bats for agave

There is a coming out party in my back yard.


Not that type.  The debutante type.


There are two rather benign agave plants against the east wall.  I say benign because they are not the serrated leaf, limb-amputating variety. 


Instead, their leaves are defended only by a venom-charged needle leaf tip.  A tip that can hurt like a wasp sting for the unwary ant hunter.


But that is it.  Otherwise, it is merely a beautiful broad-leafed specimen plant.  Nice, but not showy.


Until this past month.  The homely plant has turned into Cinderella.  Throwing up a flower spike with row after row of gaudy yellow flowers.


But, unlike Cinderella, there is no happily ever after with Prince Charming.  Once the flowers have attracted the necessary number of pollinators and the seeds are set, the spike will wither and the plant will die.


Those flowers are also the basis for a bit of botanist wars.  Scientists seem to be attracted to controversy like night moths to the agave flower.


Even though the leaves look as if the agave could be a cactus, it isn’t.  Agave (like maize, tomatoes, and chilies) are a native of Mexico.  Because of the shape of the flowers, some botanists put it in the lily family. 


That group is now in the minority -- even though I can certainly see how they arrived at their conclusion.  Take a look at the flower buds.  They look like miniature day lilies.

 

If you go on a tequila tour, you will undoubtedly hear the guide tell a tale about the blue agave (the source of tequila) being a lily.  He will then winkingly warn the men not to go home and dig up their wives’ gardens.  (A joke that falls into the category of guides who think they are far more witty than their material.)


In modern classification, it now sits in the same table as asparagus and hyacinths.


How it is classified is not as interesting to me as the activity that takes place around the flowers.  Bees and flies during the day.  A few.


But the activity increases at night.  Two nights ago, while on ant patrol, I used my flashlight to look at the spike.  There were a couple of moths on the flowers.


I then saw a form swoosh through the beam.  A bird?  At this time of night? 


I kept the beam in place, and it returned -- with a companion,  As soon as my eyes adjusted, I identified two bats.  At first, I thought they were after the moths.  But, as I watched, I could see they were feeding on the nectar of the flowers.

Unfortunately, they were far too shy -- and fast -- to put up with any camera action.  So, I did not bother.  After all, they have a job to do – and the agave flowers do not stay around for long.


Before too long, the whole plant will be gone.  Those of us who live in this area can see their sere corpses along the sea cliffs.


But, for as long as it lasts, I am going to take a few moments each evening to watch the bats and the agave waltz through their life cycle.


After all, it is an end that faces us all.