I became curious about orchids while researching a story I have yet to finish. Reading about orchids isn’t the same as actually having them in the house to care for, so I decided I had to have one. At that time the local florists didn’t carry them. On-line, I found a grower/dealer a few towns over so with Old Roady behind the wheel, we were off to get me an orchid!
It’s easy to love an orchid in bloom. But leathery leaves and green snakey roots climbing out of the pot without a blossom in sight can be a little disconcerting. Multiply that by hundreds and I was disappointed to say the least. A dealer’s greenhouse is not to be compared to the annual flower show.
Toward the back of the greenhouse there were a few in bloom, so I chose a pretty white one, whose name I have lost – the word ‘crane’ was in there some where. Then I took a chance and picked one that wasn’t flowering. The name included the word ‘ruby’ so it seemed a good choice. (To any diehard collectors reading this, you’re probably rolling your eyes. Please don’t judge me too harshly.)
I’ve lived with my orchids for five years which is way longer than I thought they would survive under my care. Thankfully, they thrive on a little neglect. Ruby blooms constantly, sending up spikes that, if not clipped back, get longer and longer until I run out of ways to brace and drape them and have no choice but to cut them back. On both Ruby and Crane, the blossoms last forever.
I’m glad I took a chance that day in an uninspiring greenhouse tucked away at the end of a bumpy dirt drive. I love my orchids and they love me. We’re happy together and that’s all that matters.