My quest for an Australian tree fern really began the moment I set eyes on the glorious specimens on display at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum. As with most totems, they signified the beauty of the museum in one towering symbol, and I thought that if I could just grow one in our living room some of that beauty couldn’t help but be conjured as well. (As with most things, the reality of such an attempt is often quite sadder, and a single object from a magical place rarely results in magic. Still, I hoped. Still, I tried.)
For several years, I kept the quest in the back of my mind. I alternated between moments of hopeful ascendancy (if I could just find a young-enough specimen, I could nurture it into liking our little bay window) and hopeless despondency (even if I could find one, it would surely die a certain, and likely quick, death in our dry air). And through it all, when I would occasionally see a small one in a greenhouse, happily reaching its fronds out to the humid environment, I would always chicken out.
Last week in Faddegon’s, after picking up a pair of Lion’s paw plants, I took a detour and explored their greenhouses, where several majestic Australian tree ferns sat freshly-watered in a lush corner. They were magnificent. Their stems were covered in thick hair, their leaves were bright green and dripping with the recent human-made rainfall. They were larger than any of the other specimens I’d encountered there over the years. Most of all, they were beauty incarnate – all delicate elegance and exotic grace.
Seeking a sign, or at least some guidance, I found someone who worked there and asked what the viability of one of the tree ferns surviving outside of a greenhouse environment might be. She said as long as I kept its catch-saucer full of water, it should do fine. I was incredulous. I’d never heard of such a thing. What about root rot? I asked, the most common of indoor plant killers. Not a problem, she said. They drink so much, especially in the typical dry air of our homes, that they need it. She went on to say that she had one going on ten years in her house, and she just kept the catch pot filled with an inch or so of water at all times. Emboldened by this success story, I lifted my chosen plant out of its water bed, let it drip for a bit then brought it to the register. I would take the chance on such beauty.
I brought her home and put her where we get the most light. She stands somewhat awkwardly in the make-do potting system and bowl I set up to keep her wet enough, so don’t judge too harshly just yet. I’ll pot her up prettily enough – for now I just want to see whether she will survive her new environs. The light is slightly lower, as is the humidity – but summer in the northeast will help with that soon enough. As for the water – I’ve been filling it daily, and each day she drinks it down again. That’s a good sign. If the water were just sitting there, I’d wonder at its worth. Perhaps that’s the secret for these beauties after all. If so, she’s worth the pampering.
We are all so thirsty for love.
