My Year of Orchids: The orchid is a sculpture

The orchid body is something we pay less attention to than the flower. It’s a loss for us. Of course the flower is a thing of beauty, a monument to the hard work and patience of the gardener. A graceful product of evolution or hybridization. But there is so much fascination in the orchid body.

The orchid is a sculpture in three dimensions of space and also in the dimension of time. It opens, unfolds, extends, twists, and propels itself over time in a process of growth and change. The sculpture in space is not static. Changes occur every day, every hour as the orchid plant body manufactures and refines itself.

The orchid has all the elements of art. Composition, proportion, balance, symmetry or asymmetry or both together in close arrangement on the plant. It has presence and might, even if it is tiny. As the product of evolution the orchid body sculpture is evidence of change and accommodation not just in the immediacy of our observing moment. It is a sculpted presence produced over millions of years.

Imperfections or what look like imperfections are part of the sculpture too. They are produced by the interactions of the orchid body with its environment. Yellowing, spots, rips, changes of coloration. All of these are responses. So also are buds and roots and spikes. As the sculpture forms itself in time and space it adjusts its form in action and reaction to the forces around it. Light, water, nutrition and wind are less sculptors than forces that influence the sculptor. The orchid plant body is the artist and product, a self propelled body in the process of shape-making.

My Year of Orchids: I live in a giant terrarium

I live in a giant terrarium. Moving to Florida was such a great idea. I hate the cold and I crave the warmth. I wanted to garden all year. It had to be the right place though, with space for plants. No gated community, no lawn, no pool please. As it turned out we found it. Much better than expected. We fell into a place with mature native trees and shrubs surrounding the property, a good ten or fifteen feet wide on all sides, and higher than the roof line. So I am kind of plunked into a giant sized terrarium.

The trees surrounded me when I first got here, overgrown and with thick branches on the roof. A crew had to come in for some heavy duty trimming. They were happy that I encouraged them to go farther than trim. Cut! Cut! Cut! I knew everything would grow back whether I wanted it to or not. Also, I had just moved from Cambridge, Massachusetts where bogus tree huggers next door wouldn’t respond to my pleas. Their gigantic rotting pine tree was ready to send itself crashing through our roof at the next nor’easter. Its sap was all over the back of our house and squirrels used it as a launching pad onto our roof where they delightedly dug and delved. Didn’t want any of that here in St. Petersburg. But I did remember to talk to my future neighbor Robert, who turned out to be a wonderful person, that I would be going the cutting. “Full speed ahead!” Was his reply. And a few months later he hired the same excellent crew for his big project.

It took a full day and two crews and two trucks to accomplish what had to be done. I was left with a forest border thinner by a barely perceptible margin. Green things were still thick and rife all around my house! Have I told you about the shoulder length weeds? Drought resistant native plants all of them, luxuriant from the twice-weekly irrigation they got for the two years no one lived here. Thick and loaded with pollinators of every sort and beautiful hunting grounds for the black racer snake who lived on the property.

On the outside corner the native plants were so tall and thick they practically invited passing cars to toss out their garbage. Before I could think about orchids I had to do something about the weeds. And the six hundred pound native cactus (also assiduously watered twice a week) that had draped itself across my front steps. And the dozens of Spanish bayonets that scratch a leg or a wrist or get perilously close to the gardener’s eye.

Days I was slave to this garden. Sweating so much and so hard I didn’t realize I was dehydrated, torn and scraped, aching from the pulling and the clipping and the sawing and dragging tons of plant material into the large black garbage container that the St. Petersburg sanitation crew faithfully emptied every Tuesday and Friday. I really appreciate those guys. Not like Cambridge where you fight for a space for your trash on top of a blackening pile of snow and ice as tall as your car. So my Florida sweat was, I reminded myself, a small price to pay.

The orchids came and were placed in their nooks and crannies, mostly inappropriately as I’ve written before. And it was also the height of summer, mid July, and they needed almost constant misting. The heat and sun were intense just as I’d hoped but there was only so much I could accomplish with the sweat pouring off of me concomitant to the volume of water I was giving the orchids. Later things would cool off. Later I would notice the wonderful spaces, the exposed twigs, the excellent perches that the cutting crew left for my orchids. For now the heat made “noticing” too hard to do.

But the humidity, the frequent storms, the wavering warmth of the morning and the stunning clouds reminded me of a balmy blanket. I struggled to find clothing cool enough to wear. A t-shirt was too much. It was a waterous warm world and I was swimming in it with the growing, breathing garden of orchids. I was in a giant terrarium.

My Year of Orchids: Water balance in epiphytes

It’s pouring rain outside but I’m not worried that my orchids will drown. Nor will any of my other epiphytes- tillandsias, bromeliads, or cacti. You can’t overwater an epiphyte.

Well I should modify that statement. An epiphyte living in the tree canopy in natural conditions can’t be overwatered. Plants in pots are another question. But I’m talking about orchids in a natural or neatly natural state.

Orchids in nature take in the water they need and no more. Water enters mostly through their roots, of which there are several kinds with lots of different roles-anchoring, exploring, etc. Once a root has absorbed its portion of water it stops. It can do no more. Some water is absorbed through the leaves and stem but these amounts are negligible. Mostly the orchid body, including the roots, is built to conserve water. Not to take in or let out too much.

Orchid metabolism is a further and very significant factor in water conservation. Since water vapor is lost through stomata (leaf pores) during photosynthesis the orchid does most of its photosynthetic activity after dark, when the ambient humidity of the air is higher. This way less water is lost from the orchid body. And sugars manufactured during sunlight hours are reconfigured to fuel energy-producing activities.

Orchids aren’t the only plants that do this. But they do live in some of the wettest environments. Which brings us back to the question. If they’re already living in a humid environment why conserve water so carefully? The answer is in their epiphyte lifestyle. Without a soil substrate where they can find water molecules during dry times the orchids are totally at the mercy of their immediate environment. Better to conserve water than to waste it.

If you’ve taken the time to feel your orchid’s leaves you’ll notice that they’re rubbery or leathery or otherwise thick and toughened. Something like a cactus. This kind of succulence is an anatomical feature that conserves water. So orchids are equipped in many ways, anatomically, metabolically, and structurally to conserve water and exert control over their immediate environment.

We still haven’t discussed why you can’t drown an orchid but doesn’t it make sense? If there’s no standing water-just a cascade of rain, and if there’s any kind of breeze, the orchid plant limits its intake and perhaps more important, retains plenty of contact with ambient oxygen. Unlike greenhouse or potted plants that are susceptible to molds and fungi, insect pests, and other pathogens, the outside orchid, which evolved to live in the open, has natural defenses that protect it.

As I continue to work with and observe my orchid garden I feel myself becoming more and more a champion of natural conditions (at least when it’s possible) for growing these fascinating plants.

My Year of Orchids: The dead of (Florida) winter

So for weeks I’ve been struggling with the question: when to let the orchids rest? Even a few days ago a balmy afternoon convinced me to give them some attention. A few I even fertilized. Then yesterday things changed. 

The sky went from thin clouds to leaden. A few peeks of sun and light suddenly felt welcome. The sky thickened. You could see and feel the moisture building. But a damp cold moisture. The polar vortex sank into the Midwest a few days ago. This is the cold air leaking southward all the way to us across the Gulf of Mexico. In response, a mass of suppressed moisture pushing northward. We are in the middle. 

Dark gray clouds puffed in among the lead color of the sky. A drop or two of rain, just a taste of the next day to come. All around the garden, a place that had become dark, red and yellow leaves, bare bark, muted greens. 

The orchids it seems are a kind of canary in the mine. Their leaves changed weeks ago, at least a lot of them did. Not a thorough change or I hope, a permanent change, but a subtle shift from vibrant to not so vibrant. From bright greens to dull, to yellows and a few almost grays like the tillandsias. The air plants too have given up some of their vibrancy. I know they are happy because all of them have sprouted healthy pups at their base. Like the healthy orchids that have put out roots. I sense the garden is healthy. Not even dormant. Not hibernating. Just slowing. Waiting. Gathering into itself a new energy.

It’s pouring rain today and we expect several inches. This is the natural state of things and since my orchids are all outside in trees and on twigs, they are experimenting what they would experience in nature. But that’s nature. The signal of yellowing they have sent me says we are in the dead of winter. Even if it lasts a week or two it’s too cold to shower us with water. Time for a real rest.

My Year of Orchids: If bugs are singing should the orchids be resting?

So I am walking down my street at 8:30 PM and the Pinellas Point neighborhood is dead silent except for the crickets. There is life and warmth and humidity at this rare spot here at the end of January! We expect severe storms tonight as a potent cold front moves through but for now it is still and peaceful and languid.

I walked my friend home the three or four blocks to her house and as we rounded the corner of our street we saw Robert and Scott on their way home from dinner with Bobby’s mother at Po Folks. I asked them to stop in to say hi to Janet. We are a quiet tight knit neighborhood and checking in with one another u the way we do things.

So, if the insects are singing should the orchids be sleeping? Is there a “rule“ to dictate the answer to this question? Are there experts who can share their knowledge about a given species in a given tree on a given night? Today it was warm and breezy. Tonight it will be stormy and windy. Tomorrow there will be rain and the temperature will cool down for the next week. What was the right way to treat the orchids today?

We had tiny twins who had just begun to walk where we took them from San Francisco to Mazatlan on the west coast of Mexico. We didn’t like the place we were staying in Mazatlan and we didn’t like the vibes so we asked the front desk where we could go that would be a little bit off the beaten path. We found ourselves on a multi hour bus ride to a fork in the road that led down to the Pacific coast, to a village called San Blas. A good ten or twelve people got off the bus in the rain and cold. A taxi drew up and greeted us and somehow all of us, our tiny twins included, piled into that taxi.

The ten miles or so downhill to San Blas were rainy and dark, even though it was the middle of the afternoon in the middle of the tropics. All around us was tropical forest. But it was cold! What were the orchids going that day?

My Year of Orchids: Root follows water

It’s amazing to me to watch this. The water sticks to orchid roots as a thin coating before it’s absorbed. It’s simple adhesion in action, one of the typical behaviors of water, but it holds so much in the way of biological implications. As epiphytes, living in the air without a direct connection to the soil, orchids are wedded to water in a way few other plants are. They absolutely have to make the most of it.

There’s a lot written about how orchid photosynthetic metabolism utilizes water super effectively. In their own way orchids are like succulents. They open their breathing pores after dark instead of during the day in order to lose less water. This phenomenon is super interesting to me but somehow more interesting is how the orchid body interacts with water. Roots following water is just one example.

You water and watch. A drop of water forms and enlarges at the root tip. This drop lasts longer than the water that stuck to other parts of the root. I don’t know how to describe it except that it’s somehow a “lead” drop, which directs immediate and future root growth. Roots elongate in the direction of water. I’ve seen these drops at the end of thick and thin roots. The root can be suspended in air or it can be running along the surface of its host plant. Mostly the root is growing down with the dominant flow of water. Sometimes it’s growing upward, I presume to reach water flowing from farther up the tree branch. Water seems to direct the way the root will grow.

This all seems simple. Maybe silly. But it taught me something practical. I’ve noticed that orchids I put at branch tips don’t grow as well as those further down. And best is if the orchid was placed in the crook of the of the tree between two branches or twigs. It makes sense doesn’t it? The plant wants to be situated where there’s a bit of extra water. Then the roots can go to work extending in the direction of that extra flow.

My Year of Orchids: Bootstrapping knowledge

My greatest botany professor, Dr. Harry Thiers, used to tell us at the end of lab, “When you are satisfied with your state of knowledge you may leave.” It was kind of an invitation to pack up but it was also a gentle barb. Is a true learner ever satisfied with his or her state of knowledge? There’s always so much deeper you can go. So many questions you can ask. So many ways to explore. This is especially true I think in the world of plants.

I took Dr. Thiers’ advice and kept looking. Long after lab was over. I had to. I barely understood what was in front of me. Living things are a mystery. And lichens, the organisms I decided to study under his guidance, are especially so. Their mysterious presence, their shape, their life habits, their aroma. All of these aspects were, to me, stunning and strange.

It didn’t take long to realize I wouldn’t be able to find much written material about the questions that really bothered me. How do lichens grow? How do they experience their environment? What makes them the way they are? There were standard answers out there, more definitional than dynamic. So I accepted the definitions more or less, and introduced the dynamic aspects myself. I had to light my own fire. Everything I wanted to learn I had to learn on my own. Through experience.

Fast forward a good thirty years, slightly more. I’m not yet the age of Dr. Thiers when I was his graduate student but almost. Instead of the amazing lichens I’m playing with orchids. They are no prettier than the lichens I worked with but they are a lot more responsive. Even if you observe them every day several times a day you can detect changes. You see a root extend and grab onto a branch. You see a bud enlarge. You watch as the plant changes color or curves in response to weather, nutrients, or preparation for reproduction.

But the state of our knowledge is way incomplete. I’ve gotten plenty of advice about how to fertilize and with what. I’ve read all about potting mediums, how and when to repot. It’s easy to find nomenclature and taxonomies prepared for regular people, not scholars. But the questions I asked about lichens still bother me.

How do orchids grow? How do they experience their environment? What makes them the way they are? These questions I think need exploration at a deeper level than you can find in the common literature. My hope is that they will lead to further discoveries and open the door to a more thorough understanding of the nature of orchids.