The ginger lilies are blooming, great fat spires of them with a scent of paradise. They make me want to dance around the garden wearing the kind of dress that swirls. Sadly, my knees are no longer up to whirling, and I never did get the hang of the skirt swirl. My skirts just twine around my legs.
Ginger lilies are arguably the most spectacular flower you can grow in our climate. Until about 25 years ago everyone assumed they wouldn't grow in Canberra's cold. But they do - they just need dappled shade, shelter from harsh winds, and a heck of a lot of water.
It's the water that does it. A surprising number of "subtropical plants" don't really need winter warmth, but a lavish rainy season for them to flower or fruit. Give them a "rainy season" via your hose, and you can turn every dull, dank spot into a golden garden.
Ginger lilies grow from a hunk of ginger lily root (rhizome) dug up and planted in rich, fertile soil. Rich soil was also a bit scarce in Canberra gardens a quarter of a century ago, as most of our suburbs were built on shale, or it was shale by the time the developers had finished with it.
I find shaded slopes are the best place to grow ginger lilies. Give them space to expand, because one ginger lily will become two or even four the next year, and eight or even 16 the year later. If you are short of cash, trying taking a bucket of blooms to any friendly local shop or café and see if they'll might buy them - ginger lily spires make stunning cut flowers, and will last for weeks if you add extender to the water and keep them cool. Pick them for cut flowers when they just begin to open.
There is one problem with ginger lilies, and it's probably the reason your street isn't already full of flushes of gold blooms. Ginger lilies will give you two or even three spectacular months towards the end of summer and early autumn, but the rest of the time they are dull, dull, dull. The leaves are also about a metre and a half high, so that is a heck of a lot of boring space to have in your garden.
The trick is to find a spot that is going to be boring anyway, like under a tree or along the shady side of the house. Once the lilies lose their petals, the flowers do produce sticky red seed pods, which look ... okay ... through winter, but nothing that can compete with the winter flowers of grevilleas or camellias. None of our ginger lilies have ever produced the kind of viable seeds that makes a plant a weed, though they are so hardy I still keep a close eye on them.
I've also found ginger lilies excellent weed suppressers and bank stabilisers. If you have an eroding bank or slope, plant it with ginger lilies. Those vast long leaves will take the force of even the heaviest rain, and protect the soil below. Blackberries, couch, vetch and most other weeds are also effectively choked out by closely planted ginger lilies.
The one weed ginger lilies can't seem to conquer is kikuyu grass. Kikuyu grass is only loved by cows. The kikuyu roots can't compete with the ginger lily rhizomes underground. Instead kikuyu sends out runners and smothers the lillies instead. We need a statue of whoever bought kikuyu grass to Australia, so we can have an annual "throw rotten tomatoes at them" day, good squelchy fun for everyone. We might even have a rogues gallery for the importers of rabbits, sparrows, starlings, and other ferals, though not for the bloke who first brought feral pigs here, because that was Captain James Cook, who I have a soft spot for. No, he didn't "discover" Australia, nor did he have any right to "claim" it, but he did make extremely good maps, kept a clean ship, and, rare for those days, made sure the young men on his ship weren't abused and had every chance to study and be promoted. James Cook was also so fond of the goat who travelled on his first Australian voyage that he took her home with him. The reaction of his wife to an elderly, stroppy nanny goat is not recorded. Any bloke who has travelled past the spice islands and says to his wife "sorry, I forgot the cinnamon, but look what I've bought you instead, darling" has courage indeed.
Oops, back to gardens. I've been growing ginger lilies, or rather, I planted ginger lilies 30 or so years ago, and they have been growing themselves. Sometimes I whipper-snip off the dead flower heads. Most years I don't get around to it, and they end up decaying and turning back into soil to grow bigger and better ginger lilies. If you know anyone who grows them, ask for a hunk of their clump anywhere from autumn through spring.
By the way, ginger lilies don't smell of ginger - it's more a richly intoxicating floral scent - nor does any part of them taste like ginger, so don't go munching them.
There is a white variety, that blooms a little later than the gold, but it doesn't seem as hardy, nor as stubbornly expansive. I've seen photos of orange ginger lilies, that look frankly gaudy, not glowing from green shade like ours. There are said to be pink ones, which I will believe when I see them - the white ones can look a bit pinkish round the edges if it's a hot year. If you want true glory, look for gold when you choose your ginger lilies.
This week I am:
- Getting tired of picking cherry tomatoes.
- Nominating 2023 as The Year of The Three Zucchinis - our three plants have not only given us exactly the right number of zucchini, or about three or four a day, but they haven't developed downy mildew and still look as healthy as they did in early summer.
- Deciding we need new "point of lay" chooks to keep us in eggs through winter.
- Forgetting to feed the spinach and the silver beet, both of which need tucker if they are to feed us through winter.
- Feeding the basil plants with coffee grounds - they seem to adore it.
- Wishing I had the energy and cash to plant 1000 daffodils, jonquils and tulips for late winter and spring. This is the time to order them.
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