Read it!
Got this off a New Zealand page regarding the British Orchid Genera - Ophrys.
Once upon a time, 0 dearly beloved, there was a plain orchid taxon that looked quite ordinary. The little orchids were sad and, lonely because their labellum was not at all modified as a landing platform or decorated to attract insects. In fact, insects seemed to ignore them completely. And how they yearned for insects to visit them. They yearned especially for a handsome taxon of male bumble bees they saw buzzing busily by on their way to visit lady bees. How the plain little orchids wished they could be even half as beautiful as the lady bees were!
But they weren't, and generation after generation they were obliged to self-pollinate, thus making further generations of quite ordinary identical babies who grew up to be clones of their quite ordinary selves.
And then suddenly a random evolutionary mutation occurred, possibly as a result of divine visitation or solar radiation, possibly from the fallout of a radioactive meteorite, and lo! the labellum of one of their number began to look rather like the female bees they had all envied. She was the Chosen One, and her wish had been granted.
The little orchid was so proud she provocatively stuck out her labellum and wiggled it at a passing bee. The bee swerved, and, 0 frabjous day! zoomed onto her labellum and hastily made love to her. The little orchid was ecstatic, the more so because the bee was carrying pollen from another orchid (yes, well OK; I suppose the other orchid must have received a dose of irradiation too. Stop interrupting. Picky, picky). Then the bee buzzed busily off to visit a lady bee.
The little orchid did not mind, for she glowed in the secure knowledge that she was the first of her kind to experience the delights of cross-pollination. Primitive taxonomists pondered whether she was an undescribed taxon, but she didn't care. Her babies, enriched by a double gene pool, were all a little different from one another, and one, her favorite, grew up to develop a labellum even more like a lady bee than her own. This beautiful thing was of course even more attractive to bees, and one of her offspring even more so, and so on. And so on, and so on, and so on.
Eventually the by now obviously taxonomically distinct orchid looked even more lovely than the lady bees themselves, so much so that the primitive taxonomist Tharg called her the Bee Orchid ("Uggh! him like bee," said Tharg in those heady days when him was an inclusive pronoun), and the man bees liked making love with the orchids even more than they did with the lady bees. For several long and lusty summers all was bliss, and the orchids thrived.
But little by little the besotted man bees began to neglect the lady bees till eventually they stopped visiting them altogether, and then, one bleak season, there were no young bees to take their place. That species of bees had utterly died out.
Sad and lonely, the little Bee Orchids had to revert to self-pollination, thus making generations of quite beautiful identical babies who grew up to be clones of their quite beautiful selves. Although they had labella marvellously modified and decorated to attract their special insect, there was no insect to be attracted. Their lonesome beauty is a warning to all of us that vanity and deceit are always punished in the end.
Love always,
*~*emmie*~*
Once upon a time, 0 dearly beloved, there was a plain orchid taxon that looked quite ordinary. The little orchids were sad and, lonely because their labellum was not at all modified as a landing platform or decorated to attract insects. In fact, insects seemed to ignore them completely. And how they yearned for insects to visit them. They yearned especially for a handsome taxon of male bumble bees they saw buzzing busily by on their way to visit lady bees. How the plain little orchids wished they could be even half as beautiful as the lady bees were!
But they weren't, and generation after generation they were obliged to self-pollinate, thus making further generations of quite ordinary identical babies who grew up to be clones of their quite ordinary selves.
And then suddenly a random evolutionary mutation occurred, possibly as a result of divine visitation or solar radiation, possibly from the fallout of a radioactive meteorite, and lo! the labellum of one of their number began to look rather like the female bees they had all envied. She was the Chosen One, and her wish had been granted.
The little orchid was so proud she provocatively stuck out her labellum and wiggled it at a passing bee. The bee swerved, and, 0 frabjous day! zoomed onto her labellum and hastily made love to her. The little orchid was ecstatic, the more so because the bee was carrying pollen from another orchid (yes, well OK; I suppose the other orchid must have received a dose of irradiation too. Stop interrupting. Picky, picky). Then the bee buzzed busily off to visit a lady bee.
The little orchid did not mind, for she glowed in the secure knowledge that she was the first of her kind to experience the delights of cross-pollination. Primitive taxonomists pondered whether she was an undescribed taxon, but she didn't care. Her babies, enriched by a double gene pool, were all a little different from one another, and one, her favorite, grew up to develop a labellum even more like a lady bee than her own. This beautiful thing was of course even more attractive to bees, and one of her offspring even more so, and so on. And so on, and so on, and so on.
Eventually the by now obviously taxonomically distinct orchid looked even more lovely than the lady bees themselves, so much so that the primitive taxonomist Tharg called her the Bee Orchid ("Uggh! him like bee," said Tharg in those heady days when him was an inclusive pronoun), and the man bees liked making love with the orchids even more than they did with the lady bees. For several long and lusty summers all was bliss, and the orchids thrived.
But little by little the besotted man bees began to neglect the lady bees till eventually they stopped visiting them altogether, and then, one bleak season, there were no young bees to take their place. That species of bees had utterly died out.
Sad and lonely, the little Bee Orchids had to revert to self-pollination, thus making generations of quite beautiful identical babies who grew up to be clones of their quite beautiful selves. Although they had labella marvellously modified and decorated to attract their special insect, there was no insect to be attracted. Their lonesome beauty is a warning to all of us that vanity and deceit are always punished in the end.
Love always,
*~*emmie*~*