The moonflowers (Ipomoea alba) are almost as pleasing as the Plumeria (which is still putting on a show). Not quite, because the plant itself is a bit raggedy; the leaves look like they’ve got a severe case of mosaic virus or some such, and the stem bottoms are bare and not very attractive. But hey, they’re in a small trough and have been somewhat erratically watered, and they’re catching the brunt of the wind. So all in all, I’m pretty pleased.
Why the fuss? I’ve read about moonflowers in all sorts of places, and always found them fascinating. They open around sunset, often very suddenly. If your timing is right, apparently, you can see them unfurl as you watch. They’re pollinated by large moths. And the next morning, they’re over. What’s not to like?
The fact that they need warmth, which I’ve not had before, and which I’ve now got in spades. So I persuaded a visitor to bring me a couple of packs of seed (I didn’t realise then that they seem to be freely available on eBay). They grew like the clappers, quickly scrambling to the top of the trellis, and beyond. But no sign of flowers. I figured maybe they needed shortening days, and just as I was leaving at the end of July I thought there might have been some very baby flower buds in the leaf axils. There were, and two weeks later when I returned dead flowers on the paving and buds ready to open.
Photographing them is hard. They open as the light is fading, at one of the windiest times of day. Flash makes them look hard. But without flash it’s not easy to get a sharp image. I tried holding a flower still with a plamp, but the corolla tube is so delicate that the jaws perforated it. Still, I had to try …
Can I imitate a moth sufficiently well that the flowers will set seeds? Maybe so. I’ve tried three nights in a row, and I’ve a feeling that the limp petals remain longer on a fertilized flower, but I can’t be sure. It would be nice not to have to beg them from friends or seek them out on eBay. Who knows, could be a nice little earner.
I’m looking forward to having a little more leisure the week after next, so that we can sit on the terrace, G&T in hand, home-grown lemon in G&T, and stare at the buds until we force one to expand in front of our eyes.