Yucca plants. Only a mother could love them. Hah?
I once had a month in Mexico. I saw Jacaranda trees for the first time. I saw lustrous plasterwork in the museum attached to the cathedral in Oaxaca, and spent days in the botanical gardens there. In Mexico City I saw Barragán’s house, got a lecture on it in Spanish and understood it (I’d learned enough about him beforehand to expect the Spanish words). And I was lonesome enough for a song called ‘Que lejos estoy’ to register along with the heavenly turquoises of the sea; the vivid darts of fish while snorkeling; the exhilaration of quad-biking along arroyos; the serenity of lush planting in enclosed courtyards; the hand-made, richly fringed, embroidered religious banners for Easter week (that reminded me of the trade union banners I’d seen in England); and the macabre papier maché effigies that were to be found sitting in unexpected corners of shops, or waving from upstairs windows. I was delirious to find shops called ‘joyeria’ – I thought, like, pizzerias sell pizzas right?, so a joyeria sells joy, right? Turns out I was nearly right, it’s jewelry.
I’m only so-so with plants that evolved here. I’m even worse with exotica, so here’s a link to an Irish forum of gardeners who do the needful of sorting people’s specific issues with plants on a weekly basis.