Letter of Recommendation: An Ode to the ‘One-Night-Only’ Cereus Bloom

“And so for nights // we waited, hoping to see // the heavy bud // break into flower.” —Robert Hayden, “The Night-Blooming Cereus” 

 The first two times it bloomed I missed it. Twice, I returned home from a weekend away to see the spent blossoms drooping listlessly as if it, too, were sad I missed the show. But third time’s the charm. The following summer I saw my first night-blooming cereus resplendent in full flower. I noticed the fragrance first—a sweet, spicy, and utterly intoxicating scent wafting through the living room. I looked to the windowsill and spied the white petals unfurling into the night.  

The unveiling is a slow affair, beginning just after the sun goes down and finishing its tantalizing blossoming hours later, perfuming the air as it does. Finally, I understood why people celebrate by popping bottles of champagne to welcome its blooms. By morning, the flower had closed up, the fragrance gone—the party was over.    

Night-blooming cereus, also known as queen of the night (Epiphyllum oxypetalum), is an epiphytic, spineless cactus. Native to Mexico and Guatemala, it is pollinated by nocturnal bats and moths and grows quickly and easily, sprawling as it spreads. It grows outdoors in warmer climates, like Los Angeles. But since I live in New York City where temperatures dip below freezing, I have mine in a pot on my windowsill. My plant was a gift from my sister-in-law Nicole, who gave me a cutting from her plant, which was a cutting from her mother’s plant, which came from a cutting of a plant from her mother’s late friend, who used to breed orchids in his basement. Needless to say, it propagates easily.   

My plant receives partial sun, mostly in the morning. I water it sporadically—more frequently in the summer growing season but let it dry out between waterings. It’s not the most beautiful plant when not in bloom. It has a tendency to get leggy (but that could say more about the caregiver’s neglect than the plant’s habit). All that that is forgotten the moment it blooms, as it does now every summer. And for that I’m infinitely grateful. 

See also:

• Letter of Recommendation: Citizen Pruners and Street Tree Stewardship
• Letter of Recommendation: The Garden Pouch I Plan to Use As a Purse