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Some years ago I swapped someone some cuttings of Nopalxochia for cuttings of the ric rac cactus, Selenicereus anthonyanus, because I liked the leaves/stems. Last week I thought about getting rid of the plant because it has ugly aerial roots, its stems reach out like tentacles to grab me when I walk by, and it hasn't bloomed. I think the plant read my mind and decided to earn its keep.
Walking by it yesterday afternoon, I saw this:
Well, hello there, says I. I wonder when you'll bloom and for how long. So I looked it up. Blooms at night, it said. Only one night, it said. Very fragrant, it said. So before going to bed last night, I thought I'd check on it. Well, hello there!
They said it was fragrant. I associate that term with a pleasant odor. Pungent is how I would describe the smell -- strong and sharp and verging on repellent to my taste -- the way old stems of parsley, cut and bruised, might smell if parsley were poisonous and caustic. But that should help it to get the job done in the wild during its one-night bloom -- I could smell it two rooms away and I'm a mere human. And it certainly has lady parts like a landing strip. No way Mr. Pollinator will miss that on its way to the nectar!
A pity I have nothing to pollinate it with, thinks I to myself. But wait! Didn't I read that they'll hybridize with disocactus? And isn't Nopalxochia a disocactus? And don't I have one solitary bloom on the backup Nopalxochia in the second-floor bathroom?
Do I need another hybridizing experiment? On the other hand, what are the chances I will have both these plants in flower at the same time again in my lifetime?
It was the work of a minute to scamper downstairs, pinch off a generous pinch of anthers, scamper back upstairs, and smear them around the lady parts. Time will tell whether I have anything. It being a cactus, it will probably take a year for the fruit to mature if this arranged marriage takes. The ovary is about the size of a big fat supermarket grape as it is -- this ought to be huge, if it takes.
This morning the flower has closed up and the smell is gone. Now I wait.
(In other windowsill and back garden news: I found a new flower stalk emerging on my H. striatum. And when I went a-weeding in my two large annual herb pots out back, I found two, count 'em, TWO forgotten juvenile hippeastrums emerging. They overwintered! In single digit temperatures! O frabjous day!)
Walking by it yesterday afternoon, I saw this:
Well, hello there, says I. I wonder when you'll bloom and for how long. So I looked it up. Blooms at night, it said. Only one night, it said. Very fragrant, it said. So before going to bed last night, I thought I'd check on it. Well, hello there!
They said it was fragrant. I associate that term with a pleasant odor. Pungent is how I would describe the smell -- strong and sharp and verging on repellent to my taste -- the way old stems of parsley, cut and bruised, might smell if parsley were poisonous and caustic. But that should help it to get the job done in the wild during its one-night bloom -- I could smell it two rooms away and I'm a mere human. And it certainly has lady parts like a landing strip. No way Mr. Pollinator will miss that on its way to the nectar!
A pity I have nothing to pollinate it with, thinks I to myself. But wait! Didn't I read that they'll hybridize with disocactus? And isn't Nopalxochia a disocactus? And don't I have one solitary bloom on the backup Nopalxochia in the second-floor bathroom?
Do I need another hybridizing experiment? On the other hand, what are the chances I will have both these plants in flower at the same time again in my lifetime?
It was the work of a minute to scamper downstairs, pinch off a generous pinch of anthers, scamper back upstairs, and smear them around the lady parts. Time will tell whether I have anything. It being a cactus, it will probably take a year for the fruit to mature if this arranged marriage takes. The ovary is about the size of a big fat supermarket grape as it is -- this ought to be huge, if it takes.
This morning the flower has closed up and the smell is gone. Now I wait.
(In other windowsill and back garden news: I found a new flower stalk emerging on my H. striatum. And when I went a-weeding in my two large annual herb pots out back, I found two, count 'em, TWO forgotten juvenile hippeastrums emerging. They overwintered! In single digit temperatures! O frabjous day!)
