I was reminded today that being human takes practice and it is, thankfully, not as hard as propagating orchids. I did not know, when I headed to the Meijer Gardens Orchid Show, that I would learn that flowers grow in forms of glass, peat moss dreams, and human bonding–both casual and eternal.

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Sleepless after ill-conceived, late-night revels with the Princess Bride and Futurama, I staggered to Meijer Gardens Saturday towing a camera with a mostly-dead battery.*

Thank goodness for iPhones.**

My son dragged me to a corner and refused to budge while we both waited for salvation in the form of a fearless babysitter incentivized by college debt and the promise of at least a Benjamin to keep the orchid’s safe from harm.

The minute my child disappeared with his sitter, I was off. My goal—to photograph as many blooms as possible before my teenager got bored and came back. So, basically, like the count down timer on a nuclear device–I was set to go!

iPhone camera in hand, I stalked exotically named flora.

I hadn’t hit my stride when I ran into a mother and her 26-year-old son. We were fighting to capture the same bloom without flashing each other to blindness.

The mom struck up a conversation as I waited my turn at the luscious fuchsia petals that somehow managed to be the stealth bomber of the orchid enclave.

I was too focused on the flowers. I almost missed hearing that this well-spoken young man has Asperger’s. And like a flower turned to the sun, I lit up meeting him.

To his mom, I said, “My son has ‘classic autism’, he’s non-verbal.”

“I know. I saw you earlier with him.” She confided, nodding toward her son, “We reached him through his love of photography.”

Her son took a break from photographing the coveted blossom. We shook hands. He told me his name and then asked me for mine. I spelled my name out for the young man. He dutifully entered it into his phone—taking delight when I asked if he knew how to spell my last name—citing the Harry Potter – Salazar Slytherin reference. He showed me his phone and he had it letter perfect.

Unfortunately, in the hustle, I totally missed taking his name down. (The day was about photography not blogging, so my notes were whatever I could slap into my phone between pictures.) Looking later, high and low, I couldn’t find his name. If you know this young man, tell him I said ‘Hi’ and ask him to find me.

But, because I met him, my whole day changed. I wasn’t there just for the flowers, but to flower in the company of human experience.

And in writing about each person I met, I decided, I needed to invent an appropriate orchid name.

First, I met…

The Freckle-Dusted, Curly Charmer – a/k/a Rachel

In such a small space, it is not hard to run into people—several times even—at various stations.

I inadvertently stalked this couple throughout the gardens: Rachel and her very tall, camera-shy companion, Kyle—a smug owner of a Samsung Galaxy phone who taunted me periodically with the amazing shots he could take.

Not to be outdone–here’s one of the best I captured:

We exchanged observations while snapping pictures.

Almost every plant had a ribbon—though some of them could be the floral equivalent of an ‘Honorable Mention’ participant award as far as I knew. I have a policy of admitting my ignorance up front—it saves time and effort.

“They all look so beautiful,” I told her, “I really don’t know how the judges could evaluate the merits of any flower.”

That’s when Rachel dropped her orchid bomb!

“I’m sort of a cheater.” She confessed.

When pushed to explain, she said, “I was a biology major at Grand Valley [State University] and I had this professor who showed us how to propagate orchids using a method of injecting genes to create new flowers. So, I understand a bit more about this than most.” ***

This whole time I’d been standing next to an orchid whisperer and hadn’t known it!

Later, while trying to recapture what she told me, I tried to find an appropriate article on ‘gene splicing’ but failed. I did, however, stumble across an actual process to gene-test an orchid’s D.N.A. to discover its parentage: Orchid DNA

Basically, you can C.S.I. an orchid’s ass to find out ‘Whose your daddy?’ so to speak.

In our many encounters, I mentioned how rare it is for me to get out and interact with the world.

(True Confession Time: I was a bit giddy at the orchid extravaganza. I probably seemed a bit drunk with excitement—kind of like a deranged puppy with a floral fixation.)

I asked if I could take her picture for my blog—and tried to set a ‘privacy’ setting so her picture wouldn’t be plastered all over my feed. But the challenging wifi or vicious internet pixies played havoc with the Facebook options.

Rachel shrugged, saying she didn’t mind. This only encouraged me.

“It’s hard for me to go places sometimes.” I laughed and gave my iPhone a little shake. “So, I kind of live on Facebook. It’s weird, I can live so close to people I know but never get together with them. And yet, this summer, a friend from Japan is coming here and we’re going to meet at the nearby mall!”

Then Rachel said something profound.

“Facebook—it makes the far world closer and the close world farther away.”

It struck me as so true, I made her repeat herself so I could type it in my phone. Yes, I am that pushy.

Every time I ran into Rachel and Kyle, we’d fall into conversation. Well, I babbled at them and Rachel willingly exchanged floral witticisms that I could not possible recreate here. You’ll have to come up with your own horticultural insights, I’m afraid.

Except, I can share one universal truth: “Crab grass is the bitch bane of gardening.”

Everyone I met was friendly, tolerant of my intrusions, polite and sharing. None more so than my next flowery friend.

Gratia Umbra a/k/a Elizabeth N.

A slender blond with an elegance that matched the floral occasion, Elizabeth carried with her a functional camera and used it like she knew what she was doing. So, of course, I asked whether she was planning on posting them online and could I ‘friend’ her to see them.

She politely accepted.

If I were to name her using floral taxonomy, the Latin to describe Elizabeth would be A Shade of Grace or Gratia Umbra.

To Elizabeth, who got the shots I could not make. Thanks for sharing.

I could not conclude this story without letting you know of the absolute perfect ending that almost didn’t happen. A providential duo I would regret not knowing.

Defining them by a flower name that accurately tells you who they are is impossible. But I’ll try. For this couple, you absolutely have to use a crossbred variety. Match a shy, subtly engaging flower with a showy, over-the-top genus to create an utterly unique new combination. I give you:

Painted Hearts x Mirrored Souls

Sometimes, you just know. You look at a couple and know they are meant to go together  So it was when I met Nick and Oberon.

I was done photographing the official orchid exhibit. But there is an arboretum that is part of the Meijer Gardens that is a glassed-in heaven in January.

I almost didn’t go. But, rare is my chance to visit the gardens and luxuriate in the peace it brings. And I’m so glad impulse led me to meeting a very special couple.

I wandered to the wall of orchids and sniffed to try and find the one that exuded a glorious, heavy smell that was sweet just to the point of being overpowering.

One of the garden volunteers—the human variety, not the plant kind—corrected me when I told her I loved a particular flower for its heavenly perfume.

“Smell this.” Is all she said.

She thrust a small pot under my nose–tiny fringy leaves with even smaller white flecks you could mistake as dots among all the greenery.

Those dots were actual orchid buds, so small, you had to pay attention to see them.

I did as instructed.

It was like being punched in the nose by the goddess of spring. This confirms a long-held suspicion and I told her so.

“I think the smaller the blossom, the stronger the smell.” I nod in satisfaction. “To make up for not being so showy and bright.”

Saying nothing, she put the pot back and I moved on my way.

Without knowing it, this was the perfect segue to my last encounter of the day.

Getting ready to depart, I was stopped by an incongruous sight.

Among the elderly wanderers, nodding white heads in appreciation of the wonderful view, the families with children, grandparents, and photo-happy parents, there sat a glaring anomaly—a tattooed duo dressed as if headed for a punk rave or a New York grunge art review. Ready for something, anything, more hip than an arboretum.

To Nick and Oberon—for the story about the beehive ink alone—I am indebted. The explanations of a clamshell with the number 13 drawn on your wrist. The laughter and the stories too personal to share here. The tattoo review was the most unique floral exhibit of the day. So if I had to pick flowers to represent you, it would have to be these two–so similar and yet so different, and perfectly matched.

Paph Spicerianum

You opened up to a stranger, one arguably stranger than most. You shared your origin stories like the super heroes you are. You let me take pictures that said a lot more about you than words could.

You let me remember what it was like to be young, in love, and filled with the adventure of it all. Thank you.

And yes, I will happily descend upon you the next time I’m in Chicago. I’m dying to color in all those black and white tattoos. Let’s find out if you are brave enough to hand me a needle to try.

And to my final floral tribute – the young man who made it all possible.

You invited me to be part of the human race instead of just an observer. At 26, you understand that connecting with people is more important that getting a perfect shot. I will remember you always and name you for your warm spirit as well as the small bits of fuzz that dotted your baby face.

My Velvet-Petaled / Open Invitation

You are not in my notes, my phone, my email.

I’ve looked for you everywhere.

You are the one who caused me to look up.

To put the camera down.

Hopefully this will find you, somehow.

To the autistic young man at the flower show.

You reminded me to be as well as see.

Thank you.

I dedicate this blog post to you, for without you it would not have happened.

You will forever be a gentle poem in my heart:

________________________________

And for those curious as to the title of this post, it was the flower name I most identified with. We should all be opalescence on the edge!

Asterisk Bedazzled Footnotes:

*If you ever catch me with a fully-charged device, assume I’ve been kidnapped by aliens and that this is a clone doing research for the impending invasion of Earth. Act accordingly.

**Curse you, Kyle, and your fancy Samsung with those neato photo features. Smugness does not become you!

***This quote is from memory. So, take it with a large grain of salt that I got this at all right.