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Columbine Finished Blooming? Do This For Even More Flowers Next Year

Where I live, columbine grows wild all over the mountains. I see it when I’m out hiking, and I feel as though I’ve stumbled into a fairytale.

Pink and purple blooming Columbine

I fully expect some mythical creature to come bounding out of nowhere to invite me to tea. Naturally, it makes a delicate and beautiful addition to your perennial flower garden.

It’s no wonder, then, that so many gardeners fall in love with it.

Wild columbine growing along a path

But once that magical blooming season comes to an end, columbine tends to sort of fade into the background. One minute it’s there, and the next we forget it was even growing in our gardens. It’s not surprising, really, with its slender stalks and low-growing foliage; it easily gets absorbed into the onslaught of midsummer foliage and flowers.

But before that happens, what should you do with it once those charming blossoms come to an end?

First, let’s look at how long you can expect columbine to bloom.

Generally speaking, Columbine (Aquilegia spp.) puts on its fairytale floral display from mid-spring to early summer. If you’re in zone 6 like me, that usually means May through June, sometimes squeaking into early July. It varies depending on your growing zone.

The entire bloom period tends to last anywhere from four to six weeks, depending on the weather and the particular variety you’ve got in your garden. Cooler spring temps and steady rainfall can stretch the bloom time a little longer, but early summer heat and drought will rush things along.

We had nothing but rain this spring, so it was a stellar columbine season.

So, what happens after the final bloom?

Pink and yellow columbine

Deadhead any straggler blossoms while your columbine wraps things up. Then, as the true heat of summer rolls in and the foliage begins to yellow, you can go ahead and cut the whole plant back. (You are going to use clean and sterilized scissors, right?) Leave about three to four inches of the crown to protect the plant this winter.

You’re not left with crazy foliage that slowly takes a month to wilt before you can remove it, like with spring bulbs. By removing the whole thing all at once, there’s less of a chance of diseases taking hold as the plant slowly decays in your flower bed.

In that way, I kind of appreciate that columbine is a no-fuss cleanup flower.

After you’ve chopped it and composted the foliage, add a light top dressing of compost. It will act like a protective mulch while also providing nutrients for the root system below ground. Now, you’re basically set for next year’s fairytale ball.

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What about just letting it go to seed?

Ah, the great self-seeding debate.

Columbine is a prolific self-seeder if left to its own devices. Those charming blooms turn into dry pods filled with teeny black seeds that are quite happy to scatter themselves into every crevice and corner of your flower bed.

So, if you want more columbine (I mean, who wouldn’t?), you can let some pods dry right on the plant and then shake them gently where you’d like to see new growth. Alternatively, shake on to a piece of paper and collect into your hands for more direct and targeted sowing.

Columbine is generally a short-lived perennial, so letting some go to seed each year is a great way to ensure you always have it growing in your flower beds.

It’s important to keep in mind, though, that if you’re growing hybrids, their offspring may not breed true.

You can end up with a flower that doesn’t look anything like the parent plant. You might get surprises in color, shape, or size, which, in my book, is half the fun of letting them go to seed.

Regardless, if you choose to let it go to seed, you’ll still want to chop the plant once you’ve scattered the dried seeds.

However, if you want your flower beds to look a certain way or they’re already jam-packed with perennial flower goodness, you may want to skip this step and deadhead all the blooms before the seeds mature, then cut the plant back when it’s finished blooming.

Columbine is naturally one of those perennials that return year after year with very little effort on your part, which is part of its popularity. It’s kind of like the fairy godmother of perennials, twirling into your garden each spring with a flourish and then disappearing the second the ball is over.


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Tracey Besemer

Hey there, my name is Tracey. I’m the editor-in-chief here at Rural Sprout.

Many of our readers already know me from our popular Sunday newsletters. (You are signed up for our newsletters, right?) Each Sunday, I send a friendly missive from my neck of the woods in Pennsylvania. It’s a bit like sitting on the front porch with a friend, discussing our gardens over a cup of tea.

Originally from upstate NY, I’m now an honorary Pennsylvanian, having lived here for the past 18 years.

I grew up spending weekends on my dad’s off-the-grid homestead, where I spent much of my childhood roaming the woods and getting my hands dirty.

I learned how to do things most little kids haven’t done in over a century.

Whether it was pressing apples in the fall for homemade cider, trudging through the early spring snows of upstate NY to tap trees for maple syrup, or canning everything that grew in the garden in the summer - there were always new adventures with each season.

As an adult, I continue to draw on the skills I learned as a kid. I love my Wi-Fi and knowing pizza is only a phone call away. And I’m okay with never revisiting the adventure that is using an outhouse in the middle of January.

These days, I tend to be almost a homesteader.

I take an eclectic approach to homesteading, utilizing modern convenience where I want and choosing the rustic ways of my childhood as they suit me.

I’m a firm believer in self-sufficiency, no matter where you live, and the power and pride that comes from doing something for yourself.

I’ve always had a garden, even when the only space available was the roof of my apartment building. I’ve been knitting since age seven, and I spin and dye my own wool as well. If you can ferment it, it’s probably in my pantry or on my kitchen counter. And I can’t go more than a few days without a trip into the woods looking for mushrooms, edible plants, or the sound of the wind in the trees.

You can follow my personal (crazy) homesteading adventures on Almost a Homesteader and Instagram as @aahomesteader.

Peace, love, and dirt under your nails,

Tracey