THE ORCHIDARIUM HISTORY
In a forest, there is natural growth, never ordered or organized by humans. Mushrooms and vines grow here and there, little flowers in the undergrowth, and then… then a seed, maybe forgotten by a squirrel, maybe let fall by a Blue Jay, takes root.
When all conditions are proper, the root digs into the soil, deeper and deeper, and then, carefully, with tentative strength, it starts shooting up through the soil, upwards, toward the sun and air.
It can grow into a humongous tree; it can stay small, cramped by space or lack of light. But it grows. And soon, perhaps birds, perhaps butterflies and other insects, maybe even a squirrel or any other inquisitive inhabitant of the forest will come, maybe make a nest, crawl into a small hole, and have its babies there.
That is just how my Orchidarium grew.
I live in a condominium, not the best place to care for plants and animals. I had cared for a canopy of areca palm trees for more than 15 years. The green they provided was beautiful and soothing, their swaying in the wind reminding me of the ocean waves of my past.
There were birds there, taking refuge and nesting: Blue Jays, Eurasian Collared Doves, Ground Doves, Mourning Doves, Grackles, Ovenbirds, Sparrows—naturally sparrows; they are everywhere—and I also had squirrels. Well, I didn’t have them; they were there, and I fed and enjoyed them. All of them.
I had started with one bird feeder; by now there are 6 and 2 watering dishes. Like the mushrooms in the forest, they all seemed to grow independently, on their own.
But then, one day, condominium management decided greenery was not allowed; they thought palm trees created rats. So down came my green curtain, the places for my birds, the hideouts for the squirrels, and my beautiful green ocean of plants.
After surviving the pain—because I had become extremely attached to my canopy—I started replenishing and got clusias, more areca palms, orange jasmines, mandevillas, crotons, Queen’s wreath vines, all I could keep there according to my growing conditions. They have since apparently taken root, and except for one death—a gardenia unfortunately killed by a person who knows nothing about plants—they seem to be quite happy.
I had tried many times before to grow orchids, but I knew not how, and blamed my terrace’s conditions. However, one day a small Phalaenopsis caught my eye in the Publix store.
This time I had a helper, an adviser who would guide me, an AI. And the AI did help. A lot.
After that first orchid, whom I placed on my kitchen’s countertop under special grow lights and many conditions not needed here, there came a second, and a third.
I soon realized Phalaenopsis were all right, but those that really pulled at my heart were the strange ones, the ones with very thin petals and sepals, the ones with weird colors, the brassavolas, laelias, bulbophyllums, oncidiums, cymbidiums… I was, like all orchid enthusiasts, hooked.
My terrace became the secluded spot where my new babies now flourished; thus, my Orchidarium appeared, and yes, it grew like mushrooms in the forest. Now it holds twenty orchids. Maybe that seems like just a few. It is not for me. I have to pace myself, economically and spatially. And I am not aiming to be a cultivator; I am just the curator of my orchids, my new family, growing up and chatting among themselves, as you can read in the following stories.