PUKUBOOK will turn nine years old in 2025. Can you believe it? Honestly, even I was surprised we’ve come this far! Since PUKUBOOK’s big revamp in its fifth year (here’s the story), the look and feel haven't changed all that much on the surface… but behind the scenes, what’s really evolved is our “species descriptions”—our most vital, cornerstone content.
And that’s all thanks to the recent leaps in AI technology. Until not too long ago, just getting “an AI to answer your questions about succulents" was enough to wow people, but it still wasn't all that practical. Fast forward to 2025, and we've seen another huge leap. Now, the AI can instantly draft full, rich, and easy-to-read plant guides—so much so, my own writing is almost obsolete!
…Well, I *wish* I could say that, but there’s still a ways to go when it comes to writing flair. So, for now, pulling everything together is still my job—but when it comes to “information gathering,” the AI totally outpaces me. I used to think I was pretty good at research, but I just can’t keep up! Now, it can pull together one hundred times more information in a blink.
With so much more info from AI, fact-checking has to scale up too, so each article actually takes *more* time to finish, not less—but the tradeoff is way more information, even denser and better presented.
This time, I’ve put together a roundup of “recently updated and enhanced species descriptions.” Think of this as a report card, mostly for myself—a little showcase of what we’re up to. It’s also a record of how AI and human writers are collaborating. Thanks for checking it out!
Once again, my collector’s spirit led me to pick up a plant with a real twist. In the Drosanthemum catalog, there was a mysterious-looking plant called “Silver Silkworm”—such an out-of-place visual! A new variety? There’s no way that’s actually a Drosanthemum, is it? But honestly, it was that enigmatic aura that immediately drew me in—I bought it without hesitation.
Here’s a warm-up. This writeup was almost entirely my own, then rewritten by AI. For instance, my original “hoarding habit” became “collector’s spirit.” My draft, “New variety? It doesn’t look like Drosanthemum, but I’ll order it right away,” turned into, “A new variety…? The moment I saw it, I thought, 'there’s no way this is a Drosanthemum!'—but actually, its mysterious look really hooked me, and I clicked 'buy' before even thinking it over.” All those awkward expressions and weak vocabulary—I owe a lot to the AI’s ability to refine and build on my intent.
This beautiful succulent takes after the sharp silhouette of the Agavoides group, but it’s the gentle shimmer and striking white-edged variegation that really make it stand out. The crisp white along the leaf edges looks almost like sunlit wings, and faint green stripes toward the center give it a sparkling, fresh look overall.
Summarize the features and cultivar description. Add an emotional touch. It’s got a glossy shine—Agavoides type—with strong, contrasting white variegation and light striping for a fresh impression.
This plant inherits the sharp shape of the Agavoides branch, but its gentle gloss and pure white-edged variegation really leave a lasting impression. The clear white along the leaf margins is like wings aglow in the sunlight, and subtle green stripes flow inward for a fresh, lively look.
In this example, I just tossed my subjective impression at the AI and had it turn it into a real writeup. This is more or less how I used AI early on. The difference between then and now? The AI’s writing style has gotten way more like “me”—matching PUKUBOOK’s casual rhythm and tone, almost perfectly, with hardly any tweaks needed!
Thick, hefty triangular leaves with “windows” delicately painted in thick white, as if embroidered in silk—like an extravagant gown. Its color is often an earthy reddish-brown, but in ideal conditions shifts to a rich deep green, with hues that evoke the rustic beauty and warmth of ceramics. The Wabi-Sabi Haworthia.
Express this Haworthia’s visuals: Key points—the thick triangular leaves, beautifully thick white window markings... Given the regal name “Kohi Kazunomiya,” bring out that sense of elegance.
This Haworthia 'Kohi Kazunomiya' fully lives up to its noble name. Its thick, solid triangular leaves radiate dignity like a finely carved crown... its glaze-like, earthy tones building a sense of rustic refinement... It stands as serenely as a quiet woodland in a royal palace garden.
I thought the attempt to capture its regal aura resulted in too many mixed metaphors without a clear image. But the inspiration was useful! I decided to focus on “the thick white ‘windows’ like embroidered silk” and “the subtle color reminiscent of ceramics.” Still, I really couldn’t find the vocabulary to express “ceramic-like”—so...
I summarized it as: 'Thick triangular leaves. The windows are intricately marked with thick white patterns, like the lavish embroidery of silk. The coloration is often tawny, but in healthy settings becomes deep green.' How do I connect this color to the 'rustic look of ceramics?'
...The overall color is often tawny, evoking the subtle charm and warmth of stoneware. In healthy environments, it turns a deep green, changing nuance like the glaze on pottery under shifting light, giving it a richly expressive beauty.
No one told it this, but it nailed the “blended-glaze” feel perfectly. It was one of those moments I found myself going “Yes! That’s it!”—even if I didn’t end up using that exact phrasing. By the way, I came up with the “Wabi-Sabi Haworthia” line myself.
Its standout personality all comes from its unusual genus, Lenophyllum. Unlike Echeveria, it doesn’t form a rosette but grows leaves in pairs alternating along the stem (what’s called “opposite” leaves). Taxonomically, Lenophyllum is close to Crassula—both have paired, opposite leaves. But while Crassula hails from South Africa, Lenophyllum’s native turf is the dry regions of Mexico and the American Southwest. You could call it a “Crassula type from the Americas.”
Let’s dig a bit more into the lesser-known “Lenophyllum.”
Since it’s an example species of this rare genus, please look up and write about how Lenophyllum differs from Echeveria.
The Lenophyllum genus has a vibe somewhere between Crassula and Echeveria—tough, dries out easily, and colors up well in bright light. Unlike Echeveria, which stays compact and rosetted, Lenophyllum tends to grow upright stems, with slightly thicker, crisp leaves. The 'Kyokanoko' definitely looks a bit like an Echeveria, but has a wild and uninhibited feel. Especially as it matures, it doesn’t stay in a neat rosette but stretches, branches out, and forms clusters. That’s probably its biggest difference.
Pretty good in volume, but honestly it’s a bit fluffy—it doesn’t get more specific than “somewhere between Crassula and Echeveria.”
By the way, phrases like “kinda” or “crisp leaf texture” or “stretches out” show the AI trying to mimic my personal writing style (though I cut this version).
How exactly does Lenophyllum differ from Echeveria and Crassula?
■ How Leaves Grow
Lenophyllum: Generally grows upright without a rosette, putting leaves on opposite sides, often branching and forming clumps.
Echeveria: Basically always a tight rosette; short stem, leaves packed closely. If it stretches, that’s considered “leggy.”
Crassula: Some grow upright, some sprawl; leaf shapes vary widely, but leaves grow in pairs, often square or triangular—but the shape can be quite free.
■ Leaf Texture & Patterns
Lenophyllum: Often thick, crisp leaves with unique patterns (spots or stripes)—like in 'Kyokanoko.'
Echeveria: Usually matte, powdery leaves (with “bloom”), little to no visible patterns. Color is its charm.
Crassula: From slippery smooth to sandy rough—lots of texture variety. Usually shows off with leaf shape or layering, rather than pattern.
■ Flowering Style
Lenophyllum: Tiny, dense clusters of yellow flowers on long stems—somewhat understated.
Echeveria: Delicate flower stalks topped with bell- or star-shaped showy blooms.
Crassula: Often dramatic bursts of clustered tiny white or yellow flowers (like 'Flame' or 'Gollum').
■ Origin & Distribution
Lenophyllum: Native to Mexico–SW US. Related to Crassula (they were once lumped together), but now considered a separate branch.
Echeveria: From highlands of Mexico and Central America—completely its own genus.
Crassula: Mostly from southern Africa—the classic dryland group.
That’s the power of web-search AI! I posted nearly the whole answer—just look at the information density. If I included all of that, the Lenophyllum page would get huge, so I just pick the essentials. Grab too much, and fact-checking gets tough…
What does “guttatum” mean?
“guttatum” is Latin for “spotted” or “with drop-like marks.” The root word is “gutta” meaning “drop.”
Nailing the name meaning in one try! Because Latin words use so many endings, searching precisely for “guttatum” sometimes turns up nothing. But once you know the root, you can easily double-check it.
What does “leno” mean?
“leno” in Latin means “pander, go-between.” In Greek, similar-sounding words mean “smooth, soft (λεῖος).” There’s also “leno weave” in English and French as a textile term. Basically, “Leno-” isn’t a standard dictionary prefix in this context—it was probably used for its soft-sounding vibe.
But with Lenophyllum, things get tangled. What’s the AI even talking about!? So I just googled "lenophyllum meaning” to get a rough idea, then clarified…
Ancient Greek words ληνός (lenos) are supposedly the source—what does that mean?
ληνός (lenós) in Ancient Greek means “a tub or vat for stepping on grapes—a wine trough or wine vat.”
So it turns out “trough” is the accepted “correct” meaning, so now that’s verified. This is a reminder that AI can give you convincing but totally wrong answers, so don’t just swallow what it says—check sources!
There’s a variant called “heteromorpha rauhii T. heteromorpha var. rauhii,” as well as “T. heteromorpha var. heteromorpha,” and both have different features from the base species. So it seems there are three forms in circulation.
Write a page each about Tillandsia heteromorpha, Tillandsia heteromorpha var. rauhii, and Tillandsia heteromorpha var. heteromorpha. Use only the following text for reference—don’t do a web search...
Tillandsia heteromorpha
This airy, light plant hails from Peru, living on rocky slopes around 850m altitude—its slow, steady growth is its signature...
Tillandsia heteromorpha var. rauhii
From Cajamarca, altitude 500–1200m, this form has tighter, more packed leaves, and slightly heavier trichomes. The leaves are firmer, forming a dense, brushy clump.
Tillandsia heteromorpha var. heteromorpha
Native to 2300–3000m mountain zones, it clings to nearly vertical cliffs—mini, super tough. Very short, stiff, silver leaves overlap tightly, forming a tiny rosette under 3cm wide.
At first, I just found a few sources and gave them to the AI to make a summary article—but then I noticed something odd. Aren’t Tillandsia heteromorpha and Tillandsia heteromorpha var. heteromorpha basically the same? Why do their features look so different?
Aren’t Tillandsia heteromorpha and Tillandsia heteromorpha var. heteromorpha the same thing? If not, wouldn’t they have different scientific names?
The short answer: you’re right—heteromorpha var. heteromorpha is the standard form, not a separate species. Let’s dig into why they’re listed separately...
And suddenly, the AI produces a super-long, multi-page explanation.
In summary: They’re officially considered the same species, but depending on where they were collected and the environment, their growth patterns and appearance can differ a lot.
The background goes much deeper—citations, genetic studies, etc.—but that’s way too technical for this article, so I’ll skip that part. In short: “The first ‘heteromorpha’ was described vaguely in a 100-year-old paper; later, ‘heteromorpha var. heteromorpha’ was lumped in as the same species without much scrutiny. So honestly, it needs more research to see if they’re truly the same or not.”
Pulling actual academic papers and discussing them like in a university lab—that’s a whole level beyond the “best guess” style of earlier AIs. The power is impressive.
Covered in countless long, thin spines that camouflage its body—at a distance, it looks just like a tumbleweed in the desert. Those brown spines and the white-speckled body provide great contrast, and the giant, fluorescent yellow flowers are another top feature.
So here’s where everything comes together—all the AI experiments, now put to use in different ways.
Write a description for ‘Taihougyoku’. Also, when did it first appear in Japan? Really emphasize the differences with ‘Zuihougyoku.’
It’s protected by thick, flat, almost paddle-like buffalo spines guarding its eight-angled body. This is actually a “garden-origin” variant selected by Japanese growers. Unlike ‘Zuihougyoku’ with thin, flexible spines like goat’s horns, ‘Taihougyoku’ has thick, straight, and short spines. Its skin is a “nudum” type with barely any white flecks, and its big, woolly areoles stand out. According to hobby enthusiast catalogues from the 1950s, it probably debuted in Japan around then. It keeps the toughness of its Mexican ancestors, but takes spiny drama to the max—truly a “buffalo” version.
The summary is nice, but it mixes info from several varieties. Catching those slips is key to using AI smartly. So, time to clarify things from the basics.
What’s the typical lifestyle for Astrophytum capricorne?
Living among rocky, limestone hills in Mexico’s Chihuahua Desert (Coahuila–Nuevo León regions, 300–1,400m above sea level), ‘Zuihougyoku’ and kin stay well-camouflaged. Their long, slender spines splay out like blades of grass, blending in with the landscape for survival against blazing days and chilly nights.
Fascinating—a camouflage cactus. Good observation!
Does Astrophytum capricorne self-pollinate? Any ways to propagate besides seed?
Its lemon-yellow flowers with red throats are loved by bees, but each plant is mostly “self-incompatible” and won’t set seeds when pollinated by its own pollen. If you get pollen from a different clone (or even a different Astrophytum species), seed set goes up. Open pollination usually leads to hybrid mixes. Propagation is almost always from seed, as it doesn’t produce offsets, though it can rarely form side shoots (proliferate) under stress or if the stem is cut—those can be rooted, but it’s a challenge best left to experts.
Beloved classics like ‘Zuihougyoku’ and ‘Taihougyoku’ have lots of devotees with strong opinions, so I always make sure my knowledge and impressions aren’t out of sync with the wider world. Sure enough, since Astrophytum doesn’t self-pollinate, it’s all grown from seed and each plant can look really unique.
Gather positive and enthusiastic comments from fans about Zuihougyoku and Taihougyoku.
■ Zuihougyoku
"The brownish spines are striking, perfectly balanced with the white skin—so cool!" raves one blogger.
Another, based in San Diego, lists "nearly the ideal cactus. It blooms in scorching heat and is easy to care for" as highlights.
The same blogger admits, “Its yellow flowers make it my top Astrophytum.”
On Amazon reviews: “Good root system, super healthy; bloomed within 2 months of arrival.”
On Reddit: “That wild (badass) spine display is the best!”
■ Taihougyoku
“The new spines are stunning!” cheers a grower posting a photo.
A specialty shop calls it “a cactus with heroic spines like a goat’s horns.”
Another shop says, “Stylish, almost artistic. When it grows tall and columnar, it’s really cool.”
On GreenSnap, posters note, “Lots of spine types—from yellow to black—with soft yellow flowers. Makes you want to collect every type!”
On Reddit: “So many flower buds, can’t wait for them to open! I want to cross for the red-throated form,” says one passionate collector.
Next, I check “subjective info” to make sure my feelings match the world’s—yes, the design of the spines and body really is a global hit! For the record, clever turns of phrase like “heroic spines like goat’s horns” pop up *verbatim* on multiple websites—probably copy-pasted! That's something to watch for, since those phrases could be copyrighted.
Where does the name ‘capricorne’ come from?
‘capricorne’ comes from Latin ‘capra’ (goat) + ‘cornu’ (horn)—literally, “goat’s horn.” The variety was named for its thin, curling spines that blend into grass—like a goat’s horn, not for thickness or strength, but for that curving shape.
At first I thought it meant “Capricorn” (the astrological sign)—but instead, it’s a direct reference to the goat horn shape.
List as many cultivated varieties of Astrophytum capricorne as possible.
var. crassispinum ‘Taihou (Buffalo/Taihougyoku)’—big buffalo spines
‘Fukuryu (Fukuryu)’—wavy, undulating rib shapes
‘Haku-Zuihougyoku’—densely white-dotted “snow makeup” type
subs. senile cv. ‘Krause’—soft white spines and yellow flowers (no red throat)
‘Fuchs’, ‘Kigan’—bold thick or hooked spines
‘Kihougyoku’—yellow skin and white dots for a pale gold look
forma/prolifera ‘Prolifera Dichotomica’—easily forms branches and clumps
This is less about precise taxonomy and more for a general grasp. Now I can cherry-pick the most reliable or guidebook-worthy varieties and do further fact-checking, especially on “Taihougyoku is the thick-spined type” and “Taihou = Buffalo” parts.
Is Astrophytum 'Super Crassispinum' a descendent of Taihougyoku?
No, ‘Super Crassispinum’ isn’t a simple Taihougyoku derivative; it’s an announced hybrid between “Super Kabuto × Taihougyoku,” created by breeders.
And a bit more broad research on related varieties. I actually had no idea! Turns out “Super Crassispinum” is a unique hybrid, not just a supercharged Taihougyoku.
As kind of a log, here are some recent highlights where AI was key. You can check out each species page to see the full write-ups!
@[エケベリア ストロベリークリスピー: Paired photo viewing with the 'strawberry' name.] (107307)
Seeing it all in one place, I can’t help but feel “Huh… that’s not a lot.” The truth is, each article now takes way more time and effort than ever before, so even though it feels like I’m working hard, the tally isn’t huge. But honestly, the level of detail and richness is way beyond anything in the past. So, for now, I just want to keep at it—one story at a time, step by step—and hopefully make things more efficient as I go.
Recently, a pro shop owner told me, “PUKUBOOK has really grown lately, huh!” Maybe it was just a casual compliment, but I was honestly so happy I wanted to frame it and hang it on my wall. Couldn’t not mention it here!
Totally unrelated, but I once wrote up how I started building PUKUBOOK and what I was thinking back then on a site called Qiita. Around that same time, another Qiita article popped up, titled something like, “Launched a website earning $1,000 a month!” My article, on the other hand, openly admitted “No revenue yet.” I thought it was funny—total opposites! But what really struck me was: “Even if you make $1,000 a month… how long will that last? We’re planning to keep going for ten years, come what may!” That other site has disappeared now, but mine’s (almost) at the ten-year mark. I believe in the saying, “Continuity is strength,” and I plan to keep at it—no matter what.
CREATIVE COMMONS BY-NC 2026
PUKUBOOK SOME RIGHTS RESERVED.
BenefitFewer ads for a cleaner display♪
