Conophytum—pt. 2, by Fred Dortort I’ll start by continuing last month’s enumeration of some “typical” conophytum mini-spheres. Some of these species have somewhat larger or squatter plants, such as C. wettsteinii, disc-shaped and somewhat flattened with plant bodies over an inch across. It forms odd, almost fake looking clumps on bare rock in full sun, but it’s one of the easier and more reliable species in cultivation. C. minutum, in particular its variety pearsonii, is also a not-so-minute conophytum, that makes tightly packed, geometrical clusters of plants bodies, a sphere formed of spheres. Its variety minutum generally is much smaller, with plant bodies averaging little more than half the size of its cousin. C. gratum, another fairly large-bodied species that eventually becomes quite leggy, also is an easy species to grow—I’ve had one out in the ground for a few years now. The very round-bodied C. calculus, immediately distinguishable by its tough, thick, whitish epidermis, also forms dense, sphere-like clusters, composed of fewer plant bodies than those made by C. minutum var. pearsonii, which shares its northern Namaqualand quartzfield habitat, both species thriving in full sun. Several of these sphere-plants, C. pageae among them, may have their central fissures surrounded by bright red markings (“lipstick conophytums”). Some of these lipstick plants have a somewhat bilobed shape, such as C. tantillum, or forms of C. quaesitum, while other forms of these species may seek out crevices where they grow in partial to quite deep shade. Of course shade in a blazing desert is a relative thing! To name a few others, C. roodiae is a slightly bilobed species that makes its home of the crumbling granite domes southeast of Springbok, where its clumps tend to be very linear, filling straight little crevices in the rock. I’ve also seen it growing in a perfect circle, along the perimeters of a sharp-edged, circular depression that looked almost like a pot-hole of the type taken advantage of by California Indians. Conophytum fulleri is a basically green plant, with a body covered with tiny blister-like depressions. It lives to the east, in Bushmanland, which, theoretically lies in a summer rainfall region. The first one I saw, in late winter (August), growing along the underside of a small quartz boulder, was so shriveled that at first I thought it was an odd lichen, with strangely rounded fruiting bodies. Also an eastern species, but from much farther to the south, C. ficiforme has small plant bodies marked with branching and forking lines. It can make large, many headed colonies on bare rocks, and in such conditions, the plants become completely red, looking like little berries. A few of the green spheres come with either fuzzy (C, ernstii) or distinctly hairy (C. stephanii) surfaces, and then there are a number of very different looking plants that also make up part of the genus. Species such as C. maughanii and its relatives look like spherically organized blobs of translucent jelly, ranging from green to bright red, with a central fissure reduced too nothing more than a smallish dot. These also are quartzfield inhabitants, but several somewhat similar species, including Conophytum pellucidum and C. lithopsoides, with heavily patterned and brightly colored translucent bodies and more-or-less transparent windows on their flat tops, often live at fairly high altitudes, sometimes under almost alpine conditions. I’ve seen some of these in little rocky depressions, half-submerged from recent rains, and with a coating of ice all around them. Farther east, mostly in Bushmanland, in the rain shadow beyond the coastal mountains (more of a fog shadow—there isn’t enough rain really to shut out), even more translucent species have made a home. These used to be considered a separate genus, Ophthalmophyllum, and they generally look like they’re formed from glass, ranging in color from coke-bottle green to brown, to quite reddish. Some of these plants remain solitary, others clump quite readily; some are touchy in cultivation, some grow easily. They all resemble each other and are easy to recognize as a group. They include species such as C. friedrichiae, C. limpidum, the slightly fuzzy C. pubescens, and the clump forming C. praesectum. Although I’m only giving a quick overview of the genus, leaving out far more than I’m including, I should mention a few of the most bizarre species, several of them fairly recently discovered. These are plants that occur over ridiculously small habitats, sometimes not more than an acre or two (out of the entire world), but which may fill these little patches of quartz pebbled earth so densely as to form a solid carpet of flowers at blooming time. The most famous of these (again, a relative term), is Conophytym burgeri. This species, colored bright purple, and covered with permanent layers of silver sheathing made up of old, shriveled plant bodies of former years, looks something like a cocktail onion. It’s widest at its base, and tapers upward (it was compared to Mt. Fujiyama , even named after that mountains until it was determined that it actually was a conophytum), never clumps and grows very slowly. Normally, it receives rain in May and June (equivalent to November and December in the northern hemisphere). When I saw it in habitat several years ago, in late August, it had rained four inches a couple of weekends earlier—this was twice the normal annual rain, but then it hadn’t rained at all for the previous two years. Despite this, the plants had flowered on schedule each of the years, as if somehow, there was no connection at all between them and their environment. C. ratum, growing about twenty miles away, and also confined to a flat patch of quartz pebbles an acre or two in size, is a more normal plant, green, rounded, and similar in size (both are well over an inch in diameter—good sized for a conophytum). Unlike C. burgeri, which pokes its conical head above the ground level, C. ratum is at most flush with the ground, often living in a slight depression of its own making. C. achabense, one of the very strangest, is a tiny plant, solitary, less than a quarter inch across, tapering to a little narrow cylinder on top, and living entirely below the quartz pebble surface of its improbable habitat. It puts out its bright purple, proportionately huge flowers above ground level, and that’s how it was discovered in the late 1980s. Of course, the ground where these bizarre species live is composed of translucent quartz, so, in effect, the plants live in their own natural greenhouses. Although odd, highly specialized succulents such as these rarely are cultivated for their flowers, in addition to their peculiar shapes and habits, conophytums also offer a surprisingly varied bonus at bloom time. Many produce proportionately large flowers, often at least as large as the fused pair of plant bodies from which they emerge, typically colored brightly in yellow or purple, sometimes other colors. Others put out small, pale flowers, which, when night falls, turn out to be highly fragrant with a wide variety of spicy scents, depending on species. The night-scented ones, in particular, flowering from some of the smaller species, can provide an almost startling surprise. Conophytums, although all considered to be “winter” growers, actually display quite a bit of diversity in their cultural needs, with the beginning of growth ranging from June to December. After the new growths have presented themselves to the outside world, the plants should receive regular water, about every two weeks, or even a bit more often. The easier species will benefit from this treatment for the duration of their growth cycle, until their current pair of plant bodies begins to look a bit stretched and old, at which time watering should cease. The touchier plants, such as members of the C. pellucidum group and the ex-ophthalmophyllums, for example, should have their watering cut back, though not eliminated, after the first month or two, as too frequent watering after this will result in plants splitting and bursting. As with most arid-growing succulents, above all, their soil should be very quick-draining. A few of the species, such as C. obcordellum, will benefit from a little organic substance in the soil mix, but many of the more specialized species do best with a mix very low in organic matter. The entirely organic, but non-interacting material known as coir (derived from coconut palms), also has gained quite a following over the last several years as a medium for conophytums and other mesembs. Most conophytums will benefit, under our conditions, from maximum light when they’re growing, but during their dormancy (when some of the plants shrivel almost into nonexistence) many will benefit from a slight degree of shade. Almost all species can handle some frost if they’re protected from excess moisture, and as I mentioned, some of the bilobes, and even a few of the spherical species can survive outdoors in very well drained soil. Although the specific needs of conophytums might make their cultivation seem daunting, in reality many are pretty easy to grow successfully, and their small size makes it possible to have a nice assortment contained on a windowsill. For the indoor grower, many are as easy, or easier than lithops, and there are so many to choose from that a person could have a very varied collection of succulent plants that consisted of nothing but members of this single genus.