat and drought conditions that followed seemed to bring them to their demise. After nearly three weeks, they finally poked their little green heads above the earth! Then, seemingly overnight, those little seedlings made their way skyward. Even the forgetful gardener’s failure to keep them consistently watered didn’t seem to deter their growth.

One fateful night last week, as predicted, the resident bunnies decided they would make a smorgasbord out of the young sunflowers. Even though we had surrounded the raised beds with a plastic grid of garden fencing, they managed to find their way into the midnight buffet line in one of two raised beds of sunflowers.

They filled their bunny bellies and left one solitary sunflower and a few stalks standing.

The garden crashers came back the following night and polished off the remaining bits for dessert. You might notice in the photo below how the bunny leaned in on the fencing to finish it off.

They came back for dessert the next night

Thankfully, you can also see in the background of the photo above one raised bed of sunflowers they have not yet marauded.

Stay tuned…there’s still hope!

Year of the Sunflower

One day I came home from work to find a surprise of four packets of sunflower seeds on the kitchen table – two packets of dwarf variety (‘Sunspot’ and ‘Teddy Bear’) in sunny yellows, and two of the taller-than-me sort in the autumn colors I enjoy (‘Autumn Beauty’ and a “Fun Sunny Hybrid Mix”). My thoughtful husband had picked them out for me knowing I love the charm of sunflowers.

Sorry, forgot to take a photo BEFORE I carried the seed packets around in my garden apron.

You may find it hard to believe, but I don’t have much in the way of garden space to plant sunflowers. They are heavy-drinkers, so like to be watered a lot. I get rather negligent in that department once mosquitoes begin chasing me around the garden. Consequently, other than the squirrels who steal or scatter seed from our birdfeeders, I rarely plant sunflowers in my garden.

I did grow them in 2017 to add to a wedding bouquet for my friend Wendy.

Wendy’s bridal bouquet

One other year (2009, according to Facebook) we had a fabulous, show-stopping sunflower display in what I call my “driveway garden” – the plot of land where our driveway ends.

That over-crowded flowerbed now hosts many perennials, weeds. and rabbits, but I snuck in a few sunflower seeds here and there this year. I planted a few of the taller variety in the center of that bed and a few of the shorter variety on that garden’s edge, hoping that the bunnies won’t snack on them. I am also planting some of the dwarf varieties betwixt and between my bushes in the front yard in places where tulips and daffodils have finished their spring performance. A few more have been added to the now sunny (due to tree loss) bed of languishing hostas on the SE corner of the house – maybe the sunflowers will provide at least a little shade for the poor sun-burnt hostas. Last year I grew zinnias in two of our raised beds – this year, I hope those beds will be gracious hosts to sunflowers.

We have a HUGE bunny population this year, so I won’t be surprised if my smattering of sunflower seedlings become their next snack. However, I hope they will save me at least a few to provide late summer splendor and autumnal color. I’ll keep you posted. In the meanwhile, if you’d like to learn more about sunflowers, I think you’ll find this post to be amazing.

Every year, the National Garden Bureau, a non-profit organization promoting the pleasures of home gardening, selects one annual, one perennial, one …
2021: Year of the Sunflower

Barefoot Gardening

If you’ve known me for any length of time, you probably know I love to garden barefoot. If this is news to you, I invite you to click on the “Meet Cindie” tab and read a little background on my blogger name.

It’s not just being too lazy to put on my shoes (though that factors in some days), but something about my feet feeling the soil connects me to my garden. After a few hours of tending my flowers, I hose the dirt off of my feet and any stress and worries seem to have been washed away too. I am left with a sense of calmness, joy, and a deeper love for and awe of the Creator of it all.

But barefoot gardening does have its unpleasant hazards. The time when I missed my apron pocket and dropped a pair of garden shears onto my big toe immediately comes to mind. In that moment, there was no calmness and joy; it hurt so bad I couldn’t even muster a scream. Most of the time though, the painful moments are small ones, like the ouch of stepping on a thistle that needs pulling, a sharp rock, or the thorn of a stray rose clipping. Sometimes I even step on a desirable plant and feel a heart-sickening snap—my brain warns my bare feet to watch my step and tread more carefully.

The other night I was walking around the backyard deadheading and pulling weeds when I felt a sharp stab in the heel of my foot. My brain instantly sounded the pain alarm and told my foot to recoil and not bear down with all my weight.

Can you guess what this is?

Thankfully, my tough and summer-hardened soles also helped prevent this sharp, rusty object from penetrating my foot, but it still hurt like the dickens, causing me to hobble around for the better part of the night and next day.

As far as I can figure, after years of being buried when the McKee family farmland was bulldozed to become a Fitchburg subdivision in the late 1980’s, winter’s frost finally heaved this old screen hinge to the surface of our lawn, and there it stayed until it met up with my unfortunate foot. It made me wonder about the history of the land? What kind of building once sat here? A farm house? A dairy barn?

My foot has forgotten the painful mishap. I will continue my barefoot gardening, but sincerely hope my feet do not meet up with another one of these pain-inflicting gizmos. In the meanwhile, shoes or no shoes, happy gardening my friends.

Growing Old Together

It’s a beautiful summer Saturday, so my husband and I decided to enjoy our lunch outdoors on our backyard deck. It’s a lovely place to sit and enjoy the various late spring peony and iris show and watch birds splash in our birdbaths.

Between bites, I shared with Wayne that I saw my first swallowtail butterfly today. It had fluttered about some flowers, then stopped on the edge of a birdbath to enjoy a little sip of cool water. He said that he had also seen one while fishing with a friend yesterday.

Between bites I pointed at the birdbath nearest us and proffered the thought that maybe I should put some stones in the middle of that birdbath to give visiting bees and butterflies a landing place where they can sip water more easily. The words were barely out of my mouth before my husband of nearly 45 years put his sandwich down and set about fetching a few rocks from our garden’s edge. He then carefully piled three bits of flagstone in the center of the birdbath in immediate fulfillment of my simple wish.

“Perfect!” said I with a smile, knowing just a little bit more of why I want to grow old together with this man I love.

As we finished munching our sandwiches, Wayne spied our caddy-corner backyard neighbor in her yard a few doors down. She is a long ago transplanted southern lady who enjoys spending time in her own backyard feeding the birds. Even in the bitter cold of our Wisconsin winters, we see her zipped up in her royal blue parka faithfully trekking through the snow armed with birdseed for her feeders and pails of fresh water to fill a birdbath we cannot see from our vantage point. More than 20 years have passed since we first met her and today Wayne notes out loud that she looks old. It caused us to both wonder how old she was, so my husband pulls out his phone and finds that information on the web (crazy and kinda creepy what information there is about us there).

“She’s 72,” says Wayne matter-of-factly.

With Wayne being 70 and me at the ripe old age of almost 64, funny how that suddenly didn’t seem so very old. As we watched her walk about in her backyard, there was no denying the fact she had grown older. I know that age is no respecter of person, causing me to ponder whether the neighbors who see me out and about in my yard think the same thing about me. I’ve been feeling more of the aches and pains of getting older lately – a bum shoulder, arthritis in my hands, cataracts brewing, and a general “hitch in my giddy-up,” as dad would say. My hair has definitely grown grayer, my smile lines are now better classified as wrinkles, my step is slower and less sure, and I’m no longer hoisting 40-lb bags of topsoil and composted manure around with relative ease.

My own thoughts about aging caused me to recall the “old-people humor” in Mitch Teemley’s recent blog post. While many things about aging are no picnic, thankfully, I can still see the humor associated with the aging process. I thought some of my readers might enjoy it too, so will share Mitch’s post in the link below and then get back out to working in my garden before I am totally lacking the “zippity” part of my “do dah day” and need another nap.

https://mygoodtimestories.com/2021/05/20/growing-old/


All Things Bright and Beautiful

Peonies and Iris have a way of pointing my heart to the Creator of all that beauty. Let me share a few verses of a hymn that came to mind, along with a tiny bit of my little plot in God’s Creation

“All things bright and beautiful,
All creatures great and small,
All things wise and wonderful,
The Lord God made them all.”

“Each little flower that opens,
Each little bird that sings,
He made their glowing colors,
He made their tiny wings.”

Iris ‘Honky Tonk Blues’

“He gave us eyes to see them,
And lips that we might tell,
How great is God Almighty,
Who has made all things well.”

All Things Bright and Beautiful, hymn by Cecil F. Alexander
Paeonia ‘Bartzella’ (Itoh Peony)

If you’re not familiar with this wonderful hymn, you may want to give this beautiful rendition by Julie Gaulke a listen.

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