Southland
Robert Guyton recounts the gardening fads his food forest has endured.
Idon't scan the magazines for the latest plant craze or peer into the background of architecture magazine photos to see what the rich and famous are doing with their gardens.
Instead, I generate my own obsessive schemes around plants that capture my attention in different ways: through memories of gardens I was intrigued by when I was a boy, something I read in a fairy-tale or maybe a plant label found on a city street (I tend to look down at the ground a lot when I’m out walking; that way I notice all sorts of curious stuff!).
In recent years, I’ve fixated on a diverse and difficult-to-classify range of plants, researched them to the nth degree, secured seeds, tubers, cuttings or bulbs (whatever it takes), sown them en masse, if I was able to get plenty of them, and planted them out in great drifts, ribbons or clumps in my forest garden.
Each year, I have a different obsession. Five years ago, it was Japanese aralia, also known as Tengu’s fan. I pass one on my daily walk and finally focused on it in an acquisitive way. The owner granted me seed-collecting rights and now I have dozens of them in the shady regions on the edge of the native trees segment of my garden. Japanese aralia seed are easy to strike and, if you are patient, handsome, large-leaved plants result.
The following year, the discovery that hostas were edible stimulated me to collect seed from those turned-out-to-be-tasty shade lovers.
I sowed handfuls of the shiny black seeds and seemingly every one of them grew. Planting all of those out took some time; in fact I’m still finding hosta-filled pots in the harder-to-get-to parts of my nursery, and I’m beginning to link the first hosta plantings together with those late presenters.
Three years ago, it was burdock.
I was taken by their mystery; that is, the vagueness that surrounds their presence here in my part of the world where they are commonly found in areas that have been mined for gold. It must be that they served some purpose for the miners back when there was little in the way of culinary or medicinal plants to be found in those harsh landscapes.
In any case, my grandson bears the middle name Burdock, so I had to make an effort to feature the plants in my garden.
At the same time, I grew giant Himalayan lily ( Cardiocrinum giganteum), another “miners” plant with a similarly mysterious provenance, to keep the burdock company, the way they do in the southern gold fields. Burdock is a cinch to grow from seed, but I found the huge lily was best propagated from the pups that form at the base of the spectacularly flowering parent plant.
A couple of years back, it was the turn of canna lilies.
I wheedled and scrounged long and loud to get started with those, as there seemed to be none, or at least precious few, in Southland.
Since mine have begun making a show in my garden, I’ve noticed several Invercargill gardens with quite wellestablished canna plots and am greatly encouraged to see those, indicating as they do, that cannas thrive down here, despite the cooler temperatures.
So far, I’ve relied on division as a slowish method of multiplication, but this year, mine have flowered. I’m beside myself with excitement and anticipation at the thought of seed and a speeding-up of the process.
This year, it’s the turn of calla lilies.
This is not an especially popular obsession, as some of those close to me regard the white-flowered lily as funereal, but I am surging ahead with my passion for planting great drifts of them throughout my garden.
Of all the perennials I have ever sown, cannas are the most successfully grown from seed; they are beyond easy. I have many dozens more that I can hope to plant out, just from a single sowing! Those that I have selected and potted up in preparation for planting are numerous and growing at pace. The remainder, I may put up for sale at the farmers’ market or give away to someone else who likes canna lilies.
You’ll perhaps be wondering what passion is stirring in my breast this year.
What exotic vine or mellifluous herb has captured my attention and quickened my pulse, filled my day-dreaming hours and sent its make-me-yours messages?
Passionfruit. I must have them! I’m collecting seed, browsing forums, dropping hints wherever I go. Those passion-blooms are superb and the fruit luscious.
As ever, many of the most desirable love a climate hotter than Riverton’s and won’t grow here but there are some that do and I’m hot on their trail. In my mind’s eye, I can see them, trailing, blooming, fruiting!
I won’t rest until I get satisfaction of one sort or another.
Such is the life of a faddy gardener. ✤