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Michelle and I planted a zinnia garden at the beginning of this summer.

We have been richly rewarded for our efforts.

I know very little -- or often, just seem to forget -- the names of various flowers and plants. My wife is constantly reminding me of the constellation of greenery we have in our gardens. So, when she told me she wanted to plant zinnia seeds that she had gotten from a neighbor, I really didn't know what that meant.

We tore out some hostas (I actually do know and remember what these are.) that had crowded our back patio and added some fresh dirt and planting soil to ready the area. Then we planted the zinnia seeds. They're tiny, maybe a 1/5 the size of a pinkie fingernail. So, by planting, I guess I mean we sprinkled them here and there. I really didn't know what I was doing, and so I blanketed the area, deciding, with no prior research, that more was better. 

Some weeks passed, and not much happened. I grew concerned. We had gotten regular rains, but there was the ground, all brown and barren, just as it looked when we started.

But gradually, some tiny-leaved shoots emerged from their below-ground beginnings. And then some more. And more -- until, there were little green sprockets all over the place. It brought me back to when Michelle and I lived in Rhode Island, and we converted a patch of our backyard -- and area that was the neighborhood trash dump before we moved in – into a vegetable garden. I was amazed that through just a bit of thought and not much more labor what we could produce. Lettuce, snap peas, green beans, peppers, tomatoes, even potatoes. All sprouting up in neat little rows, as if we, sure-fire amateurs, had planned it that way. And how much fun is to eat what you have planted and produced? No wonder people get into planting their own produce. There is a visceral joy to watch nature serve up a bounty of goodness just from spilling some seeds into her ground.

Anyway, the zinnia patch here in Iowa reminded me of those good 'ol Lewis farm-to-table days. And, it wasn't long before those little sprouts grew tall, 3 to 4 feet in height in fact, and flowered -- hot pink, light pink, blood orange, fiery red, golden yellow, and hues of purple. 

I enjoyed looking out at that flowering rainbow every morning. But I didn't know the best was still to come. For what I didn't know is that zinnias attract all sorts of pollinators, from bees to butterflies.

And, best of all, those flowers brought in a special guest: Monarchs.

I'm sure you all have heard about monarch butterflies, and their epic, annual passage from the eastern United States to Mexico. That journey can cover as many as 3,000 miles, folks, including some 50-100 miles daily. All that fluttering means they need places to rest and recuperate. They're always searching for a buffet, and one of the items on their preferred menu is .... zinnias.

Which means for the past 3-4 weeks, I have delighted in watching monarchs flitter about and light on our zinnias, getting sustenance and perhaps lounging for a bit. I've watched them dart and dance. I've watched them fight over a particular flower. One day, two monarchs got into a real aerial fit. They shot after each other, up and down, at speeds, angles and G-forces that would have made any astronaut seek the vomit bag. Other times, they just swoop around lazily, riding the breeze, before settling on a flower.

While the monarchs are the marquee event in our zinnia patch, I have gotten a lot of satisfaction at the number of bumblebees that frequent our flower patch. I can count as many as a dozen easily at any given time. I love bumblebees. They're big, they're regal, and they're docile almost to the point of being polite. They want no business with you, and if you don't give them trouble, you can watch them as close up as you want. And they are mega pollinators. Our apple trees have gone nuts likely due to them.

Zinnias are annuals, I'm pretty sure. So, as we propel ourselves toward the cooling of fall, our patch will go away. 

But I can assure you, come next summer, we will make sure it returns -- and our visitors, too.