Thus far, my writing efforts have netted me two published novels: a middle-grade magical-realism adventure entitled The Anemara Orchid and the newly released YA-romantic coming-of-age adventure IF NOT 4 U and Some Shoes. Featured in both story lines are orchids—those beautiful, enigmatic, charming, and altogether frustrating members of the Orchidaceae species—a detail that is intentional and ... with any luck … purposeful.
The explanation begins with the fact that orchids are in my family blood/DNA dating as far back as 1879, in Lewes, England, when my great-great-great?—not sure how many generations back the lineage goes—maternal grandfather opened a business in his name called McBean's Orchids. The establishment prized itself in growing and supplying some of the country’s most beautiful orchids, and, in fact, still does under non-McBean-family ownership. Due to this history, it is a big deal on my mother’s side of the family to grow orchids and to grow them well … perhaps as a way of preserving the legacy, or carrying on the lineage, or appeasing any ancestral spirits that might be lurking in our midst.
Full disclosure, right here, right now, though: despite the fact orchids are very forgiving and often outlive their owners ... and despite the fact that I should have some natural instinct in me to make them thrive … I suck at it. Big time. In fact, the maximum length of time I’ve ever kept an orchid alive is about two months. When I did some research, and read in Brian & Wilma Rittershausen’s book Orchids that “orchids will continue to grow under the most extreme conditions, even sacrificing their own lives when a situation becomes intolerable and producing one final burst of colour in a last attempt to perpetuate themselves by seed production,” I realized it’s not them, it’s me. I cause them to commit plant-suicide.
I’ve spent an enormous number of waking hours trying to figure out why I suck at orchid-growing, especially since I do everything the experts suggest: I place them in sunshine; I water and spritz them regularly; I give them expensive orchid food. I even speak to them with kindness and sincerity. Alas, but to no avail.
This is why, as a last ditch effort to not drop the ball on my branch of the family-legacy tree, I’ve made it a practice to write about orchids in every story I produce, thinking that, if there’s an orchid spirit hovering around me (ancestral or otherwise), perhaps it will view my sentiment as an act of devotion (or tribute, or bribe?), and will subsequently bestow upon me some well-needed ethereal/otherworldly guidance.
If that doesn’t work, I suppose I could consider hiring a horticulturist … a Plant-Nanny (I can only assume that's what they're called).
Just curious: are there any orchid lover/orchid green-thumbs out there, willing to offer up some tips?
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