In Dying, We are Beautiful

Those that follow my blog know that I love to unearth life lessons from my gardens. Here is my latest observation. I have a few different varieties of agave in my cactus and succulent garden and recently, one took on a drastic change. These plants are special to me, because I collected them from my grandfather’s greenhouses after he passed away. My grandfather was a life-long cultivator and care-taker of hundreds of varieties of cactus, many brought from his collecting expeditions in Mexico, one even named after him. By the time my grandmother sold their home and nurseries, many of the greenhouses and their inhabitants were suffering from neglect, with no one to appreciate and nurture them after his death.

By this time, I lived in Sacramento, hours away from their home. My ex-husband and I drove down for the weekend while I wandered through the greenhouses, deciding what pieces of grandpa to collect and carry on. The collection we took has dwindled some over the years but there are still some left. Like families, dispersing and taking root in new places, these plants have lived through different weather, terrain, and three different homes. An enduring reminder of my original roots.

When I first saw the change in the Agave victoriae-reginae, or royal agave, I was filled with wonder. A sturdy, wing-shaped stalk started to grow, rather quickly, from the center of the white-tipped plant. Before I knew it, the stalk had grown above the fence line and I marveled at how such a small plant could sustain such a determined, strong stalk. And then it started to bloom. Hundreds of bold yellow flowers blooming in concert, creating a symphony of alluring smell and sticky nectar for the birds and bees. The flower-covered stalk lasted for at least a month and I was able to enjoy the rare beauty each time I looked out my kitchen window. I loved the juxtaposition of brilliant beauty sprouting from a prickly, standoffish plant.

Then the blooms faded and fell away, and the stalk began to tilt and show its age. We wrapped a cargo strap around it at one point and secured it to the fence to buy it more time. Then there was no denying it: the stalk was done. It had served its purpose and was honestly, a little hard to look at. So we chopped off the stalk at its base and I continued to care for and water the royal host. Only, the leaves around the base began to wither to brown and then black. This blackness worked its way in until all that was left was a few sickly yellow leaves at the core. Hmmm.

Keep watering it, my husband offered hopefully. Cactus are resilient. I went inside and Googled agave, which is a type of century plant. With sadness, I read, “Century plants begin to die right after they bloom. Plants that exhibit this behavior are referred to as “monocarpic.” The word comes from the English mono, meaning  ‘single’ + Greek karpos ‘fruit’. Once again, knowing too little, too late. This plant produced its magnum opus, then died. Because that’s what it does. Had I known, I would have viewed this beautiful phenomenon with more reverence and appreciation. I thought it was the first of many dazzling displays I would witness from this plant, which, come to think of it, I owned for over 20 years and never saw it bloom. Had I known it was dying, I would have spent more time in its company. Had I been a more savvy cactus owner, I would have known this beautiful offering was goodbye. During my stubborn teenage years, had I known my grandfather would soon be gone, I would have spent more time with him, in his greenhouses, reading Time-Life nature books, listening more, wanting less.

However, throughout their life, century plants produce offshoots known as “pups” that keep growing even after the main plant has died. These pups can be separated and transplanted to start new plants. This I also learned the first time I pulled a tightly packed agave out of its clay pot and found several pups nestled around the circular roots. I do have pups in pots, which I will transplant into my cactus garden, or transport to my next destination, because life goes on. Sometimes we are lucky enough to witness the exquisite beauty that grows from inside another before they are gone. And sometimes, we miss it. But if we look around us, there are pieces that they leave behind to be nurtured and keep us company after they’ve gone.