I consider myself an accommodating host to the houseplants in my home, but I don’t possess the energy of the true fanatic. There are people with fetishes for finicky plants, and in my mind–until recently anyway–orchid fanciers were firmly in this category. Deserved or not, orchids have a reputation for being among the fussiest of indoor plants. The word on the street is that they need peculiar light and perpetual feeding, and require you to keep your home chilly by day and cold at night. Since I’m just as particular about keeping my living conditions as they are, I’ve never believed orchids and I were cut out to be roommates. I let them grace the homes of others and left them in peace.
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That is until I crossed the threshold of Orchids by Hausermann in west-suburban Addison a year ago and watched my lofty nonpossessive attitude crumble. I had skidded out on the Eisenhower on a snowy January day just to experience the four-acre orchid orgy–I had no intentions of buying. And the experience itself is remarkable–the inside of Hausermann offers one of the most astonishing winter views in the metropolitan area. Rows of plants with pink, lavender, white, apricot, lemon, and deep red blossoms stretch out in all directions under the plastic-roofed buildings. To call the structures greenhouses seems inadequate; the Hausermann buildings are more like kaleidoscope houses.
“The Hausermanns said orchids are easier to grow than people think. There was an article about how simple it is tacked up next to the cash register.”
He was unconvinced. “How much did you pay for the orchid?”
That was a year ago. Today the leaves of the plant I’m keeping for Joe remain a peaceful, glossy green, and its aerial roots remain unrotted. It seems to be surviving nicely, though I haven’t convinced it to bloom a second time. Still, I have hope. Enough hope that last week I paid another visit to Hausermann and E.F.G. Orchids and selected a petite Haemaria that’s now blooming on the bathroom windowsill.
