Learn how to make a didgeridoo, or didjeridu, out of agave in this audio video tutorial. This video will show you how to create your own didgeridoo out of an agave trunk utilizing a complicated procedure that is not suitable for novices.
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Are didgeridoos made from agave?
You can play elegant art. Desert Mountain Didgeridoos are handcrafted, custom-made instruments fashioned from responsibly collected agave stalks in the Sonoran desert.
What plant is used to make didgeridoos?
A didgeridoo was traditionally manufactured from a eucalyptus tree that had been chewed away by termites. The Wooly Butt gum or the Stringy Box gum were the most common eucalyptus trees in the northern area of Australia, where the didgeridoo originated.
What is agave didgeridoo?
Agave Didgeridoos are among the best-sounding light-weight didgeridoos on the market. Agave instruments are much lighter and easier to carry than standard eucalyptus didgeridoos, making them suitable for trekking, playing while moving around, and overall ease of transportation. An agave didgeridoo can be ordered in six different keys: B, C, C#, D, D#, and E. Listen to the distinct noises in each key in the video.
Dimensions (length varies depending on key; lower keys result in longer length.):
What wood is used for didgeridoo?
Hardwoods, particularly the several eucalyptus species that are unique to northern and central Australia, are used to make traditional didgeridoos. The main trunk of the tree is usually picked, but a large branch can also be used. Traditional didgeridoo manufacturers look for hollow live trees in regions where termite activity is evident. Termites attack living eucalyptus trees, destroying only the tree’s dead heartwood, as the living sapwood has a poison that repels termites. To find trees with a suitable hollow, researchers use a variety of techniques, including landscape and termite activity patterns, as well as a type of tap or knock test, in which the tree’s bark is peeled back and a fingernail or the blunt end of a tool, such as an axe, is knocked against the wood to see if the hollow produces the desired resonance. After finding a suitable hollow tree, it is cut down and cleaned, the bark is removed, the ends are trimmed, and the exterior is shaped, resulting in a finished instrument. The mouthpiece end might be rimmed with beeswax.
How do you preserve an agave stem?
You can keep the stem as a remembrance of your favorite plant by transforming it into a nursery. To do so, use a saw to trim the stalk to an acceptable size, then squeeze it between large boulders or other similar elements to keep it vertical. A shielded, semi-shaded place is the ideal choice.
What is the lifespan of an agave plant?
You never know when your heart will grow a big asparagus spear. After resting quietly in your yard for fifteen or twenty years, agave plants decide to do something unexpected. Agave plants are a common sight in Austin, Texas, where they’re positioned in front of your favorite mid-priced Mexican restaurant, stuck in a traffic island between a Bed Bath & Beyond and a Whataburger, and groomed into enormous pineapples in grandmother lawns. I had two of them in my yard and had no idea until one of them poked me in the leg.
The agave, as lovely as it is, has the ability to lull you into a state of apathy. One day, you walk past the agave, which is leaning against your mailbox like a drunk and pointing an asparagus spear the size of a telephone poll at the skies. With this asparagus thing, I’m not implying anything about European colonization of the Americas. It juts out of the heart of a languid agave like an asparagus spear, thick as a tree trunk, that could be served at a farm-to-table restaurant for gods. You say it out loud, “That’s strange.” And the guy in the neighbor’s driveway who lives in a camper van tells you, “Did you know that agaves and asparagus are related?”
The Asparagaceae family contains 200 species of Agave (genus Agave). Mexico, the southwestern United States, and the Caribbean are all home to this species. The most common type of agave is used to make tequila, mezcal, and agave nectar, among other things (a sweetener). The century plant, also known as the maguey agave, is most typically used as a landscape ornament. The leather-like leaves of the agave are distinguished by their spiky prickles. Agaves form a symmetrical rosette, with some remaining tight and spherical and others becoming floppy and awkward. An agave may grow up to 20 feet in circumference, around the size of a bouncy castle, given the correct conditions. Most are pleased to live in pots or to adorn the lawns of their grandmothers. Aside from that, agaves are a jumble of inconsistencies.
Number one: An agave is not a cactus.
Agaves are not cacti they’re a completely different type of plant from a different lineage. They’re sometimes mistaken for cacti because they’re thorny and thrive in the desert. Agaves have plump leaves that thin out and are somewhat spiky, similar to aloe which they are not. Some agave plants yield sap, which can be used to manufacture pulque, a fermented alcoholic beverage that predates tequila by millennia. Mayahuel, the Nahuatl deity of agave, used her 400 breasts to serve pulque. She had a brief relationship with Quetzalcoatl. Mayahuel, on the other hand, was not a cactus.
Number two: Agaves lie about their age.
Despite their reputation as century plants, most agaves only live for 15 to 30 years. At the garden center, opinions differ, but you might be able to extend the life of an agave by trimming its lower leaves and leaving only the leaves near the top, or the center of the rosette. Agaves, when freshly clipped, resemble over-sized store pineapples. It is up to the agave in question to decide whether or not this strategy will succeed. Once an agave has developed flower buds from its agave trunk, it has completed its transformation into a completely new plant, and all you can do now is assist the plant in getting its affairs in order. Whatever you do, you’re dealing with a plant that will outlast a couple of house cats. Take or give.
Number three: Agaves are not asparaguses.
Although the agave is a member of the asparagus family, it is not an asparagus. Agaves near death convert decades’ worth of energy into a massive asparagus death spear the size of a cell phone tower tree. The agave makes its final stand with a tremendous explosion of high-weirdness. The ordinary dinner-table asparagus, like the agave, belongs to the monocots (monocotyledons) plant group. They only have one seed leaf (cotyledon). This is a topic on which many individuals have a lot to say. Dave’s Garden provides my favorite definition:
The first leaf that develops from a seed is known as a cotyledon. Dicots have two, while monocots have only one. It’s a big thing. Some plants only have one leaf at the start of their existence, while others have two. There doesn’t seem to be enough of a difference to justify basing an entire plant classification system on. But, well, we have to start somewhere, right?
Orchids, most species of grass, palms, lilies, and the pineapple are all monocots. Long-distance relationships between Europe, Africa, and Asia are asparagus.
The only time an agave reproduces is just before it dies. Monocarpy is the process of only reproducing once blooming, setting seeds, and dying. An agave reserves all of its energy over the course of its existence, waiting for the appropriate moment to disperse its seeds and reproduce. It hunkers down, storing all of its vitality in its heart, weathering years of drought and periods of torrential rain and when it rains in the desert, it’s as if all of the sky devils decided to empty their above-ground pools at the same time. The agave then produces a gigantic, flowering asparagus spear out of its heart for its own purposes.
The agave holds a pollination sex party when the asparagus tree flowers. Bats, ants, hawkmoths, beetles, and doves that feed on nectar arrive to disperse agave pollen and seeds. The agave’s asparagus spear smashes to the ground when it dies, scattering seed babies to grow more agave plants. Or slam a Subaru Outback into a cul-de-sac in South Austin.
It’s a huge pain to get rid of a dead agave. Agaves feature thick root systems in addition to their thorny leaves. The blue-gray leaves will rot into an awkward mound of white and crumbly plant decomposition if left to rot, as if a swarm of bunniculas had an agave hoedown. Old Doritos bags appear to be attracted to dead agave mounds as well. Look for the discarded remnants in the nearest agave corpse if a teenager can find food in it. There’s a giant dead one wrapped around a cactus that’s about to die that’s also wrapped around a mailbox in my area. This same house is constantly putting out boxes of old karate trophies, as if they’re going to be stolen.
Bats and agaves are said to have co-evolved. Agave nectar is used by long-nosed bats, who are an endangered species. The pollen grains are rolled around by the bats. When they fly away to search more food, they carry additional pollen with them, allowing cross-fertilization to occur. Here’s how Bats Magazine explains it:
Mutualists describe a relationship in which both the plant and the bat gain from it. Scientists believe that this relationship evolved as a result of bats and plants coevolving, and that the dependency is so strong that the plants could not reproduce without the bats, who would starve to death if the plants were not around. This association appears to be quite sensitive to disruption.
Tequila manufacturing is one of these disturbances, as it puts long-nosed bat populations and agaves at jeopardy. Tequila is made from the heart of the agave azul, which must be harvested before it flowers. While the loss of so many century plants in my neighborhood is heartbreaking, it is also lovely since it is preventing a swarm of long-nosed bats from going hungry.
The web of life is twisted and has connections all over the place. According to our current understanding, no other planet has as much life as ours. Sure, there might be phosphorescent fish swimming beneath Europa’s freezing oceans or tardigrade-like organisms clinging to Ceres’ water-vapor eruption. If the agave’s asparagus death spear teaches us anything, it’s that life is fleeting and precious, that all living things have quiet links, and that it’s never too late to be weird.
Can you replant agave without roots?
As frequent readers know, I’m moving this week, and I’ve sworn to take my beloved ‘Whale’s Tongue’ agave (Agave ovatifolia) with me rather than leave it to the whims of fate and a new owner who might not appreciate its spiky qualities.
Agaves are normally unconcerned about being dug up and relocated. The larger the plant, the heavier it is and the more difficult it is to move. There’s a potential that the move will cause the plant to bloom as a result of the stress. This doesn’t happen very often, and when it does, it’s usually with older plants. Because Agave ovatifolia was first formally identified as a species in 2002 and commercially available only a few years later, I’m going to guess you don’t have a fully mature plant, despite its size.
The simplest solution is to dig it up and replant it in its new spot straight away, but that is probably not an option for you. You can wrap burlap around it like a tree if you can dig around it and get it out of the ground with the roots remaining in a ball of dirt. Because agaves’ roots are usually very long and not particularly dense, the dirt will most likely slip off, leaving you with a mostly bare root plant. That’s fine; agaves aren’t fussy about being bare-rooted. Trim the roots down to roughly a foot from the plant’s base and remove any dead leaves if this happens. Agaves are usually fairly easy to re-root. All you have to do now is pot it until you’re ready to relocate it and replant it which is probably easier said than done. I’d try to fit it into a 24-inch shallow (18-inch-deep) pot. You can safely remove a couple of the plant’s healthy lower leaves to get soil into the pot. Keep in mind that I’ll be impressed if you can achieve all of this without letting the plant take any of your blood.
I got a shallow, plastic tub supposed to be used as a pond liner for $12 at Lowe’s. It appeared to be an appropriate temporary containment for the large, blue whale, with a dozen holes made in the bottom. When I placed it next to the agave, though, it shriveled dramatically. Is there any way it could fit in there? But, oh well. Keep going!
To get a shovel beneath the plant, start by trimming off the lower leaves. Without having to come too near, my long-handled pruners performed a wonderful job of slicing through the luscious, fibrous leaves.
Some of the leaf fibers, however, were uncuttable and required cutting with a handsaw while leaning very close. I moved slowly and deliberately, trying to keep track of all the spines in the area around my face and neck.
I didn’t take a photograph of the next level since I was physically unable to do so. I dug all around the plant’s base, hoping to find a good-sized root ball. I tried levering the plant up with the shovel once I’d dug deep enough to get under and cut the main roots. There’s no way. The agave appeared to be as heavy as a whale and refused to budge.
Sweat was dripping down the inside of my goggles, I was cleaning my sweaty face with gloves soaked with agave juice from chopped leaves, and my face was immediately stinging and itching like crazy. As I hurried inside to obtain a damp towel and wipe my face with soap and water, a few choice remarks escaped my lips. Okay, there’s no harm done. Take a clean towel outside to mop up the puddle I’m about to become in another 10 minutes.
I excavated a narrower circumference around the agave and attempted to re-lever it. It swayed. I dug some more and levered again, feeling encouraged. It began to raise on one side, then the other. Success! However, how do you take it up and place it in the plastic tub?
The issue about agaves is that they don’t come with handles, which is obviously obvious to everyone else but wasn’t to me. You can’t bend in to lift the root ball without risking a thousand-point death penalty. Because the bottom leaves are coated with thorns, you can’t grab them to pull them, and they’re also quite delicate, snapping like a Saltine cracker if you apply any pressure. Because they’re so dense and heavy, you can’t pick them up with your shovel. I couldn’t simply ignore the mess until my spouse returned home to assist. What if a potential buyer contacted right now to schedule a showing? I sat and pondered the hauling experiences of my fellow garden bloggers, and one in particular came to mind.
I decided that sliding it would be simpler if it was in the tub, so I pushed up with the rope on one side, then the other, wedging the tub more under the agave with each pass. I was poked in the knee a couple times, but no blood was lost!
It’s not over yet! I needed to put the potted agave on a wheeled dolly now. I’ll leave the intricacies of levering, lifting, and avoiding unpleasant spikes in the face to you. I eventually triumphed, and the agave is now happily relaxing in the back yard, waiting for the next big thing. I just hope I got enough of its roots to save it.
Update: If you’re wondering if the agave grew back, the answer is yes. Continue reading to learn about Moby’s later exploits and final natural death and resurrection! (Yes, I’ve given this agave a name and a special place in my heart.)
How long does the agave plant live?
The bloom stem of Agave murpheyi is rising. I took the photo above at a client’s home, and she called the flowering stalk a “asparagus stalk” because that’s how it looks.
Most people associate Agave with the Century Plant (Agave americana), which they believe will bloom once it reaches 100 years old.
This is a fabrication.
Agave americana does not live for very long and flowers significantly sooner than other Agave species.
There are over 250 agave species, and the majority of them flower near the end of their lives before dying.
The lifespan of an agave is, in fact, mostly determined by the species.
Most agave, in my experience in managed settings, live 515 years after being planted from a 5-gallon pot.