When she gave it to me, I didn't know that I would also join her in leaving our workplace just a few weeks later. Her orchid moved from my desk to my piano at home to the garage when it dropped its flowers and was unpresentable for staging to the floor of a sunroom when it came to Tulsa months later, then, finally, to my new kitchen's terrarium window.
Orchids are fickle friends. When loved well, they are generous, abundant in their blooms. Three ice cubes a week and gentle sun are what they want. Too much or too little, and they wither and fall to pieces.
My own orchid gave us 12 blooms this early summer until an ant infestation led to de-soiling, re-potting, and a heavy rinse. The leaves have all dried and fallen, and only 2 blooms remain.
Tabitha's plant has only remained in our family out of determination--it has been brown and gray for months with no sign of life. Still, each week, three ice cubes are added in with hope.
Almost a year later, it has regrown a full four huge leaves and is nubbing out for re-growth of a stem. Buds and flowers will follow.
My orchid will survive with the same determination, but its speed of growth and vibrancy is what drew the predators. What we thought was so strong was being eaten alive below the surface. At this stage, the plant we had taken for dead is the stronger and healthier by far.
We don't know the roots for the blossoms. Assumptions of strength are mere assumptions and not determinations. All that we can do is be patient, remain consistent with encouragement to grow, and act to protect when enemies make themselves known.
