For longer than I want to admit I’ve been carrying around an unusual plant wherever I’ve moved. I obtained a leaf cutting of a night blooming cereus, a cactus or epiphyllum, in 1972 during graduate school. I don’t know the age of the plant from which I obtained the cutting, but I believe it had been in some one's grandmother's house for some time.
Over the thirty six years as it got bumped or mangled I have taken the mangled parts and rooted them. Just thrust the leaf orstem in the soil and water it until it starts growing.
The etymology of the plant is interesting (google night blooming cereus). It is in the cactus family, but I believe there are a few obscure genus. It behaves somewhat like a mix of orchid and cactus. I’m not sure exactly which genus mine is. It has no spines, very flat leaves with a hint of angularity and root-like strands growing from the bottom of some older growth leaves.
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Frankly, it is an ugly plant, long stems and green leaves that are easily broken. It has no particular value except for its spectacular blossoms. It takes quite a bit of abuse and that does leads me to believe it is of the cactus family.
Waiting for it to bloom requires patience and that is why some might not call this a simple pleasure. It took about five to seven years to first bloom to appear on my plants. One summer day in New Kensington I noticed a bud-like projection growing from the serration of a leaf.
The plant leafs this way and most of the time that is what appears, a new leaf, but not this time. Over several weeks this little protuberance grew into a large bud, about shaped like a fat screw driver handle about the size of a computer mouse. This bud was comprised of twisted tendrils wrapping the nascent petals.
One night in August after midnight I smelled a very strong lily-like odor in the house. I got up and walked around. I entered the darkened dining room and there in the west window of our dining room where I kept it to protect it from the cold northern winter stood the plant with an enormous fully opened bloom. Pit was perfectly white with yellowish stamen. Its petals stretched wide open as it to savor its own glory. It is truly an amazing beauty.
I found it hard to bloom. It is sensitive to changes in light and often buds appear but die back depending on the watering and sun exposure. I took the plant to San Diego and finally placed in on my back patio that was protected from direct sum by a suncloth on the overhead trellis. It loved that dry desert environment. After a couple of years it began to bloom profusely. One year it bloomed continuously from July to August, with perhaps twenty buds forming and flowering.
It followed me to Atlanta where it continues to bloom. Naturally when I came to Gulfport, I took one of the plants with me, not the old mother plant but two of the older rootings.
A month ago I noticed one of them had a bud, but I missed the flowering. The unique thing about this plant is its bud begins to open a little after sundown and within a few hours reaches it full glory. As morning approaches the flower begins closing up or is totally wilted, hanging from the leaf like some stringy fabric or sock.
I usually miss the blooming unless I watch the bud every day to follow as it slowly tilts up pointing slightly skyward. The day before it blooms, its edges begin to slip presaging the blossom. This is what happened in June, one of the earliest times I’ve seen it bloom.
It budded again a few weeks ago and last week the flower opened. Here it is from beginning about 9PM to its sad end about 6AM the next morning.
Here it is, the Queen of the Night (click on the image for a full view) :
At 9PM it begins to open.
2AM in its full glory.
6AM, fading fast.
A few days later after the stem and bud fell.
You can see the two buds in the creases (serrations) of the lower edge of the leaf in the image to the right. If you look carefully you can see the vein in the leaf that feeds the bud. Two more buds are in the making!
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