Son Of Seed Mustache From Space

A long time ago— May, actually — in a galaxy far, far away— just outside of the front door — an alien-looking seed mustache from space appeared on the tip of a desert rose branch. That was the general gist of an earlier post — but after a couple of months, my sci-fi fantasy that is South Florida gardening has become, “Captain, the pod doors have opened.”

To learn more about desert rose seed harvesting, I turned to YouTube and discovered gardeners in India. All recommended for the seedpod to remain on the plant until it turned brown and split open. Some suggested wrapping twine around the pod to prevent seeds from escaping after the split, while others just kept a close eye for any changes to the pod. That’s what I decided to do.

After the original post, I examined the seedpod on a daily basis. The vibrant green color dulled a bit, but there wasn’t a split. All in good time, I kept telling myself — and one morning, there it was. The pod had aged. It had browned. Both handles of the seed mustache had split open.

The YouTubers then recommended that I remove the entire seedpod and place it in a plastic container or a paper bag — and then to keep that in a dry place for a few days. After cutting the pod from the plant, I lowered it into a paper bag, brought it into the house, and waited.

Within a few days, seeds emerged from the pod.

Looking more like a fly-fishing lure, each seed had a hard center with flaxen-colored, silky hairs on the ends to carry it on the wind — and that’s the reason some YouTubers wrap twine around the pod. With the slightest breeze, valuable seeds could sail away.

Following the experts’ advice, I cleaned the seeds by removing the hairy parachutes.

At this point, I treated the seeds as I would any other seed I planted. To begin, I supplemented the medium with more vermiculite to help with drainage. Desert rose is a succulent and too much water can kill a plant. I then covered the seeds with a light layer of soil.

One of the many things I’ve noticed about Florida gardening is that seeds seem to germinate quickly. I think it has to do with 24-hour heat, especially during the summer months. Two days after planting, one seed sprouted and unfurled its cotyledons, its first leaves. In the days that followed, more emerged.

All in all, 12 of the 16 seeds germinated — and I have to admit, I think these seedlings are the cutest seedlings I’ve ever seen. Thick and squat, they remind me of the trees in a “Flintstones” cartoon.

Once each tender plant had a set of true leaves, I used a popsicle stick to ease them from the communal pot.

Holding each plant by its first leaves, I repotted each one into its own home.

Now that my close encounter with the Seed Mustache From Space has come to an end, I’m a bit relieved that it went so well, that it was really just an earthly seedpod and not some alien invader. Otherwise, I could have ended up like the Kevin McCarthy character in the sci-fi classic Invasion of the Body Snatchers:

Instead, I’m thinking of the adventure and wonder that gardening is and the excitement of trying something new and learning along the way. To paraphrase from “Star Trek,” one of my favorite sci-fi series, I can honestly say, “I’ve boldly gardened where I’ve never gone before.”

Living And Working In Eden

For decades, Joe and I — first, as tourists; now, as residents — have looked around South Florida and said, “Florida, my Eden.” We’ve said it as we’ve marveled at the lush tree canopy of botanical gardens, as we’ve gazed at tables of flowers and fields of shrubs and trees in local nurseries, as we’ve walked about and worked in our own garden, and as I took photos for this post.

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Two Guys And A Farm

When Santiago Arroyo (left) met Jason Long (right), it was the start of a bountiful friendship. When the two men worked side-by-side in a Florida-farmer apprenticeship program, they not only cultivated a friendship but they shared a common vision of how farming could change the way people live, eat, and think about food.

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