I have just travelled very slowly from Sydney’s airport to the inner city. Which gave me ample time for a favourite hobby: gazing at other people’s gardens.
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In this case, tiny concrete, brick or paved front yards as well as patios piled up in towers that make one wonder why so many architects never got past the ‘‘place one rectangle on another’’ stage of Lego.
The journey made one thing obvious: it doesn’t matter if you plant your patio purple, aubergine, dusk, dawn, melon, taupe, pure white, grape, ash or any other designer colour: it needs some green. Not stripes, nor polka dot, but green as in big green leaves.
Admittedly the growing conditions are not excellent along that road to the airport, but then they aren’t ideal outside my front door, either, where there are two giant pots with Kentia palms in them. They’ve been there for about 25 years. They’ve grown a bit; or even a fair bit (i.e. almost doubled in size). But the pots are now too small for them; I never have got around to feeding them except with some leftover coffee now and then, and they can go for hot, cold or magic autumn/spring weeks without anyone remembering to water them.
Nor does rain help, even when it falls, because the palms are under the eaves. If we don’t feed and water them, nothing else does.
And yet they are alive. They even look flourishing. They did in the last two major droughts, too, when they didn’t even get the leftovers from the water we brushed out teeth in- that went to the native limes.
Kentias originally came from Lord Howe Island, where they can grow to 18 metres, something ours will never aspire to. They thrive indoors; they flourish outdoors, but don’t like too much blazing sunlight, not unless you are going to water them often. They also need perfect drainage as the roots will rot if waterlogged, which does mean they can do very nicely with neglect. If you do feed, give a slow release fertiliser in spring.
Kentias will give you plenty of warning if they are unhappy. If the leaves have brown blotches, they are getting too much sun (or possibly polluted water). If the tips are brown, you have forgotten to water them for far too long. If the tip browning continues then you STILL haven’t watered them, and they are very slowly deciding whether to become deceased.
This has happened to ours several times. I cut back the brown leaves, remembered to water twice weekly for a few months, and new leaves came back, pale green then turning darker. I suspect that this drought they will brown once more, and then revive.
The point of confessing this Kentia palm neglect is this; if I can grow them, or rather, if ours can manage to survive, then anyone can.
Buy a very, very large pot, the kind that is awkward to carry. This will not make it quite burglar proof, but it will need to be a determined burglar, possibly with a trolley and forklift and a cloak of invisibility to disguise them and themselves, and even then they will need to be very quiet. And if they break the pot, the kentia palm will not be happy. Kenta roots are fragile and plants may not survive repotting, which is an excellent excuse not to bother with them, as well as a motive to go for more valuable pot plants (I will not give you suggestions here) if you’re into plant crime.
And to be frank, it probably will not be worth a thief’s while, unless you choose a most expensive pot indeed. Kentia palms are common, cheap, and easy to grow. But plant two or three or four of them to bring a patio to life, for those who look out the window through their greenery, or passers-by like me, who will love a glimpse of life among the walls of concrete.
This week I am:
Planting spuds, which will not grow till the weather is warmer, but hopefully won't freeze either. They are ‘secret potatoes’ my grandson asked me to grow for him, and I have now blurted his secret to the world … except I don’t think those he plans to give the potatoes to after he digs them up will read this column.
Glad I planted four snowdrop bulblets a decade ago out the front because I couldn’t think where else to put them. Now the wallabies have eaten all the pelargoniums (it’s a tough winter for wallabies) we have bright many-multiplied flowers to look out on.
Planning to make bulk lime cordial for summer, but probably not getting around to it.
Gloating over boxes of newly delivered veg seeds.
Explaining to the wombat that it is not my fault it doesn’t rain. Possibly humanity’s fault, and I am human, but it is unfair to load me with the entire responsibility of climate change and expect endless carrots in recompense.
Examining each weather forecast, wattle, eucalypt or indigophera bud, hoping that they will suddenly forecast a wet summer. But apart from the wombats’ high birth rate this winter, there is no sign. On the other hand, wombats are pretty good weather forecasters - but only for this end of the valley. Wombats don’t seem to care much what happens across the ridges.
