On Friday, I indulged in some humidity therapy at the Como Conservatory.This has become a yearly winter pilgrimage timed just at the point when the dry skin which results from frigid days becomes unbearable. Friday seemed to be the near tipping point and I had a fairly open day ahead so it seemed a perfect thing to do.

Walking into the domed building and I was immediately hit with a rush of humid air. The sun glasses I had been wearing to protect myself against the glaring sun-off- snow, steamed up with a fog of moisture. I looked at those who were wearing regular glasses as we all stood just inside the doorway in a sort of limbo between sight and blindness. Their faces were bathed in smiles. Smiles of warmth, of heavy, moist air, of being surrounded by things that were alive……and green! We chuckled toward one another as we waited for the fog to melt off lenses.

These expeditions must always begin with a simple act of sitting down. Sitting down so you can allow your body to adjust to the instantaneous but beautiful assault of heavy, wet air and heat. After all, our bodies have been walking around in layers of fleece and wool for months. To all of a sudden walk into a tropical Eden takes some time of gentleness.

After the initial time of acclimation, I walked around allowing the green ferns and plants and the colors and smells of the flowers to wash over me. Entering one of the smaller rooms, I found myself present to the Winter Carnival Orchid Show. The sheer beauty and color of these flowers was nearly overwhelming. But the best part came when I began to read the names of some of the unique varieties.

Staring at one orchid whose petals were larger than many of the others, I noticed its deep red, nearly purple flowerets. At its center was a rich,dark pink. Flecked across the petals themselves were little droplets of earthy yellows. The tag that identified the flower? ‘Fine Wine.’ Well, of course it was. What else could it be?

I noticed some women looking up toward the ceiling at a pot that was suspended above our heads. At first I could not see anything but the slender green stems shooting out of a common terra cotta pot. But as my eyes searched further,they beheld flashy hot pink circles of flower. Just on the edge of gaudy, these cascading blossoms looked like a feather boa falling gently off the neck of a lovely lady. Its name? Crown Fox Diva. Why was I not surprised?

But my personal favorite? Sitting quietly among all the other showy blooms, nestled back in the verdant plumage of all the other marvelous orchids sat Brother Buddha. Smaller more understated faces of brown centers hung gently from light green stems. The brown slowly gave way to a soft, dark pink until it finally emerged into the signature saffron of the robes of Buddhist monks. While not the most eye catching of the orchid show, this plant seemed to know itself and be content with its gentle presence.

As I walked out of the room that housed the collection of the many faceted orchids, I wondered about who named them. Whose job is it to watch these lovely creations and then name them with such accuracy? At that moment,I longed for the privilege of such work. To name something, human or plant, is a great gift. Anyone who has ever looked into the face of a newborn, knowing they have the blessed power to attach syllables that will forever define a person’s life, realizes it is something not to be taken lightly.

What is your name? How did it come to you? What is the story that accompanies your naming? In Genesis the task of naming was given to Adam, an awesome responsibility. From the very beginning of our sacred story, names have been important. Names like yours and mine. Names like Fine Wine and Crown Fox Diva and especially, Brother Buddha.