A sweet-scented tenderfoot returns from the mud

Press, 4 May 1978, Page 10

A sweet-scented tenderfoot returns from the mud

The regenerative powers t 61 plants are amazing. I have just been admiring , the autumn flowers in the 1 creek across the road. Until last month’s rain the I bed had been empty for months. Even the deep i holes were bone dry. But since the rain, it seems overnight, the creek , has burst into brilliant s and sweet-smelling display. The reason is A ponogeton distachyon, the water hawthorn, so called because of the deep scent of its flowers. Someone liberated it, I suppose, in the early days and it has spread along the creek a f mile or two, growing right

up to the junction with 1 the river. But it has not ( spread into the river; it does not like the gravel bottom. . hawthorn is an , old stick-in-the-mud. T . ventured out Once, with j spade in hand and waders , on legs, to dig up a clump t to see what nude it tick. I could not get the . spade deep enough in the 1 mud without filling my , waders with water, and it ( was a cold day, so I gave ( up. Oddly, water hawthorn i seems to thrive on cold , weather, although it j comes from the Cape of ( Good Hope (hence its j other common name, Cape pondweed) and is not ex- i pected to be hardy. Its . flowers appear profusely in mild spells all through ; the winter, and I have j seen them peeping ( through an inch of ice. ; It is said to have tu- j berous roots but, as I said, these are hard to find. They must have buried themselves very deeply, because in summer, when the creekbed dries out, t they disappear without

trace. Visitors to the village often admire it, and gird themselves to plunge in after it, but I discourage them. It is not an easy plant to cultivate in a garden pond — it likes deep water above it in the growing season, a gentle current, and lots of squishy mud underneath. I have just been providing myself with a double excuse for enjoying its sight and smell by setting out some duck decoys among the flowers and leaves. The real ducks may not come in among them, but that seems not to matter. It is so peaceful and fragrant underneath the gum trees tm a calm evening that even my dog seems overcome by lassitude. It is a blessing that no ducks come in. A gunshot in so fragile a setting would be a vulgarity. As for the name — is it Greek or Celtic? Opinions differ, but in both tongues the answer is the same. Celtic is “apon,” meaning water, and “geiton,” neighbour. Greek is “apo,” away from, and “ge,” the earth. So in any language aponogeton is just a water plant. Botanists are seldom blessed with imagination. The specific name, distachyon (pronounced dis-tak-e-on; the generic name is pronounced, phonetically, with the emphasis on the “ge”), means two spiked — referring to the V-shaped flower spike, which is really two opposing bracts enclosing a pair of insignificant true flowers. These bracts make water hawthorn very easy to identify. Confusion with anything else is impossible When its two thick white bracts, each with serrated edges, open wide like the jaws of some primitive fish, ready to snap. The whole flower has a waxy sheen, a dense texture, and a scent to match — heavy, and sweet, but marvellously fresh. The fierce image is

maintained by the leaves, which are shaped like elongated spearheads and lie flat on the surface, in bunches. When they are in peak growth the creek is well fortified. Frogs love them. On balmy summer nights we use them as barometers. When the frogs sing at night, rain is not far

away. An old wives tale to match the one about cattle lying down before a flood? Maybe. But more often than not the frog forecast is more accurate than the one put out by the Weather Office. Possibly what happens is that a drop in barometric pressure causes the frogs’ vocal organs to expand — and therefore croak. Possibly. We are assured that science has an answer to everything, but some things are more easily explained than others. Example: A friend nearby has on his farm springs which, he says, regularly rise three days before rain falls. This uncanny ability to rise to the occasion has won him numerous jugs of beer, but why? No-one knows. As for apongeton, there are a couple of dozen

other species, some from Australia and some from Asia, but none has any culinary or medicinal use. Aponogeton distachyon is purely a decorative plant, which makes its presence in the creek all the more puzzling. The pioneers were not ones to waste their time beautifying the countryside

with mass plantings or or* namental aquatics. They stopped at watercress. Whoever sowed aponogeton in the creek was either a person unusually gifted with foresight or a dreamer — one who knew that the scent of gum leaves and sweet flowers is more important than ducks.

GARDENER’S DIARY By Derrick Rooney