The observant reader of this column may have noticed I've never written about banksias.
I adore banksias. I love the purple-blooming banksia outside my study window that the eastern spinebills visit all through spring. I love our red ones, our lemon-coloured one. I just don't like the name. In fact I even hate writing it, because banksias deserve a far better name.
Banksias were named after Sir Joseph Banks (1743-1820), the wealthy "gentleman botanist" who accompanied and bankrolled Captain Cook on the voyage that eventually led them up the coast of eastern Australia, which is where Banks was supposed to have collected the first banksia specimens, named, of course, for himself.
Those flowers had been loved and harvested for tens of thousands of years before, of course, by those who lived there, using the plant for many purposes, including brewing a sweet, slightly fermented drink. (Do not try this: if you choose the wrong kind of flower you may end up blind, deceased or at least extremely ill. You have been warned.)
Nor did Banks actually "collect" the plant. According to a Kew Gardens archivist, he could always tell which plants had been correctly picked and labelled by the professional botanists on the journey, and which ones had just been grabbed by Banks and stuffed into a bag, leaving others to do the work or preserving, drawing and cataloguing them.
He was also not a nice man. He led an exploration party away from the ship against the express orders of Captain Cook, who predicted a blizzard. It turned out that Cook was right, and Banks - who'd been a bit bored on board and wanted something to shoot - was wrong. One of Banks's servants died in the cold. The botanist's only regret was that he'd miss him because "the man was of some use to me".
I could continue. Let us just say that I am not an admirer of Sir Joseph - and Australia's glorious "bottlebrushes" deserve a better name. One suggestion might be one of the names they already had back in 1770, like wadanggari, wattangaree, or wallum. The latter is now used for the habitats where banksias grow naturally, so how about we go with wattangaree, which I suspect is just another way of hearing, and spelling, wadanggari.
Wattangaree are my kind of plant, stunningly magnificent in bloom, gloriously hardy if grown in the correct spot, and needing no care at all, though they'll look better with a bit of tending.
Plant your wattangaree into a well-drained, sunny spot, leave them alone, and they will nearly always flourish no matter how much you neglect them. There are wattangaree for hot, cold, or coastal regions, and recently some wattangaree have been grafted onto fungal-resistant species so they survive wetter soils or more humid sites.
There are wattangaree that will accept semi shade, and prostrate wattangaree that make excellent low-maintenance ground covers. Too much feeding can kill them, especially with a phosphorous rich fertiliser - a definite no-no for most native plants - and over-pruning can mean few if any blooms next year for many banksias, as they flower on old wood. Just cut off dead flowers, and that's it. Species that grow from lignotubers, like Banksia robur, B. spinulosa and B. serrata, may be pruned back to ground level. If in doubt, check the label - or just do nothing, and let them bloom.
If you don't happen to have well drained soil - which is often the case in the Canberra area - build an above-ground garden about 60cm above soil level, add gypsum according to the directions on the packet, plant your wattangaree and watch them thrive.
If you really want to cosset your wattangaree, give them a slow-release, low-phosphorous fertiliser in mid spring to early summer for their first couple of years. If new leaves turn yellow, use iron chelate or iron sulphate according to the instructions.
Wattangaree actually do prefer some watering every couple of weeks or so - they are relatively shallow rooted, at least for their first three or four years. After that they survive even severe droughts, and can live for 100 years or more, slowly growing all the time.
Sadly for home gardeners, that means the roots also keep growing. While wattangaree are often recommended as a "non-invasive" species to plant near foundations and sewage and other water pipes, a well grown wattangaree will push its roots wherever they want to go.
As a rule of thumb, if your tree will eventually grow to 15 metres, keep it 15 metres from any pipes. If it's a small, well behaved wattangaree that will reach no more than 1.5 metres when it becomes an adult, then keeping it two metres from pipes should be safe - though I'd still double that, for extra safety.
My favourite wattangaree was a gift from a fellow native plant enthusiast, B. blechnifolia, the fern-leaf banksia, a native of Western Australia, with weirdish red spring leaf growth and cylindrical spikes of pink-red flowers. Sadly it died one extra cold winter. But seek and ye shall find - any good garden centre in this region will present you with a magnificent range of wattangaree to choose from, all of which will survive frost, though you may need to call them banksias so they know what you are talking about.
Banksia spinulosa 'Stumpy Gold' grows about 30-40cm tall and 1.5m wide with yellow flowers up to 40cm tall, while Banksia serrata 'Pygmy Possum' is a naturally occurring, dwarf coastal banksia, growing only 50cm tall and 2.5m across. Banksia integrifolia 'Austraflora Roller Coaster' needs a bigger pot, or even a half barrel. It's a prostrate form, and will spill over the edges of the barrel with masses of bright yellow flowers. It's hardy enough for the hottest, driest, sunniest patio Canberra can provide.
The only wattangaree I'm not passionate about is Old Man Banksia (Banksia serrata), an extraordinarily hardy wattangaree with massive grey-green flower spikes in summer-autumn that turn yellow as they open, and giant, rather messy-looking woody cones afterwards. Sadly one of these was planted nearby about 25 years ago, and its seedlings have spread, becoming a major weed. Old Man Banksias can grow to 12 metres, so we're not talking about getting out the pruning shears to get rid of them, but calling a professional tree lopper at some expense before the blasted things take over the valley.
But even then I mourn each one that has to go.
This week I am:
- Still picking ripe cherry tomatoes, which don't seem to have noticed that the grass outside their vegie plot is white with frost most mornings.
- Preparing the ground for new one- and two-year-old asparagus crowns, to replace the asparagus plants accidentally dug up with the weeds that had encroached upon it.
- No longer giving away chokos, as I can't find anyone left who wants any. Several recipients have already planted one or two of the sprouting ones so they can have their own choko glut next year.
- Discovering that three vigorous broccolini plants give enough broccolini for dinner second day, which is exactly the amount we want.
- Not planting onions, spring onions, quick-growing members of the cabbage family that do well planted even at this cold time of year, or peas, even the leafless pea variety that does so well here, because I am the only member of the family who adores fresh peas enough to shell them.
- Watching the long flower stems of the blue salvia slowly lose their petals, which means it's time to prune the bushes again; i.e. whipper snip them to ground level before they begin to put up new shoots.
- Mooching around the garden each afternoon to see which camellia has put out its blooms for the first time overnight. Last night the pure white camelia came into bloom, one especially loved for its nectar by the birds, who leave small brown bird prints all over its petals.
