Blue Agave Bloom

A blooming blue agave makes up the logo for Pima County Parks. It's emblematic of the local Sonoran desert. The elegant, architectural shapes of their huge, dried stalks are scattered throughout the hillsides around Tucson. These agaves bloom only once, then they die. Hence their other name, the century plant. We have lots of blue agaves in our yard.

One morning, I looked out my office window and noticed a growth from one of the large agaves. It was the beginning of a flower stalk. That was Tuesday, and judging by the rapid growth over the next few days, it was only a day or two old. By Friday, it was already higher than I could reach. Within three weeks, it was taller than the decades old saguaro cactus next to it. It began branching at the top after about a month, and by six weeks the flower stalks were developed. Buds began to appear everywhere, then after ten weeks, the first blooms.

L to R: Day 1, Day 2, Day 4, Day 6, Day 15, Day 25

Last year's century plant stalk,
leaning over the driveway.
Left: its top section planted.

It's difficult to appreciate the amount of energy and mass that go into this sudden, huge growth. Last year we had another giant stalk that leaned dangerously over the driveway. After it finished blooming and the flowers died, I decided to cut it down before it fell over. That was an education. It must have weighed a couple of hundred pounds. I had leaned an extension ladder against it to try to hold some of the weight. Nothing doing. It came crashing down, smashing a large palo verde branch on its way.

I couldn't lift it, so I cut it in half. Most of the bottom half, about eight feet, serves as stop in the side driveway. What wasn't broken at the top got planted in back, outside and towering over eight-foot high walls. Thing is, after about a year of drying out, you can lift it with two fingers.


Where does all that water come from? Especially this year when it has rained only twice. It can only be that water and energy, stored in the plant, are diverted to the flower stalk leaving once thick leaves thin and shriveled.

We have several old blue agave stalks decorating our backyard. Our most famous stalk was obtained surreptitiously one moonless evening from Finger Rock wash near our house. I had spied it many months earlier, and when my sister Irene visited in April, she helped talk the three of us into the adventure. I parked a discrete distance away and turned off the headlights. Irene wore a flashlight on her forehead and we located the stalk. A few all-too noisy strokes with the handsaw (lights didn't go on at the nearby house) and the dead but still heavy plant was severed. Like primitive hunters carrying a deer on a pole, we marched that stalk to the car and let it rest on the roof. Exhilarated by our bravery and success, we drove home slowly. Next morning the stalk was trimmed and planted in a large Oaxacan pot.

I'd like to leave this year's stalk where it is as long as we can. I have a little solar powered spotlight shining up the stalk, and we sit in front of the house in the warm evenings, looking for bats that feed on the flowers' nectar.