There were no TreeFerns in the village in which I lived as a child. Oak, Beech, Elm and others but no TreeFerns - slow growing or otherwise. The village was at the far end of the world from here - and here is now Australia.
Three slow growing TreeFerns were living in the front garden when I arrived here, twenty odd years ago. Three trees, none taller than my waist but with long, graceful fronds, emerald green. As I worked in the garden, I fell in love with them. They would brush against me as much as I brushed against them.
I splurged with money I didn’t really have and bought four more for the back yard. Made garden beds for each and surrounded them with flowers ..... tiny islands in a grassy sea.
I don’t know if there exists another species of tree quite like the slow growing TreeFern. The whole of the trunk is also the root and so it can be sawn off at the base and transplanted. Remarkable. From the base of the sawn off TreeFern another does not grow but from the edges of the base another often does.
They are primeval and ethereal. Tough, ancient yet delicate. They have other attributes which make them almost human - kith and kin, close cousins.
Slow growing they are indeed. Twenty years on and the three in the front garden are no higher than my chest though the fronds leap higher. The larger ones ‘outback’ have grown to one and a half a man’s height, with the long fronds reaching much further.
For awhile I had seven TreeFerns and after another five years planted four more in the front garden. Enclosed in a very large bed, they not only thrived but grew more TreeFerns from their bases. When these had grown five more years and were well established but somewhat cramped, I started separating one from another. The front garden now contains perhaps a score or more of serene Ferns, with only a few waist high or more.
There are the solitary Ferns. Quiet, a little aloof. Many more Ferns have a child or two, growing and attached at the base. Then there is the rare TreeFern which has other TreeFerns growing off the trunk – much as a mother cradles her young in her arms or upon her hip. One, next to the small fountain and happy to accept any overflow, has perhaps seven such toddlers clambering about her body.
Multiple beds in the back garden now contain over two score trees. A few haven’t survived the transplantation but most are content and stretching out.
Among the tribe are two fast growing TreeFerns, slender of trunk with fronds longer than a man is high. Only recent arrivals, they are already taller than their slow growing cousins. They cannot be sawn and transplanted but must be grown from spore, potted and allowed to grow a little before transplanting. Their fronds, while beautiful, are a little coarser and have a tendency to snap. I planted two more fast growers a month back and, in another lifetime, they’ll be a high oasis.
Whether trees are telepathic or not, I can’t say with certainty. They do respond to love, care and attention.
I had a huge pot of a type of succulent which I’ve always known as Chinese Roses. They overflowed one year and, seeing as they appear to survive on not much more than fresh air and water, I placed stems in, among and around the trunks of the Ferns. They’ve done well and add a layer of beauty not all would notice but Dryads would.
The crown of the TreeFern only gets two - perhaps three layers of new fronds each year. The older ones gradually fade out but aren’t useless. In a high storm where the fronds wave wildly, it’s the older circle of elder fronds which keep the centre from too much damage.
I give them a haircut as needed and love them which, I guess is a form of telepathy.