An Orchid Story

I have little talent for gardening, nor much desire to change that about myself, especially when the heat index reaches triple digits. In fact, I usually start to fantasize about high-rise condo living in Alaska every year around this time. I do, however, endeavor to keep houseplants alive and have met with limited success (if there is anyone out there who has EVER figured out how to keep a peace lily alive, please share your secret). I have a lot of luck with succulents, but let’s face it, they’re sort of hardy by definition, are they not? One plant I’ve always admired from afar with equal measure of wonder and fear is the orchid. I might never have attempted the care and feeding of such a plant, fearful as I was of its famously delicate nature, but I received one as a gift when my mother passed away. It arrived with a single glorious bloom and I was immediately enamored of it. My husband very nicely reminded me of the many plants which have come and gone over the years, and I have to admit that I too believed it was probably doomed. Ah, but there’s more to my orchid story.

My orchid is sitting exactly where I placed it the day that it arrived. After the initial bloom fell off, the stalk begin to wither and brown. “Well, that’s that”, I thought. Even so, I continued to water it faithfully every Saturday morning without fail. Soon I noticed a shiny new stalk growing right out of the old one. Joy!

And before too long, I had flowers! Bliss!

These flowers were beautiful for weeks. Literally, weeks! I’ve never seen anything thrive so well on benign neglect. But all good things must come to an end, I suppose. The blooms turned brown, and again the stalk began to wither and die. Could this be the end?

Not yet! Found a new little stalk today, just about to pop out (the bright green tip is just peeking out, right under the twist tie)!

My orchid story continues.