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SOUTH AFRICAN BULBS

STARVED FOR SOMETHING new (even with some 300 houseplants), I pulled on a scarf, parka, insulated gloves, an extra pair of wool socks, and galoshes; grabbed a snow shovel; dug the car out; and went to the local garden center. Empty. Went to another garden center. Nada. Long story short, no one had any houseplants for sale—not boring houseplants, not mall-type foliage plants—nothing. This strikes me as such a brilliant (?) business strategy—cut off the supply of indoor plants in winter just when demand crests. I went home fairly glum until the light bulb went off. I picked up the phone and dialed Peter Wooster’s gardener, Rob Girard. “Your South African bulbs need dividing,” I announced. “I’ll be there in five minutes.” He never knew what hit him.

Fortunately, my hunch was right on target. They were pot-bound. And while unloading several souvenirs from the car into my house a few hours later, I congratulated myself for having gone to the mother lode. I had scored several lachenalias, a chasmanthe, and a babiana. The next few months were looking mighty bright indeed.

Except for my own collection of lachenalias, I don’t usually delve too deeply into South African bulbs. Of course, there are a dozen or so amaryllis (hippeastrum) on my premises during any given winter, but they lack the snob appeal of other South African bulbs. Why? Well, they are entirely too easy, I suppose. Real South African bulbs take skill.

Or that’s what I’ve always assumed. People clucked their tongues and revered my expertise simply for venturing into lachenalias. And I handled them like the aristocrats I assumed they were. Gave them a special sandy soil, lavished them with all the light I could muster, offered them a few miserly dribbles of water only once a week. Well, they despised me for it. In the end, when I managed them like all the other plants in the crowd, with regular potting soil and a normal watering regimen, they performed much better. End of preferential treatment.

You could go absolutely nuts with South African bulbs, and there are specialist nurseries that encourage you to wade in deep. But here are a few of my favorites to date. I expect more romance to unfold in the future.

BABIANA ANGUSTIFOLIA

Part of the booty from my potting binge at Peter Wooster’s greenhouse, these bulbs were given to me as Babiana pulchra, but apparently they’ve been reclassified. They sprouted their long, grass-like leaves immediately, but sat in suspended animation for a while. Finally, those royal blue blossoms on their long wands emerged and thus started an extended stint of several weeks in sheer ecstasy (the kind you savor only in winter).

Babiana angustifolia’s flowers are about the size and shape of a forsythia bloom. But the color is a royal purple like few other flowers can claim. As with most South African bulbs, several should be clustered together in a pot. The combined statement of many bulbs brandishing their wands of blossoms is impressive. I’m thinking at least half a dozen per pot for starters. I sit them in the best sunbeams in the house and give them the chilly reception they prefer. After flowering, babiana goes completely dormant in summer, starting in spring when the foliage turns the color of wheat. Dry it out and let it sleep until late autumn, when it’s time to divide it up and begin watering again.

BOWEIA VOLUBILIS

Although you will not find Boweia volubilis listed in most books on South African bulbs, it is a bulb from South Africa and winter growing, so I am profiling it here. Although the climbing onion, as I have always called it, is not available at every corner garden center, I cannot seem to live without it. Something about its lacy, succulent stems curling their way up the curtains has always intrigued me. Plus the round, ever-expanding, onion-like bulb also has just the sort of weirdo comportment that is my kind of draw. The sheer energy of this plant, plus its stubborn will to live, is not only endearing, it is also reason to recommend it for the windowsill. Right now, mine is in a south-facing window and upwardly mobile around the curtain. The swollen bulb (which remains in evidence even when the vine isn’t actively growing) should be planted so it is slightly above the soil. The potting medium should be well drained. You would be wise to give the plant a wide container at the start, because repotting as it expands is not so easy. In winter, the strange, frothy, seaweed-like stems begin to jut out and grow an inch (or more) daily. Tiny, star-like green flowers emerge (you might not even notice them at first). And that’s the full performance. In spring, the growth dies back and you can water only occasionally until early autumn, when growth resumes. Pest-free, prone to taking summer vacations (when we’re all preoccupied elsewhere anyway), and with minimal water demands, nothing could be easier.

CHASMANTHE BICOLOR

South African bulbs have a total advantage over the local talent (meaning forced hardy spring bulbs) because they are capable of delivering outrageous color in a few simple steps. Chasmanthe bicolor has long, tubular blossoms that could be likened to a dragon. To complete the analogy, they are fiery red-orange with a yellow lip at the tip. They come in loose spires crowning bolt upright, one-foot-tall (30cm) stems that tend toward pale pea green in color. The only effective way to display C. bicolor is to do it in mass. Rob Girard fills window boxes and puts them on the floor of his greenhouse. When you’ve got a dozen flower spikes or more all united, the combined effort makes a statement. Otherwise, a single bulb or two on display is a little awkward.

I treat Chasmanthe bicolor like the other South African bulbs that go entirely dormant after their performance. I just let it slip away, keeping it dry, and then I store it out of sight and mind in a dark, dry closet until late autumn, when I trot out the whole South African bulb menagerie and treat it to drinks and the cold conditions they dote on to begin growth again.

CYRTANTHUS MACKENII HYBRID

Not many plants have followed me throughout my adult life, but Cyrtanthus mackenii ‘Hobgoblin’ came along wherever I have roamed. Actually, it lives in Peter Wooster’s greenhouse down the street right now, but that’s certainly close enough to qualify. And how could you leave behind a bulb that has persistent foliage and blossoms from autumn through winter, especially if the blossoms are abundant, tubular, very showy, and Halloween orange in hue. Full disclosure: I was responsible for naming this orange version ‘Hobgoblin’. It blossoms to beat the band.

Cyrtanthus mackenii is probably the easiest South African bulb to grow indoors. It has robust green, grass-like leaves that stand about 6 inches (15cm) tall with the flower spikes jutting just slightly above. Give it full sun and do not overwater (overwatering can cause the foliage to rot, but the bulbs generally remain intact), and you are home free. Reputedly, the plant flowers best when pot-bound. That’s rarely a problem, because side bulbs appear with such gusto that keeping abreast of repotting is close to impossible. In this rare case, repotting delinquency is rewarded by an enthusiastic round of applause of the floral kind.

LACHENALIAS

I couldn’t make it through winter without a lachenalia or two somewhere in close proximity. They are the easiest, most beguiling little bulbs you can possibly imagine. Envision a plant about the dimensions of a grape hyacinth with flowers about the size of a genuine hyacinth. Like tulips, the blossoms come in a broad array of colors, including purple, yellow, and lipstick red, with hues often combined on each tubular flower. Fragrance—lovely sugary sweet, anise-light fragrance—can also be a facet of the configuration, depending on the species. As the foliage emerges, it’s also part of the show. Some have speckled leaves, some have warty leaves. However, as the flowers begin to mature, the foliage often becomes floppy. That downside probably isn’t a factor in a bright greenhouse, but in my less-thanfully-luminous abode, the leaves always seem to sulk. As for water, be generous.

My lachenalias dry out and wilt frequently. I originally potted them in a very sandy soil medium, but couldn’t keep up with the watering. In a regular, well-drained potting soil, they are fine.

My lachenalias tell me when they want to come out of dormancy in early autumn. They begin growth, and I have to whisk them out of the closet where they summered and begin watering immediately. I usually summer them in their containers. Somehow, an inner bell always seems to go off reminding me to check them out just as growth is emerging. If you forget to get them into the light, they begin to elongate and the whole package isn’t as natty.

When the show is over, lachenalias begin to go downhill with appalling speed. One day they’re your pride and joy, and the next week they are a bit of an embarrassment. I just cut them back and stash them in the closet until next year.

ORNITHOGALUM LONGIBRACTEATUM

Unlike the other South African bulbs here, this performer is not really about flowers. Granted, in winter, Ornithogalum longibracteatum sends up tall, arching wands of uneventful, small, cream-colored flowers with a green stripe, but they are generally overlooked. Instead, the bulbs themselves are the intriguing factor. The pregnant onion, as I’ve always known it, makes babies. The rounded, onion-like bulbs (ornithogalum is in the Liliaceae, along with onions) swell above ground to become the size of plump, green baseballs with a sheath of paper-thin coating drawn around each. From the sides of the main bulb, little bulbs continually pop. The mama bulb sends up a regal sheaf of long, thin leaves that swoop and arch. The piggybacked progeny start making thin grass-like blades sticking out of their little swollen pouches and then future generations develop from there.

Best of all, this plant is a living social network. When people admire your pregnant onion, you can turn around, nonchalantly break off one of the developing bulbs with roots (and they send down their own roots as soon as they hit soil), and become instantly popular for your generosity. Pass it along. This serves a dual purpose. If you hoard the whole display, the extended family will soon require larger accommodations.

When you share this ornithogalum, you can do it with a clear conscience because it’s absolutely trouble free. Given an east, west, or south window, it is one of the easiest houseplants around. Dry it out or give it water—it’s all groovy. I’ve never even tried to overwater mine. Neglect seems to be its preferred treatment.

And if flowers are your heart’s desire, go for chincherinchee (Ornithogalum thyrsoides ‘Alaska’), with its dense, foxtail-plump wands of creamy white, star-shaped blossoms that last for many weeks. This maintenance-free per soon require larger accommodations.

When you share this ornithogalum, you can do it with a clear conscience because it’s absolutely trouble free. Given an east, west, or south window, it is one of the easiest houseplants around. Dry it out or give it water—it’s all groovy. I’ve never even tried to overwater mine. Neglect seems to be its preferred treatment.

And if flowers are your heart’s desire, go for chincherinchee (Ornithogalum thyrsoides ‘Alaska’), with its dense, foxtail-plump wands of creamy white, star-shaped blossoms that last for many weeks. This maintenance-free per former used to be summer fare, but now it’s marketed for Thanksgiving entertainment.