Furcraea

The word monocarpic does not immediately conjure up images of extraordinary and exotic flowers. Unlike its grander relatives ‘multi’ and ‘mega’, the prefix of ‘mono…’ seldom promises much in the way of excitement to a gardener. It is associated most commonly, if at all, in the gardens of the British Isles, with the summer annual, referring to a plant’s habit of flowering once and then dying, At the Abbey Gardens, Tresco, however, the word monocarpic elicits hidden passions in the garden team and never more so than this year.

The genus Furcraea is a member of Agavaceae and naturally occurs from Mexico down to Brazil. The furcraea produces a handsome rosette of sword shaped grey/blue leaves up to 4 feet in length, not unlike its relative the yucca. Mature rosettes can be found atop trunk like stems over 16 feet high. In reaching this sort of size, the furcraea clearly is not a traditional summer annual. The most mature examples in the garden are over twenty years old but most will flower after 10-15 years. As a monocarpic plant, the furcraea has one single opportunity at sexual reproduction and it is one that, ultimately, will prove to be fatal. It comes as no surprise that it chooses a form both remarkable and magnificent.

The first intimation that a furcraea may flower comes in the early days of spring. The youngest leaves at the centre of the rosette take on a blanched appearance, tempered by a faint purplish hue. The leaves then reflex and the tip of the flower spike begins to emerge. The girth of this bud will depend on the maturity of the plant in question but a twenty year old specimen may have a circumference of over 30 cm. For the next few months this bud will shoot up like some oversized asparagus, achieving heights of anything from three to eight metres. As the flower spike begins to reach the full extent of its growth, it will produce long, pendulous branches, which are laden with green/cream flowers 5-6 cm across.

A flower spike in full bloom is glorious, resembling a stately fountain frozen into flower, a spell only broken by the movement of a gentle breeze. The majority of these flowers will go on to produce bulbils rather than seed. This progeny is then dropped around the dying parent. Hundreds of bulbils will be produced and the ground around each furcraea takes on the appearance of the aftermath of a horticultural airborne invasion. For months to come the gardeners will be removing many of these unwanted pioneers. The spread and increase of the furcraea, however, is guaranteed.

The furcraea has been in cultivation in the gardens since 1894, so despite the magnificence of its flowering, the event initself is not extraordinary. What is worthy of comment this year is the profusion of flower. Most years the garden will see one, perhaps two, flower. Last week I counted 54 spikes within the garden alone and a total of 127 on Tresco. Every 15-20 years climatic conditions trigger a mass flowering, though no one is absolutely sure as to the exact cause. Evidence seems to point to preceding wet winters, possibly linked to a short cold snap to initiate bud production. Whatever the cause, the effect is to transform the garden. The furcraea is a noble foliage plant, whose large, glaucous rosettes greatly enhance both the exotic feel of the garden and the natural colours and contrasts of surrounding plants. In flower it is unmatched on Tresco, moving from a role as worthy accompanist to that of gifted soloist, if not conductor of the garden’s theme.

The last time such a mass flowering took place was 1985 and it remains a sight unique in Britain. Eighteen years is a long time to wait for an encore. Often, it seems, the anticipation of pleasure is more satisfying and rewarding than its realization: no matter how jaded one’s plant palate may have become, the furcraea in flower is never anything less than a source of wonder.

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