I’VE LONG been a desert fan and the cacti that come with it. There is something spiritual about a desert. The same can be said about rainforests, the desert’s alter ego.
When I lived in Houston, one of my favorite road trips took me west. You didn’t have to go far before the environment turned dry, and nopal cacti appeared naturally along the highways. In spring they sprouted red flowers.
Mexicans are fond of eating nopal. I don’t share this love. Nopal is too much like okra, turning slimy when cooked.
So I just admire the appearance, and I don’t have to drive west to see nopal. I need only to step into the yard where I have about the tallest nopal I’ve ever seen.
I shot the above photo with a zoom lens. That’s just the noggin of my nopal. It soars 18 feet into the air.
I measured, more or less.
It was just two of those paddles when I planted it at least a decade ago, having no idea what I was getting into.
My second ex-wife is something called a Master Gardener. You get that title from the County Extension Service after taking an amount of training on such things.
While I am the yard chief here at the Hacienda, she was the garden honcho where we lived together in Houston.
I often encouraged her to plant bougainvillea. She never did. Perhaps it was out of pure spite. I hope not. But she did the right thing. I see that now.
Bougainvilleas are beautiful. They also sport thorns that would fill the most vicious rosebush with envy.
Our bougainvillea likely tops out at 20 feet, and even more from left to right. It is held in place by steel chains. The plant never stops growing, both upward and outward.
I water the nopal because I don’t want it to fall down. I never water the bougainvillea because I want it to calm down.
Springtime is just getting started.