I am sitting here smugly, looking at about 15 camellia trees that were spindly camellia bushes 20 years ago, now all in glorious extravagant bloom - and with almost no work from me.
Each bush was well watered when it was planted, and maybe two or three times after that, though I chose years with a good expectation of rain to plant them. Gardening can be of the "instant" or "slow" method, or anything in between.
I wait for a good weather forecast to plant, not necessarily a forecast from the weather bureau, but from the more accurate various flowerings of the bush plants around us. Eucalyptus smithii, for example, blooms a few weeks before good and probably prolonged rain - or at least they do in our valley, where the smithii grow on dry ridges and need several moist months for their seeds to mature. If the Acacia melanoxyn have set masses of seed, then next summer will be hot and dry.
I've fed those camelias maybe four times; mulched them with autumn leaves now and then... and waited.
The waiting is the most important part of gardening. Plants (mostly) pretty much grow themselves. They don't grow much in bad years; most wither in droughts, but if they have established a good root system, they usually return when it rains, and surge like a racehorse near the finishing line in good years. A camellia can double its size in a good year.
If you want "fast", plant annuals. If you plan to live with your garden for at least a decade or two, or feel like being generous to the next inhabitants - and hope that wherever you move next will have had generous tenants too - it's worth being patient. Bulbs multiply each year. Ground covers sneak along more ground, and large shrubs or trees slowly become magnificent. An established garden looks, well, established, a comforting surrounding for your home.
It's possible of course to have "instant" large trees and shrubs: just buy a home that already has an established garden. This is possibly the most expensive gardening advice I've ever given, as at current prices you'll be looking at a million dollars upwards, at least in the city. The next expensive but possible option involves several thousand dollars: buy advanced trees from a specialist nursery, which will deliver and arrange a crane for the enormous hole it will need - though if you can afford this option, you can probably scrape up the funds to get someone else to dig the hole, and gently fill in the soil around the tree, watering well so the dirt seeps into all the crevices under and around the roots.
You can also take a surprising number of advanced shrubs or trees with you when you move, not just potted ones, but those that have been growing for five to 10 years or even more in your garden. An elderly friend dug up her favourite rose bush, about 60 years old - the bush, not the friend - so she could take it with her to her retirement unit, which had a garden big enough for two chairs, one small table, one giant rose bush, various clematis and other vines over every available fence, and far more potted shrubs than you'd think could possibly fit there. Any spare space between pots was filled with alyssum, primulas and other annuals of the season.
Moving an advanced tree takes time, effort, and preferably many friends or family co-opted to help, plus scones, muffins, leek and potato soup and a choice of beverages to encourage the workers.
The first stage in advanced plant removal begins about six months before you plan to move. Thrust your spade about 60cm out from the dripline of the tree. The dripline is where the outermost drips fall from the leaves. Dig deep enough to expose the roots, then cut through them. Do this all around the tree.
Take a break. Now prune the tree back as hard as possible. This may be 'nil' for date palms and others whose only growth is at the top, or you may be able to cut out at least two thirds of the branches, right next to the trunk, for shrubs like roses or camellias. Feed the remaining leaves with a foliar plant food at least once a fortnight, according to directions, to make up for the nutrients they aren't getting from the roots. (No, Agnes, if a tree is dormant in winter you obviously don't have to do this. Wait till spring.)
Keep your plant well watered and fed till moving time, to encourage it to form lots of new roots closer to the main trunk.
Two days before moving, dig a hole 1.5 times as wide as the tree you intend to move, and 1.5 times as deep as it is wide. If you strike rock, dig somewhere else. Now gather your workforce and their provisions and rewards, and dig. Then dig some more, till you have dug as deeply as you can underneath the tree. You will probably have to cut through the tap root - the deepest root of all. This is major surgery for a tree, but with cosseting it should survive.
Gently edge the tree out, place it on a tarpaulin or old blanket, wrap the roots and soil up to protect them on the journey, then move it to its new home. Fill in the soil around it and water well - and keep foliar feeding for at least a year.
Don't be discouraged if the leaves turn brown. Wait. I managed to convince a friend to wait three years for the dead-looking advanced palm tree she'd transplanted to shoot again. Tree ferns can sulk for years, too. Just keep watering.
In the meantime, though, plant annuals for colour, and plant some new small trees too, knowing that one day they will be superb. You only have to wait.
This week I am:
- Watching the various nectar-loving birds dip their beaks into the winter-blooming red hot pokers. Summer red and orange 'pokers' are a garish clash. In winter, that red and orange is a delight.
- Picking the first crop from the mandarins I planted four years ago. We have masses of old-fashioned cold-tolerant mandarins on our two tall trees, every fruit on them filled with as much seed as juice. The new cold-tolerant mandarins are almost seedless, and peel easily. The most delicious mandarins of all have had a taste of frost to soften and sweeten them, and are then eaten straight from the tree.
- Admiring the red geraniums/pelargoniums blooming a flagrant red on the window sill, despite the cold.
- Trying to find new ways to use the bok choi and Chinese cabbage that grow so well in winter, not to mention 1482 chokos. At least the chooks eat them.
- Admiring the first yellow daffodil; standing bravely alone among the primulas.
- Grateful for the new green growth of the acanthus, that vanishes in summer after putting out their tall spires of white.
