Each year, in late April and early May, we enjoy a small colony of Lady Slippers near the end of our driveway. Several dozen of the distinctive pink orchids pop up in a scattered constellation about fifty yards across, with our driveway running through the middle. They only last about two weeks, but they steal the show every day they’re around.
A cluster of four with two more coming up
Like most orchids, Lady Slippers are a lesson in patience and cooperation. Their seeds are tiny—like specks of dust—and carry no food or nutrients. To compensate, the flower has evolved to share a symbiotic relationship with a specific fungus that weaves through the forest floor. When the soil conditions are just right—acidic, well-drained, often under pine—the fungus thrives. Then, as if designed for this one purpose, it reaches out and attaches to the Lady Slipper seed, coaxes it open, and begins to feed it. I’ve read that, once mature, the orchid returns the favor, sharing nutrients with the fungus. I’ve also read that this never happens, that the relationship is purely parasitic.
I like the first version.
Another intriguing thing about this particular orchid-supporting patch of woods is that it used to host a moonshine still. That kind of activity was common in this region for a long time, and we come across old sites on our hikes around the Ridge—rusted barrels, collapsed fire pits, half-buried old coils. Usually hidden beneath thick rhododendron on the banks of a stream, these sites always strike me as a little melancholy—once prized and fiercely protected, maybe even providing income that fed a family, now forgotten. 
Part of the old still. Orchids out of frame.
But this old still makes me smile. It got lucky—spending its retirement years in a lovely, sun-dappled pine grove visited every spring by pink Lady Slippers. Judging from the rust and structural decay, I’m guessing the still is 30 to 50 years old. Probably about the same age as the orchid colony, if not a bit younger. Individual Lady Slippers take 16 years to flower for the first time and can live more than 50 years.
Another piece of the still watching over an orchid
I like to think that the old still and orchids in this spot struck up a quiet partnership decades ago—that white lightning fueled the fungi and orchid seed hookups resulting in this durable little colony. And now the rusting old still and briefly blooming Lady Slippers are old friends, sharing the small pine grove as the world turns.