Fallen Orchid

This orchid has a long and, for an orchid anyway, dramatic history. It was first planted in some kind of commercial garden and sold along with probably about eighty others to the operators of an office building in Southfield, MI called the Onyx Building. We had our offices there back then. It reached our own suite as a gift from the landlord—and every other office got one too. The orchid stayed in that air-conditioned space, with glorious views of a vast parking lot, until I drove it right across the Detroit Metroplex to the east side, and it has since then occupied this space in Brigitte’s bedroom window, growing from a quite small plant into this gorgeous thing. How old is it? It’s nine years old. I took this picture just the other day.

Faithful orchid—living against the odds. Orchids are air plants. They grow attached to trees or other sturdy growths in the tropics, and use these as a place to hold themselves. Their seeds are so tiny they easily float in the air; currents carry them high into the trees where they settle and then, growing, attach through so-called air roots. Our brave orchid is out of place. No stout tree to give it shelter. A stiff rod serves it, poorly, for support, with help from a bit of twine. It has some plastic butterflies for company. In place of a desired “jungle out there” it can only sense vast masses of brick.

It occurred to me, looking at this picture, that our orchid symbolizes the human condition too. We too are out of place—and live an odd adventure in a fallen dimension. The difference is that the orchid, being more innocent or stalwart than we are, takes it all in stride and simply thrives and blooms.