Greetings, caretaker. I am your Adenium obesum, often called the Desert Rose. My very name speaks of my origin in arid, sun-drenched lands. To help me thrive, you must understand my language—the subtle signals I send through my leaves, stems, and roots. My most common plea concerns water, the element of life that, in the wrong measure, becomes a source of great stress. Here is a detailed guide from my perspective on how to interpret the signs of too much and too little water.
My leaves are my most expressive feature, acting as broad, green canvases that display my internal state with clarity.
When I am overwatered, my roots begin to suffocate in the sodden soil, unable to breathe or function. This distress travels upward. You will see my leaves turning a pale, sickly yellow, often starting with the older, lower leaves. In severe cases, these yellow leaves will become soft, mushy, and may drop off with little provocation. The entire leaf feels waterlogged and lifeless, a direct result of the cells rupturing from excess water.
When I am underwatered, my strategy is one of conservation. To prevent precious water from evaporating, I will sacrifice my foliage. My leaves will begin to wilt, feeling dry and papery to the touch. They lose their turgor and droop pathetically. Following the wilt, they will turn crispy and brown, typically starting at the tips and edges, before eventually falling off. The leaf drop from thirst is a stark contrast to the soggy drop from drowning; these leaves are dry, brittle, and crumble easily.
My most defining feature is my swollen, caudex trunk. This is my water reservoir, and its condition is a direct report on my hydration levels.
Under the stress of overwatering, my caudex and stems tell a tragic story of rot. The firm, robust trunk that you admire will begin to feel soft and squishy. You might notice wrinkles, but they are of a soggy, collapsing nature. Press gently, and it may feel like a rotten piece of fruit. This is a critical emergency, as it indicates that the very core of my being is decaying from the inside out due to fungal or bacterial infections thriving in the wet conditions.
Conversely, when I am underwatered, my caudex communicates a different kind of distress. It begins to shrivel, becoming excessively wrinkled and spongy, but in a dry, deflated way. It loses its plump, firm appearance as I am forced to deplete my internal water reserves to stay alive. My stems may also become thin, weak, and show stunted growth, as all my energy is directed toward survival rather than new development.
The final and most definitive diagnosis lies beneath the soil surface, within my root system.
If you suspect overwatering and gently lift me from my pot, you will find a grim scene. My roots, which should be firm and white or tan, will be dark brown or black, slimy, and emit a foul, rotten odor. They fall apart easily in your hands. This is root rot, and it is the primary killer of plants like me. These roots cannot absorb water or nutrients, creating a cruel irony where I display signs of thirst while standing in water.
In a state of underwatering, my roots tell a simpler, drier tale. They become dry, brittle, and may appear shriveled. They lack moisture but have not undergone decay. They are essentially in a state of hibernation, waiting for the next drink to rehydrate and spring back to life. The soil will be bone-dry and may even have pulled away from the sides of the pot.
