Thereasonswelovecertainplantsmaybe
illogical andopaque,butwhatawonderful
kindofloveitis,saysMICHAELMcCOY
98 MAY 2019 GARDENING AUSTRALIA
e big picture
P
lant love is complicated. Maybe all
love is complicated. But I know that
my love for certain plants is blind,
is tainted, is pure, is transcendent,
is calculating and could border on the toxic,
but, in many and perhaps most cases, is
seriously loaded.
And it’s not just me. I know there are
plants in your garden that you love because
of who gave them to you, or because of
the circumstances surrounding their being
given. I know of old people with plants
that were given to them by their mother
or grandmo ther that add layers of
generational signifi cance to their garden.
I love purple tradescantia, but I can’t
tell whether that’s an impartial judgement
h ther it’s because I remember it in my
hadehouse, down the back of her
burban garden, in the early ’70s.
ubt there are plants that you’ve
ed or salvaged along your garden
I have a rare species peony that
om seed, which I salvaged from
eap of my favourite garden in the
England, in 1991.
till picture my best gardening buddy,
length on this enormous combustible
a horticultural Huck Finn (complete
s stem between his teeth, but maybeI’ve added that detail) – and discovering the
shiny black-and-red seeds among the detritus.
It’s a ridiculous plant for me to grow. It fl owers
for only a day or two, and needs more water
than I can give it, but with that kind of history,
I could never get rid of it.
The other day, I was in a clematis nursery,
and you should have seen me. I just wanted
to wander, without time constraints, from one
plant to the next, and gently lift a fl ower, peer
at it from every angle, and then do it again.
I bought some plants, which were fl owerless,
and the owner tore great handfuls of stems
from her stock plants and handed them over.
Though their tearing was physically painful
to me, the fl owers are now in a vase on the
table – elegant, bell-shaped blooms with thick,
inky-purple petals that recurve in a way that
makes your heart hurt.
I don’t know whether this all harks back to
my days working in a clematis nursery, which
was attached to a house of such irresistible
charm that I’ve been haunted by the experience,
and every aspect of my life at that time, ever
since, or whether it’s just a fi ne plant in its own
right, and I’m a very discerning plantsperson.
It doesn’t matter either way. I’m in love.
Andthere’snomorelife-givingforcewith
whichtobestricken.GA
Michael blogs at thegardenist.com.au