This story starts with a mystery, and ends with one too. Who named the bougainvillea found by French explorers in South America, one of the world most vigorous and decorative plants?
It wasn't Captain Bougainville, though he was in charge of the expedition, and the plant was named for him. It wasn't found by Philibert Commercon, either, though he was the first to publish a description.
Instead the likely gatherer was a female botanist, Jeanne Baret, the daughter of an expert herbalist as well as a farm wife.
Even as a small child Jeanne was fascinated by plants. When she grew older she also became fascinated by Philibert Commercon (and became his lover) and, most probably, also with the proposed circumnavigation of the earth by Antoine de Bougainville.
There was only one problem. Women were not permitted on French ships. Jeanne disguised herself as a bloke, which probably fooled no one, at least after they'd been at sea a while. But it meant that the credit for all her work, from discoveries to preservation to artwork, had to be given to her lover.
The plants described in Europe in 1789 sound a bit boring, or at least not as spectacular as the vibrant purple specimen later found in Columbia. Botanists eventually discovered that bougainvillea is quite promiscuous, with hybrid crosses produced in places as far flung as the Canary Islands, Australia, North America and the Philippines.
Luckily for us gardeners, bougainvillea are still promiscuous, and still produce many, many different styles of spectacular garden plants with and without the help of plant breeders.
The bougainvillea of my childhood was an almost uncontrollable thorny weed. It covered tree stumps. It covered entire trees. Occasionally it looked like it was trying to smother the dog. Bougainvillea was something that you hacked back at least every three years if you didn't want it to swallow the house.
That, however, was in Queensland. Down here in the Canberra region, that rich purple bougainvillea's vigour makes it both cold and heat hardy without becoming a weed, as well as wonderfully spectacular during a drought.
When all the other flowers are drooping, bougainvillea just gives even more colour. The winters at our place are too cold for the whites, creams, pale mauves and the yellow bougainvilleas. Only the purple one thrives. One grows over a pittosporum tree and another over the woodshed. Both are truly, utterly spectacular. Possums and wallabies don't like to eat them, and the small birds love to nest in the thickets.
If you don't have a giant pittosporum trees to be covered, go for the tamer kinds of bougainvillea. My father's patio was hung with baskets of dwarf bougainvillea in a rather lovely shade of creamy buff orange, giving dappled shade without blocking the breezes needed in hot and humid Brisbane.
Hunt and you will find exactly the colour and vigour you long for. Grow your bougainvillea in any warm and sunny spot. Ours grew from two twiggy cuttings stuck in the ground then ignored.
Water them until they are established, which won't take very long - possibly a year or so. And then basically leave them, apart from trimming them, which may be "never".
You can grow bougainvillea along fences or in and out of a hedge, as long as you are prepared to prune it often. Bougainvillea will even tolerate salt winds. Adventurous gardeners might like to grow it up the house walls, where it will certainly deter burglars but it may also decide to try to invade your roof. Bougainvillea also look elegant sprawling out of tall pots lined up against a sunny wall. I advise keeping your bougainvillea somewhere where you can easily get to it with a pair of large sectators or even a whipper snipper.
As for that second mystery? Those gaudy "flowers" you see on the bougainvillea vines are really papery bracts covering the quite insignificant flowers. Flowers bloom and quickly die, but protective bracts will give colour month after month after month, just as your bougainvillea vine will give you a stunning display summer after summer for decades or even hundreds of years to come. All bougainvillea really need are sunlight, more sunlight, and determined pruning if they look like they will invade next door.
This week I am:
- Still hoping for ripe tomatoes and zucchini by Christmas.
- Gobbling mulberries every time I pass the tree.
- Reminding myself that every avocado that has set won't ripen, and hoping that every apricot does. We had masses of avocado blooms this year, but for some reason very few apricot flowers.
- Pulling up immature garlic to eat like mild "garlic onions" before they divide into paper-wrapped segments.
- Saying farewell to my last Mutabilis rose, lost to drought, wet soil and wallabies. I'll plant another next wet season. Their single flat flowers begin dark pink, fade to pale, then yellow then cream, so each bush seems to have a haze of multi-coloured butterflies around it - and the stems are too thin and spindly for possums to climb.
- Welcoming the first of the flesh-pink Climbing Albertine rose from the bush that sprawls over our front fence.
- Wondering if the carrot seed is ever going to sprout - wasn't it viable? Have the ants carried it off? Surely the slugs couldn't eat every single carrot...
- Impatient for the first basil picking of the season. Basil is big enough to harvest when a branch snaps instead of bends - though you might pinch off a leaf or two a bit earlier.
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