It鈥檚 Monday, around 9 o鈥檆lock, and the library is locked for the night. Silently, Linda Zellmer appears on the other side of the glass door. She opens it and guides us up four dark floors towards a puddle of light.
鈥淭here it is,鈥� she says, gazing down at the swollen bud of an orchid cactus. 鈥淚t鈥檚 slowly opening.鈥�
Zellmer perches on a stool behind her camera and waits in anticipation of the night鈥檚 big event: .
While most plants flower for weeks, orchid cacti only blossom for a few short hours a year, and always at night. Botanists name it Epiphyllum oxypetalum, but the plant鈥檚 elaborate, nocturnal mating dance has earned it the nickname of 鈥淨ueen of the Night鈥� or 鈥淟ady of the Night.鈥�
鈥淲hen it opens up, you can smell it. Like, this whole area will smell like this flower,鈥� Zellmer says, . 鈥淪ometimes it gets to the point where it鈥檚 really overpowering.鈥�
"When it opens up, you can smell it... Sometimes it gets to the point where it's really overpowering."
This particular Lady of the Night lives a solitary life, rooted in a small pot under the shadow of an umbrella tree. But tonight is its one chance to do what it was meant to do: spread its seeds.
鈥淚t is a very, very showy flower,鈥� Zelmer says.
But it鈥檚 also particular.
鈥淭hings have to be totally right to bloom,鈥� she says.
The library doubles as a forest
Zellmer, a librarian at the Leslie F. Malpass Library at Western Illinois University, spends her days reading academic journals and deciphering maps.
When she takes a break, she likes to leave her cluttered office and sit in the building鈥檚 common area, amidst the the library houses.
鈥淭he plants provide a different kind of atmosphere,鈥� she says. 鈥淭hey clear the air.鈥�
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F7fvdzW6EqY
Malpass Library opened in 1976 and was arguably designed more for plants than for books and people. Made mostly of glass, the library is humid and prone to molding. Its鈥� six stories are built around a central atrium crowned by a fifteen-foot-tall fig tree.
Every nook and cranny is filled up, forcing patrons to duck under hanging pots of ferns and squeeze in between bookshelves and the century old jade plant.
The orchid cacti first caught Zellmer鈥檚 eye last August when one of the library鈥檚 three specimens threw off several buds. As students and faculty celebrated outside during the university鈥檚 welcome back party, Zellmer sat alone in the library, watching.
鈥淚t looks like a little spider in the middle. But it鈥檚 this pure white,鈥� her eyes light up with the memory. 鈥淎nd it smells wonderful.鈥�
The scientific community recognizes a man named A. P. de Candolle for first discovering the plant in 1828. In the nearly two centuries since, its beauty has been by epic poets and its essence bottled.
orchid cactus stem extract works as a cough suppressant, while others cook the petals into a soup that鈥檚 assumed to be an aphrodisiac. In Southeast Asia, it鈥檚 revered as a to the Hindu god Brahma and it鈥檚 believed if you pray while it鈥檚 blooming, you鈥檙e prayers will be answered.
In the U.S., the plant is popular among gardeners (scroll the page) who invite friends over for bloom night, pour wine, and watch.
A bloom night like tonight
In early May, Zellmer noticed it happening again. The orchid cactus on the fourth floor began pushing out a single green bud that hung down from its fleshy stem.
She photographed as it extended four inches long. Then, she says, it stood up - eager for birds and bugs to swoop in and collect some of its pollen.
鈥淭he stem that the flower is on literally hooks up. Hooks like a shepherd's hook,鈥� she says. 鈥淎nd right now, the flower is so heavy that it鈥檚 just laying on the floor.鈥�
In its native habitat, stretching from the sub tropics of Mexico to the rainforests of South America, the orchid cactus would the ground. Instead, it clings to the branch of a tree forty to sixty feet up where it can grow 20-feet tall, wrapping its鈥� roots around the tree鈥檚 trunk and feeding on sunlight, rain, and air.
Perched in the rainforest canopy, the flower blooms bathed in moonlight amidst the whirl and buzz of nighttime creature life.
The library is silent.
At 10 o鈥檆lock, it starts to happen. First, the bud鈥檚 outermost petals peel back - wiry and pink. Then, the middle layers fringe and part, long and thin like a piano player鈥檚 hand.
Next, the flower鈥檚 central blossom balloons and its wide, opal petals start to unravel. By full bloom, they鈥檒l stretch to the size of a dinner plate, revealing a beaming white, almost iridescent, center. At this point, the blossom is literally throwing off heat; its warmth a siren's鈥� call to the forest鈥檚 hummingbirds, bats, and moths.
, one of these nighttime flying creatures will be covered in pollen from another orchid cactus. As the creature dips into the base of the petals for a sip of nectar, the pollen will brush off on the flower鈥檚 frilly stigma and trickle down a long tube, called the pistol, into the flower鈥檚 center, fertilizing the tapioca-like embryos inside. Then, the plant can bear forth a big red fruit, filled with orchid cactus seeds.
But that never happens for the orchid cacti in Malpass Library, which attract people, not pollinators.
鈥淥urs have never produced fruit because they never get pollinated,鈥� Zellmer says.
A little before midnight, Zellmer packs up and heads off. By the time she returns for work tomorrow morning, the blossom will be spent and the cactus will look like just another plant in the library.
That is, until next year.
