Shade-loving flowers on song

A rare event is happening out there in our garden this week. All the shade-loving flowering plants are singing from the same song sheet: they're all flowering at the same time, and it's never happened before.

You'd think if someone said to you "here's three different spring-flowering, shade-loving plants for you to grow" you'd naturally enough picture all three of them in glorious bloom together: in this case a golden orange, a pale yellow and a dusky pink.

Yet over the years I've had these three growing in the same spot, the best I've managed is two at the same time, with the third missing in action. Not this year! The full orchestra is on song, and it's looking lovely.

This is Scadoxus puniceus, otherwise known as the paintbrush lily or the Natal paintbrush, and you'd be right in guessing that it's originally from Natal and other provinces in South Africa. I'm just pleased to get one flower this year, as earlier the year while my ankle was in plaster we got in some boys to cut back hedges etc, and they stomped all over the Scadoxus bulbs and left them poking sideways and looking the worse for wear — such a shame. I replanted them when I was able to in early winter, but they don't like being disturbed, and I was fearful that none might flower. There's lots of babies, and at least I have 14 bulbs growing now. Four are 'adult' sized, and the other 10 are bubs which might take another 4-5 years to flower. So there's a good reason to live right there! Imagine 14 Scadoxus in flower — can't wait till I hit my mid 70s! 

This pink person is Velthemia bracteata, and as well as producing dusky pink blooms it has the added bonus of always reminding me of our good friends John and Liz, who gave us three bulbs, all of which are flowering nicely. And it's another South African, from the Cape Province and elsewhere.

Rounding out our trio of spring flowers is, very suitably, another South African shade-lover, Clivia miniata. This is better known to most people as an orange-flowered, strappy-leaved clump-forming perennial, but at a flower and garden show several years ago I came across a guy with a clivia stand and had to buy these yellow ones, just to be different (who, me?). The clumps are slowly spreading, so I am hoping that coming years will be even yellower.

Finally, here the view from the clivia end of the patch. All three plants are growing in the shade of our frangipani tree, which is bare of foliage right now. You can see the Scadoxus baby plants and their upright clumps of leaves growing happily around the big flowering adult plant. On the left, barely visible, is a tall murraya hedge that shades the plants from the northern sun, so it's shady in here most of the year. 

This 'South African' part of the garden is not in deep, dull shade, though. In fact I love to stop here in summer when I am filling up the birdbath with fresh water and have a look inside this tiny 2m x 2m shady zone. Under the full foliage of the frangipani it's like a peaceful little shady forest with bright green light, hopefully somewhere these shade-lovers can grow and thrive for many years to come.

Last but not least, I love this little patch of my garden because of the memories it conjurs. As I mentioned earlier, when I see the Velthemia I think of John and Liz, who live almost nearby in Sydney but under these covid restrictions, they're too far away for us to get together.

And when I see the Scadoxus I am reminded of a lovely co-worker, Geoffrey, an expert horticulturist who just bought in a bag of scadoxus bulbs one day and left them on my desk, with a very Geoffrey "see me" note attached. After expert tips on where and how to plant them, they have thrived. I haven't seen Geoffrey for quite a few years now, but I have thought of him often.

And when I look at my little South African patch I think of our dear friend Amanda, who's a whole border crossing away in Kyneton, Victoria. She's a mad keen gardener too, and I'm just hoping that she'll see this little patch of South Africa and think of us, just as we often think of her.