Theos-Talk Archives (December 2002 Message tt00634)

Ephemeral Orchid


Organisms that are ephemeral can have some really nice
adaptations fit to astound the curiosity of a
biologist. One of my favourites from the animal
kingdom is the ornate burrowing frog (Limnodynastes
ornatus). This frog can spend the entire dry season in
a dormant state waiting for the next rains to come.
This wait can be anything from several months to
several years. 

My profession and interest lies in plants where
ephemerality can be common particularly among arid
adapted species. Have you ever seen a picture of the
desert before and after rain? Quite spectacular
indeed! But what I am especially interested in,
something that has really captured my curiosity, are
those ephemerals that are notoriously cryptic. In my
research I have come across the journal of an explorer
of these parts who also had an interest in plants.
These parts are on the east coast of Australia, some
distance from the desert, but nevertheless are subject
to variable rainfall as dictated by ENSO. Before I
tell you more about this explorer you need to know
more about the climate of the area which I am
describing. For it is this unique climate that allows
unique ephemerality to take place. But for the sake of
brevity I shall keep this short. The climate here is
not one of constant cycling between the darkness of
winter and the joy of summer. Instead it is a cycling
between the droughts of El Nino and the floods of La
Nina. This cycle occurs over a decade but there is
never a distinct timescale. Sometimes the cycle may
last for five years, others for twenty. Sometimes the
droughts and floods may be benign, others absolutely
devastating. Then, once in a hundred years, you get
the big one.

It was about 1896 when these parts last saw a big one.
It was also 1896 when our explorer, his name was John
"Mully" Blackham, wrote in his journal. He wasn't an
explorer in the traditional sense he was probably more
of a prospector, searching for new riches in places
long discarded. You could say that he was an explorer
of the known to see if he could discover any unknowns.
A true character indeed was Mully. And always by his
side did he have his most trusted friend, the local
Aboriginal tracker going by the name Gundjigilligook.
One afternoon these two gentlemen decided to explore
some nearby waterfalls. Mully had a hunch that a
surprise laid await there. Just beside in the
waterfall, in a most peculiar and difficult position,
Mully spotted a few tiny purple flowers atop fragile
herbaceous stalks. He asked Gundjigilligook if he knew
what they were. He replied that he had never seen them
before but he could recall an old story that his
grandfather had once told him. Every hundred years,
his grandfather had said, during the big one, the
waterfall looses enough of its power so as to contract
considerably in girth. When this contraction occurred
it exposed a rock where the seeds of this rare orchid
lay dormant. On cue they would come to life and fulfil
their biological imperative before the next rains
came. When the rains would finally return, and the
waterfall would regain its youthful glory, the orchids
would once more lay dormant, waiting another hundred
years for their next chance to capture sunlight. 

Well here I am today, a hundred years on from the era
of Mully and Gundjigilligook. It is a period of
another big one and I have just been to the waterfall
of the orchid. It was crucial that I obtained a
specimen as my position at the herbarium is under
review and I am afraid that I may have to justify my
income. If I could obtain that orchid, describe its
biology and taxonomy, I may very well be recommended
for a higher post. A few of my peers have charged me
with the crime of academic laziness and it is these
people I WANT to impress the most. Without their
respect I cannot function as a whole, I must be
appreciated by them for my work, and my existence, to
have any worth. And what better way to prove my worth
than to risk life and limb in collecting this dainty
orchid. 

I negotiated a track around the waterfall to a place
where I could strategically position my ropes for the
perfect drop down near the ledge where the orchids
existed. I could see about a dozen in that population,
or, as far as I knew, there are only a dozen of the
things in existence. I would only need one or two so
the job shouldn’t have taken long. I lowered myself
down carefully, making sure the rope below did not
harm the orchids. After a few minutes, but what
appeared an eternity, I arrived just above the ledge.
I was hoping to be beside it but I could nevertheless
undertake my arduous task from there. For greater
manoeuvrability I decided to give a little slack on
the rope. In my haste I gave too much, lost my
balance, and fell onto the ledge before the rope could
once again become taut. I landed on all the orchids
and they were crushed by my weight. Their perilous
existence had come to an end under the weight of my
buttocks. 

I am not sure whether these plants were able to set
seed in that short time. For all I know they are gone
from this world forever. Their fragility,
ephemerality, and even their tenacity, however, are a
timeless reminder of the nature of all Life here on
Earth.


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