August 22, 2019

Houseplant histories – 2

With September not far away theoretically we’re nearing the finishing line so far as winter goes, and from the look of them some of my houseplants are feeling the same way I do: hanging out for some warmth, sunshine and freedom from all the layers of clothing needed to stay warm. Not that we haven’t had any sunshine over the past three months, but there’s not always been much warmth to it, and it certainly hasn’t always filtered through to every room in the house for very long. It’s the perennial problem with houseplants in colder weather, moving them around so they aren’t too stressed by the changes in temperature. There’s only so many that can be housed in the rooms kept heated throughout winter; the others all just have to cope and as we near winter’s finishing line some are not coping too well.

My spectacular Asplenium bulbiferum or hen and chicken fern – and my pride and joy – is quite happy, ferns being quite comfortable in cooler temperatures, and the ‘chicks’ I’ve successfully propagated from the ‘hen’ are also doing very nicely thank you. All are going to need re-potting in a few weeks, and the ‘hen’ is also going to need a larger plant pot holder. Again.

I can’t quite remember how I came by this plant – which I’ve had for years – but I do remember it becoming extremely sick and on the point of death some time ago, losing all its fronds one by one. Nothing I did seemed to restore it to health. Stubbornly I refused to admit it was dying, and my faith was eventually rewarded when a new frond or two finally peeped out. From that moment on it has never looked back, and is now seriously impressive, to the point I’m not actually quite sure where it’s going to live, having all but outgrown its position in the bedroom on the dressing table. Interestingly one of its ‘chicks’ is in a similar state of ill-health, and I’m in two minds about whether or not to persevere, or for how long. Maybe I’ll give it a few more weeks yet before declaring defeat.

Other than the ‘nodding violets’ or streptocarpella saxorum to give it its botanical name, my other plants tend to all be refugees, either from life in the florist shop (and since we sold the shop around 25 years ago this makes them all pretty good survivors), or my years in a school library. Again, while this makes the piece I found broken off and which I brought home to try and rescue, makes it not so long in the tooth, it has grown rather rapidly to the point of being another challenge to re-position when it next needs re-potting.

The nodding violets all grew from a cutting given to me by Betsy, a friend and fellow writer I met when we both were in the same women writers group. She broke off a piece from her prolifically flowering plant one day saying it was easy to establish from a cutting. And it was, so now I have several of them – but all are looking like they’ll be happy to see the back of the cold weather.

As will I.

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Magni
By Anne Layton-Bennett June 14, 2026
It’s taken far too many months for this marvellous model to grace the dedicated desk space in my office. When Fiona comes to visit next she will be very surprised, and hopefully gratified, that her amazing creative talent is finally on display. We’ve known each other for a very long time, and during the insanely busy time when I was helping to run the flower farm, working part-time in a school library, doing a spot of journalism on the side, and fighting the proposed pulp mill that is the subject of the manuscript I’m hoping to get published, Fiona cleaned my house each week. There’s only so much a person can do after all, and it has to be said cleaning our house during those manic years was fairly low down on the list of my priorities. But Fiona is a woman of many talents and she certainly possesses one that I so don’t have: sewing and dressmaking. So over the years she’s also made a few garments based on the pattern of a favourite garment that I was particularly fond of, and she’s also done some clothing alterations for both of us. My skills with needles and thread are limited to sewing on buttons, and taking up hems on John’s too-long pairs of jeans. Anything else is beyond me. But this fabulous model is the pièce de résistance – along with the beautiful crocheted knee warmer she gave me last year. This was when winter was approaching and so determined was I to finish writing the book, I decided to get out of bed at the insane hour of 5am and get in a solid hour’s writing in before dog walking and the demands of the day took over. Fiona was also one of many Tasmanians who needed to be circumspect about her opinion of the pulp mill. It was a project that polarised people, including families and friendships. She was one of several who passed on snippets of useful information, but on the basis of anonymity so it couldn’t be sheeted home to her.  Needless to say Fiona will be one of those whose contribution will be acknowledged – when this book is finally accepted by a publisher.
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