Blooms that bring cheer when we most need it

A few days ago while brushing my teeth I noticed that an otherwise unremarkable-looking potted cactus the size of large grapefruit that had sat on the counter for months, perhaps years, had sprouted a beautiful bright-yellow flower on top. This fellow goes by the name of Bishop’s Cap and has a smooth gray skin and vertical ribs that converge on top, where the flower appears. The flowers open in the morning and fold demurely for the night and the flowering spurt lasts only three weeks a year.

Flowers in succulents are a surprising delight particularly this time of the year, when most of the landscape is a depressing shade of brown, and grass has turned to straw, crunchy underfoot. Most succulents are gruff, spiny and contorted in shape, but out of this unpromising appearance delicate flowers appear to reassure us that rain and greenery will soon return.

That boost has been particularly helpful this year, when San Miguel’s cherished claim to having “the perfect climate,” and yada, yada, and which gave us gloating rights over our friends still in Canada and the U.S., has taken two major, possibly fatal blows.

In January we were in the grip of several weeks of a gray, drizzly and clammy spell, annoyingly reminiscent of the winters we used to bitch about when we lived in the tundra north of the border.

Now we’ve been flogged with several weeks of temperatures in the mid-90s or above and forecasters don’t offer relief any time soon. In fact, recently it has been consistently hotter here than in the traditional broiler locales of Texas and New Mexico, though not quite as insufferable as Arizona.

Extreme weather is felt more strongly here where most housing was built before such novelties as double-glazed windows or central heating and air conditioning systems. When they come, heat or cold waves can be enough to piss off the Good Humor Man, to quote one of my college roommates. We’re buying an air conditioner tomorrow.

But just as we are on the brink of despair, succulents are having a party, a colorful masquerade that covers their usual gray, thorny miens. All you need to do is keep your eyes open as their body language changes from “stay away” to a flirty “come hither and admire me.”

Flowers in succulents (“succulents” is an botanical grouping that includes succulents and cacti), come in infinite shades, though orange and yellows seem to be the most common. Some flowers are complex and exquisite in shape, others tiny and fragile.

The flowers arrive not a second too soon to feed bees, hummingbirds and other critters by now desperate for nourishment, the greening of the landscape still weeks away. The ditty about the April showers that bring May flowers doesn’t work in a semi-desert zone like ours.

The last measurable rainfall was six or seven months ago. There are occasional teaser showers but the raindrops evaporate as soon as they hit the ground. This past weekend I was grilling on the terrace when I felt a cool drizzle on my skin, soon followed by a serious rainfall, amid thunder and lightning. The works. Could this be the official end of the dry season? Nah. It lasted but ten minutes or so.

What awakens the succulents this time of year is not rain but longer, warmer days that trigger the internal cycles of flowering, seeding and ultimately propagation. They rely on the moisture stored inside their leaves and other parts, wisely collected and stored during the rainy season.

All us humans can do is to admire this most timely display put on by succulents, both outside and in pots scattered on terraces and inside—and count the days left before we get the daily, late-afternoon downpours during the rainy season.

Meanwhile, let us pray, be patient and hope climate change doesn’t screw up this most needed cycle.