Nobody would credit, unless
he had talked with one of the great farmers, on what enormous scale
orchids are cultivated up and down by private persons. Our friend has a
client who keeps his stock of _O. crispum_ alone at ten thousand; but
others, less methodical, may have more.
Opposite the door is a high staging, mounted by steps, with a gangway
down the middle and shelves descending on either hand. Those shelves are
crowded with fine plants of the glorious _O. crispum_, each bearing one
or two spikes of flower, which trail down, interlace, arch upward. Not
all are in bloom; that amazing sight may be witnessed for a month to
come--for two months, with such small traces of decay as the casual
visitor would not notice. So long and dense are the wreaths, so broad
the flowers, that the structure seems to be festooned from top to bottom
with snowy garlands. But there is more. Overhead hang rows of baskets,
lessening in perspective, with pendent sprays of bloom. And broad tables
which edge the walls beneath that staging display some thousands still,
smaller but not less beautiful. A sight which words could not portray. I
yield in despair.
The tillage of the farm is our business, and there are many points here
which the amateur should note. Observe the bricks beneath your feet.
They have a hollow pattern which retains the water, though your boots
keep dry.
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