I showed a photo of this plant when the leaves are fully emerged in the post about Erika’s unusual house plants.
This is what it looks like when the tuber is just beginning to come out of dormancy. At this stage the plant brings to mind a flattened potato crossed with an African violet that has exceptionally soft and velvety leaves.
Here’s a photo of a flower that had just fallen from the larger plant:
If you’d like to learn more, I’ve found this page to be very helpful. It includes photos of other Sinningias in their native habitat in Brazil, which goes a long way to explaining the kind of growing conditions it prefers.
I really like the stem.
My friend Barry is growing these sweet and simple daffodils (Narcissus cantabricus) in his greenhouse and they’re currently in bloom.
I enjoy daffodils in a general way, much like I enjoy most flowers. However, I tend to be underwhelmed by their arrival as they come late when spring has already been around for a spell.
So over it.
It’s typically the early bloomers like snowdrops and crocus that perhaps get more hype from me than they’re worth since they are some of the first flowers to make an appearance. By the end of winter I am so gleefully giddy to see that spot of colour peering out from underneath the melting snow, I could throw myself onto the ground and cry with thankfulness.
We’re going to make it out ALIVE!
That grateful enthusiasm is a bit how I feel about these minute greenhouse daffodils. And they’re cuter than the big fluted type to boot.
You know, I’ve never much cared for caladium. They’ve always been a “whatever” plant in my book, a humdrum bit of foliage most often seen crammed into decorative baskets and seasonal greenhouse exhibits. Who cares? (Perhaps many of you. In which case, I’m a monster and a tasteless fool. Sorry.)
In all honesty, my eyes pretty much just skimmed over them, even during desperate mid-winter greenhouse trips when I was literally scratching at the walls for some greenery. Even then they just barely registered on my visual radar.
I’d sooner cuddle up to a massive pachypodium with deadly spines or grow a circle of impatiens surrounded by ring of decorative plastic edging before I’d go for a caladium.
That’s just how it was for me back then.
But somehow all of that changes when you see one growing up through a lawn in St. Lucia. Suddenly, you find yourself exclaiming out loud, Hey, look at that!
The next thing you know, you see a small caladium with bright, variegated leaves growing between the rows of raised beds on an organic farm and you think to yourself, Gee, that’s kind of interesting. You mention it to other gardeners as if you’re the first person in the world to have discovered that caladiums sort-of, maybe aren’t that bad after all. You even consider for a moment whether it would be possible to smuggle one home in your suitcase, a distinction reserved for only the most exciting plants because face it, you don’t have the guts or wherewithal to pull that off.
And suddenly, without your consent, you don’t even seem to mind the most fakey fake, over-the-top, completely classless varieties with cheesy names like ‘Fantasy’, ‘Miss Muffett’, and ‘White Christmas.’
And you can’t help but wonder, Who have I become?