TROPICAL TRANSPLANT

On a cold, rainy December day, Bev Radcliff prepares to unveil the bird of paradise plant that is enjoying tropical warmth under a protective shield made of pipe, plastic and tarp. She pulls and pushes this giant hot cap until the plant is suddenly revealed, its leaves perfect and — count them — 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 blooms. Against the gray day, the gorgeous orange and violet blooms stand out brightly. They resemble tropical birds, perhaps ready to take off from some tropical wonderland like Hawaii or South Florida. But if these birds took off, it would be for Crowders Mountain in Gaston County, N.C. The Piedmont is hardly the tropics, and it’s taken some effort on Radcliff’s part to see these plants safely through every winter since 2000. “All that plant needs is to stay one degree above freezing,” says Larry Mellichamp, professor of botany and director of the University of North Carolina-Charlotte Botanical Gardens. “They come from (areas of) South Africa, where it never freezes, but it does get down in the 30s.” Radcliff knew that when a friend from Florida brought her three small bird of paradise (Strelitzia reginae) plants in summer 2000. She had come to know and admire the plants while working as a young adult in Tampa. “I grew up in North Florida, and when I moved to the tropical area of Florida, that was one of the first flowers I saw. I was totally enthralled with it. Just everywhere you looked, they were all over and it was such a magnificent plant — the most exquisite thing I’d ever seen.

“It always struck a chord somewhere inside me.”

But she left Florida and, at 45, has a home-improvement business serving Gaston and nearby counties called Handy Ma’am.

When she thinks of the bird of paradise plant now, it’s a reminder of those younger years on Florida’s Gulf Coast. And it’s an inspiration that the plant, with her help, has held on in a cold climate, grown and bloomed.

She had thought her bird of paradise days were gone until her friend arrived four years ago with three small plants, each about 1 foot tall.

“I love North Carolina and all its plants, but this is just one (tropical) that I wanted to see if I could grow.”

Did she have hope?

“I always have hope when it comes to plants,” she says.

Radcliff set them out in the warmest, sunniest spot of the back yard. Still, winter was ahead, and “I knew they didn’t want to be cold.” She had spent time managing a small nursery in Palm Harbor, Fla., and understood how to protect tropicals from sudden drops in temperatures to freezing.

But the drop in temperature would last for months in the Piedmont.

“I had the idea that a little greenhouse with some lights would be the deal,” she says.

Handy person that she is, Radcliff designed and made it herself from PVC pipe, painter’s plastic, a tarp, all lashed down with bungee cords and some riveting. Before the worst of winter arrives, she bundles up the greenhouse with some 30 bales of insulating pine straw. She uncovers it in April, usually getting the big surprise of flowers in full bloom.

Two 75-watt floodlights also help keep the little greenhouse toasty warm, though she is considering a move to brooder lamps used in poultry farming. Her neighbors have come to liken the glow to “a spaceship sitting in the backyard.”

The bird of paradise prospered, but a critical moment occurred last summer when, right in the middle of the design for a new deck, it had to be moved about 25 feet.

“It’s a bear to move,” Mellichamp explains. “It grows in a massive clump. The clump gets larger and very tight.” Those thick roots help the plant withstand seasonal drought in its native land.

He agrees that experimenting in the way Radcliff has is part of the fun of gardening and there are plants that possess the tropical flair but are capable of holding up through the winter with some protection. Some don’t need any. At the UNC Charlotte Botanical Gardens, Mellichamp says they have established five rock-hardy bananas and are evaluating two others. Just don’t plan to grow coconut palms and avocado plants outdoors in the Piedmont.

Radcliff dug all around and as far under the roots as she could. She tied “enough string to tie up Texas” around the root ball. Some neighbors came around to lend muscle power and encouragement.

She tied the plant to her Jeep and pulled. It was, she recalls, sort of like “snatching a car out of a ditch.”

The clump settled down peacefully, showing no signs of trauma. Radcliff is so pleased that three small plants have turned into a clump of nine that she is planning to design a fancier greenhouse, one big enough for a large staghorn fern and one with a real door.

“It was totally experimental,” she says of her life with the bird of paradise, now about 5 feet tall. She’s been patient with it, waiting two years to see the first bloom — and what a moment it was.

“I was ready to break out the champagne,” she recalls. “I called my mom in Perry, Fla. and just kept saying, `It bloomed, It bloomed.’ Now, all the time when the (University of Florida) Gators lose, I say, `Well my bird of paradise is still going to bloom. I’ll get over my Gators losing.”’