Poppa’s Orchids

Every year growing up, my siblings and I would visit our grandparents, Poppa and Bubba, in Boca Raton, Florida. We would eat unhealthy food that my mom wouldn’t let us eat at home. We would walk to the pool and swim in the sun, and at night, we would enjoy “Poppa’s Soup”. All of it was magical. In the midst of all the excitement, warmth, love, and magic that surrounded us, I didn’t notice my grandpa’s orchid collection out front. I had no idea how hard it was to grow and maintain orchids. But their neighbors did; they would walk by my grandparents’ house to see his orchid ‘exhibition’. 

Later on, my grandparents moved to a new home in Boston, Massachusetts. Poppa brought the orchids with him; he wasn’t going anywhere without them. I came to understand that these flowers were an extension of him.  

One day, we found out Poppa was sick. We had some time, and this served as a reminder of an end we had all hoped would never come. I am thankful in some ways that we knew, it allowed me to write extra letters, make extra calls, and send him my love more often. Before he passed, I painted an orchid in watercolor and mailed it to him. At this point, I knew how much they meant to him, and I was starting my exploration of plants. During my time in undergrad studying psychology, I started pursuing Dendrology and Ornithology. I was taking the time to focus on the intricacies of bark, the shapes of leaves, birds' behavior at specific times of year, and other minute details I had never noticed. 

I thought I wasn’t a plant person. I mean, I loved nature, but I am not great at doing something consistent, and I was sure I’d killed a plant, so I didn't want to put myself or the plant through that. However, my roommate, Molly, had a bunch of plants in our apartment. I loved them so much and watched her effortlessly nurture them. For my birthday, she gifted me a plant. I looked at her with concern and admiration that she believed I could take care of it. She convinced me that I could, and that it was actually quite simple. “Water once a week, and give it sunlight.” She told me. I took care of that plant and started to form a connection to it. Each morning, I would check it out, touch it, and even talk to it. Day after day, it stayed alive. The art of noticing is very important, I learned. Over the months, I realized that I could do it, and that anyone can. I brought that same plant all the way from Wisconsin, on a road trip home to NY. I have now propagated that same plant into many. 

In my metals class, I made a piece about plants, and how even when they hang low, they are still beautiful, and it is the natural cycle of natural things, to wilt and age, and eventually, return to the soil. 

One day, we found out Poppa’s natural cycle had reached its end. 
We went to visit Bubba, and their home held so much of Poppa’s energy. I felt a wave of him with me. 

Later, I found myself in a horticulture therapy program at NYU, where I learned about the science behind how time in nature improves quality of life and how to use therapeutic horticulture to help others. It was then that I realized how challenging orchids are. I saw them in the hospital where I was working and thought of him. I was inspired to tell his story.

I learned how to take care of other easier plants, built up my confidence, and began to see myself as a plant enthusiast—maybe even a horticulturist.

As I visited Bubba, I stared at and checked on Poppa’s orchids, sitting there quietly, left undisturbed. I was overwhelmed again. I had that same feeling of incapability. I took matters into my own hands and researched them. One day, Bubba saw me looking at the orchids and said, “Please take one home, Ella. They’ll do better with you than they are with me.” I told her I wasn’t so sure about that, but I decided to try. I took one home. I took it out of its pot. Cutting off the roots that my grandfather had grown was horrifying, but I let myself try, hoping for any outcome better than its current state.

A few months later, I watched a bud appear in front of my eyes. Each day, I waited eagerly for any more movement. It taught me Popp’s patience, that orchids don’t shine and bloom all year, but when they are ready. Since they weren’t dying, I was so proud and knew he would be too. One day, I had my first orchid bloom. I felt Poppa through the petals. He was here in my kitchen. Later, another one of his orchids bloomed. 

I went back to visit Bubba. She already knew about the news, but we decided to repot the other orchids now that I understood what needed to be done. We cut and grew them into a new pot. 

A few months later, Poppa was in Bubba's home again, though he had never really left.