Hilltop Hints

Cute Kitties Posing with Fallen Phrag Flower

I mentioned in the last post that I was like a kid on Christmas when my Phrag. Eumelia Arias bloomed. It was a big event in the Cats and Catts house. I took it from an aspiring seedling to its full glory, and the timing appeared to be perfect. Dick Wells from Hilltop Orchids visited our orchid society on Sunday and I intended to show him the success I've had with one of his hybrids. So, of course, the flower decided to fall off Sunday morning. Drat!


I didn't get to show off my Phrag. (well, I brought the fallen flower), but the visit was outstanding nonetheless. Dick Wells shared his vast wisdom with us, gave a potting demonstration, and talked specifically about cultivating Phrag. kovachii hybrids. Here are some highlights:

Rice hulls are the New Perlite The cost of perlite is soaring, leaving orchid vendors searching for alternatives. Rice hulls dry out at a nice and even rate, and Hilltop has had great success incorporating rice hulls into their standard potting media. You can purchase their mix here. Also, RePotme.com sells bags of rice hulls.


Epsom salts for the kovachii hybrids Use 2-2.5 Tbs per gallon. Wells recommends spraying the plants with it every 2-3 months (I've used it successfully as a monthly drench). Using it with a fertilizer, however, will nullify the benefit (the plant can only use so much magnesium sulfate at any one time).


You're Probably Over-Potting Well, I am at least. I've been too squeamish about damaging the roots. I didn't think I was over-potting until I saw Dick give a little demonstration on four or five plants. The roots need even less space than I imagine. The crew at Hilltop Orchids repot 500 to 600 orchids a day, so I trust Dick's judgment.


I drove home with a couple of new plants -- Phrag. Fritz Schomberg and Phal. equestris var. alba. -- and several new ideas for improving my orchid culture.

Phrag Fabulous

Phrag. Eumelia Arias

I'm thrilled with the first bloom from my Phrag. Eumelia Arias (kovachii x schlimii), originally featured in Cats and Catts on February 21 2010. I bought it from Hilltop Orchids -- you can buy one for yourself here. It was like Christmas morning when it opened, and I have no problem looking right past its flaws to admire its sparkling ruby color. It might sound a little psychotic, but this plant has occupied my thoughts for nearly two years. Here are a few reasons why:

Sabine w/ Phrag & its original container

 1. It's a high-maintenance plant and, therefore, it's extra gratifying to see in bloom. It's fussy. I drench it with reverse-osmosis water three or four times a week, and the plant receives other perks (dissolved epsom salts once a month and crushed oyster shells four times a year). The need to water it frequently leads me to catch pests and culture problems early. In fact, my tendency to over-water has been stunningly success with this plant. A wet Phragmipedium is a happy Phragmipedium.



2. One of Eumelia Arias's parent species, Phrag. kovachii, has a fascinating history. The 2001 discovery of Phrag. kovachii was monumental for the orchid community: the flowers had a deep purple color no one had seen before (opening up a new world of hybridization possibilities) and its flowers were huge. But the drive to be the first to import and describe the new species led to dodgy behavior. Its Western discoverer, Michael Kovach, faced thousands of dollars in fines for illegally smuggling the plant from Peru into the US. The late Eric Christenson was inches away from writing the first description of it, but Kovach and the Selby Botanical Garden bum rushed the taxon, and so now we call it Phrag. kovachii (instead of peruviana). Big discovery. Big controversy.


3. Finally, the flower is super gorgeous and it has a diamond dusting look that's inadequately captured in the photos. It's stare-worthy.

All in all, it's a highly satisfying orchid. I definitely see more Phrags in my future.

Attack of the Phylogeneticists!

Ceci n'est pas une Ondontoglossum

If you own any Odontoglossums it's time to change the tag. Molecular phylogeneticists have, once more, unleashed their cladograms on the orchid community. New DNA studies show that Odontoglossums are not meaningfully distinct from Oncidiums in terms of genetics and evolution. The Royal Horticultural Society (RHC) has decreed that Odontoglossums are now Oncidiums. The RHC creates the official taxonomical reality for the American orchid world (institutionalized in the American Orchid Society). So, we now change our tags from Ond. to Onc. No big deal, right?

But what if you're, say, Robert Hamilton, a founding member of the International Ondontoglossum Alliance? What if you've been obsessed with Odonts since 1979? The change might irritate you a little bit. 

Hamilton's article in the new issue of Orchid Digest "Odonotoglossum: Requiescat in Pace" traces the genus's history from its first description in 1816 to its recent demise. Hamilton acknowledges phylogenetics as "valid science," but raises three concerns. The lumping and splitting required of any taxonomical distinction, whether its based on DNA or not, is, ultimately, arbitrary. The DNA relationships ("clades") proposed by the phylogeneticists can result in infinite regress, such that the distinction between humans and chimps (Homo and Pan) falls away. Finally, the decision to lump Odontoglossum into the genus Oncidium fails the "five-year-old test" wherein a child can point to obvious differences between two flowers.

The "DNA Boys" (as Patricia Harding has referred to them) have prompted the orchid community to endure a lot of nomenclature changes in the last 10 or so years, and these changes have generate a lot of unbridled hatred toward taxonomists. But is it warranted?

I received poor marks in school for science and math, but I've seen the movie "Real Genius" enough to feel qualified to comment boldly on scientific disputes. The plot of Martha Coolidge's hit 1985 comedy suggests that you should side with the kids, in this case, the DNA Kids and their Crazy Cladograms. The phylogeneticists aren't setting out to ruin our favorite hobby. They proceed from the simple fact that some orchid species evolved before other orchid species. Discovering and analyzing patterns among those evolutionary relationships might, in the long run, help us grow better and healthier orchids.     



   

Keikiechtomy is a New Word

A perky keiki atop Den. Berry 'Oda' AM/AOS

This is a difficult post to write -- not because I'm inexperienced in creating fake words -- but Lan Lan is laying directly over my wrists. She bites if I move too quickly.

My Dendrobium Berry 'Oda' AM/AOS endured a keikiechtomy yesterday. The link will take you to a photo showing what the plant looked like under Griffin's care two years ago. Now, it's all grown up ... with a kid!

A Newly Liberated Keiki

Experienced Cats and Catts readers know that keikis are little offshoot plants that grow off of some epiphytic orchid species. They're clones of the mother plant; they have identical genes. "Keiki" means "baby" in Hawaiian, but in other cultures it means "free orchid." "Keikiechtomy" is a word I created a few minutes ago to refer to the process of removing keikis from mother plants. 


Here's my three-step keikiechtomy process:
Step One: Use a razor blade to hack haphazardly at the mother plant. Repeat until the keiki falls off.
Step Two: Pot the keiki in a gigantic pot with poor drainage.
Step Three: Make sure the keiki is unstable and can be knocked over with ease.


Actually, you should do the opposite of most of that.

Keikis sometimes need extra support.

It's best to conduct keikiechtomies in the Spring, but my keiki's roots were sufficiently long and I was bored. I would have placed the keiki and some wet sphagnum moss in a half-opened plastic bag for a month or so if the roots needed a boost.

Lan Lan looked up the word "Keikiechtomy" on Google and it yielded zero results, so I'm assuming full and complete copyright ownership. I shall relinquish my intellectual property rights if, and only if, someone wants to name their punk band "Keikiechtomy."

Phal. equestris: Litte Flower, Big Joy

Phal. equestis ('Blue Wan Chiao' x self)

Last year I met an orchid judge who told me that his all-time favorite species was Phal. equestris. I think they're cute, but I honestly didn't understand his excitement about a small-growing Phal. 

Now, I kind of get it. This genus has potential! Who knew? Two months ago, Peter Lin gave a presentation to the Orchid Society of Greater Kansas City about novelty-type Phals and it made me rethink the future of Phalaenopsis in my collection. In addition to showing a series of eye candy Phal photos, Peter delivered remarkably sane advice about potting Phals. Instead of suggesting either sphagnum moss or bark, he advocated a layered approach: moss on the top, bark in the middle, and foam packing peanuts on the bottom. It's worked really well with my equestris (see below).

Sabine loves the subtle color of this equestris variety

What are "novelty type Phals?" According to Lin, the phrase "novelty type" generally describes a plant that's non-standard and typically refers to a Phal that's smaller, colorful, fragrant, summer-flowering, and having heavy flower substance. Many novelty hybrids have Phal. amboinensis and/or violacea in their parentage. Check out the amazing color patterns on the novelty hybrids sold by Big Leaf Orchids.


I'd also like to cultivate the small-growing species Phals. I'm thrilled with my Phal. equestris ('Blue Wan Chiao' x self). It's bloomed with ease and it radiates a ton of cheerfulness in a small 2" pot. Although equestris isn't my all-time favorite, I can envision a future where it's in my top ten.

Photographing the 2011 Wisconsin Orchid Show

The 2011 Wisconsin Orchid Show at the Mitchell Park Conservatory in Milwaukee was awesome! The Wisconsin Orchid Society hosted a wonderful set of vendors and exhibitors, and the MidAmerican Orchid Congress ran a fabulous Fall meeting program. And, of course, I didn't take enough pictures.

I've attended a handful of orchid shows and I always try to take a lot of pictures. No matter how thorough my efforts appear to me at the time, I typically regret not taking better photos and more photos. The Wisconsin Orchid Show at the Mitchell Park Conservatory in Milwaukee presented special challenges. The exhibits were fantastic and well-lit by natural sunlight coming in from the glass space-age dome. Unlike most shows I've attended, the exhibits were set off against a natural background of trees and rock. It was a beautiful setting, but too challenging for my meager photography skills (I'm more comfortable with a black fabric background).

A couple of my friends are photography pros, so I have a sense of what quality photography is supposed to look like and its far distance from my point-and-click universe. I've never taken a class or read a book about photography so I lean on editing software. Photoshop bewilders me. I love Photoscape because it's free, easy to use, does almost everything I want, and takes up very little space on my computer. I also use an old Microsoft program called Picture It! which has a feature that superimposes the Rule of Thirds on the photo to allow for precise cropping.

My basic photographic strategy entails taking a lot of photos and letting only the very best see the light of day. I hope you enjoyed these five. I left a lot in the reject pile.   

Postpumpkinism, or, The Cultural Logic of Late Capitalism

The pumpkin seeds seemed to have so much promise back in June. I tossed a dozen in the raised bed and another dozen by the compost pile. Eventually, I thinned the seedlings down to three. The rapid and healthy growth encouraged me to indulge the plants' frequent need for water and attention. I saw small pumpkins form by the end of summer and my hopes swelled. I contemplated walking away from my career to pursue pumpkin farming because, after all, I'm so good at it. I'll have so many pumpkins, I thought, I'll have to give them away to an orphanage or something. When I told people about my pumpkins, some responded that they tried and gave up because of squash bug problems. I felt superior because I refused to give into these nasty insects and was prepared to let loose a chemical fury on the brood.


But squash bugs are unusually persistent. They had a roach-like ability to reproduce themselves despite my toxins. The pumpkin crop itself proved capricious: blossoms that looked so promising failed to mature, pumpkins in an improper position on the straw started to rot, and the heat and bugs did more damage than I wanted to admit. Now, looking over my pumpkin harvest, my total haul will be about 6-7 pumpkins. I definitely need to keep my day job.

I love all things pumpkin, but this experience has strengthened my identity as a flower gardener. Pumpkins inevitably reference their exchange-value and use-value. While we can appreciate its cylindrical shape and deep orange color, a pumpkin invites us to consider its uses in cooking. We have a sense of a pumpkin's worth through envisioning its transformation into pie or soup. It's difficult or impossible not to assigning a dollar amount to my pumpkins and it's dispiriting to see them sold in the local grocery store for far less than what I spent in pest control, water, and labor time.

Flowers, on the other hand, only reference themselves. They have no use-value and their exchange-value is driven by aesthetic considerations. I never think "Oh, I could make so many pies with those daylilies!" Like modern art, flowers' uselessness is part of their value and appeal. Flowers don't expect anything from us except an occasional arrangement in a vase. 

Disco Cattleya

Riley with C. Arctic Star 'Snow Queen' (1979)

A lot happened in 1979. It ushered in the Iran hostage crisis, the Three Mile Island meltdown, and Rod Stewart's #1 hit "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy." But we also had disco and orchids. As the Salsoul blared on the airwaves, a Miami hybridizer named Roy Fields registered Cattleya Arctic Star (C. Claesiana x C. Fred Cole). I purchased this at a January orchid sale and it bloomed earlier in the week. It's like a lot of things created in 1979: undeniably awesome.

Essential keys to happiness: cats and catts!

C. Arctic Snow reminds me why I love Cattleyas. The scent is amazing and the flowers have timeless beauty. In my estimation, a white Cattleya can do no wrong. C. Arctic Star comes from regal heritage, including grandparents C. Vespers (registered in 1921 by Sir George Holford) and the legendary C. Bow Bells. Cattleya species schroderae, triane, cinnabarina, intermedia, and loddigesii are all in the background with C. loddigesii contributing to about 45% of its genetic makeup. 

C. Arctic Snow also reminds me why I can't have too many Cattleyas with my growing set-up. The plant takes up almost as much space as Griffin (see above). But, on the other hand, the orchid doesn't relentlessly beg me for treats.

Bulbophyllum echinolabium: Would You Like Flies with That?

Bulbophyllum echinolabium

The Wisconsin Orchid Society put on a fantastic show last week and I was delighted to attend. It was also the fall meeting of the MidAmerican Orchid Congress. I was surrounded by good people and fine orchids all weekend. However, I learned that some of the best looking orchids are not so welcoming -- unless you're a fly. A case in point is the lovely Bulbophyllum echinolabium  selected for AOS judging at the Wisconsin show.  

Cats and Catts readers might recall from earlier posts that orchid shows often feature two rounds of judging. The first round, the ribbon judging, compares each orchid against other orchids entered into the show. The second round of judging involves accredited orchid judges from the American Orchid Society selecting plants for further consider for national awards. Here, the orchids are compared against previously awarded plants of the same species or type. 

Paph. niveum, not smelly, Wisconsin 2011

I'm not an orchid judge but I love to sit in on these judging sessions if given an opportunity. You can learn a lot. Orchid judges assemble around a table with the plant as the centerpiece. Someone carefully measures the petals and sepals. Another retrieves information from a computerized database. They discuss the flower's shape, form, size, color, and other qualities. It's exciting. (Here, it's worth noting a few other things I find exciting -- old movies, contract bridge, and historical research -- just to put things into perspective). 

Anyway, the judges' conversations are invariably fascinating but it was difficult for me to focus because the flower smelled like rotting meat. Bulbophyllum are notoriously smelly, and that's why I don't have any in my collection. I'd rather have something like a Paph. niveum because it's pretty to look at and it doesn't stink. But I respect the Bulbophyllum genus and recognize the its evolutionary brilliance. Some of the species resemble rotting meat and have developed a bright red lip and horrid scent to attract carrion fly pollinators. And the flower's diabolical plan worked! A pack of green flies swarmed around it during the thirty minutes or so it was on the table. I saw the Bulbophyllum in its exhibit and, there too, a bunch of fly boys desperately buzzed around trying to get the rotting flesh. It's a beautiful flower, but I'm content to let others grow it.

A Bathtub of Brassavolas

You know that we're big fans of the Brassavola genus here at Cats and Catts, so it shouldn't be a terrible surprise that I have a mad mess of them in my bathtub. What's surprising is that only one of these has bloomed for me (B. Little Stars). I've had some for a few years now and -- although I haven't killed them -- I haven't put them in a blooming disposition. I'm all stocked up on Brassavolas on the empty hope that I'll someday be rewarded with gorgeous white flowers and their maddeningly entrancing smell. So, what's the source of my bad luck? I have have some theories:

Among orchid genera, Brassavolas can withstand a tremendous amount of light. They are the high-lightest of the high-light orchids. They want to be right up against the glass of the windowsill or inches from a grow light. But, as you can see, they aren't very demur about the amount of space they take up. Like an octopus, they want to spread their pendant tentacles in every direction. They can't possibly fit in a windowsill without displacing my other orchids that want a lot of light.

Humidity is another problem. Most of my Brassavolas are on wood mounts. They grow well like that, but require daily misting and carefully maintained humidity. Dry spells brought on by a short vacation, a malfunctioning humidifier, or a mid-winter cold snap can quickly damage a plant's root system. I speak from experience. 



The final theory centers on the cats. Between Bean's Brassavola bumping and Riley's outright assaults, it's a wonder they've been with me this long. It's difficult to grow healthy plants if your cats are constantly harassing them.

I'm contemplating a few options, including giving up hope. The best and most ambitious response to my Brassavola problem is a Wardian case built exclusively for my Brassavolas and their needs. I've been thinking about it all summer. I could apply my cold frame construction skills to create a glass box with a fogger, small fan, high light, and some sort of watering system. What could go wrong? Except for spending a lot of time on something that looks hideous and doesn't work... There's that.

But maybe it will work? I have to try something or these things are going to take over the house. psuedobulb by psuedobulb.