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Look at the above photo carefully. In the centre is the trunk of an Acacia pendula in my garden. Look at all the ground around it. Notice that there is no grass growing around the trunk for quite some metres in all directions. This is because the roots are ''phytotoxic'', I think it is called. It means that this type of acacia can poison all the grass around it. (See how far the green grass is away, in the picture?) This can be quite useful, if you want to keep the grass down. Grow enough of these acacias, and you'll never need to mow again. Most wattles live around a good ten years, so if you keep a few new Acacia pendula seedlings coming along, at all times, your garden can be kept free of grass forever more. No more gasoline bills. No more lawnmowing. Ground kept clear as a good firebreak. Of course, other trees like Eucalyptus can have phyotoxic roots, too, but they have leaves full of eucalyptus oil and catch on fire easily.
Acacia pendula have nice silver-grey leaves and, yes, the branches do hang down in a rather ''pendulous'' fashion. Quite an attractive and drought-resistant tree, but you'll need to give it some extra water to get it up and running quickly--if you want it to stretch its roots out as rapidly as possible. You won't have to mow, but every ten years or so you will have to replace the trees, and cut out the dead ones. That means a little chainsaw work, yes, but nothing like being obliged to mow regularly, year after year. Sit back and enjoy the view, instead. The birds will love you for the extra trees, and you won't have to worry about snakes hidden in the grass. Flower-wise, they are not the showiest of wattles, blooms being of a more paler and insignificant yellow, but they are still pretty enough.
Well, finding a four-leaf clover did not make me richer or luckier.
About twenty years ago, now, I decided I'd like some nice clover blossom in my lawn. So I bought a small bag--a few pounds--of ''New Zealand White'' clover seed from my local agricultural supplies store. I scattered it all about the yard, and hoped for the best.
I did get quite a few plants coming up, but they were rather thirsty, and couldn't abide the heat--not without much additional water. (It was fun, for a year or so, though, before I abandoned them.)
One day, (subconsciously) counting clover leaves, as one does, I was sure I espied a four-leaf clover. And lo! It was a four-leaf clover. I was very impressed, and wondered if it was a real rarity. This particular clump of clover, growing in a pile of chalky roadfill gravel, had not only four-leaf clovers in it, but fives and sixes. They may have went up to about seven. I forget now, but some had definitely more than four leaves.
I presumed it was a mutation, a deformity, or something. It could all be in the genes, I suppose. (Are New Zealand White prone to such sports?) I had tossed some dishwater on them, too, to keep them alive in the dreadful heat. That contained detergent, so maybe that chemical additive helped kick off this unusual phenomenon.
I now prefer different types of oxalis for that clover-leaf effect. I have pink and yellow oxalis, and they fill my heart with much joy when they bloom. They are amazingly tough. Of course, they die down in summer, but are always green and fresh from winter to spring. We call the yellow ones ''yellow bells'', because that is what they look like. The yellow ones bloom in late winter, and are followed by the pink ones in spring. There is a short period of overlap, too, where both pink and yellows are in bloom at the same time. The pink ones are not invasive, but the yellow ones are. The more the merrier, I say. They sure are beautiful. I notice that if you touch the yellow ones' leaves with the back of your hand, they are cold to the touch. But if you touch the pink ones' leaves, they are warmer--and have a fine fur behind them--obviously a very good insulator. A lot of old Australian gardens have pink oxalis growing about the place. One woman I once knew would eat a few of the stems and called it ''Shamrock''. It was tangy and sour, but I wouldn't eat too much of the stuff, as it contains oxalic acid--which is certainly poison to some livestock, at least.
The yellow oxalis are the most drought-hardy of all. They look very much like they may be Oxalis pes-caprae, but I am no botanist. They were certainly once deliberately planted, and can still be found in old ruined gardens--like the old stone fence (now in ruins) at Cotton's Weir, near Forbes, NSW--where they make a pretty enchanted elfin woodland. Also around some old abandoned railway stations where they once would've been oft-admired by travellers. They don't appear to self-sow, so while they do venture, they can only do so quickly with lots of water. They have a slight sweet perfume, and bees seem to like them. Very pretty, indeed, and a shape reminiscent of primroses. Great for that cottage garden effect; and no water required in summer!
The pretty almond blossoms gladden one's heart, lately, despite the icy weather. The Sulphur Crested Cockatoos--pure white, too, look a picture when they all land in the branches. Why do cockatoos come and snip flowers off, with their beaks? Never mind, the cut blossoms look nice as floral decorations indoors! Of course, the cockatoos and galahs will be back to cut open the green almond nuts in a few months' time. (They will also cut open pecan nuts. Such powerful, strong beaks. They can even tear green Aleppo pine cones apart--to shreds. A flock of cockatoos can sit in my pistachio trees, and chomp the nuts away. They don't get broken fingernails, either, as human beings do!)
A couple of decades back, I saw some ancient almond trees still surviving at the old Junction Reefs gold mining site, in an old, long-abandoned orchard. (There was an English Mulberry tree there, too, a Morus nigra, surviving neglected. It had a few fruits on it, but would've benefited from a little extra water.)
My almonds were grown from a bag of Christmas nuts. I started them off, in disposable plastic drinking cups. I gently cracked the shells, first, to assist in germination. They are very drought-resistant, once established, but can tend, as young seedlings, to go blue and sickly-looking in the extreme heat. I lost a few to this strange blue-leafed condition. The ones that survived that blue-leafedness all went on to become robust adult trees.
Almond blossom looks beautiful on moonlit nights. Honeyeaters find some nectar in almond blossom, which is interesting, because they don't appear to use plum or apricot or peach blossoms--other types of Prunus--as a nectar source. I've noticed that ornamental almond trees are very tough, and often seen around old abandoned farm homestead sites. They have a slight purple-bluish tint to the blossoms, when seen from a distance; whereas the ones for eating are more pink. Clouds of blossoms are necessary for that cottage garden effect.
Well, this Passiflora must be the toughest passionfruit vine ever known to man. It can survive, once established, crawling along the ground on hard baked clay that you could fry an egg on, at high noon on a summer's day--when there's a heat haze off the ground that can ripple the air. I find it growing in the Lachlan Valley, NSW, around old ruined farmhouses--abandoned and without water. It must have been a very important ornamental garden specimen before modern irrigation techniques became available. It's also quite frost hardy--much more so than P. edulis.
I'm not sure what it is. It's not P. caerulea, because I had a ''Nelly Kelly'' P. edulis grafted onto a P. caerulea, and found that P. caerulea is far more thirsty and less drought-hardy than this tough specimen, above. (P. caerulea wouldn't last, abandoned, in those terrible heat conditions, as it would die of thirst.)
This above-pictured specimen was, originally, grown from a cutting that sprouted roots in a green Perrier water bottle. I planted it out, and it hasn't looked back since. It suckers freely, and a lot of people wouldn't like that, but I say the more beautiful and lovely vines, covering everything, the merrier. The purple blue flowers are quite fragrant. (I wonder if it's not P. incarnata?) Whatever this vine is, it should be hybridised with other Passifloras for it's drought- and heat-resistance, as well as its frost-hardiness. I mean, take P. mollissima, for example. It can't take a very heavy frost at all, without being burned back to nothing, and it's so very thirsty. But a hybrid between P. mollissima and this species would, for example, allow a beautiful pink flowering vine that had drought-resistant and frost-resistant qualities as well. You couldn't get a tougher Passiflora than this one I am growing. I think it would be nice in white, as well. And imagine super-drought-resistant red ones, in a waterless outback cottage garden!!! How pretty they would look--just like climbing roses.
One rare year it actually had a single fruit. About the size of a large bird's egg, and yellowish in colour. Strangely, it had no seeds inside. It doesn't self-seed as, with no fruits, it can only reproduce by suckering or layering itself. (It's great at sneaking up into watered pot plants, from underneath, and invading them. Very easy to propagate!) Perhaps its not self-fertile, and needs a pollinator?
It makes quite a good hedge if allowed to drape itself over a wire fence, but it will look much nicer if given some extra water. Superb fairy wrens like to sit in this vine, if it grows high enough. They also like to sit in Passiflora edulis, as well. And they'll sing about it all very happily the morning after--very early.
You have to really credit the early settlers for their building beautiful cottage gardens with very drought-resistant plants. This Passiflora will give that wonderful cottage garden feel. Similar to that of a climbing rose. Splashes of colour from blooms spread through climbing green everywhere. Another tough little climber, that can withstand dreadful heat is Lathyrus latifolius--the ''Perennial Pea''. Very pretty, like a sweet pea--and can live for years and years (and years!!!). I've seen them surviving in the heat--on fences around old abandoned cottage ruins. The orange trumpet vine, Campsis grandiflora is also great for dry-climate cottage gardens. Its shrubby relative, Tecomaria capensis--did I spell that right???!!!--is also quite a tough and heat- and drought-resistant plant, but wouldn't appear to be as frost-hardy as are Campsis grandiflora. There's a beautiful Tecomaria specimen growing in the school grounds, on the hill, in Parkes, NSW, aflame with small orange trumpets in the warmer weather. A very pretty picture with sunlight shining through the orange trumpets.
You can't really have that full cottage garden effect, without vines. It's impractical to be growing thirsty and delicate, water-guzzling things. The toughest wistaria types are quite drought resistant--once established. Wistaria sinensis is tough, but W. floribunda is too thirsty. The common garden variety honeysuckle is too thirsty to survive happily in the heat, but the pink honeysuckle--Lonicera hispidula--is amazingly tough by comparison.
This picture of a Superb Parrot is wonderful and special. It's been on the endangered species list, for some years, but now seems to be making a comeback. I was very lucky, that day, to have had an extra shot left in my camera. The bird seemed quite happy to pose, and was quite curious. It was eating wattleseed.
It's a credit to the people of Cudal, NSW. This pretty parrot was photographed near the local airport, eating wattleseed by the cemetery. If the council hadn't grown these wattle trees, for beautification, the bird might've gone hungry.
The more wattle trees, of various sorts, planted around Cudal, the better. The locals can now see this rare bird outside their very own windows, if they plant a few wattle trees. Looking at pretty parrots outside your kitchen window is far preferable to watching footage of extinct birds on nature documentaries on television!
There is plenty of space left, in Cudal, for more wattle trees. Wattle tree seedlings can be obtained from the NSW Forestry Department at Forbes, NSW, or any good nursery.
