Cacti
I have found yet another living being that can tolerate my neglect happily. Aren’t cacti fascinating, wise, and proud creatures? Or at least perceived as such by many.
Cacti are the most masculine of all plants created on the third day that sow their seed after their kind. (“Ah, what a stupid thing I did!” — exclaimed the Creator, astonished by what He had created.)
You can love them but you can’t touch them indecently, kiss them, or hold them close to your chest: they can’t allow intimacy and other such frivolities. They are hard like stone, armed to the teeth, and they will never surrender: go on, stranger, or I will shoot! A collection of cacti looks like a camp of warlike elves. Chop off a head or arm from that elf and a new brandishing swords and daggers warrior will grow out of it. Life is war.
But there are mysterious moments when this stubborn warrior lets his guard down, becomes forgiving and starts daydreaming. Then a big flower bursts out of him. Brilliant, shining, sacramental flower blooming in the midst of brandished arms. It is a precious moment, a great favour which not everyone is destined to enjoy. I can assure you that mother’s pride is nothing to the boasting and bragging of a cacti-lover whose cactus has come into flower.
If you like cacti then you probably appreciated this excerpt from a book titled The Gardener’s Year written by a Czech writer, professional botanist, and critic Karel Čapek.
Note that this excerpt is not a direct translation (hence not a quotation). I’ve read English and Russian versions and found them quite dry and boring. This piece is more my personal interpretation, take it as you will.
Now back to my new friend (of Parodia haselbergii), he’s not pleased to meet you. But you can call him Karl:
Rinat U.
Jan 8th 2022
