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Part of the allure of slipper orchids is all the gossip, rumors, and stories swirling about.

Here’s what I heard over the slipper orchid grapevine regarding P. tigrinum albas.  (This is a third-hand account, so take it for what it’s worth.  And if you’re one of the parties involved in this affair, and I’ve made a mistake, please let me know and I’ll make any necessary corrections.)

As everyone tigrinum devotee knows, this species is a highly sought after paph, partly because of its relative rarity, and partly because of its beautiful, single flower.  Its color resembles lowii, and its spotted/stripe-like spotting patterns on the dorsal from which the species gets its name is unique among paphs.  Yet there is something about the flower, some ineffable quality that transcends the other unifloral paph species.  It is a flower that is easily more than the sum of its parts.

Obviously, an albinistic form of this species would be an extremely desirable find for that super-rarefied group of alba slipper collectors.  “Collectors” is probably the wrong word, actually.  “Fanatic” would be a more apt term.

Some years ago, a multi-growth plant was discovered in the wild in China.  This plant made its way to a “botanical center” in China.  Whether one can properly term such a facility in the hinterlands of China a bona fide research botanical center or not remains sketchy.  Given the penchant for flowery language/boasting in China, I would not be surprised if it was just some guy with a garden.  In any case, the Chinese guy who had the plant put out the word on the find, and the news made its way to a well-known European grower.  He and a friend traveled to China to see the plant in bloom.

It was the genuine article, a true alba tigrinum.

The “curator” of the botanical center demanded $5000 USD per growth, and a deal for $10,000 was consummated.  At this point, the details get even more murky.   Here’s my best conjecture: The acquired growths were then grown, and possibly further divided.  At least two growths eventually found their way to the United States, and likely the original mother plant ended up in Taiwan, where the appetite for such rarities is immense.

At a Paph Guild meeting (the slipper orchid conference held in California every year in January) in 2007 or 2008 which I attended, a vendor from Taiwan brought flasks with selfings of tigrinum alba.  They only had six plants per bottle, and the price was $800 per flask.

Now, tigrinum is not the easiest species to grow from flask.  In fact, it’s quite difficult, and as best as I can ascertain and from my own sorry experience, about 75% of seedlings from flask will never make it to maturity, dying off in the first year or two.  I passed on the alba flask, but I saw at least one guy who got one.

I don’t know what became of those seedlings, but I suppose in a situation like this, knowing the odds are stacked against you, the bet is that one plant will survive and be worth much more than the cost of the original flask (and the worry lines on your face as you try to grow the plants up).  Not a bad bet, actually, especially if you end up with a vigorous grower that you can divide in a few years, and command top dollar from other collectors.

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What do boxing, figure skating, gymnastics, and orchids all have in common?

(Hint: It’s not athleticism.)

Answer: In competition, they’re all judged by people. Sometimes people with divided loyalties.

A friend of mine brought a P. spicerianum in for judging, a truly beautiful specimen.

The judges looked at it. They squinted at it. They snorted and harrumphed. Then they declared it a hybrid, not a species, and would not judge it for an award.

They gave the following reasons:

1) The width of the leaves. They’re too narrow.

I’d suggest that these judges take a refresher course in genetics. Variation happens in all natural things. Leaf width will necessarily vary as a result of genetics. Some people have long earlobes, and some short. Some have long pinkies, and some don’t. If you look at enough of anything biological, you will find outliers. The variation in biology is built-in.

Variation can also result from environment. I have had plants that I acquired with leaves that were quite wide and round, and on subsequent growths, the leaves narrowed. No change in genetics, simply a change in the type of light.

2) The way the dorsal looks. It’s the wrong shape.

3) It has green spots on the staminode, a certain sign of its contaminated hybrid lineage.

Hmm… I would’ve thought they’d give a plant the benefit of the doubt, and judge it as if it were a species plant since it’s plain that not all judges are professional taxonomists (nor does anyone expect them to be). The award could stay provisional until submission of taxonomic verification.

Or do you need to bring verification from a taxonomist prior to the judging? Seems that with some judges, that might annoy them even more.

Well, I looked into the staminodal question. And here’s proof that P. spicerianum species plants — identified and confirmed by a professional taxonomist (it’s in his book!)– can and do have green spots on their staminodal sheilds:

From Braem & Chiron, Paphiopedilum (2003), p. 169.

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We’re all passionate about orchids.  If you’re reading this, you really, really like orchids.  Some people like them so much, though, that they will steal them when they can.

No, I’m not talking about stealing from the jungle.

I’m talking about people who actually will steal orchids outright.  Here are a couple of stories:

One grower I know had to step out for a few minutes while with a customer in the greenhouse.  When the grower came back, what did he see, but the customer with toothpick in hand swiping pollen from a prized plant!  The customer/thief was sent packing quite quickly.

Another story from a very reliable source: an orchid judge/official was left alone in a greenhouse full of expensive stud plants.  The judge decided to help himself/herself to a division of an excellent specimen.  And by division, I don’t mean something already potted up.  This person was caught pulling the stud plant out of pot, and trying to break off a piece of it!  Somehow, the “Oh,-I-forgot-that-I’m-not-supposed-to-do-that” excuse that works so well with tax deadbeat politicians doesn’t work so well in the real world or orchids.  Well, maybe I shouldn’t be surprised, since orchid judging is so political.

I once visited the greenhouse of a commercial grower, and we got to talking about kovachii.  In my orchid envy, I asked if he/she had any.

The owner answered, tersely, “Yes.”

“Oh, I’d love to see them.  Can you show them to me?” I asked, politely.

“No.”

I was puzzled.  Growers are usually excited to show off the new stuff.  “Why not?” I asked.  “Are they illegally obtained?”

“No, they are all legal.  But I can’t show them to you because of what happened previously when I did show them to someone.  As the customer was leaving, I had to ask him to please remove and return the kovachii plants that were sticking out of his pocket.  So I’m not showing the kovachii’s to anyone anymore.”

Me: “Wow.  OK.  I understand.”

If you know of any egregious stories of orchid theft, please forward them and I’ll post them.

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What really bugs me are orchid ads I see claiming that such and such species are rare, when in fact, they are very, very common. For example, I recently saw a P. delenatii in bloom listed as a “rare” orchid. Nothing could be further from the truth. P. delenatii has got to be one of the most common orchids available commercially. Now, the alba form might have been considered rare a few years ago, but these days, it is at best “not often seen”. You can get fine examples of this form from many excellent growers (yes, we have a few at Paphiness Orchids).

There is a variant of P. delenatii that is indeed what I would call “rare”. The var. dunkel (meaning “dark” in German) has leaves with very heavy pigmentation, and the edges are dark purple, nearly black. But sooner or later, they will not be rare as breeders produce more and more of them.

In a future posting, I’ll go through what plants are truly rare.

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A great way to lose money on orchids is buying plants that are too small.

Take P. sanderianum: spectacular, highly desirable, envy-inducing. And slow-growing.

Every now and then I meet people who want to save money on a sanderianum by getting a small seedling. While seedlings a year or two out of flask may run $30 these days, what these folks don’t realize is the hidden cost in small seedlings. These hidden costs fall into several areas:

1) There is a huge risk in losing your seedling during the, oh, five to seven years it will take to get to maturity. Five to seven years is a long time to wait, and a lot can happen to a plant. Like infections. Pests. Power outages. Vacations where someone who was supposed to water your plants forgets to show up. While you may save some money upfront, you pay for it in the risk you absorb in attempting to grow a small seedling.

2) Your time, effort, and growing space have a cost. “Non-performing” plants (i.e., ones that take too long to bloom or don’t grow) should be candidates for replacement by ones that do “perform”: they bloom, or at least grow fast enough to keep you excited about it, or produce a division that can be traded or sold. Plants that sit, take up space, water, and care generally turn out to be a waste of time. (The same is true of stock market investments.)

3) Buyers don’t always have the opportunity to see ALL the sibs from a cross together to pick the strongest. In any flask, there will be more vigorous individuals and less vigorous individuals (which holds true in the classroom, gym class, standardized tests, etc.). So the seedling you get might be the best, or might be the runt.

A bigger plant will cost more, but it will be established. Its very size tells you something — it is a survivor. It was robust enough to handle whatever was thrown at it for the time it took to get to its size, whether that was bad weather, bad bacteria, or bad care, and it will be robust enough to have a chance at handling whatever you might throw at it!

The other benefit of larger size is its growth will accelerate once the plant reaches a certain size. The more leaf area, the more photosynthesis, the more growth, and hopefully, more energy to put into a bloom, one which you’ll be enjoying much sooner than with a seedling.

Believe me, this is not a ploy to get people to buy bigger plants from Paphiness Orchids. I’m very happy to sell seedlings of nearly any size, and do so reasonably well (usually to growers who are very patient, committed, and know from experience that some are not going to make it). And there’s nothing like growing a seedling to bloom, especially if it takes seven years.

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I hold that the original Star Trek series was still the best of all the Star Trek shows. In one very memorable episode, “Let That Be Your Last Battlefield,” the Enterprise encounters the last two individuals from the planet Arianis. These two men are of different races: one is solid black on his left side and white on his right, while the other is the opposite. They are sworn enemies, and one has been chasing the other for 50,000 years. (!)

Here is one of the gentleman from planet Arianis:

And here is a Paph that must have come from the same planet (scroll down!):

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Notice the near perfect split down the middle of the flower, the stem, even the ovary (i.e., the seedpod thing)!

What genetic accident happened to produce this freak of nature? What can we learn? Can your plants avoid this awful fate?

That’s for another posting…

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I am very pleased to have recently obtained from the Orchid Zone a division of P. spicerianum ‘St. Albans’. The flower is quite modest compared to some of the latest breeding of this species from OZ (let me know if you’re interested in getting some), but it is definitely a valuable piece of orchid history. The “St. Alban’s” name comes from the location of Frederick Sander’s nursery. Sander and Sons was one of the most famous orchid dealers in the world, and was responsible for the discovery of numerous new plant species. Sander’s collectors ranged throughout Southeast Asia, the Pacific, and South America in the quest for new orchids, and some of them were named after him: P. sanderianum and Vanda sanderiana, to name just two. In fact, the commonplace “lucky bamboo” Dracaena sanderiana was named after him!

Anyways, here’s P. spicerianum ‘St. Albans’:

I love spicerianum as its flower is unique and distinctive, it grows quickly, and it tolerates a wide range of conditions. In fact, I’ve read that the first spicerianum plant known in England arrived as not much more than a root in a shipment of other orchids from India. (Hmm, recovering a valuable plant from just a piece of rhizome and root is something I’ve had to try all too many times.) The hardy plant fluourished in Mrs. Spicer’s greenhouse, and eventually set off a massive hunt for this rare species.

If you are interested in obtaining a division of this plant, please email me at orchids@paphinessorchids.com.

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P. spicerianums are very much in bloom now. It is one of my favorite species, being easy to grow, and charming to look at. The story of its discovery is fascinating as well. The following is an excerpt from About Orchids (1893) by Frederick Boyle:

It [P. spicerianum] turned up among a quantity of Cypripedium insigne in the greenhouse of Mrs. Spicer, a lady residing at Twickenham. Astonished at the appearance of this swan among her ducks, she asked Mr. Veitch to look at it. He was delighted to pay seventy guineas down for such a prize. Cypripediums propagate easily, no more examples came into the market, and for some years this lovely species was a treasure for dukes and millionaires. It was no secret that the precious novelty came from Mrs. Spicer’s greenhouse; but to call on a strange lady and demand how she became possessed of a certain plant is not a course of action that commends itself to respectable business men. The circumstances gave no clue. Messrs. Spicer were and are large manufacturers of paper; there is no visible connection betwixt paper and Indian orchids. By discreet inquiries, however, it was ascertained that one of the lady’s sons had a tea-plantation in Assam. No more was needed.

Here, like many tales of orchid discovery, things get a bit confused and muddled. The Mr. Veitch named above was one of the premier orchid and plant dealers in England (and hence the world), and his botanical legacy lives on to this day. Veitch was in competition with Frederick Sander (after whom P. sanderianum is named), whose orchid exploits earned him the moniker of “The Orchid King.” The confusion comes in the mention of Mr. Forstermann in the next sentence. Forstermann was the actual orchid hunter who ventured nto the wildest of places to find these rarest of plants. Forstermann didn’t work for Veitch, though — he worked for Sander.

By the next mail Mr. Forstermann started for that vague destination, and in process of time reached Mr. Spicer’s bungalow. There he asked for “a job.” None could be found for him; but tea-planters are hospitable, and the stranger was invited to stop a day or two. But he could not lead the conversation towards orchids—perhaps because his efforts were too clever, perhaps because his host took no interest in the subject. One day, however, Mr. Spicer’s manager invited him to go shooting, and casually remarked “we shall pass the spot where I found those orchids they’re making such a fuss about at home.” Be sure Mr. Forstermann was alert that morning! Thus put upon the track, he discovered quantities of it, bade the tea-planter adieu, and went to work; but in the very moment of triumph a tiger barred the way, his coolies bolted, and nothing would persuade them to go further. Mr. Forstermann was no shikari, but he felt himself called upon to uphold the cause of science and the honour of England at this juncture. In great agitation he went for that feline, and, in short, its skin still adorns Mrs. Sander’s drawing-room. Thus it happened that on a certain Thursday a small pot of C. Spicerianum was sold, as usual, for sixty guineas at Stevens’s; on the Thursday following all the world could buy fine plants at a guinea.

Hmm, exaggerations and orchid sales go hand in hand. The bit about science and England’s honor seems to omit the true motivation: the money. Rare orchids in those days, being the near-exclusive province of nobility and merchant princes, commanded astronomical prices. They still do (but more on that in another post.) Ultimately, many thousands of plants were sent to England, and eventually some made it to the US, where they could be obtained in 1889 for $5 each. What is that in today’s dollars? Probably somewhere between $113 to ~$500. (You can obtain an estimate at www.measuringworth.com, where you get a range of values depending on how you look at relative worth.) Today, in 2007 dollars, you can obtain a fine specimen of this once exceedingly valuable plant for $20 - $30. Interested parties should email orchids@paphinessorchids.com.

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Baron Ferdinand James von Rothschild (1839 - 1898) was a member of the famous Rothschild family, known for their financial empire stretching across Europe. Born into the Austrian branch of the family, he settled in England, where he married his first cousin, Evelina, who tragically died with their baby during childbirth. Baron Rothschild built a hospital in her memory.

Besides becoming a member of the British Parliament, he was an art collector, and, of course, a famous orchid collector. He built an estate called Waddeson Manor, where he kept a vast collection of plants. And, he had the great distinction of having the King of Slipper Orchids named for him. I read somewhere that a Baron Rothschild had a plant with 200 leaves and put up a dozen flower spikes! That would be a spectacular sight to see. (Better yet, I hope to grow a rothschildianum that big myself.)

It’s not clear to me yet which Baron Rothschild owned this massive roth, as I haven’t seen the original reference, and there have been a lot of Rothschilds, several associated with orchids. A Continental cousin of Ferdinand, Edmond, had a huge collection in Paris. Bulbophyllum (or is it Cirrhopetalum now?) rothschildianum appears to have been named for a Walter Rothschild. At least one of the wealthy modern day Rothschilds continues the tradition in France. Maybe collecting orchids runs in the family, along with great wealth and art collecting.

Or does it mean that collecting orchids will make you rich? You can find out for yourself by clicking here and choosing a nice plant to add to your collection.

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Pouch People (i.e., slipper orchid aficionados) are unusually addicted to their orchids. Within the varied world of slipper orchids, there are “specialists” who focus on particular types.

Parvi lovers are obsessed with plants in the Parvisepalum group (micranthum, armeniacum, malipoense, emersonii, delenatii, vietnamense, hangianum) and their hybrids

Brachy collectors grow those in the Brachypetalum group (bellatulum, concolor, niveum, wenshanense, godefroyae) and their hybrids.

Multifloral devotees — self-explanatory… P. sanderianum, P. rothschildianum, P. lowii, P. stonei, etc. dominate this group.

Complex lovers — go for the standard/”bulldog” plants. While there are ~90 known naturally occurring species, thousands of complex hybrids exist, and they draw only from a subset of the known species, yet incredible and amazing forms have been produced by dedicated breeders and their genetic palettes.

P. rothschildianum nuts — It is really hard to understand the compulsions of this group of collectors. The prices people will pay may seem exorbitant to more “normal” collectors, but they make a kind of perverse sense to denizens of this niche. Seeing a spectacular rothschildianum in full bloom is like experiencing a masterpiece of art. Almost sublime. (Yes, I am a roth nut.)

Album collectors — the most rarefied sphere of the slipper universe, perhaps of the whole orchid universe. A single plant of a rare albinistic form  of a species can easily be worth more than many nice collections. Some of these albinistic (i.e., almost or completely lacking in color pigmentation) plants are exceedingly rare, and in some instances only one or two plants are known to exist.

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