I’ve spent most of my life on the East Coast of the U.S. – in southern New England and the Mid-Atlantic, to be specific – so my default image of “nature” has four distinct seasons and is temperate, humid, forested and pretty biodiverse. Over-development and climate change aside, it’s relatively easy to be a plant where I’m from, so I’m accustomed to plants that are…well, unguarded in how they present themselves to the world.
With all due respect to my environmental comfort zone, it’s invigorating to experience a totally different biome. I was recently lucky enough to visit San Miguel de Allende in Mexico, home of El Charco del Ingenio botanical garden. The garden’s mission is to protect and preserve the region’s biocultural heritage. It sits on a high plateau in the Central Mexican Matorral ecoregion, which is sub-tropical and semi-arid to arid. The vegetation is dry shrubland, with cactuses, agaves and yuccas playing prominent roles.
What I found striking – in comparison with my botanical priors – is the lengths to which plants will go to conserve water, prevent evaporation and defend against predators. You can’t help but feel respect for these evolutionary adaptations. The Central Mexican Matorral is home to some badass flora!
Cacti and other succulents store a lot of water in their fleshy parts, making them attractive to thirsty predators. So instead of leaves they often have sharp spines, which deter all but the most determined foragers. Those needles also provide camouflage, wind protection, shade and water retention in harsh desert environments. Leaves are good at photosynthesizing, but bad at conserving water. They’re in the habit of transpiring, or letting water evaporate through their pores. So if you’re a desert plant that insists on having leaves instead of spines, you’re gonna want to keep that foliage as fine as possible. Smaller leaves = less transpiration.
"Right plant, right place" is a common refrain in sustainable landscaping. It means choosing plants that suit the site, rather than amending conditions to suit a desired plant. As in, don't try to grow prickly pear cactus in the Brandywine Valley of Pennsylvania or swamp azalea in the central highlands of Mexico. Technically these feats may be possible, but they'll require major investments of resources and labor. Further, while those misplaced species may please the human eye, they won't support wildlife the way their native cousins would.
El Charco del Ingenio was, for me, a reminder of the wonder of evolutionary adaptation and the need to respect nature's choices. Those spiny armaments on the cactuses and agaves aren't just attitude; they're survival mechanisms attuned to a very specific environment. With beauty, ingenuity and resolve, those native matorral plants gonna stand their ground.
If you live in the DC vicinity and could use assistance with sustainable landscaping, visit Bees’ Knees Design. I’d be happy to help you.
And wonderful photos!
This article dovetails well with another in the latest Wild Ones Journal; that one covers leaves in colder climates.