Attack of the Pod People
04/13/07 07:37 AM Filed in: Mexico
A few years ago, Jean and I bought our newly-restored colonial home in San Miguel de Allende. Although many Americans transplanted to Mexico like to take on home restoration, we knew that, given our particular personalities, our marriage wouldn't survive a major construction project. So when we found this place, we moved in without hesitation.
We were fortunate in that the buyer of our ranch in Glen Ellen, California, made a good offer on our furniture, so all we moved to Mexico was our books, art, and clothes. But this also meant that we were now owners of a house without a stick of furniture in it.
I wanted to put something of mine in the house to establish some sort of presence, but furniture is not my department. Luckily, the Candelaria Plant Sale was in session, just around the corner in Parqué Juaréz. I decided to buy a plant for our new home.
While wandering among the plant vendors, I fell into the clutches of an evil cactus dealer. He sized me up, computed the probable maximum amount of money in my wallet, and showed me a large pachypodium intended to suck all of that money up.
I was doomed. Here was a specimen plant worthy of my new home. I had to have it, cost be damned. Transaction quickly completed, the cactus man sent three burly men to carry the plant to my house and buck it up the stairs to my patio.
Here, Rose evaluates my newly-arrived pachypodium.
Pachypodiums (pachypodia?) are so named because they have thick stems. Pachy=thick (as in the latin for elephant: pachyderm=thick skin), and podium=foot. Thick foot. They are native to Madagascar. You can buy one this size for somewhere north of $1,000 in Austin. Mine cost a fraction of that, although it was still a lot for a plant. But then, it came with a couple of opportunistic barrel cacti growing in the same pot. What a deal, no?
Mine is a white-flowered Pachypodium lamerii. Here it is, transplanted into a nice pot and blooming for the first time.
The frowsy clump of leaves reminds me of Sideshow Bob, the Simpsons character. It's the reason I bought it.
Over the next couple of years, the plant grew angular branches, losing its cute mop-top look.
Maybe I fed it too much, or overwatered it. Most likely though, the arms are just part of its habit.
On a trip to San Francisco, I visited the recently restored Conservatory of Flowers in Golden Gate Park. I was extremely gratified to see that my specimen was bigger, bushier and had more flowers than theirs.
This year, something ominous has happened.
My pachypodium is producing pods. Look like something out of a horror movie. It's reproducing. What is going to emerge?
This is when the theremin music swells, and the doughty bespectacled scientist, preparing to eradicate the alien menace, says, "There are evil things in the dark places of this world—things better left undisturbed."
We were fortunate in that the buyer of our ranch in Glen Ellen, California, made a good offer on our furniture, so all we moved to Mexico was our books, art, and clothes. But this also meant that we were now owners of a house without a stick of furniture in it.
I wanted to put something of mine in the house to establish some sort of presence, but furniture is not my department. Luckily, the Candelaria Plant Sale was in session, just around the corner in Parqué Juaréz. I decided to buy a plant for our new home.
While wandering among the plant vendors, I fell into the clutches of an evil cactus dealer. He sized me up, computed the probable maximum amount of money in my wallet, and showed me a large pachypodium intended to suck all of that money up.
I was doomed. Here was a specimen plant worthy of my new home. I had to have it, cost be damned. Transaction quickly completed, the cactus man sent three burly men to carry the plant to my house and buck it up the stairs to my patio.
Here, Rose evaluates my newly-arrived pachypodium.
Pachypodiums (pachypodia?) are so named because they have thick stems. Pachy=thick (as in the latin for elephant: pachyderm=thick skin), and podium=foot. Thick foot. They are native to Madagascar. You can buy one this size for somewhere north of $1,000 in Austin. Mine cost a fraction of that, although it was still a lot for a plant. But then, it came with a couple of opportunistic barrel cacti growing in the same pot. What a deal, no?
Mine is a white-flowered Pachypodium lamerii. Here it is, transplanted into a nice pot and blooming for the first time.
The frowsy clump of leaves reminds me of Sideshow Bob, the Simpsons character. It's the reason I bought it.
Over the next couple of years, the plant grew angular branches, losing its cute mop-top look.
Maybe I fed it too much, or overwatered it. Most likely though, the arms are just part of its habit.
On a trip to San Francisco, I visited the recently restored Conservatory of Flowers in Golden Gate Park. I was extremely gratified to see that my specimen was bigger, bushier and had more flowers than theirs.
This year, something ominous has happened.
My pachypodium is producing pods. Look like something out of a horror movie. It's reproducing. What is going to emerge?
This is when the theremin music swells, and the doughty bespectacled scientist, preparing to eradicate the alien menace, says, "There are evil things in the dark places of this world—things better left undisturbed."
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