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There was a time when pretty perennial gardens were all the rage in New Zealand. Frothy standard 'Iceberg' roses lined every driveway and box hedges snuggled up to the edges of every lawn, border and bed in the city. Foliage was frowned upon. Boring, muttered the vocal critics, with a touch of colonial snobbery. And then, suddenly, it all changed. Foliage became fashionable.
In garden centres and nurseries, prissy flowers were passed over in favour of bold bromeliads in kaleidoscopic colours. Palms have replaced the traditional English oaks and funky succulents grace big terracotta pots on decks and balconies everywhere. The best thing about foliage is that it's fun that lasts. None of this planning for six months to create a razzle-dazzle of brilliant blooms that's all over in two weeks. Forget about dividing, dead-heading, sowing seeds and pruning. Forget too, about replanting and replacing to ensure not a smidgen of soil is seen at the end of the season. Of course, there's foliage and then there's foliage. Subtropical is definitely the style of the moment. (Actually, it's been the style of the moment for quite a few moments now.) So call me a fashion victim, but that's just the sort of garden I've been creating. What I like about subtropical foliage plants is their sheer speed and over-the-top exuberance. Our single giant taro (Xanthosoma maffaffa) bore just two floppy, ragged leaves on a droopy stem when we bought it in August last year. By mid-summer, it was a clump 1.5m high and far too wide to put my arms around. As for those paddle-shaped leaves? I discovered their usefulness when one day out weeding, the skies erupted unexpectedly. To avoid instant saturation, I hurled myself at the taro, only to discover that each leaf is large enough to shelter an average sized gardener. And if the clump gets too impressive, just whack off the sides with a sharp spade and transplant somewhere else in the garden. Palms are so popular here now that moves are afoot to have the fast-growing bangalow (Archontophoenix cunninghamiana) outlawed. It produces handfuls of viable, marble-sized seeds within four-five years - and it seems none have any trouble germinating. I like the bangalow, but I know what it's like to battle a weed introduced in times past for its beauty, so I guess if it has to go, it has to go. Bromeliads are a delicacy in the sub-tropical garden: far too expensive to enjoy en-masse (unless you have a few friends in the know), but deliciously attractive. Especially the Neoregelias - they're the ones whose centres colour up into wildly unnatural shades of pink, purple, red and black in summer. I remember a bromeliad fanatic offering me a few plants a couple of years back. At the time I thought they were hideous and kindly rebuffed the offer, making some ludicrous excuse that my garden was already overpopulated. (As if there is such a thing!) Isn't it funny how our tastes change?
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