I remember thinking, “Extraordinary, I’d come here just to visit this plant…” and I did. It ended up being the kind of plant that I would unconsciously bee line to on my weekly visits to my local plant conservatory. After swiftly passing by all the orchids I would enter the cactus room and make my way slowly towards this downy treasure. Once there I would meditate on what made the plant so lovely, soft silver hairs covering its entire body even the stems and the two inch tubular flowers the color of lava shimmered in a coat of the silky finery. Robust in all her two and a half foot dimensions I thought I would get to see her change over the coarse of a year. But one day on a visit the plant was missing. What was it called…? I hadn’t written a thing down. Such an exquisite cloud of plant its memory slowly drifted away in the hum drum of the day to day. That is until I decided to volunteer at the Conservatories annual plant sale and I stumbled upon a teeny tiny version nestled amongst succulents! I really did stop in my tracks, inhale, and look around to see if anyone had heard my gasp. Hand on my heart I contemplated how this made me the luckiest person alive at that moment. Apparently I would need to wait years for mine to mature into the giant flowering mound I had first seen but I was not dismayed or deterred. I could hardly contain my excitement. Obviously. There were plenty of other plant passionate people there, but I’m sure that I’m one of the few that is transported into a kind of, well, ecstasy of the mystery… I’d had no idea that it was a perennial in its native habitat and that it bloomed from a huge tuber. I’d had no idea it was from some remote region of Brazil where it grows elusively among the imposing stacks of rust red rock of its native habitat. But I would expect no less. It was, after all, worthy of what I call love at first sight. Happily Sinningia canescens now sits next to my Cephalocerous senilis (old man cactus) that I found the year before at the sale. They are such a cute pair!