My name is Ric and I am an . . . over-waterer.

May 26, 2014 by Ric Fieler 2 Comments

My name is Ric and I am an  . . . over-waterer.  An impetuous over-waterer . . . well, maybe a recovering over-waterer.

Most of my first orchid pals were hard-core drinkers: Phals, vandas, Epidendrum radicans, Maxillaria . . .  So I was hanging around with a crowd that led me to believe that, whenever there was a problem, drinking was the answer. They enjoyed daily swigs of fresh H2O. During the stagnant summer heat, here in Central Florida, the Vandas enjoyed getting sloshed three or four times a day. The Brassavola nodosa, happily potted in her wood slat basket without any media, flourished with my binge water regime, growing from a $5 cutting to overflowing the basket in three-years-time. Back then, I was living with the orchid equivalent of frat brothers – so my motto was, drinks all around! We were all partying and hearty.

Of course, on my budget, I only had a handful of orchids, so it was much easier to take care of them. I could lavish my attention on all of my pals, with plenty of one-on-one quality time. I thought I was the consummate orchid hobbyist: after all, every one of my plants were prolific and hale. I was proud and young, and maybe a little cocky. I was the expert (among my friends) regarding anything orchid!

And then my collection of orchid-friends started to become an unwieldy crowd.  There were so many of them, I wasn’t spending quality time with some of them and they started feel neglected. Apparently, unbeknownst to me, some of them wanted to change their drinking habits, but were stuck in my kegger conservatory with the taps flowing.

My first relationship-gone sour was with a long-time friend: my elegant Brassavola.  Apparently I hadn’t looked closely at her it in a while – always a mistake. She was covered in some kind of black grunge. I didn’t know what it was – I assumed it was mold – but I did know that wasn’t a good thing and she was clearly unhappy. I yanked her out of her digs and started hitting her with shots of water from the garden hose, until I was sure the offending mold was thoroughly soused. I exfoliated her – removing the dead and decaying parts – and sprayed a weak bleach cocktail over the rest of the little lady.  Next, I sloshed her with a soapy solution to abate the chlorine and maybe wash away any remaining mold spores. Then, with heart-in-hand and hoping it was for the best, I drew and quartered her into four portions and sent them, like William Wallace, to the four corners of the earth (my patio), where they would remain ‘dry.’

After three weeks of H2O abstinence, I found that three of the four pieces had given up the ghost.  Only one piece was still viable. I let her sit a little while longer so she could nurture her new roots, and then I lovingly replanted her. Luckily the nodosa has made a full recovery. I un-potted her last year and gave several divisions to friends. I mounted the remaining plant onto a Cypress plaque where she has grown to a sobering size – almost doubling her growth in just one season.

Recently I purchased several species of Catasetinae, including Cycnodes, Mormodes and a Clowesii, which are staunch teetotalers for 4 months of the year and absolute lushes the rest of the time.  These guys are a HUGH challenge for an over-waterer. Sure they love getting flushed when they’re growing but all the experts say to put them on the wagon as soon as their leaves start to yellow – nary a drop until the new growth is 4” tall and the roots are 3 – 5”.

Now, for at least part of the year, I have two camps:  the guzzlers and the abstainers.  That’s a lot to ask of an over-waterer. But it’s worth it when you see the results of all your hard un-work in the Castasetinae camp.

I still tend to overwater, but by potting in Aliflor I keep most of my orchid pals happy most of the time.