I once had an orange-flowered clivia called Cleopatra. Like her famous namesake, she was a mesmerizing beauty, who lit up my living room window in a spectacular ball of fire for weeks during the winter.
Thus, whenever new flowers started developing (they emerge in a weird way, flattened between the braided leaves), I would dance a little jig of joy and shout to my spouse: “Come see! She’s going to flower again. YIPPEE!”
Ah, what excitement she engendered in our house, on a gloomy day in January. Yet — also in common with the Egyptian queen — my clivia was invariably flighty and sulky. Some winters, she didn’t deign to flower at all, despite much maternal fussing (with a bigger pot, fresh growing mix and a trim of her massive roots.) Then one fall, after waiting for a performance for an entire year, I finally fell out of love with her. Screw it, I thought. The job of hauling her huge, heavy container indoors for the winter had become back-breaking – and why bother, when she continued to be so stubborn?
So I left Cleopatra outside on the deck in October and let Jack Frost have his way with her. She wound up a reproachful mess of shrivelled roots and crumpled brown leaves, crowning the compost heap.
Yet — yikes—as all keen gardeners know, throw away a thriving indoor plant (Cleopatra was still churning out her big green strappy leaves) and the guilt will surely set in. How could I do such a cruel thing? My remorse was agonizing. Over the following winter, I also missed the fingers-crossed anticipation of hoping she’d perform for me.
So now I’m tempted to try again with a new Cleopatra – and one reason for my change of heart is a recent visit to Longwood Gardens outside Philadelphia.
Longwood is clivia country – in a big way. Back in the 1970s, their then-horticulturist Dr. Robert Armstrong started tinkering with this cantankerous tropical plant that’s related to amaryllis, but far more difficult to handle. And the results speak for themselves. Visit Longwood’s four-and-a-half acres of conservatories right now and there you encounter the clivias — an extraordinary number of different varieties, all blooming splendidly, in scarlet, burnt orange, peach streaked with apricot, deep bronze and pure white mixed with yellow.
What a surprise. My Cleopatra was the standard, common-or-garden orange kind known as “Clivia miniata” — and even she proved huffy in the blooming department. But as any clivia fanciers know, nurturing more unusual varieties of this plant can be frustratingly difficult. So Longwood has pulled off a remarkable feat.
“Yes, our clivia breeding program has been very successful,” confirms Patricia Evans, Longwood’s director of communications. “We’ve come up with five new hybrids. We’re quite proud of them.”
For sure. While many public gardens in the U.S. languish during the “off” (i.e. winter) season, Longwood draws a steady flow of visitors year round– and one reason is, I think, their stunning collection of indoor tropical plants. The clivias play a starring role, but the orchid collection is equally exciting — and everything is displayed in artistic style, with a great sense of design.
So if you’re going nuts this winter, and aching to see something alive and green (who isn’t?) think about Longwood. It isn’t far by car and those plants are a perfect pick-me-up. Then while you’re there, here’s another tip: be sure to go to the washroom.
The washroom? Yes, really. In 2014, Longwood, believe it or not, won a nationwide contest to find “the best restrooms in U.S.” and theirs, designed by a British horticulturist, are as worth seeing as the plant collections. The individual cubicles with solid doors are set, in a row, into a long, eco-friendly green wall which undulates along one part of the main building. Never, in fact, has it been such fun to excuse yourself to “use the facilities.”
Be warned, though: Philadelphia can be as chilly (and snowy) as Ontario at this time of year. When I was there, the topiary in the expansive grounds was blanketed with white and I needed a thick coat to wander around outside and take in Longwood’s lovely old trees.
But ah, indoors. Off came the coat – and those clivias were captivating.
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