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| Huntington Botanical Garden |
I have sojourned in the Southern
Hemisphere, at least plant wise, for the past couple of weeks, and today I'll
conclude with the main attraction, a visit to the Huntington Botanical Gardens.
Our intention was to save the best for last, and indeed we did.
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| Huntington House |
Plantsman Hatch and I agreed to
go our separate ways so we could better indulge in our individual pleasures, as
certainly 14,000 different plants, and each other, was far beyond what
our brains could absorb. I beelined to the cactus grounds, remembering it from
fifteen years ago when I was originally overwhelmed. I say "cactus
grounds," but there were also plenty of Aloes, Agaves, Puyas and the like,
with many species new to me. The collection appeared more full than last time,
which isn't always a good thing, but I especially liked Huntington's plantings
in groups, rather than as lonely individuals. Mammillaria compressa, for
example, really did seem compressed, with dozens of them all hunkering close to
the ground, each forming its own colony. This "Pincushion Cactus"
originates from Mexico and is also known as "Mother of Hundreds," due
to its spreading habit and ease of propagation.
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| Mammillaria geminispina |
Close by was another Mammillaria
species, geminispina, with spheres covered in white down. It is adapted for
desert survival, as its large mounds retain moisture beneath the plant, and its
dense white spines reflect the heat (that's what the label said). It too is
from Mexico. The genus name is from the Latin word mammilla, coined by Linnaeus, as all species exhibit
"nipple-like tubercles with dimorphic areoles on the ends."
Mammillaria contains about 200 species, and is one of the largest groups in the
cactus family, Cactaceae.
There is no genus called
"Cactus," and originally it was merely a common name (from Greek kaktos) for a spiny plant whose identity
was not certain. Cacti are native to the Americas, ranging from Patagonia in
the south to western Canada in the north. Huntington did display a number of Notocactus species. The name is derived
from Greek notos, meaning south, and
indeed they were from Brazil. My favorite I suppose was Notocactus magnificus,
and I certainly don't need to explain the species name. The bristly spines
protect the plant from the heat by providing shade, and also from water loss.
Notocactus leninghausii was nicely represented by the cultivar 'Lemon Ball',
while Notocactus claviceps displayed beautiful cream-yellow flowers, and,
the most horrid of any plant's spines. I managed to stab myself as I attempted
to adjust the silver plant label when I was recording the name. A piece stayed
under my skin for the rest of the day, but fortunately I was able to dig it out
later that night back at our hotel.
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| Matucana aurantiaca |
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| Echinopsis ayopayana |
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| Echinopsis mamillosa var. flexilis |
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| Echinocactus grusonii |
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| Echinocactus grusonii |
Matucana aurantiaca is a cactus
species from Peru, while Echinopsis ayopayana comes from Bolivia. The former
was discovered in the 1800's near the town of Matucana and was first described
as an Echinocactus. Echinopsis is
known as the "Hedgehog Cactus" or the "Sea-urchin Cactus,"
as echin comes from the Greek word ekihnos for both, while opsis means "resembling."
Echinopsis mamillosa var. flexilis, from Bolivia, was not in bloom, but its
lime-green body glowed in the landscape. And of course there was a planting of
Echinocactus grusonii, the "Golden Barrel Cactus" of Mexico, which I
saw in previous gardens.
Cleistocactus strausii
Cleistocactus strausii is the
"Woolly Torch," and is native to high elevations in the mountains of
Bolivia, at and above 10,000 feet. The gray columns can reach ten feet in
height, but are only a few inches in diameter. They produce deep red
cylindrical flowers which poke out horizontally, and to my eye the red clutter
was not beautiful because the flowers barely open. The genus prefix cleisto is from Greek kleistos, meaning "closed," as
in the closed nature of the flowers.
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| Aloe fosteri |
While cacti are native to the
Americas, the Aloes are not – they are native to Africa and the Arabian
peninsula. I saw a number of species the previous two days, but Huntington's
collection far exceeded the other gardens. Aloe fosteri was a nice find. It was
not in bloom, but it didn't need to be to impress me. This South African
succulent is known as the "Large Spotted Aloe," and is particularly
attractive for blue-green leaves with cream-white striations and rectangular
spots. It was named to honor the Aloe enthusiast Cyril Foster who collected the
plant. I would describe an "enthusiast" as one who is not a
professional plant hunter or nurseryman, and not a formally educated
botanist either. I personally find these enthusiasts to be the better company
in a garden, whether in theirs or elsewhere, as they often appreciate the
floral world with innocent wonder. And besides, they frequently are the more
intelligent because they approach their subjects out of plant love rather than from career motives, so they don't get
bogged down with an energy-draining outlook.
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| Aloe hendrickxii |
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| Aloe chabaudii |
Aloe hendrickxii was a stately
creature, and how many of you have seen any plant from central Africa's
Democratic Republic of the Congo? Aloe chabaudii was similar, to my limited
knowledge, and it is native to southeastern Africa on rocky slopes and
outcrops. It was also named for another enthusiastic gardener, a Mister John A.
Chabaud of Port Elizabeth, South Africa. The South African botanist, Dr. Selmar
Schonland thought it was first discovered in southern Zimbabwe, and described
it in 1950. The new species was given to Chabaud by a game hunter, and Chabaud
was the first to flower it in cultivation. The common name is "Dwala
Aloe" for its typical habitat, as a "dwala" is a word used to
describe a large unbroken dome of granite in Zimbabwe. I must acknowledge San
Marcos Growers from southern California for much of my Aloe information.
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| Aloe 'Goldilocks' |
A red-leaved Aloe hybrid featured
perhaps the most impressive flower of all, a yellow-orange Kniphofia-like
bloom. 'Goldilocks' was its name, but I could find no further information about
it. But remember: I was far out of my element anyway, where bright April
sunshine, bronzed California girls and electric-colored blossoms were the norm,
and where country-boy Buchholz was the outsider far from home.
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| Aloe labworana |
Aloe berhana
A few other Aloes are worth a
mention. Aloe labworana is from Uganda, and hopefully former dictator Idi Amin
didn't stomp on any in his younger days as it is a rare species. It is appreciated
for its yellow flowers, but none were present on our April visit, and one is
advised to return in mid-fall to see the show. Aloe berhana is from Ethiopia,
and it was vibrantly in bloom, with the flowers a shocking orange-red. The
species name is from Amharic (A
Semitic language spoken in Ethiopia) which means "light" or
"illumination," but I'm not sure if this refers to its flowers, or to
its native locality.
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| Opuntia species? |
Let's get to the Opuntias. It is
a genus in the Cactaceae family,
commonly known as the "Paddle Cactus" or as the "Prickly
Pears." Though they occur in the Americas – from Canada, through the
Caribbean and down into Argentea – the Opuntia name refers to a Greek location,
Locris Opuntia, as the town of Opus is where other spiny plants grew. One
specimen was particularly beautiful in the California light, but I searched in
vain for an identifying label. This has happened many times before with plants,
and the situation leaves me unsatisfied and feeling "short-changed,"
as I've paid full garden admission and expect to have the facts.
Opuntia gosseliniana var. santa-rita
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| Opuntia gosseliniana var. santa-rita |
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| Opuntia gosseliniana var. santa-rita |
I did find the label for Opuntia
gosseliniana, with the varietal label Santa-Rita.
Whether this was an old Huntington designation, or something from modern
botanical classification I'll never know. But anyway, the specimen was
attractive for yellow flowers atop purplish paddles.
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| Crassula 'Crosby's Red' |
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| Crassula capitella 'Campfire' |
A lot of Crassulas caught my
attention on this pleasant April day. Crassula ovata is a well-known
"house plant" from South Africa, commonly known as the "Jade
Plant," and the cultivar 'Crosby's Red' was most impressive with the
leaves back-lit in California's sunshine. Also stunning was Crassula capitella
'Campfire', with leaves ranging from light green to bright red.
Crassula perfoliata var. falcata
Crassula perfoliata var. falcata
is another South African succulent with a slow spreading habit. The fleshy
gray-blue leaves are sickle-shaped and overlap each other, and the common names
of "Propeller Plant" or "Airplane Plant" are due to the
arrangement of the leaves. The Crassula name was offered by Linnaeus, coming
from Latin crassus meaning
"thick," due to the thick leaves of the genus.
Puyas are in the Bromeliaceae family from Chile, and Puya
coerulea var. violacea was in bloom, rising above its silvery foliage. Puyas
are exciting for their deep blue flowers which feature prominent yellow
stamens. Puya venusta was hosting hundreds of bees, but they were so consumed
with their task that they posed no danger. And I think that birds love the
Puyas too, and like pigeons in the park, they get used to all of the garden visitors.
Puya alpestris was home to a bird who watched me closely for ten minutes.
Also in the Bromeliaceae is the
genus Dyckia, and a specimen of
Dyckia 'Carlsbad' crossed with Dyckia platyphylla had striking orange flowers.
Bromelia balansae was the most impressive, though, coming from Argentina,
Brazil and Paraguay, and its common name "Heart of Flame" says it
all. This spiny species closely resembles the pineapple and its orange-colored
fruit makes a delicious drink. Besides that, it is a medicinal plant used in
Brazil as a cough syrup. Bromelia balansae looks an awful lot like Fascicularia
bicolor from Chile, and they're both in the Bromeliad family, but the Bromelia
is considerably less winter hardy.
Agave schidigera, the
"Thread Leaf Agave," was represented by the attractive cultivar
'Durango Delight'. You guessed it: it was grown from seed from Durango, Mexico.
Agave bovicornuta, another Mexican species, is commonly known as the "Cow
Horn Agave." I found the broad, hefty leaves to be very attractive. And,
of course, Huntington had excellent specimens of Agave parryi var. truncata,
which I had previously seen a day or two ago. It's not hard to see why it is
referred to as the "Artichoke Agave." Eventually they will flower as
they send up spikes to over ten feet tall. Orange buds will open to yellow
flowers, usually in the summer, but I have never seen one in bloom.
There were some nice plantings of
daisy-like flowers, and Erepsia heteropetala, from South Africa, had attractive
lavender-colored blossoms. The name erepsia
is derived from the Greek erepso
meaning "I shall hide," which I don't understand at all because the
flowers were quite visible and showy. Lampranthus, or the "Ice
Plant," also from South Africa, was casually planted. I say
"casually" because I could find no species label, and there are many.
'Red Shrift' was apparently a hybrid with intense purple-red flowers, and a
large patch kept the bees busy. Drosanthemum hispidum is in the same Aizoaceae family, but I couldn't
determine how that genus differed from Lampranthus.
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| Erythrina acanthocarpa |
I was getting hot, overwhelmed
and rather dizzy in the bright sunshine, but my retreat was halted by yet
another amazing blossom, on a member of the Pea family, Erythrina acanthocarpa.
The genus name Erythrina is from the Greek word erythros, meaning "red." The species name is derived from
Greek akanthos, meaning
"thorn" and karpos, meaning
"fruit," but while the blossom was quite beautiful, the bush was
hideously ugly. It is known as the "Tambookie Thorn," for it is
native to South Africa's area of Tambukiland. As I walked away, I kept
repeating to myself "Erythrina acanthocarpa, Erythrina acanthocarpa"
– you say it too – "Erythrina acanthocarpa," such a
beautiful-sounding name. I would love to have another daughter and name her
"Erythrina." My dear little "Eri."
Anyway, as I said, I was getting
dizzy, so I made my way to the Huntington Art Museum, and later the famous library.
I've always felt that I've lived a full, wonderful life, but my god: what money
can buy! My tastes in art are different from Huntington's, but I too would cram
my lavish estate with the world's best. Years ago I found it amusing and
amazing that Bill Gates, a Seattle nerd, could outbid the Italian government
for a Leonardo da Vinci drawing, that he had the millions to do so. But,
oh well, I wouldn't trade any of it for my family...except that I would like to
have both.
