Hattie's Cousin Rhip

Day 246: Recently, I featured Hatiora rosea in a post, and discussed the taxonomic shifts the species has undergone. Some authorities refer to it as Rhipsalidopsis or even Schlumbergera. The same debate rages over a similar group of epiphytic cacti. For no scientific reason other than dissimilar foliage to that of Hatiora, I choose to refer to these as Rhipsalidopsis. Sometimes, you just have to put your foot down with those dang taxonomists! This, therefore, is Hattie's cousin Rhip. Rhip is supposed to bloom at Easter, but he's decided to go full bore now instead. Although the species (Rhipsalidopsis gaertneri) comes in a range of warm colours from pink/lavender to peach, rose and white, this flame-red version is my favourite. It can be brought into bloom more easily than Hatiora, even if it doesn't follow the calendar.

Separating Sheep From Goats - Hatiora Vs. Rhipsalidopsis

Day 197: If you'll look back to my post of April 24, you'll find a discussion of "Spring Cactus," aka Rhipsalidopsis/Hatiora gaertneri. In it, I make an entirely unscientific assertion that "Hatiora" is inappropriate for the species based on morphological distinctions between the two; "unscientific" because modern taxonomy reflects DNA, not physical commonalities. Still, I will have to be dragged kicking and screaming into the new terminology in this case because the differences in appearance are radical: my newly-acquired"Rhipsalidopsis" has broad foliage, upright blossoms and pointed, slender petals, quite unlike my "Hatiora" (still known as Hatiora rosea, and shown above) with its narrow segments and pendent flowers with rounded petals. In this instance only, I find myself in agreement with many botanists who are reluctant to accept taxonomic changes (a group which includes my good friend Arnie): if it doesn't look like a duck, walk like a duck or quack like a duck despite the fact that its DNA tells you it's a duck nevertheless, people are going to rebel against calling it a duck.

Hattie In Flower

Day 195: Hatiora rosea is not too often seen in houseplant collections, and it is not the easiest plant to bring into flower. Also known as "Easter Cactus," it blooms once a year. I've had mine for over forty years, and for the first decade, it refused to flower. It was consigned to the purdah of my attic sewing room where it was allowed to go dry for long intervals when I forgot about it, and there it experienced cooler temperatures than it had in a south-facing kitchen window. One day as I was looking for materials for a project, I noticed a solitary, one-inch shell-pink bloom, and therein learned Hattie's secret: a preference for cool nights in winter. I have brought this delicate cactus into flower every year since.

The intensity of color varies depending on sun exposure. The plant again resides in a south window for most of the year, and thus the color of the flower is substantially stronger. Its only admittance to the warmer part of the house is during the blooming period, featured before any guests who may drop by.

Hatiora Rosea

Day 238: I call it my "Swedish Christmas Cactus," and that's about as far from fact as you can get in a name. Hatiora rosea blooms in late spring and while it is technically a cactus, it is also an epiphyte/lithophyte (i.e., it grows on trees or rocks, drawing nutrients from decaying plant material which is washed down to it by rainwater). Why "Swedish?" The slip from which this blooming beauty grew was given to me forty years ago by a Swedish friend.

For years, I struggled to bring it into bloom with never a bud being set, my frustration magnified by the fact that Christine's was covered in flowers every year. I have to admit that at the time, I had no clue as to its growing requirements, but with no reward coming to me for my pains, I finally relegated it to the window of my sewing room where I seldom remembered to water it. That was how I discovered that it liked an abundance of sun and being ignored. When it put up a single bloom, I was thrilled, but I over-reacted and put it back with the more "active" plants. The next year, it gave me nothing. I chalked the previous success up to fortuituous circumstance, and Hatiora was again relegated to sewing-room purdah. However, when it repeated its previous performance the following year, I began making a connection. I left it there and made no alterations to the way I handled the plant, and from that point on, it has bloomed for me unfailingly.

These days, it lives in my craft room, and just a few days ago, I discovered that it had come into lavish flower while I wasn't looking. I've moved it to the living room for now, but when the last of the flowers drops, I'll put it back on the shelf and reinstitute my practice of scientifically ignoring it until next season.