Once a year at the end of May in the magical desert, angelic white flowers called night blooming ceriuses open their delicate, skinny petals for a single night only and the aroma wafting through the air is delicious, strong and sweet. The blossoms do not match their home; in fact, they are pretty much the opposite. For all other days and nights of the year, the spindly cactus looks like a drab dead stick, but really, this unlikely host has the patient, determined hope for an annual, beginning-of-summertime gift--the Queen of the Night herself.
Speckled all throughout the land, the queens are nocturnal and open beneath the moon and stars. The plant collects and stores its energy all year long for this one spectacular night.
The queen is a white that is so pure and bright, she practically glows in dark. Between her beckoning fragrance and and this whiteness, shy giant sphinx months are, no doubt, giddy in anticipation of the sweet drink that awaits them. I read that the nectar inside this flower is twice as concentrated as Coca Cola Classic! But the hawk moths won't come out until the equally giddy spectators go home and when the temperature is just right. Then they'll drink the nectar with their long, tongue-like proboscis and the sticky, yellow pollen will coat their entire body.
Tohono Chul Park hosts a bloom night every year where people can come observe these marvels. Click on the link to read more. It says they may have a second bloom night in late June or early July!
Here, at this gem of a park, the cereus cacti are easy to spot since they are surrounded by chicken wire and the pathways are lit by bagged luminarias. Everyone is a photographer trying to capture the event in all its splendor. People crowd around the flowers with umbrellas, flashes and tripods. Being shy myself, I wonder, camera in hand but not shooting, just watching others and listening to docents educate onlookers. I linger and I wait for the pack to clear out. It says on the park's website that they had 1300 visitors on bloom night this year!
As I meander the trail, the air feels like lake water can feel--the odd mix of both warm and cold currents. It's a perfect evening...except for the crowd. I long to be alone with the blossoms and moths, but sharing the event is the price we pay to even get the chance to witness these amazing specimens on their big night. How lucky I'd be to happen to come across a Queen of the Night in the desert at the exact right time without a mob of people. And honestly, if that ever did happen, I'd want to share it anyway. What a contradiction!
My mother-in-law, June, gave us a baby cereus. Right after I put it in my backyard, something ate it! But it has grown back since then and hopefully in the next five years we'll have our own private showing of a night blooming cereus. Maybe I'll even get to see a moth come by for a drink.
Finally, after 11 PM, I have a bit more space and the occasional alone time with the flowers to admire them and click my shutter on a tripod for 15 to 30 second intervals by the kind blue light of my cell phone. I wish I could hide in the trees like the moths and wait for utter privacy. But I do what I can until I'm pressed to leave. It's close to midnight. Something scurries through the shrubs along the trail, crickets chirp, and cicadas buzz.
The time has come for the moths to take over a now empty park and prepare for the flowers to come back again next year. What a glorious purpose. Thanks, moths. Thanks, dear queens of the night.Until next year,
Dawn
Dawn
