A bud on a potted plant I tend on my small terrace startled me sometime late in October. I was surprised that I saw that bud after long years of trying to grow the variety.
The plant on my terrace, which has three pots grown from leaves cut off from the mother plant, came from a neighbor’s garden. It was lying on the corner untended and was almost dead when I noticed it and replanted it in a pot I placed on my terrace. That was more than three years ago.
I have known for so long that the plant rarely blooms unless one grows it in a more scientific way.
And why did I take interest on this particular plant?
It’s because it brings fresh memories of our dear mother, Martha, who passed away at the age of 92 ten years ago.
Mother was not only a great cook, having won awards in provincial Rural Improvement Club cooking contests.
She also had a green thumb. She planted and grew plenty – from flowering, fruit bearing and vegetables.
Because we lived in a lot that was wide enough to cultivate plants, she developed a vegetable garden planted with tomatoes, eggplants, cabbages, spring onions, mongo, string beans and others which resulted in our being vegetable eaters up to this day.
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Complementing the wide range of fruit trees massively planted before we occupied the lot where we lived for more than 10 years near the Cauayan town market, she grew other fruit-bearing plants.
One of the already-grown plants was a grape vine, which is difficult to grow. She set up a trellis, where the grape plant vines clung to as they grew. She was told by well-meaning friends that it would take a miracle for the grape plant to bear fruits because of the soil and temperature conditions. But she persisted in watering and cultivating it.
At one time, as she was talking to a visiting friend while they were standing under the trellis, she told her in her soft voice how overjoyed she is that the plant was bearing fruits, which blended with the leaves – as they were green fruits.
Unknown to her, I was eavesdropping behind my bedroom window, which was located right next to the trellis. I heard everything they talked about.
Later, when I revealed to her my knowledge of the fruit as pointed to her the bunches overhead, she made me pledge to keep it a secret until the fruits are ripe. Only if I’d be the first to eat the first fruit, I bargained – and I did have my first-ever taste of the grape fruit, which I continue to crave for today, despite my being a diabetic.
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Right next to the grape plant, were dozens of pots of blooming bougainvillea, including not-so-common varieties which made our housefront a symphony of colors, especially during summer.
I was tasked to water these flowering plants late afternoon after school along with two hard-to-grow plants she placed on the upper-level veranda to keep them from extreme heat and wind.
She had a row of both plants in pots.
The two plants were the hydrangea, or the million flower, and the queen of the night.
The million flower is a massive-globed shaped flower whose clusters appear to be made of plenty of tiny blossoms.
I later learned that the queen of the night, is a species of cactus which was originally found in Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, El Salvador and Honduras.
The plant apparently reached Philippine soil through the Manila Galleon which lasted for about two centuries since 1565.
What makes the plant unique is that when it blooms – once a year and only at night – it lasts for only about 20 minutes.
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Early in November, when I sighted its first bud, documented it by taking daily photos because of the plants’ sentimental value.
But on the fifth day, the bud fell to the ground, perhaps due to extreme winds brought by typhoon Dino.
And so, when another bud appeared days later I was extremely surprised but glad and I made sure that it would last till it blooms, so I moved the pot to a less exposed corner of my terrace.
I did the same thing – I took daily photos – from Dec. 11 until its final night, a rare sight – on Dec. 18 – when it opened to a maximum of almost four inches in diameter, emitting a subtle and sweet fragrance into the midnight air.
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On that late evening of the Christmas season, I revisited my days of childhood, with memories as sweet as the flower’s scent amid the melody of my favorite carols.
This week – the memories of the nocturnal flower magically waft once more as we observe on Jan. 19 the 110th birth anniversary of the lady we miss dearly, our Nanay Martz – the forever Queen of our Days and Nights.
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The flowers appear on the earth, the time of singing has come. (Song of Solomon 2:12) | NWI
