Orchids

I have been told it is very difficult to make an orchid do anything for you. That is, if you want to have it sprout again after it has flowered, you have to be patient. It may sit there for years, like an amaryllis, with only its leaves, and then, finally, it *might* decide to give you a shoot. It might. But there's no guarantee.

So what then, exactly, is going on with my orchid, I would like to know. Why is it that I am completely ignoring the thing, and it's growing all kinds of bulgey little new things all over the place?

It was a gift for a housewarming party in March. It was an unexpected pleasure, which did indeed make my house seem much more warm. And so it proceeded to bloom through the following months, including the entire time that I was away in France. Its last petal died possibly in September. The arcing stem is still there, clipped to its little support.

But look below, as I did, and you will see some amazing things. First, new leaves began to sprout. You never know when exactly they begin. One moment they are not there, the next, they are. And slowly one of the old leaves dies.

And under that, even more amazing, was the tiny green nub that poked its nose out from the base of the stem, back in September, and which has slowly but steadily reached its way out into the air, like an antenna that is looking for something: itself. And beside it, came another one. I thought, no, that's impossible. An orchid never goes on after its bloom, especially not twice. But go on it has. Until this morning, there was even a third.

Underneath the plant lie the tan and crisp remnants of former leaves and stems. I wonder how long this process has been going on? How long, before the flower shop sold it to my friend, had this plant been producing flowers and leaves? And was it raised from a nursery, or was it found in a swamp, and lifted out, just like that, all its former labors intact?

Who knows. But this is by far the most prolific orchid I have ever imagined, much less possessed. I did not think such a thing was possible. And, like luck, it flourishes unattended. I never even water it. I basically ignore it, and in return, it reaches out its tendrils, begging to be loved by being love itself. Perhaps the best secret of any relationship. If you think you should be doing more, probably it means you should be "doing" less. And just check on it, and love it, and know that it is there.