A Fragrant Surprise

"What is that amazing smell?" I asked John. We were enjoying a pre-supper adult beverage on the porch when a wonderful exotic perfume caught my attention. I looked around but couldn't locate the source.

Then it occurred to me to check the greenhouse. I hadn't been in there is several days and lo and behold, the night-blooming cereus was beginning to open. It blooms only once a year and each bloom lasts only a day so perhaps it's not surprising that I forget that heavenly scent.

I stayed up till 11 pm to get a picture of it at about three-quarters open. Just didn't have it in me to wait for the full show.
                                                              

 

Waiting for the Queen

 

My Night-Blooming Cereus, aka Queen of the Night has been keeping me up for the past several nights. The spectacular blooms open after dark, releasing a heavenly fragrance. And the next morning they are sad, wilted rags.  And the plant blooms just once a year. 

Right now, in the greenhouse one plant is sporting five or six fat blooms--it's like a pregnant woman almost at her due date.

                                       

A few nights ago I got up at 3:30 and schlepped into the greenhouse to make sure I wasn't missing anything. (I wasn't.)

Alas, the greenhouse is a crummy location for trying to get a photo. A hot water tank for background and the only light, a flashlight. But the Queen is sprawling and any attempt to move her would likely result in broken stems.

It's almost nine pm as I write this. I'll give Her Majesty a little longer before I go take a bath and go to bed. 

Meanwhile, HERE is a post from another year with a reasonably successful capture.

  And she's opening --around 9:15. Oh Calloo, Callay!

                            

                                     

Queen(s) of the Night

Yesterday was the day! The two buds on the night-blooming cereus were ready to open and I wanted to capture the once-a-year event.

They don't open till dark--around 8:30 here.

And it's a very gradual process . . . 

Accompanied by a heavenly fragrance to lure pollinators. 

The interior holds a complicated arrangement of pistil and stamens, just waiting for those pollinators --bats and/or moths. (I doubt we have either in the greenhouse where this plant lives.)

I took my last photo at 10:30.

The flowers will continue to open but I needed to choose which pictures to post (I took around eighty) and go to bed. 

I'm happy I didn't miss it. Come daylight, the blooms will be wilted and that's it for another year.

My other cereus bloomed two or three days ago--and I didn't realize it had till I was met by this sad sight the next morning.

 

These flowers are so special to me--I remember back in Florida my grandparents had one growing up a pine tree in their back yard. It reached high, high up and my grandfather kept a close watch on it around this time of year. 

When he knew it would open, he'd alert friends and a magical event would occur as they gathered with flashlights to count the blooms--anywhere from ninety to a hundred.

I had only two--and no viewing party. But it's like my porch garden and that one-foot waterfall--they still give pleasure.

Record of an Obsession

July 26

 August 2

 August 4

August 5

August 6

August 7

August 10

August 11 - 8:44 pm

9:30 pm

9:31 pm

9:38 pm

10:26 pm

10:28

August 12 -- the next morning

The Universe Conspired . . .

I was worried I might miss the opening of the night-blooming cereus  I mentioned yesterday but a well-timed power outage left me with no distractions at all and I was able to focus on this beauty.

It began to open at dusk . . .

John moved it from the green house to the front porch where I could sit in comfort and figure out how best to light it. Below is with the camera flash alone . . .

But then I tried turning off the flash and using a strong, hand-held flash light  . . .

And I like the results much better.

Such a magical bloom . . .

It has a wonderful fragrance too. . .

Moths (its natural pollinators) were beginning to fly around it but I didn't manage to capture any -- I think the flashlight beam confused them.

I sat up with the bloom till about eleven . . . and in the morning, it had wilted.

But then I noticed a tiny bud, no bigger than the tip of my little finger . . . something else to watch!

Queen of the Night

With all the carrying on here at the house, it was lucky that I stepped into the greenhouse yesterday morning and noticed the single swelling bud on the night blooming cereus.

These blooms open at dark and close forever with the coming of dawn. It's a one shot deal and easy to miss -- but as we finished supper, I remembered to take a flashlight and check to see if this was the night.

The intense fragrance greeted me as soon as I opened the door and there she was, in all her glory -- the Queen of the Night.

It was a fitting close to a lovely day -- a delicious lunch in Asheville with members of the extended family -- and a day that saw the coffee maker repaired, the shower drain unclogged, and the oven (we think) in working order once again. All thanks to John.