32 The Honey-Makers 



It was a New England June, one to remember, when a 

 cool and rainy season had made the wild growths of the 

 mountains of western Connecticut even more than usually 

 luxuriant and beautiful. 



Through the dim aisles of the hemlock and white birch 

 trees that clothed a certain hillside the forms of the great 

 pink orchids shone with almost unearthly effect. 



The single blossom stood at the end of its long stem 

 rising from two large leaves that looked as though they had 

 scarcely yet been fully born from the earth beneath. They 

 stood singly, but in small communities, little settlements of 

 them, and occasionally two would be so close together that 

 they looked like one plant. 



It was no hardship to wander through these woods 

 coming ever upon the magic areas where stood the orchids, 

 giving one the feeling that they did not belong to this 

 world, but were here for a time, brought forth by some 

 powerful incantation. 



The orchids were alone. The air was still but for the 

 rustling of the hemlock boughs. Hours passed, and no 

 winged messengers came to them. 



By its nature the cypripedium is dependent upon winged 

 insects. There is no plant more so. 



It is an extremely advanced organization, so highly 

 developed that it is difficult to see how flowers could go 

 much farther along the road of progress. 



There is one more step it could take, that of having 

 stamens and pistil in different individuals. But it is as 

 secure from self-fertilization as though this were the case. 



The petal forming its large inflated sac is free along the 

 upper edges, leaving a slit the length of the sac, but this slit 

 is not evident without actually drawing apart the two sides 

 of the sac, so closely do the overarching lips shut together 

 and conceal it. The essential organs are borne on the 



