I work at this building a lot, where there are enormous pots planted with a central Sticks on Fire surrounded by echeverias.
Lusty, thriving, insanely multiplying echeverias. They look to be Echeveria secunda.
I swear, I get the worst case of itchy fingers when I see these echeverias brimming and spilling over the rim of the pot.
Somebody needs to thin these, and leave the cuttings in a basket at the base of the pot with a sign saying “Take me.”
Because I would be more than happy to help lighten the echeveria load here.
I always check the succulent tables at plant nurseries for something new and/or bizarre, but the offerings have been much the same so far this year. Once the eye has been well-trained on the familiar, whenever something unfamiliar pops up, like this Echeveria ‘Opal Moon’ did a year or so ago, it really stands out in the crowd. This echeveria made great size over the winter, so I slipped it out of its pot and planted it in the garden over the weekend. A pot of Echeveria secunda was thinned to add a few at the base, which gives an idea of scale. ‘Opal Moon’ has some faint breaks and streaking in the overall greyish-pink color of its leaves, a color very similar to that of Graptoveria ‘Fred Ives.’ (I’ve always called this color “puce,” but checking the dictionary I see that I’m mistaken.) I have to admit this greyish-pink color is not my first preference, but I can tolerate it if the succulent is a good one. Is ‘Opal Moon’ a good one? Still not sure. The irregular-shaped, loose rosettes build up higher and higher, and it’s formed about a 3-inch trunk, so it would be of no use tucked into nooks and crannies, making it more a specimen. It lacks the severe geometry of many echeverias, for instance, the E. secunda at its base, but I suppose that extreme fleshiness counts as a feature in its own right. It is an odd one. And wouldn’t you know, the snails never found it in its pot, but were nosing around among its leaves this morning, so this just might be the last photo in its pristine state. The snail hunt kit, a peanut butter jar, was produced and the mollusks were dispatched to the freezer and the Big Sleep.
Echeveria ‘Opal Moon’
By the first week of December, any activity that’s not directly holiday related can seem a bit, well, selfish. But it’s also the time when the bulbs that have been prechilling in a crisper drawer in the fridge since September, which require at least six to eight weeks of this treatment to flower here in zone 10, need potting up. Most of the bulbs were mail-ordered mid-summer for fall delivery, with a few kinds picked up locally. One year for the holidays I gave away vases and jars of forced paperwhites, which imposed a lofty purpose on the winter bulb operations. This year no bulbs were given for gifts. All for me. And that was really what the shelving ruckus was about. I knew there’d be lots more pots on the ground, about eleven more, and room needed to be made. These are by no means all the pots.
Buying potting soil at a local nursery, I just happened to bump into Echeveria imbricata, possibly one of the most dizzyingly geometric of all echeverias. I’ve always wanted to build up a big supply of this echeveria’s offsets to let it spool out into a ground-hugging carpet of those intricate, clockwork rosettes but never seem to run into it for sale. That urn’s been kicking around for years, holding everything from plant labels to tools, and even though it has a proper drainage hole, until today it’s never been planted.
At the opposite end of the urn is another echeveria I picked up the same day, E. secunda, also a hens-and-chicks type, which except for smaller and tighter rosettes seems almost identical to E. imbricata. One of the benefits of going to nurseries a lot is knowing when something out of the ordinary comes your way, like E. secunda. A plant can be common as dirt elsewhere but rarely seen in your own neighborhood. (Plant Purchase Rationalization No. 42.)
Selfishness aside, I think we can still bring this around to the holidays. Imagine a gift of Echeveria imbricata brimming over the undulating rim of the Poppy Pot from Potted’s Campo de Fiori line of mossed terracotta planters. (And in case any of my family is reading this, the Poppy Pot goes at the top of my list too.)
Some years it can be so difficult to transition into the gift-giving season. Thank goodness there’s a few more weeks left to practice.