TheBanyanTree: Ugly Orchids

[NancyIee at aol.com]

I have a small collection of orchids hanging in an oak tree or nestled on the 
ground underneath the shading branches. I spray them with warm well water now 
and then, but otherwise, they thrive on neglect.  Should I pamper them, they 
grow wrinkly or yellow, but left alone under the oak's shade, they grow lush 
and large. Hurricanes or drought, it doesn't matter to them. They get their 
nourishment from the very air; the roots serving only as anchors in most 
varieties, except in those types where the roots dangle free. Then, the roots, too, 
gather in moisture and nourishment from the very air.  A very primitive sort of 
plant, probably existing during the time of dinosaurs.

"Rather ugly, aren't they?" asked a friend, viewing my collection.  Well, 
yes, if viewed that way, the plants grow gangly and lopsided. They aren't pruned 
into neat shapes, but left to send off long shoots wherever they are inspired 
to do so, and the ones up in the tree branches have long roots hanging down 
like unkempt hair.

But one day, looking out the window, my friend exclaimed, "Holy cow, would 
you look at that." And, she raced out to see what it was.  Two of the orchids 
were in bloom. The one on the ground sported a dozen huge purple and white 
blooms, the sort worn to the prom. The plant swinging in the tree branches send out 
a spike on which grew a cluster of  deep copper flowers. My friend likened it 
to a very exotic bridal bouquet.

She reached out, but didn't dare to touch the transluscent petals.  I brought 
ther blooming plants into the house, so that we could enjoy the fantastic 
blooms. On a shaded window sill and tabletop, the flowers brightened the entire 
room. The bloom lasts up to three months before they finally fade and grow 
limp. Each time another plant showed a spike of bloom, it was brought into the 
house to brighten a corner. Then, after the color was gone, the plants were put 
back under the oak tree.  My friend no longer makes fun of my 'ugly' orchids.

NancyLee