My architectural plant

Every garden needs to have one. My architectural plant is from the philodendron family, the split-leaf variety, probably Philodendron bipinnatifidum or Philodendron selloum (the two look exactly the same to me).

My philodendron is where it is today – right across the living room door - by pure chance. Or rather, as a consequence of a good Samaritan act on my part.

I acquired this plant by taking care of it when no one else would and then claiming it for my own.

About thirteen years ago the boss of a small company where I worked at the time bought the potted philodendron from one of those guys who do the rounds of offices offering plants. The pot and the plant somehow ended up on balcony that over time became the dusty storeroom for empty boxes, faulty motherboards, obsolete modems and similar items. Once I ventured out there and noticed the plant with yellowing leaves, the soil completely dried out (the balcony was covered and the plant did not even get any rainfall). I got several bottles, filled them with water and started watering the pot. Soon the leaves became green again.

Four years on, when the company moved to premises that did not feature a balcony, the plant was to be left behind. Instead, I got our driver to take it to my house in the company bakki. For a while it remained in the pot. I don’t have a photo from that period; only a pastel drawing executed by me:


A year or two passed, and the well-watered Philodendron bipinnatifidum (or Philodendron selloum) acquired string roots – strong enough to break the relatively small plastic pot. (I have since seen the roots of the same genus of philodendron break through a large brick structure.) So it became necessary to transplant it into the ground, the task I completed with my own hands. Since I was not able to dig a hole deep enough, I fashioned a small hill around it.

I thought it looked rather grand, though from today's perspective I realise my architectural plant was actually scrawny:

The philodendron got moved – or rather, pushed towards the wall – one more time, to make place for the paved patio. And there it remains, looking quite striking.

My philodendron’s lower leaves regularly turn yellow and sag, which tells me it is time to cut them off (I do not know if all of its cousins behave like that). It also regularly brings forth new leaves at the top. That way, the trunk becomes taller and taller, and the leaves get renewed – a big boon in Johannesburg climate, where every so often hail comes down to mercilessly tear the mature leaves.

This photograph clearly bears evidence of the lean years, with the trunk remaining thin in one place due to general neglect of the plant:

Couple of years ago the philodendron started flowering – producing strange, almost obscene-looking rods that in time rot and fall away, oozing some syrupy substance.