I find myself surrounded by bromeliads twice each year. During the early summer, when temperatures have sufficiently warmed, high-end landscape designers use these intriguing tropical beauties to dress up window boxes and the small front gardens of Manhattan town houses. And in frosty February and fickle March, though the temperatures make it an unlikely time for a northerner to encounter bromeliads, you’ll find colorful Neoregelia, showy Vriesea, and floriferous Aechmea thriving in the safe haven of our Conservatory.
Bromeliads add an important element of design to The Orchid Show with their color and texture. Their broad, lance-shaped foliage emerges gracefully from their vase-like form, adding structure and drama to the display. This year they are complemented by an array of lush, tropical and subtropical ferns. In nature, bromeliads often grow alongside orchids—the show takes this natural association and transforms it into a vibrant and stylized display.
From January 18 through February 23 the Enid A. Haupt Conservatory will be hosting Tropical Paradise, an exhibition of our permanent collections that encourages you to take refuge from the chilly winter weather and indulge in a tropical retreat! On weekends and select holiday Mondays the Garden will also be hosting Tropical Interactive Encounters, allowing you to see, taste, and smell tropical plants such as coconut, nutmeg, and annatto. During this warming winter treat, visitors are invited to learn the historical and cultural significance of many tropical plants while enjoying the sensory experience of these unique species.
And back again for another year, photographs from the International Garden Photographer of the Year contest will be on display in the Conservatory to highlight tropical plants and landscapes from around the globe. This photography collection, entitled The Beauty of Paradise, will be complemented by our annual Tropical Paradise Photography Contest, where eager shutterbugs can enter their own images for a chance at an NYBG prize!
I had a habit of picking up fallen air plants while bumming around in the woods and swamps as a kid. More often than not it was a clump of Spanish moss clinging to a branch broken from a southern live oak. I would hang these covered branches all around the outside of the house, at least up until the point my dad convinced me the gray-green spirals were full of bats, snakes, and red mites (“chiggers” to a true southerner).
The jury’s still out on how many of his frantic warnings are true, but bring a tangle of the stuff to anyone south of the Virginia state line and there’s a good chance the bystander will keep his distance.
