Category Archives: Abbie’s column

Abbie’s newspaper columns

The utilitarian washing line in the garden

Washing lines! These continue to be seen as essential for most New Zealanders, although they are apparently banned in a number of urban areas in the USA as inappropriate for public view. As urban apartment dwellers are limited to clothes driers or folding clothes racks, those of us with sufficient outdoor space for line drying should perhaps count our blessings.
1) This is my own washing line, dating back, I assume, to when the house was built in 1950. I like the giant bamboo prop we use to hold it up. I think it is what Kevin McLeod of Grand Designs would call “honest” or maybe “unpretentious”. Old fashioned, certainly, it offers excellent drying but you do need space and you have to walk up and down it rather than standing in one spot to peg and unpeg.
2) The rotary clothesline, often referred to as the Hill’s Hoist, is an Australasian phenomenon which features heavily in suburban backyards of both Australia and New Zealand. There is no doubt it is practical but it also lacks any aesthetic at all. Is there a sadder sight than a barren backyard with nowt but a weed infested area of broken concrete and a Hill’s Hoist washing line?
3) Presumably in an attempt to hide the heavy visual presence of the Hill’s Hoist, there seems to be strong interest in wall-mounted lines which can often folded down discreetly when not in use. I would guess this one was advertised as having 20 metres of line space (10 wires by 2 metres each) but it isn’t really 20 metres of usable space and it won’t hold large sheets without folding them in on themselves. It lacks the air circulation of the first two options so will not offer such efficient drying but the wide eaves give some protection from rain.
4) For property-proud people, the service areas needed for a household may be screened. Here the washing lines join the Sky dish, heat pump units, and probably the wheelie bins and recycling bins. The trade off is the reduction in sunshine hours on the shaded side of the house as well as reducing the air movement which dries washing more quickly. I have seen this done in a small garden but the screening was much closer to the washing line which created more shade and reduced air movement even further. Keep some distance if you can.
5) As a D.I.Y. compromise, I photographed this fixed line which is free standing in full sun but softened by the frames at either end which are wreathed in a flowering climber – one of the solanum family but I am not sure which one. Paving beneath gives reflected heat and keeps fallen items cleaner. This is the best example I found for a town section where the owner wanted a more discreet but still efficient washing line. It also took the award for the prettiest clothes line I found.
6) I spotted this line on a large country property where winters can be a little cold and bleak. It is under cover but the roof is high. It incorporates screening from view without sacrificing air movement. It is on a property with accommodation units and the owner told me there was sufficient line space to hang all the washing from the four units. She loved her washing line and, where space allows, it struck me as remarkably practical.

First published in the Waikato Times and reprinted here with their permission.

The Return of the Red Hot Poker

Kniphofia, combined here with tall growing Campanula lactiflora, in the classic, long herbaceous borders at Hilliers Arboretum in Hampshire last June

Yes of course plants are subject to fickle fashion fads but that also means that those that have fallen from favour can rise again. It is the time, dear Reader, to face the Return of the Red Hot Poker.

The path back to social acceptance is somewhat more difficult for plants which have become the wildflowers of our roadsides, sniffed at as weeds although pretty enough on their days in flower. I am not convinced the agapanthus will ever recover from this lowly position in New Zealand life but the moptop hydrangea has already undergone a revival. The red hot poker is not as ubiquitous as the derided agapanthus, so maybe there is hope. In times past there were plans for it to be a great deal more common, in one area at least.

Back in the early 1980s when a cabinet minister fell out with his leader and was demoted, he came up with a clever plan to catch public attention. It was Derek Quigley, if my memory serves me right. He wanted to plant up our roadsides thematically, to pretty-up the main roads for tourists. So Canterbury, the home of grace and tradition and the place of his electorate, was to be planted in flowering cherry trees. Classy. I am afraid I do not recall what, if anything, was suggested for the Waikato. But poor old Taranaki – its roadsides were to be planted in red hot pokers if the fallen cabinet minister had his way. He was no horticulturist.

The only reason I remember this piece of folly was because of my late mother-in-law’s horror. She was given to telling very long stories and this one took many kilometres over a long car journey. The highly abbreviated version is that when she was a child, the only sex education she received was to be given a book. Something akin to the Flower Fairies of sex education, I think, for in that book Mother was portrayed as a blushing violet. Father, as quick thinking readers may have already deduced – Father was a red hot poker.

Maybe it is time to bring the red hot poker off the roadside and back into gardens as a valued plant

So, were these public planting plans to go ahead, the roadsides of my mother-in-law’s beloved Taranaki were to be carpeted from one end to the other in phallic symbols.

But we do not garden in isolation and I can tell you that kniphofia – for that is their proper name – are now trendy plants again overseas. They are easy plants that lend themselves to inclusion in herbaceous plantings, both traditional and contemporary. We saw them used extensively in the modern perennial plantings we looked at in Britain last year, valued for their upright, vertical flower form. We also did a short tour of public plantings in Canberra at Christmas where kniphofia are being mass planted to soften the urban landscape. They are a great deal more versatile than most of us realise in this country.

This attractive yellow and green kniphofia with much finer foliage fitted well in the looser plantings of Wildside Garden in Devon

Not all red hot pokers are the same as the common orange and bi-colour ones we see on our roadsides. Theirs is a huge family with many different species and a colour range from cream, through yellows, oranges, almost pink, to deep colours which are nearly red, along with a host of bicolours. Most are evergreen with long, narrow leaves and there are smaller growing, finer leafed options for areas where you can’t accommodate a huge clump. They are African plants, growing from rhizomes and fleshy roots below ground. Give them sun and reasonable levels of moisture and they will thrive on benign neglect, usually without becoming a menace. There is also variation in flowering times, depending on the species, so it is possible to pick a range that will carry the garden through many months.

If red hot pokers have unfortunate connotations for you, try calling them by their other common names of torch lilies or knofflers. I am quite taken by the knoffler epithet. If nothing else, consider the fact these flowers are particularly rich in nectar and make a significant contribution to feeding both birds and insects. There are a fair range of different knoffler cultivars already in the country, although you may need to seek out specialist perennial nurseries to find named cultivars.

Kniphofia combine well with the grasses much favoured in modern perennial plantings – seen here at the display gardens at Blooms of Bressingham in Norfolk

First published in the Waikato Times and reprinted here with their permission.

The January Garden

Auratums and pink lobelia

I don’t cut many flowers to bring indoors. It feels a bit like murdering them to sever them in their prime and bring them indoors to die. We were lucky that Mark’s parents had the foresight to plan the garden so there is a different view from every house window and we have plenty of flowers in sight all year round. The lilies are different. In summer I love to bring in huge stems to scent the house. They are big. They are bold. They are beautiful. Lilies define our summers.

You need quite a lot of lilies to justify cutting the entire stem off and, after many decades, we have a few. Mark’s father Felix started breeding auratums maybe four or five decades ago and Mark has continued. This was never for commercial reasons. It was to build up plants for the garden, to extend the colour range and the season and particularly to get outward facing blooms rather than the upward facing ones which are preferred in floristry. Constantly replenishing with newly raised plants is also a safeguard against the potential ravages of lily virus. Not that we have had a problem with lily virus and disease, but if we ever do, we are prepared.

The lily we scorned at Wisley

We noticed a floriferous new lily at the Royal Horticultural Society Wisley Gardens last June. People were admiring it and but Mark took one look and said: “Gross. No good as a garden plant. Look at those upward facing blooms waiting to mark.” Not only are the upward facing blooms more vulnerable to weather damage, but the pollen falls internally and spoils it sooner. So I photographed it, but not for the same reason as the admirers. It was showy but we wouldn’t give it garden space.

Although you can to leave auratum lilies in the ground year after year, lifting and replanting deeper on a regular basis saves having to stake every stem. They work their way upwards over time. In our free draining soil, if I put them anything up to 20cm down, they are much better at holding themselves upright. The other technique to save forever staking (and then de-staking at the end of the season) is to grow them through shrubs which can act as supports. Apple trees and azaleas work well for us. When I do have to stake, I prefer to harvest my own bamboo lengths and leave the leaf axils in place to grip the flower stem. It saves tying to a smooth stake.

Just another unnamed seedling (or JAUS, as we call them here)

Auratum bulbs do not respond well to drying out, even in their dormant season. This is why they are usually sold in bags of sphagnum moss or sawdust. Always try and buy them as soon as they come into garden centres in early winter and get them into the ground as soon as possible.

Orange tiger lilies growing through the espaliered apple trees

Our lily season starts with what we call the Christmas lily, or Lilium regale from China. It even Others sometimes refer to L. longiflorum as the Christmas lily. It is typically pure white and hails from Japan whereas L. regale has deep pink petal backs fading out to white. The orange tiger lilies with their reflexed petals follow soon after. They lack scent but they are a showy addition to the summer garden and very easy to grow. Next we get the aurelians – scented trumpet lilies in pretty gold and apricot shades. Most of ours have been raised from seed. They have a lovely elegance to them both in the garden and as a cut flower. You will notice their trumpets face outwards and downwards.

Aforementioned JAUS

These are all but an overture to the main event – the glory of the auratums which take us through January and well into February. There is nothing subtle or understated about the flower power. Their common name is the “golden rayed lily of Japan”. How lovely is that?

First published in the New Zealand Gardener and reprinted here with their permission.

A forest of cycads

I admit not everybody will find a woodland understory of native cycads exciting but we were pretty taken with this natural phenomenon

We drove through a cycad forest. It was so exciting – in a low-key sort of way. Most of us have gardens which are the botanical equivalent of the United Nations. While some of us may know in theory where at least some of the plants originate, to see them in their natural habitat can be a thrill.

Our New Zealand bush is thick, dense and verdant. Overseas visitors are frequently amazed by our ferns, particularly our tree ferns which we take for granted. Our dicksonias (the common pongas) are particularly highly prized overseas. When we had the garden open, I used to like shocking overseas visitors by commenting that they just seed down here and we chainsaw out those that are in the wrong place. Familiarity can breed contempt.

The Australian bush is different. It is much more open in character but it had never occurred to us to consider that of course their native cycad, Macrozamia communis, must have its natural habitat somewhere. At least one place is in the eucalyptus woodland heading inland from Bateman’s Bay on the coast south of Sydney.

We know the cycads as expensive, designer plants much favoured by Auckland landscapers in recent decades. Most are very slow growing plants and they show little seasonal change so they fit well into the near-static designer garden mode favoured by some. They have always been expensive because you are paying for the years of growth to get them to a large enough size to have visual impact.

Botanically, they are even more interesting, having undergone little evolutionary change down the centuries. These are ancient plants, traced 200 million years which takes them back considerably earlier than the dinosaur era. Individual plants can be long lived too – anything up to 1000 years. While they are often grouped with palms and there is a certain passing resemblance in form to some ferns, there is only a remote botanical connection to either at best.

Many cycads are rare and endangered around the world but not Macrozamia communis. It is common enough in New Zealand gardens because it is a species that can adapt to our cooler temperatures. We have several in our garden where they thrive.

In the wild, eucalypts and Macrozamia communis near the coast south of Sydney. Notice the lovely mottled bark on the gum tree

But to see them in the wild was a different experience. They form the lower canopy beneath the spotted gum (what used to be known as Eucalytus maculata but has now been reclassified as Corymbia maculata) and there were hectares of them at various stages of maturity. They seed down and some had babies growing at their feet. One reason they have survived is that they are adapted to cope with bush fires sweeping through. Even if all the foliage is removed (either by fire or when cut off), the trunk and bulbous base are capable of pushing out fresh growth.

A carpet of bark, leaves and debris from the top layer of eucalypts creates conditions which discourage many other plants

Being squeamish New Zealanders, we found the Aussie bush challenging. Even on the coast where we were staying in Vincentia, quiet strolls along well-trod paths by the scenic beaches took on new fears after we found the first ticks taking up residence on both humans and the two little dogs that were with us. Mark’s one brief foray off piste (to look at a native orchid in flower) resulted in a leach latching onto his foot. He was unaware of it until, replete, it fell off him on the kitchen floor. We missed seeing – by a matter of a minute – the red belly snake which freaked out another party. Truly our native bush and forest is benign compared to the natural hazards in Australia. So we were not going to go far off the track to explore the macrozamia wonderland but viewed it from the rough vehicle access. Their woodland lacks competition from a wide range of different plants. The top canopy of eucalypts drops vast amounts of foliage and bark which sits around taking a very long time to decompose. That, allied to the extremely dry soil conditions which result from the gums getting down on available moisture, creates inhospitable conditions. The macrozamias can coexist in this environment but not a lot else can.

I have a treasured memory of seeing natural bluebell woods in Scotland. Mark got all excited finding Helleborus niger and hepaticas growing wild in their homelands in Northern Italy. The cycad woodland of south eastern Australia ranks up with these experiences.

The macrozamia is equally popular as a garden plant

First published in the Waikato Times and reprinted here with their permission.

Garden decoration 2: contemporary colour and bold statements

A few weeks ago, I looked at a selection of somewhat subtle garden ornamentation, understated even. Returning to the topic today, it is some more colourful statements that have caught my attention.
1) The box with its flat planes of colour is by Coromandel-resident artist Michael Smither and has found its permanent home at Puketarata Garden near Hawera. It has echoes of a child’s play house but the simplicity is deceptive. So too is the placement. It becomes the absolute centre of attention in the middle ground but is also successful in drawing the eye to the large landscape beyond.
2) In a similar vein, the whimsical pavilion created by garden owner, Clive Higgie at Paloma Garden near Whanganui makes an undeniable statement as a focal point in an otherwise natural environment. The reflection is an integral part of the picture. As with the Smither box, it is the combination of a vibrant creation with thoughtful placement which makes this a successful installation. What appears to be a blue ceramic ball topping the roof is arguably the best use I have seen of one of these mass produced decorative items.
3) The freestanding, two dimensional yellow cow was on temporary display in our garden, the work of Joep from Arttoi (www.arttoi.co.nz) so we won’t mention the placement. The gentleman in the very purple jersey posed so willingly, adding a certain ambience, I felt. The cow may or may not be to your personal taste (I would have preferred it without the map of New Zealand). The purple jersey, the man’s wife told me, had been found in a skip and became an instant favourite for the wearer. Each to their own.
4) At the same temporary installation of Joep’s work, the stainless steel sculptures were beautifully executed and caught my fancy. The reflective qualities of the highly polished stainless steel were a great deal more subtle than a garden mirror. While there is a tendency to put this type of work in a hard-edged, minimalist, modern garden, I admit I was surprised by how well they fitted in to our own setting which is anything but that. We placed them in positions with relatively plain backgrounds where they could star and the reflections made it a two way interaction with their surroundings.
5) While not keen on reproduction classical statuary in a New Zealand garden context, these modern interpretations made me smile. In a very family-oriented garden, they fitted thematically. The frozen moment in time captured with the balance of their poses gave the contrast of tension with the subtle placement against the nikau palms. I could see these ageing gracefully down the decades.

6) When out and about garden visiting in spring and I could not help but notice a plethora of parking meters as garden ornaments. I am sure this was a result of the market being flooded with old meters in this particular area, which had moved to an electronic sensor parking system. The customised triple meter installation was perhaps more witty and striking than those single ones which had simply been placed as a relic of the past decade.