An interesting thing happens when you repeatedly walk around a particular place over multiple seasons, you begin to notice the patterns and changes in the trees, plants and animals of the area. Certain plants and animals are unusual or infrequent visitors and jump out at you, demanding your attention. There are others, the constant companions whose presence is consistent and whose changes are unsurprising but delightfully reassuring. The Coastal Banksia, Banksia integrifolia is just that. It’s an integral part of the coastal landscape of the East Coast of Australia and a plant I’ve become very fond of.
There are several spots which I walk to, from and past on my local walks. Of those spots, I will stop at and sit, and they all are surrounded by beautiful Coastal Banksias. These plants take different forms from wizen shrubs with gnarly trunks and spindly branches to large trees that form dense thickets. There is what I think of as a sort of grove of these Bankias on one part of my walk. There is undergrowth in this patch, a mix of introduced and endemic species, the trees sit at similar heights and shapes almost like old apple trees in an abandoned orchard, cascading down the cliffs towards the sea.
Further down towards the ocean, the paths leading to the beach are lined with tall Banksia Trees stretching upwards of twenty feet. Further along, overlooking the creek and brackish lagoon along a sloping sandstone cliff is another cluster of windswept Banksias, sculpted by the elements, clinging to the rockface in poor salty soils.
Coastal Banksias are easy to spot, with their tale-tale knobbly cones and yellow flowers (technically hundreds of tiny flowers that make up an ‘inflorescence’ or flower head). The silvery underside of the leaves often face upwards in contrast to the blue sky, and their dark green surface. I’m always struck by their hardy nature, thriving in the face of such harsh elements.
Not only are these gorgeous plants, beautiful in their own right but they play host to a wealth of nectar-seeking species including birds, bats, gliders and insects. Meanwhile, seed-eating Cockatoos love their seed cones/pods and can carefully extract their paper-thin seeds. Our local Yellow Tailed Black Cockatoos have been in a feeding frenzy lately. When you can’t hear them close by, the trail of pods and leaves on the ground will indicate a recent feasting session. The feathered and furry visitors benefit the plant hugely through their natural pruning (no hedge cutters or strimmers required) and they assist with pollination. Smaller non-flying mammals are instrumental in pollination.
The tenacity of this plant and the wider genus is something to behold and I like to think I knew this, that they are ancient, but up until quite recently, I didn’t realise how ancient they are. Banksia leaf fossils from New South Wales have been dated to 59 million years ago and it is thought that Banksias, being part of the Protecea family, hitched a ride during the spilt of the Gondwana supercontinent up to 100 million years ago. Truly mind-boggling.
This area that I live in, South of Sydney and North of Wollongong was inhabited by the Dhargarigal of the D’awaral nation for 42,000 years before the arrival of colonial settlers including Joseph Banks (the genus’ namesake). The D’harwal name for this plant is Guriidja. The Gujaga Foundation is forging the revitalisation of the Dharawal language and was where I found the true name of this plant. The plant was used in many ways historically, the flower head was used to create a sweet nectar drink, and the pods were used to burn and carry fire from one place to the next.
There is much to say about these beautiful plants and their entire genus, of which there are over two hundred species. My affection for this particular species is rivalled only by its charismatic cousin, Old Man Banksia, Banksia Serrata. What strikes me the most perhaps is that they have withstood change over many millions of years, and seasonally individual plants transform and morph and withstand the onslaught of fierce conditions from soaring temperatures (43 degrees yesterday), to floods and storms. They, like their first custodians, have also withstood the arrival of invasive species, that brought disease and ways of ‘taming’ the land that decimated so many other plants, mammals, and fellow humans. Languages were lost that described the land, and these plants, but they have managed to survive, vital and enduring.
I know there is so much yet to discover about this astonishing coastal landscape and ecosystem. I'm always curious to learn more about plants and animals and the human relationships with the land and its creatures. There is something particularly special though, about feeling a sense of familiarity and kinship with a particular species, common as it is, it continues to teach me more, lovely Guriidja.
I would love to know about the close connections you’ve developed to non-human plants or animals where you live, feel free to comment below.
Natures notes is proudly written on and inspired by Dharawal Country. I recognise the Dharawal & Wodi Wodi custodians and ancestors who have an enduring connection to land, water and skies.
Always Was and Always Will be Aboriginal Land.
Beautiful pictures — thank you for sharing.
I am an enthusiastic proponent of observing the same landscapes over and over and over again. Seeing what stays (relatively) the same, and noticing incremental changes. I walk the woods, fields and river paths in my 2-square-mile village almost daily. I know all the trees and flowers personally ☺️, and I always look forward to finding even the smallest variations in size, color, vibrancy. One of my favorite companions here is milkweed. There are 22 native species in Illinois, four that are prolific here — and I know where they all congregate! I’ve taken LOTS of photos of them in every season, every kind of light, every stage of growth, and looking through those pictures brings me immense joy.