One of the greatest pleasures I have is talking about plants. A few nights ago I had a very nice time talking to a friend in Barbados about the plants that she now has, and once had in her garden. For years I have watched her plant, Snow on the Mountain (Euphorbia leucocephala), come into flower regularly as clockwork – but not this year. Like mine it has produced many seedlings, and not a sign of a flower. She thinks it may have been pruned slightly outside the right time of the year. This may be true, but it is just as likely that there is a great deal of variation in the seedlings from which her original plant came.
Many years ago my wife’s mother, one of the most enthusiastic gardeners on the planet, had plants of the blue hibiscus (Hibiscus syriacus) and the Rose of Sharon (Hibiscus mutabilis). Like the lady herself, they are both long gone, but she was kind enough to let me have plants of both, each of which can be grown easily from hardwood cuttings. I may have mentioned in a previous column that the Rose of Sharon opens pure white in the morning and during the course of the day changes colour to deep pink. If it is cut first thing in the morning and then placed in the fridge it will remain pure white. It makes a really most attractive decoration if it is placed on the supper table, and it will change colour to deep pink before the meal ends.
Before the terrible fire which destroyed the Sacred Heart Church in Main Street, I had for years watched a solitary eucalyptus tree (I think) struggling for survival in the front courtyard. I saw it flower, but it was always a miserable looking specimen. I was not much surprised, as it had to put up with prolonged flooding in the wet season and drought in the dry, not helped by the fact that it was surrounded by concrete.
My Swiss Cheese plant (Monstera deliciosa) is beginning to take off and battle against scale insects and mealybug. It has produced some remarkably big new leaves two or three feet across, all having characteristically large perforations. I believe the reason for this sudden growth is due to the production of a lot of aerial roots which have gone into the soil. (The aerial roots absorb moisture from the air.) Its lower parts are shaded as well by large-leaved anthuriums. The plant will hopefully cover a large part of the north wall of the house and start producing fruit, which tastes like an over-ripe banana and is thought to be a rare delicacy by many. Even to my untutored palette it is not too disgusting. A few yards away in my living room is another rarity for New Providence. Of Japanese origin my variegated Parlour Palm is properly called Aspidistra elatior variegata.
A recent immigrant to Guyana it was immediately transferred from its soil-less compost and put into a good potting mixture guaranteed to get it going. The aspidistra was really made famous by an old time music hall star called Marie Lloyd, who achieved fame by singing a naughty little ditty called Come into the garden Maud (not to do with gardening and accompanied by much rolling of the eyes), and also by Grace Fields who sang about having “the biggest aspidistra in the world.” My aspidistra is now showing great potential and its yellow and green leaves make it a very attractive acquisition despite my wife’s original reservations. It’s grown only for its foliage and hardiness. Its flowers are hardly ever seen, being produced at ground level and pollinated by slugs. It is brought into the house more regularly than ever now as it grows in stature.
Take care in this brand new year, and may your God go with you and your plants.
