Monday, September 30, 2013

[Exceptionally] Pretty pictures: transmitted light -- Part LI

The plants are coming in for the winter, and I've got a gigantic backlog of photos to deal with, so it's time for transmitted light pictures again.

(The previous transmitted light posts can be found here.)

Cissus rhombifolia.

Rotate it 90 degrees clockwise and there's a (subtle) peace sign!


Euonymous alatus, autumn.

Well. It's certainly very red, isn't it?


Ficus elastica 'Burgundy,' dying leaf.

This photo is very old (actually all of these photos are very old; I'm still working on a backlog of transmitted light photos from like 2009), but seems particularly appropriate right now. I had two Ficus elasticas. I just threw the small one out because it had scale, and I was like, whatever, I don't like trying to get rid of scale and it's a duplicate anyway, so I'll pitch it and grow the other one. But then the other one came in from outside, and it's been growing mostly horizontally the whole time it was outside because it's apparently one of those trailing rubber trees,1 so I don't have any spot large enough to put it. And it's not like I'm hugely fond of F. elastica even when they're grown well. So I'm seriously considering throwing it out, or restarting from cuttings, or trying to sell it on Craigslist, or something like that. It's actually looking like a lot of the plants are going to have to be thrown out, sold, or restarted, in order to make space for the ones I actually want to keep. October's gonna be rough.


Pilea peperomioides, newish leaf.

Pilea peperomioides is probably not the most difficult "easy" plant I've ever tried to grow, but it's definitely on the list somewhere. And I have no idea what I was doing wrong.


Episcia NOID.


Ananas comosus 'Ivory Coast.'

This is perhaps not as flashy as some of the photos that follow it, but I think it's my favorite picture from this set. It's possible that I'm just a sucker for parallel venation.


Caladium 'Cardinal.'

Look out green! The red is right behind you! Run! Run! Aiiiieee!


Canna 'Tropicanna.'

As much as I love the red-blooming, green-leaved Cannas (and I do, very much), it seems weird that I haven't yet made it a priority to get one of the other varieties. Not necessarily 'Tropicanna,' (does it even come true from seed? Probably not, right?) but something. It's not as if there aren't a lot of options to choose from. Maybe 2014 will be the year.


Fittonia albivenis NOID.



Graptophyllum pictum.

I've seen Graptophyllum for sale exactly one time since I've been blogging, and I didn't buy it, because it was kind of underwhelming in person. (The books make it look a lot cooler.) Also you have to figure that if it were a satisfying houseplant, people would already be growing it everywhere. So I'm thinking I didn't miss much, but the picture still wound up pretty cool.

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1 A joke: there is no such thing as a trailing rubber tree. Though there is a rubber vine (Cryptostegia grandiflora), which is neither related to Ficus nor to Hevea brasiliensis, the "real" rubber tree. Common names are dangerously misleading! Shun them!


Saturday, September 28, 2013

Saturday morning non-domesticated animal pictures

I will get back to Sheba eventually, I promise. But first: a report on the state of the local wildlife.

I usually get one hummingbird sighting every year, and that happened earlier this week. It flew away before I could adjust the camera settings, but the pictures would have been shaky blurs photographed from a distance anyway, so you're not missing much. However, I have a picture of a white-lined sphinx moth (Hyles lineata), which hovers in air sort of like a hummingbird and is therefore, to my mind, every bit as good as a hummingbird.


This particular individual was hiding in one of the plants on a day when I had to bring them in for the night, and then I got to chase it around the plant room, kitchen, and living room for what felt like a very long time, before I managed to catch it and take it outside. It then hung on the mouth of the container for quite a while, having exhausted itself trying to fly through windows and clear plastic walls for fifteen minutes. Which meant I got some more or less decent pictures.




The green tree frogs (Hyla versicolor) continue to appear all over the property; 2013 is definitely the Year of the Green Tree Frog.1 There was also, briefly, a pickerel frog (Rana palustris), who lived in the Portulaca / Tagetes bed for about a week and then moved on.

Rana palustris.

There is also a strong case to be made for 2013 as the Year of the Wasp,2 the Year of the Caterpillar, or the Year of the Black Bees, but the frogs feel a lot more noteworthy. Or at least a lot more suddenly abundant, at least.

And yes, this is the same species as the solid-green frogs in the earlier posts. They can apparently choose to be solid green or gray-and-green. So that whole spiel from Kermit about how hard it is to be green: bullshit. He could just be gray, if green is so tough. What a whiner.

It's also been a good year for jumping spiders, though surprisingly light on any other spiders. Usually by this point in the year, I've seen a few black and yellow garden spiders (Argiope aurantia), but this year there's nothing.

Arachnophobes should start scrolling down really quickly . . . NOW.


RAWWWWRRRR!

(Oh, it's over here? Okay then.) RAWWWWRRRR!

This is the most adorable spider I have ever seen. It's even better in the full-size version.

-----ARACHNOPHOBES STOP-----

I've seen a few butterflies around, though most wouldn't stay still long enough for pictures, and it hasn't been anything very interesting. Mostly blues this year. The dill we planted failed to attract any swallowtail caterpillars, and very few butterflies of any kind, which was disappointing, though it may be that the cool, wet early summer depressed the numbers of butterflies in general.

I think this is a pearl crescent butterfly (Phyciodes tharos), though there are so many small orange and brown butterflies out there that I'm not confident about it. The plant is Haworthia limifolia var. ubomboensis.

I did manage to get a couple pictures of one swallowtail, though, at the ex-job.

Female eastern black swallowtail (Papilio polyxenes)? Plant is some Echinacea variety; I didn't check the tag.


Great year for bees, though. Lately I've been seeing mostly bumblebees, but I've seen at least four different species of bee over the course of the summer, and I'm probably forgetting a few.


Probably the less said about caterpillars, the better, but there is one that I thought was interesting. I found it on the Portulaca in early July.


I spent a long time at What's That Bug?, looking through their butterfly and moth caterpillar archives, but didn't see many pictures that were substantially similar, and the few that were similar were for caterpillars not actually found in Iowa. So I have no idea. (I considered submitting the photos to WTB, but they sounded kind of swamped with submissions already, and it's not like this is an emergency or anything.) But it's kind of cool-looking, as caterpillars go.



Finally, yes, there are grasshoppers (most likely the differential grasshopper, Melanoplus differentialis) around as well. They seem to be particularly fond of the Swiss chard (Beta vulgaris ssp. cicla 'Bright Lights'). Which is good, I guess. I mean, something ought to be. We tried sauteeing it with some other greens, early in the summer. It wasn't terrible, but it didn't leave us with any particular desire to do it again. So we designated it an ornamental and haven't touched it since. And it's doing a great job being ornamental.

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1 Why? Well, it was an unusually wet spring, which I'd think would have to be good for frogs. There's also been some habitat disruption in the area -- some kind of pond or sewage lagoon or something got filled in. Though I don't think that was this year. I'm pretty hazy about the details.
It could be helping, too, that when the rain stopped falling in early August, we let the grass go dormant and stopped mowing. In previous years, we have watered parts of it instead. And I think we've always mowed, until this year. Which if you think about it has some implications for the frog population. (CUT TO: Miss Piggy, crying "KERMIEEEEE!!!!!!" as she sinks to her knees.)
2 To a disturbing degree: there is often a crowd of them gathered on the light fixture above our front door. As we don't use the front door very often, this hasn't been dangerous yet, but it's unsettling, like driving past a convenience store and seeing a crowd of high-school boys loitering in its parking lot. There are also a lot of wasps between the back door of the house and the garage during the day. Again, they've never actually attacked us, but surely it's only a matter of time before I come whipping around the corner of the house with a huge plant and upset somebody. And they've even shown up in the house once, which was a fun day.
That said, if you can observe them at a remove, like in photographs or something, they're kind of neat. Though that's true of a lot of things.


Friday, September 27, 2013

Six Plants I'm Not Currently Mad At / Poll for the Hive Mind

Oh, Mr. Subjunctive, you silly goose, why do you have to be so negative all the time? Why phrase it as "plants I'm not currently mad at," instead of "plants I love," or "plants that are doing well," or something along those lines?

That's . . . a really good question. I'm pretty sure some of it is just that I'm a relentlessly negative person.1 And there's also the issue that lots of other blogs use phrasings like "plants I love," and I'm trying to be different.

But there's also the issue of plant betrayal. In the seven or so years I've been doing this, I've been deliriously happy with any number of plants that later turned on me. Euphorbia trigona, once a darling, is now a constant struggle with fungus. Hoyas always seem to succumb to some kind of dramatic and sudden collapse.2 Cordyline fruticosa never quite shook the spider mites. I miss one watering and the Episcias all collapse on me, or get devoured by caterpillars, or turn brown and dry out. That sort of thing. And I occasionally wind up looking at one of those older posts, where I'm talking about how delighted I am with a plant, and feel stupid, because I know that a few months or years later, I couldn't stand that plant anymore, or it was dead, or whatever.

Therefore, it needs a qualifier. I'm not mad at them at the moment. Three months from now? Anything could happen. This is a terrible attitude to have, but . . . .

I guess I have no conclusion to that sentence; it's just a terrible attitude. (I never promised to be inspirational.)

These six plants are also the leading candidates for the next plant profile, by the way. I have no strong preference about which I want to write about, so I figured I'd put it up for a vote. So be ready for that, at the end of the post.

Here we go. In no particular order:

1. Breynia disticha 'Roseo-Picta'


Breynia disticha turns out to be a very different plant if you let it spend a summer outside than it is if you make it stay indoors all summer taking violin lessons, or whatever it is you make your Breynias do. It's not that it was growing poorly for me inside, exactly, but it wasn't getting enough light to produce any variegated leaves, the branches were flopping over into all the plants around them,3 and it wasn't branching very much.

Once it went outside for a summer, though, all that changed. Faster growth, all sorts of color, branching -- almost everything turned around. The floppy branches are apparently just Breynia's thing, because that part didn't get any better. But still.

It had been a pretty good plant for me before this, too, as far as that goes. Aside from a brief and easily-won bout with spider mites, there have been no pest problems, and although it wilts dramatically whenever I'm the slightest bit late with the water, it always bounces right back once I give it a good soaking. I've propagated from cuttings a few times (difficult, but doable), humidity seems not to be a big issue, and it's even flowered for me once, not that the flowers are a particularly big deal.


2. Philodendron mexicanum


My original cutting of Philodendron mexicanum got too long to be manageable, so I chopped it up into two-node cuttings and rooted them in water. They all got busy building roots immediately, so now I have a pot with three plants in it, which is the one in the picture.

Like some other vining Philodendrons, P. mexicanum is maybe a little too enthusiastic for its own good (I'm already contemplating chopping up the original cutting again, and it hasn't been that long. A year, maybe?), but the leaves are really lovely (I neglected to choose a photo that shows the red-brown undersides, though if you're interested you can check out this post.), and it's easy to grow, as far as I can tell. Fairly weak artificial light, normal indoor temperatures and humidity, water every two to four weeks.

My only problem to date has been with thrips, of all things. They weren't that hard to get rid of, but they were surprisingly fond of the plant, and apparently used it as a species headquarters, from which they launched expeditions to the neighboring plants.


3. Beaucarnea recurvata


This is probably the most unexpected plant to land on this list. It's not that it was ever doing poorly, exactly; it's more that it's never done much of anything at all. The reason turned out to be pot size and light intensity: after five and a half years of leaving it alone, I repotted it and gave it some direct sun, and bam, new growth. Quite a bit of it, even. (I'm sad to think of how disappointed it will be this winter: I doubt I'll be able to spare a direct-sun spot once all the plants come in from outside.4)

Even without new growth, though, it was one of those plants I could depend on not to give me any drama. It was fine with the variable temperature in the plant room, it never got any pests, and if it was unpropagatable, it was at least durable.

The propagation thing is likely to continue to be a problem in the future, but otherwise, I feel like I may finally have figured Beaucarnea recurvata out.


4. Polyscias fruticosa


And then Polyscias fruticosa is probably the most obvious plant to go on the list. I've even been publicly happy with it in the past. I have some pretty serious concerns about it for the future,5 but right now, at this particular moment, all is well, and it's been thriving. I'm also pretty pleased with the cultivars I have ('Elegans' and 'Snowflake,' which is just variegated 'Elegans'), and have managed to propagate 'Elegans' a few times, albeit with some difficulty. They're all perfectly happy, and even pest-free (knock wood), so long as I give them some direct sun every day and don't get too unpredictable with the water (both too much and too little leads to defoliation, though too little seems to be worse).

The best part is that as it ages, the plant is developing a sort of Cousin Itt (or possibly Gossamer?) look, which I enjoy.


5. Scindapsus pictus


I have one main problem with Scindapsus pictus, which is that I tend to forget that it exists. Which is to say that whenever I'm listing plants in my mind, in whatever category, I never remember to include it.

It's a perfectly nice plant, as plants go. I treat it horribly: it's on a shelf a couple inches below other plants, which block most of the light. It gets air-conditioning blasted directly at it during the summer. I'm pretty sure the soil hasn't been changed since I bought it in July 2008. But no worries! Scindapsus just keeps plugging away, slowly building leaf after leaf, without complaining or getting bugs. It's the damnedest thing.

I've had an S. pictus many years ago that wasn't nearly as forgiving; this is far enough in the past that I couldn't guess what the problem might have been. So it's possible that I've just been bizarrely lucky for five straight years.

I have yet to attempt propagation, because it's not necessarily a plant I want more of. Maybe someday.


6. Stromanthe sanguinea cvv.


Finally, I continue to be impressed with Stromanthe sanguinea. I have two varieties of it, 'Triostar' (shown) and 'Magicstar,' both of which are much easier to grow than anything from the Marantaceae ought to be.

It's not perfect. There's an unfortunate tendency to develop spider mites, and there are limits to how large of a pot I can use here in the house, because the root systems are relatively shallow and rot-prone, so I can only up-pot for just so long before it's time to start over again with a freshly-propagated plant. Even so, being able to grow something this attractive at all is awfully cool. And when I need to propagate, it's always been game, which is a definite bonus.


So see? I can say nice things about the plants sometimes.




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1 No. Really. I am. It's okay. I don't mind. Usually.
2 Though it's possible that I'm on the verge of figuring that one out. All the Hoyas that have succumbed to Sudden Hoya Death Syndrome were also not getting any direct sun at the time of death. The cause-and-effect relationship is murky, but in the absence of any other leads, I'm thinking this must be the key, somehow.
3 Which was a problem, because the plants around the oldest and largest Breynia were mostly Euphorbia trigona. Top-heavy thorny plants shouldn't be placed next to floppy-branched leafy plants, as a rule: you wind up losing hours of your life trying to untangle them from one another.
4 Next summer, though: look out! I'm putting the Beaucarnea outside, and fully expect it to grow substantially before autumn arrives. A friend in town has a Beaucarnea that she puts outside every year, and it is amazing. (Had I been thinking, I'd have gotten a picture for you, but I wasn't.)
5 It's 1) a very big plant, with 2) brown, woody stems and 3) lots of delicately-cut leaves, living 4) in a room where scale has recently been discovered. If scale decided to take up residence there, I stand very little chance of catching the infestation early. I've added some pre-emptive imidacloprid to the soil, as well as to the soil of some of its neighbors, but if you look closely at the photo, you may be able to make out a faint aura of doom around the plant.


Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Pretty picture: Paphiopedilum Lady Isabel

Am I getting used to my LCD monitor, or is this two not-bad pictures in a row?

A good background really does make a huge difference.


Paphiopedilum Lady Isabel = Paphiopedilum rothschildianum x Paphiopedilum stonei


Tuesday, September 24, 2013

Pretty picture: Aphelandra squarrosa

I hear they're not particularly satisfying houseplants, in the long-term, but I do sometimes feel mildly bad about never having tried an Aphelandra squarrosa. This one was at the ex-job, quite a while ago.


I'm not sure exactly why I feel like I should have attempted it -- it's not as though there's a list of Houseplants You Must Try If You're Going To Be Into Houseplants. (And if there were such a list, Aphelandra probably wouldn't be on it.1) But that's sort of what it feels like.


So what about it, readers? Have I been missing out on something awesome? Or is A. squarrosa as disappointing as I've heard?

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1 What would be on that list? Well, pothos, obviously. Codiaeum. Sansevieria trifasciata. Dracaena fragrans and D. marginata. Schlumbergera? African violets? Peperomia obtusifolia. Araucaria heterophylla / A. columnaris. Dieffenbachia. Phalaenopsis. Crassula ovata. Spathiphyllum. At this point I suppose I'm just listing plants I see for sale a lot. And some of those wouldn't actually be fair to inflict on someone who was new to houseplants. (Codiaeum wouldn't be fair to inflict on someone experienced, as far as that goes.)


Sunday, September 22, 2013

Random plant event: Eucodonia NOID

I got this plant from a reader (who can choose to reveal him/rself in the comments if s/he wants to), in the form of tubers that were just beginning to break dormancy, and it's been a very up-and-down kind of emotional experience thus far.

It grew fine throughout the early summer, and produced its first bloom in mid-August.

(17 August.)

Which was nice. And even the buds are kind of attractive. Or at least I think so.


I tried to get a decent picture of the whole plant, but the lighting wasn't great, so it didn't completely work.


A few days after that, I had the photo-taking area set up, and tried to get a better picture of the whole plant, with partial success. Though the color was still not quite as accurate as it could have been:


The close-up pictures were way better, though.



Then as I was bringing the plant back inside, I dropped the whole box of plants I was carrying (described here), and the Eucodonia got knocked out of its pot. I scooped everything back up as well as I could, but it seemed like it never fully recovered from being dropped. The problem is that for all I know, it might have peaked in late August anyway -- most of what I've read about Eucodonia on-line suggests that they do start to go dormant pretty immediately after blooming. So I don't know if it's just doing what it's supposed to do, or if I actually hurt it somehow. We'll have to wait until next year, to see what happens when it doesn't get dropped. (Assuming that I can refrain from dropping it.)

I don't have a picture, but the Amorphophallus konjac leaf has yellowed, and has almost fallen off, as of the last five days or so. I don't know if this is when that's supposed to happen or not, since I apparently didn't bother to record the event last year. I'm worrying less about the Amorphophallus these days, and the Clivias almost not at all, so apparently I can learn to be less anxious about plants that have winter dormancies, given a few years of things working the way they're supposed to. May the Eucodonia live so long.


Friday, September 20, 2013

Weirdo Loner-Type (Leuchtenbergia principis)

Leuchtenbergia principis is a lonely guy. For one thing, it's the only species in the genus Leuchtenbergia, what botanists call a monotypic species.1 For another, in its native habitat (pretty much everything in the northern half of Mexico, except the coasts), it's typically found as single individuals, often growing next to a clump of Agaves and tall grass. (I guess they're not comfortable in crowds?)


Leuchtenbergia doesn't look the way you'd expect a cactus to look, which is a lot of the charm. The body of the plant bears multiple green or blue projections (called tubercles) which are triangular in cross-section, and stick out about 4-5 inches / 10-13 cm from the center. In strong light, the tubercles can even develop red or purple edges, which echo the differently-colored margins on a lot of Agave leaves. The shape of the tubercles and overall Agave-like appearance lead to the common names: agave cactus, prism cactus,2 and (more inexplicably) cob cactus. The tubercles end with several long, soft, papery spines of varying thickness and length, which point in all directions. The overall impression, then, is of an Agave with a bunch of dead grass caught in its leaves.3 Which is just the thing you'd want to look like, if you were trying to hide next to a small clump of Agaves and dead grass.

Though that may be giving the plant too much credit. Given that they're often found as single individuals, near Agaves, I suppose there might be an element of peer pressure involved in them looking the way they do. Or maybe bullying. (Agaves can be terrible bullies, as you know if you've ever had to work with a lot of them.)


The IUCN4 lists Leuchtenbergia principis as a "least concern" species, on account of its wide range and large number of wild individuals (estimated at about 500,000). Regardless of what the IUCN says about it, Mexico is free to protect whatever species they want, and has placed L. principis on its national list of protected species.5 The main risks are from illegal collectors and livestock grazing.

The root is thick and long, to about 8 inches long and 3 inches in diameter. (Metric equivalents: 20 cm and 8 cm.) Absolutely everyone describes it as "parsnip-like," so I will too, even though I'm not all that familiar with parsnips. As plants age, they'll shed tubercles (usually when dry and/or during the winter) and grow a trunk, though that's a slow process: neither of my plants have, as far as I can recall, ever dropped a tubercle spontaneously. The white or tan wooly hairs around the base of the tubercles drop with age as well: the trunks are naturally bare and corky-looking. Even plants that have been pampered and coddled for their entire existence still end up looking like they've had this terrible, brutal life,6 though they do generally look better than the ones that actually have lived in the wild.

Mine, unfortunately, aren't old enough to have much of a trunk yet: this is about as good as the pictures get.

It's hard to come by any exact measurements for the maximum height of a Leuchtenbergia -- 24 inches (61 cm) is popular, and one source said 30 inches (77 cm). They grow so slowly that I doubt it matters much to anybody growing one as a houseplant: it's not one of those plants that's constantly going to be outgrowing its location.

Mature specimens may also develop branches, though they have to be pretty old first, and even when old, this doesn't seem to happen very often.

As a houseplant, Leuchtenbergia principis is very easygoing, with only a few non-negotiable aspects of care.

LIGHT: Because they're adapted to grow in the shade of other plants, Leuchtenbergia is perfectly able to survive without a lot of direct sun. The tubercles can move around a bit, depending on the light and humidity: they'll lie flat if there's too little light, and pull closer together and more upright if the air is exceptionally dry. So if you notice that your plant's lying flatter than it was when you bought it, well, that's one possible reason why.


Both my specimens lived inside year-round for their first three or four years, and although they didn't grow much, and the tubercles did splay quite a bit, they survived. It's better, though, if you can provide a lot of direct sun: they'll grow faster, the color will be better, and you stand a better chance of getting them to bloom. The best solution for people who live in an area with cold winters (like me) is to let the plants spend summers outdoors and winters in a bright spot inside.7

If you do let your plants summer outside, remember to start them off in a shady, protected location and gradually move them into a brighter spot: they can sunburn if you try to take it too quickly. There's a popular opinion that the plant actually looks better if grown in bright shade or part sun, as opposed to full sun; I don't have enough experience growing Leuchtenbergia outdoors to have an opinion on that yet.


WATER: Lots of conflicting information on this one. Until this summer, I watered my two Leuchtenbergias every two weeks unless the soil still felt moist (which happens occasionally in the winter), winter spring summer fall. This won't work for everybody, and temperature is a factor there, but I've never had a tubercle drop spontaneously,8 so I think I must be doing something right.

The long root will require a deeper pot. Clay is preferable to plastic, both because it will dry out faster (less chance of rot) and because it'll keep the center of gravity a little lower than plastic, so the plant won't tip over as easily. I'm ignoring both of those suggestions with one of my plants, though: it's in a plastic azalea pot.9 The most likely reason for this is that I probably didn't have any appropriately-sized clay pots around the last time I thought about repotting it.

Soil should be fast-draining, with a lot of coarse sand, gravel, or similar material. Avoid potting soils that retain a lot of water (peat moss is not your friend). Some people add eggshells, limestone, or other sources of calcium to the soil when they pot plants up: as best as I can tell, this is more natural, but doesn't affect the health of the plant much. What matters is that the potting mix dries out quickly. The root should not be above the soil line after you repot, and you shouldn't have to repot very often in the first place.


Some of my sources say that the tubercles will turn yellow if the plant is too dry; I don't know if this is true. The first sign of too much water is rotting and death, so if you're not sure whether to water, don't.

TEMPERATURE: Leuchtenbergias, if kept dry, can supposedly tolerate freezes with no problem, and can even go down to 15F / -9C for short periods. I have no intention of ever verifying any of that, and I don't recommend that you test this either, but it's nice to know that the possibility theoretically exists.

One caution about cold: some people overwinter their plants in very cold rooms (or garages, or what have you). If you do this, keep in mind that the colder the temperature, the more likely you are to kill the plant by watering it. Either go cold and dry, or warm and not-very-wet, during the winter. Most sources recommend a temperature between 40 and 60F (9 to 16C) during the winter, with no water at all. (In nature, they get moderate rainfall in the summer and virtually none in winter, which is presumably where this idea comes from.) Other people water just enough to keep the tubercles from dropping, but I don't know how they know when that is.

Being from the hot Mexican desert, L. principis obviously doesn't have much in the way of a maximum temperature, at least not one that you're likely to reach in cultivation.

My personal plants stayed at about 65-75F / 18-24C year-round, for the first few years I had them. Since they've been out for the summer, I think they've had a night or two in the upper 40s F (about 9C), but I'm probably going to bring them in for good once we start seeing low 40s (about 5C).


HUMIDITY: Pretty much irrelevant, though very high humidity might encourage rot, especially if the soil is cold and wet. The plant is naturally adapted to dry air.

PESTS: Leuchtenbergias are primarily affected by scale and mealybugs. Both scale and mealybugs can be hard to see: scale looks like scarring or part of the woody trunk, and mealybugs could blend in with the wool around the base of the tubercles. Watch for shiny, sticky spots on the leaves: I've found that I usually see the drops of honeydew before I spot any insects. When I've seen honeydew and ignored it, I almost always regret it later, even if I couldn't actually find any insects.

Fungal and bacterial infections are also possible, especially if the plant is poked with something sharp or damaged during transplanting or something like that, but I didn't get the impression that it's a common problem, and I've never encountered it personally.

PROPAGATION: If you want a bunch of small Leuchtenbergias, the way to go is to get seeds. They're easy enough to find on-line.

Seedling at about 3 1/2 months old. It'd been indoors under artificial lights for all that time, so it's maybe a little stunted and/or etiolated, compared to a natural seedling.

When I started about 60 seeds at once, in May, I got about 60-65 percent germination; I would probably have done better if I'd tried to start them outdoors, but I'm not very well set-up for starting seeds outside.10 Of the 38 or so that germinated, about 30 were still alive and healthy three months later. I transplanted a batch of 15 on 25 August, of which 12 out of 15 were still alive as of 19 September.

Photo from 27 August.

Other propagation methods are rumored to exist, but I can't vouch for them.

  • One can supposedly take cuttings of plants that have branched: I'd assume that one should let the cut piece dry and callus over before planting it, as for other desert cacti.
  • I also hear that it's possible to take cuttings of individual tubercles and root them, but I was unable to find anybody on-line who claimed that they had actually done this successfully. (If you have, let me know.)
  • One variety of L. principis essentially grows plantlets at the end of each tubercle, which could be rooted and grown if they were normal plantlets. But they're not. More on this later.
  • There are also claims out there that normal plants will, rarely, produce offsets at their base, which could be separated and potted up on their own. There's also a variety which offsets really heavily. Later on that one too.
  • People also sometimes start seedlings and then graft them to other cacti, which allegedly gets them to grow bigger faster. This may be true, but I'll never try it myself, because it looks wicked stupid to me.11

GROOMING: There's no grooming in the usual sense -- they don't need to be pruned or dug up or anything -- so I'll talk about flowering instead.

The flowers are yellow, and about 3-4 inches (8-10 cm) across. Very occasionally, one will find an individual that blooms yellow with pink edges, or pink, but those plants are rare. The flowers allegedly have a scent, but nobody describes it and I couldn't smell it on my own plants, so it must be pretty faint or nondescript.

My own plants bloomed simultaneously once this summer, and I got a not-great picture to compare the color:


The smaller plant, in the clay pot, consistently produced very vividly yellow flowers that got slightly lighter over time; the larger plant in plastic made pinkish buds that opened to pale yellow flowers, which stayed pale yellow.


The stamen colors were also different: the small plant's stamens were the same yellow as the petals, while the large plant's were sort of pink-orange. Which was sort of cool, I guess.


The weird part is that I'd seen the smaller plant bloom before, when I first saw it for sale, and it was producing pale yellow flowers then, so apparently the flower color is at least partly determined by growing conditions. I'm not sure which conditions are the important ones, since for all intents and purposes these two plants got the same treatment -- watered and fertilized at the same times, same light, temperature, and humidity.

The 2009 bloom. Granted, the color's off, but you can at least tell that it's not the intense Crayola-type yellow of the 2013 bloom.

The flower buds appear at the tips of the tubercles, on the current year's growth. I think it would be fair to characterize the speed of development as "excruciatingly slow," though my perceptions are probably not to be trusted. (I got really excited when I first saw the buds on my plants, and then checked them semi-obsessively every time I went outside.)

Just one of the many, many pictures I took this summer of slowly-developing Leuchtenbergia flower buds.

Plants need to be about four or five years old in order to flower,12 and can produce two rounds of blooms in a single year if conditions are right, between late spring and early fall.13 Strong light seems to be necessary: it's probably possible for a plant to bloom indoors, but I'd think the conditions would have to be pretty exceptional. Once a plant is old enough to produce flowers, it can bloom every year thereafter.

Supposedly a single heavy drench will spur bud development about three weeks later: I couldn't tell you if that's true or not, since my plants pretty much get heavy drenches every time they're watered. According to one source, plants that are kept indoors for the winter then moved out in the late spring are likely to produce their first buds in June, and then bloom continuously until September. I didn't notice buds on my own plants until 12 July, so that's at least approximately correct. Individual flowers don't last long. My longest-lived flower lasted three days; the shortest for about a day and a half. Buds may drop if a plant is moved while they're developing.

None of my reference sources would say whether the flowers were self-fertile. (Nobody even seemed to feel like it was an interesting question, which was frustrating.) My guess is that they are not, though that's based on the first flowers from the small plant not producing fruit on their own. I didn't think I needed to do anything, since the black bees seemed pretty thrilled with them --

OH HAI IM IN YR LUKTEN- (*hic*) LUKTIN- (*hic*) LUKTENBIRERGERA DRINKN YR NECTAR

-- but the bee's presence didn't lead to self-fertilization, whether it's possible or not, and I didn't attempt to pollinate the flower myself, because I naively trusted the bees to take care of it. (I'll have to try self-pollination when one of the remaining buds opens.) I did take a paintbrush outside when both plants had flowers simultaneously, and that seems to have worked.


The fruits are said to be green or greenish-blue, about 1 inch (3 cm) long and 3/4 inch (2 cm) in diameter. Most of which is right on the money so far. They may or may not turn red when ripe. One of the photos available through Google image search shows a purple fruit, even.14 Each ripe fruit will contain "several hundred" seeds. Seed collection apparently goes better if the fruit is slightly overripe.

Cleaned and dried seeds can be stored. Nobody was specific as to how long, exactly, one can store seeds, but once you have a hundred or so seedlings, are you really going to care that much about how long the remaining seeds will remain viable?

This seedling is roughly a week or two old.

FEEDING: Doesn't appear to be a huge thing. Feed during the growing season with a regular balanced houseplant fertilizer. It's not a particularly needy plant as far as fertilizer goes.

Although Leuchtenbergia is a monotypic genus, it's sufficiently related to Ferocactus and Astrophytum to be able to hybridize with them occasionally. Hybrids with Ferocactus are called Ferobergias, and look more or less like Leuchtenbergia except with smaller tubercles and stiffer spines: the overall color is still green to green-blue, the flowers are still yellow or pink, etc. Oddly, Ferobergias are also often variegated, though the variegation is not necessarily attractive. (To me.)

Leuchtenbergia / Astrophytum hybrids aren't common enough to have an official name; one source suggested Astrobergia, which . . . sure, I guess we'll go with that. They look more or less like Ferobergia (short tubercles, green or green-blue, yellow or pink flowers, etc.), but with the little white dots (trichomes) all over the surface like Astrophytum. They're not unattractive on their own, if you like Astrophytum (for example), but they're also almost always grown as grafts.

Astrophytum appears to be less compatible genetically with Leuchtenbergia; a lot of what I found about them was just people complaining that their attempts to make viable crosses weren't paying off. (The only specific suggestion I saw was that transferring pollen in the early morning might help; I have no idea if it does.)

There are at least two cultivated varieties of Leuchtenbergia principis: L. p. var. trachythele, which has the same overall shape but with rougher, sandpapery skin, and one or two monstrose varieties. Trachythele is either very rare or very unloved; I only found one reference to it, and all the photos that come up in Google either look exactly the same as the species, or dramatically uglier than the species. And it's not like it's the world's most gorgeous plant in the first place, you know. Plus, when you're trying to make something more appealing to consumers, one's first impulse is usually not "let's give it more of a sandpapery texture!" So if you see a trachythele for sale somewhere, snap it up if you're interested, 'cause you probably won't get many other chances to buy one.

There appears to be more than one monstrose variety, but they're all called the same thing. One of the monstrose ones just offsets a lot, which isn't necessarily unpleasant if you don't mind the regular species. Not sure that should qualify as "monstrose," but whatever.

The other monstrose form is more deserving of the name. It produces scaly buds from the tip of every tubercle, which develop not into flowers but instead into entire new plants, each of which also immediately sets about budding at each tubercle. It's so insistent about doing this that it has to be grafted, I gather -- I don't know if the roots fail to develop properly, if they just can't keep up with the above-surface growth, or what, but they won't survive on their own roots. I'm not a huge fan of monstrose cacti in the first place, and I've already told you how I feel about grafts, so I find this one pretty revolting and would just as soon not think about it anymore if that's okay with you.


Leuchtenbergia principis holds a special place in my heart, and both purchases are sort of pleasant memories for me: the first one I bought was a rare case of non-buyer's remorse. Only one lonesome plant at the ex-job one day when I went in for something. I noticed it, of course, and thought it was interesting, but I didn't necessarily want to buy it or anything. Took some pictures, got home, uploaded the pictures to the computer, looked up the plant on Google, and then realized I NEED THIS PLANT. So I called the ex-job and asked them to hold it for me, then went back and bought it a couple days later. Usually, these things work the other way: I buy on impulse, then look at the pictures and at Google and wish that I hadn't. So that was a nice change of pace.

The second, slightly larger plant I bought just because I couldn't believe it was so cheap. Frontier, in Cedar Rapids, had had this single specimen for a while and nobody wanted to buy, so they'd marked it down to $5. And still nobody had been interested, apparently. I'd had my first specimen for a little over a year at this point, and I was pretty happy with it, but $5 for one this big and this old was such a great deal that I might well have bought it even if it had been a species I hated. Some deals are just too good to pass up.

Plus: the first specimen needed a friend.



References (in something resembling, but not quite, alphabetical order):

Cactiguide.com
Cactus art
Cactus and Succulent Society of America15
The Central Ohio Cactus and Succulent Society (article by Bruce Brethauer)
CoronaCactus Nursery LLC
Dave's Garden (monstrose)
Dave's Garden (species)
Dave's Garden (var. trachythele)
Desert-Tropicals
The Garden Forums16
Gardening With a Not-So-Angry Redhead
GardenWeb forum (1)
GardenWeb forum (2)
IUCN page
Kara Nursery
Lophophora
The Lovely Plants
Plant of the Week
Tucson-Gardener.com
Wikipedia

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Photo credits: all photos are my own.
1 Because most of the fun in being a botanist is having a specialized term for every little thing. Or at least that's how it looks from here.
2 Probably a reference to the shape of the tubercles -- glass prisms are often triangular -- but it might also have something to do with the range of colors the plant is capable of producing, depending on its conditions: green in lower light, blue in higher light, red, red-violet, or violet in very strong light.
3 When I got my first one, I spent a while fighting the impulse to clean it up by trimming the spines down to something more sensible-looking. In the end, my plants kept their natural look, but only because I was too lazy to trim them. If you're wondering, no, it probably wouldn't have hurt the plant if I had trimmed them: as far as I can tell, their only real function is to hide the plant, something which isn't really relevant in cultivation, so if it really bothers you, grab the scissors and go nuts. Though people might, you know, judge you for it.
4 (International Union for Conservation of Nature and Natural Resources)
5 Crazy people are always wandering into Mexico to steal plants. And non-crazy people sometimes steal plants to resell, especially plants like Leuchtenbergia that take a long time to get big. Why sow seeds and wait thirty years for specimen-sized plants when you could just drive to Mexico with a shovel, right? So I think Mexico's doing the right thing here.
6 I also considered "Gangsta Rapper" for the Leuchtenbergia principis "person" because of this -- I don't know if it's still going on, but there was a time when all the rappers seemed to be inventing much rougher childhoods for themselves than they could have had in reality.
7 At least one of my sources, don't remember which, said that Leuchtenbergia would never thrive or look good if it was ever kept indoors at all, and that if you can't give it full outdoor sun all the time, you may as well not even try to grow it.
This is obviously one of those people for whom plants are only worth growing if you can grow them to their full genetic potential, a sentiment I addressed in this post (scroll down until you hit item #4).
People are of course free to set their own standards for what counts as "successful" cultivation of a plant, and there's nothing wrong with the "full genetic potential" standard if that's the sort of thing you're into, but . . . people should be free to set their own standards for what counts as successful cultivation of a plant, and not expected to adopt the standards of someone else. I mean, if you're not entering it in a show or something, the only thing that ought to count is whether or not you're enjoying the process. Don't let other people make you feel bad about enjoying your own hobbies, that you're spending your time and your money on. For fuck's sakes.
8 The one tubercle that's come off either of my plants did so because it was broken off, when the plant got knocked over.
9 Standard pots have the same height and width; azalea pots are 3/4 as tall as they are wide.
10 Watering is the main problem: the sprayer we had with a "mist" setting broke, and anything stronger than mist is likely to knock plants around, bury them under soil, etc. What I did was, I filled a plug tray with soil, wet the soil, put a seed in each cell, and then covered the tray with a plastic dome. This is probably more moist than they would have liked, but I was worried that without the dome, the seedlings would dry out and die before I noticed that they needed water.
11 Though I'm not a fan of grafted cacti (or Euphorbias) in general. If you like that sort of thing, you might think a grafted Leuchtenbergia looks cool. You'd be wrong, but you might think that. (Readers upset by this should read footnote #7 again.)
12 Plants grown indoors are likely to take longer than this. In Arizona, or Southern California, you could maybe go from seed to bloom in four years, but in Iowa, where it has to endure lower light from October to April, I'd expect closer to six or seven.
13 In my particular case, the small plant produced I think five flowers between 21 and 31 August, just boom-boom-boom-boom-boom, and the large one started on the 31st and still has three buds left.
14 (This isn't a case of my sources disagreeing with one another. Leuchtenbergias are apparently just really inconsistent about fruit color. It's weird, since you'd think that any plant that depends on animals to distribute its seeds would want the fruit to be as visible as possible, but maybe the impulse to hide is just that strong.)
15 The CSSA link no longer works for me; I make no promises that it will work for you. I don't think it required registration when I read it previously, but it does now. I would be delighted to register, but the site didn't provide anywhere to do that, the last time I checked.
I'm including it on the list anyway, because 1) some of you might still be able to read it, and 2) it was part of the research I did, and I figure it's better to give credit nobody can verify than it would be to pretend like I didn't read it and have someone come after me for not giving appropriate credit. Though I don't think it contained any unique information anyway, so probably I should have just pretended that I hadn't read it.
16 This one may or may not work either; they seem to have changed the way their URLs are constructed since I visited last. Either that or I bookmarked the wrong thing previously. If all else fails, you can go to their search page and search for "leuchtenbergia attemps" [sic] and that should bring you to the correct conversation. This one is more critical than the CSSA link, because the discussion in question is about creating Ferobergias and Astrobergias, and was the only place I found much of anything about this subject at all.