Icon - Arrow LeftAn icon we use to indicate a rightwards action. Icon - Arrow RightAn icon we use to indicate a leftwards action. Icon - External LinkAn icon we use to indicate a button link is external. Icon - MessageThe icon we use to represent an email action. Icon - Down ChevronUsed to indicate a dropdown. Icon - CloseUsed to indicate a close action. Icon - Dropdown ArrowUsed to indicate a dropdown. Icon - Location PinUsed to showcase a location on a map. Icon - Zoom OutUsed to indicate a zoom out action on a map. Icon - Zoom InUsed to indicate a zoom in action on a map. Icon - SearchUsed to indicate a search action. Icon - EmailUsed to indicate an emai action. Icon - FacebookFacebooks brand mark for use in social sharing icons. flipboard Icon - InstagramInstagrams brand mark for use in social sharing icons. Icon - PinterestPinterests brand mark for use in social sharing icons. Icon - TwitterTwitters brand mark for use in social sharing icons. Icon - Check MarkA check mark for checkbox buttons.
You are reading

Jewelweed: An Annual to Lure Hummingbirds

Search

Jewelweed: An Annual to Lure Hummingbirds

November 11, 2024

If hope really is the thing with feathers (Emily Dickinson), then we might be thinking more than usual about taking care of our winged friends, the birds. Some of the tiniest feathers belong to hummingbirds. In the Northeast, where I live, ruby-throated hummingbirds the size of fat moths zip past us in spring, and again in fall; sometimes, they stay and nest over summer. They disappear as magically as they arrive. Regardless of their trajectory, these vibrating wonders always stop and feed on jewelweed flowers, which open in late summer and collapse with the first frost. Wherever I have gardened in New York City, I have planted jewelweed, and every late summer, the hummingbirds have appeared, seemingly out of the urban ether.

Where there is jewelweed there will be hummers. Plant it, and they will come.

Photography by Marie Viljoen and Vincent Mounier.

Above: A hummingbird in a jewelweed patch in Prospect Park, Brooklyn. Photograph by Vincent Mounier.
Above: A ruby-throated hummingbird feeding on nectar-filled jewelweed. Photograph by Vincent Mounier.

Jewelweed is Impatiens capensis, an elegant North American relative of the flat-flowered impatiens that we call “impatience” or touch-me-not, that are planted en masse every summer in shady gardens and window boxes. Etymological esoterica: Capensis, jewelweed’s species name, means “of the Cape” [of Good Hope] and was given in error by the Dutch botanist Nicolaas Meerburgh in the late eighteenth century, who mistook it for a southern African species.

Above: Jewelweed flowers end in curved spurs that are filled with nectar.

The flowers are a warm and electric orange in profile; their throats are flecked with rich amber speckles. (If they are all-yellow, they are closely related Impatiens pallida.) The flowers are delicate funnels that guide hummingbirds and bumblebees to the curved spurs beyond—each a nectar-filled receptacle that makes a jewelweed patch irresistible to these pollinators. Each bloom is poised on a threadlike stem that allows it to dance in the smallest breeze. Sometimes the breeze is the minute buzzing of a hummingbird’s wings, beating 70 times per second.

Above: Raindrops are the jewels on jewelweed leaves.
Above: Tiny hummingbirds are said to choose jewelweed nectar even if sugar-water feeders are nearby. Photograph by Vincent Mounier.

The tiny birds stay suspended, sipping the collected nectar from the flower’s curved spur before resting on a nearby branch, recovering from an active heartbeat of 1,200 times a minute.

Above: A jewelweed buffet in the Catskills in late August.

The plants can grow tall, up to four feet and occasionally more (although my container-grown jewelweed is usually about two-and-half feet high).

Above: Jewelweed seedlings appear in early spring, often in damp ditches, near streams, or in low ground in wild places.

When they are young, jewelweed stems are juicy and tender. I have rubbed their sappy springtime juice on my ankles to guard against poison ivy, and possibly this Native remedy has worked (so far, no rashes). By late summer their sturdier, jointed branches reach maturity and begin to bloom. Their flowering period lasts until frost.

Above: At a touch, jewelweed seed capsules detonate, flinging seed and delighting anyone who is easily pleased.

Pollinated flowers form spring-loaded seed capsules that explode at a light touch, shooting tender seeds in all directions.

Above: Elegant and painterly, jewelweed belongs in semi-shady natural gardens, and will return without invitation, once established.

Jewelweed is best suited to dappled shade, high shade, and partial shade (translation: shade under deciduous trees, under tall trees with high branches, and shade for part of the day—preferably the afternoon). In woodland gardens and on forest edges it thrives. It dislikes drying out and is one of the few plants you can water with impunity.

Above: Hope is the thing with feathers (note the ants farming aphids on the stems). Photograph by Vincent Mounier.

Jewelweed has been described as one of the rare plants that can outcompete hyper-invasive garlic mustard (Alliaria petiolata): once you have it, it is there to stay, in a tangle of bright, late-summer flowers, heaving with bees and electric with darting hummingbirds. In container gardens it is easier to manage—simply thin out the conspicuous seedlings in spring. Somehow, the hummingbirds will still discover it, even if your jewelweed patch is just two plants strong.

See also:

(Visited 30,459 times, 22,986 visits today)
You need to login or register to view and manage your bookmarks.

Have a Question or Comment About This Post?

Join the conversation

v5.0