The Wednesday before last, after a six-and-a-half-hour drive to the mountains, I arrived at the little timber cabin in Halls Gap. I love how the road south follows the railway line for a time. I passed two enormously long freight trains as I travelled down. When I lived in the hills, I would often hear the freight train coming through the National Park at night, and half-asleep, would be comforted by the familiar sound. Somewhere around Horsham, the Grampians had come into view, majestic and ancient in the setting sun. I had packed breakfast items, but stopped to fetch a pizza, some wine, and some fresh milk as I neared the cabin. It was already getting dark, so after turning on the lamps and unpacking, I settled down for supper. Well-fed and rested, I stepped outside to breathe the cool clean mountain air, and gaze at the night sky. There were so many stars! I was reminded of Abraham coming outside the tent and counting the stars, and of the Magi on their pilgrim journey looking upwards at the heavens. Promises in the stars. Above my cabin, Venus – or maybe even Sirius – was as bright as could be. I thought to myself, “Tomorrow, I’ll search for the Diuris daltonii.”
I have been fascinated with the Diuris daltonii – or Lilac Double-tails – for quite some time. Its pink and lilac hues are such a contrast to all the other predominantly yellow South Australian donkey orchids. In my Field Guide to the Native Orchids of South Australia, it is mentioned right at the end of the book, along with the words “not seen for many years.”
I had heard though, that they still appear across the border in Victoria, in a couple of higher-rainfall locations, and not far from the Grampians. And so, the next morning, I put my hiking boots in the car and headed out towards the first potential site. Down dirt roads until I reached a dead end. I parked the car and wandered down the track, but couldn’t see anything. Feeling the first pangs of disappointment, I returned to the car, only for it not to start! And that’s when I realised that my phone had no reception. Disappointment became panic. So much for the previous night’s optimism. It’s amazing how quickly my excitement turned upside down.
When I eventually got the car started, it was lunchtime, so I returned to Halls Gap thinking I’d better find a mechanic. I stopped at the cabin, made a sandwich, and jumped back into the car. This time, it started with ease! I felt my heart rate quicken, as I made the decision to forego the garage detour, and headed off in the opposite direction to the second potential site. I’d already lost half the day, so I couldn’t waste any more time on the car, I reckoned… Again, the phone reception dropped out as I made my way south, and out of the mountains into the wide valley below. I was miles from the cabin, and hadn’t passed a single farm or house for forty-five minutes. I was just beginning to think I’d made a reckless mistake, and to regret the whole trip. And then, I suddenly spotted a cluster of pink petals in the long grass verge. I stopped the car by the side of the road, ran back to the opposite verge, and there, in all their glory, I counted twenty or so Diuris daltonii.
Over the years, I’ve balanced on cliff ledges, skidded off wet dirt roads, and lost my footing on scree slopes. I’ve been attacked by bull ants, startled by emus and I’ll not forget that red-bellied black. All of it in search of native orchids. And at that moment, I didn’t even know if my car would get me back to the cabin, let alone back home. But none of that mattered – I had searched for, and found, the precious Lilac Double-tails.
I took a hundred photos, including one with my car in the background, and the mandatory selfie with the flowers. I was conscious of David’s words, “Delight yourself in the LORD; and He will give you the desires of your heart.” The car started with ease(!) and I made my way back into the mountains. Approaching Halls Gap, I was simply too excited to return to the cabin straight away, so I abandoned the car and took a short waterfall hike. On the descent, I spotted an orchid species that is very scarce in South Australia. Still reeling from the day’s excitement, I drove up to a mountain lookout to watch the sunset, and was met by yet another rare orchid.
On that mountain, looking out at the view, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the blessings of the previous twenty-four hours. Yesterday’s starry sky, the mountains, waterfall, sunset, the daltonii – and other rare orchids besides. In Malachi, we read, “See if I will not open the floodgates of heaven and pour out a blessing for you without measure.” I know that particular verse relates to God’s response to our tithing, but blessing without measure is how it felt on that mountain top. Life in all its fulness. A table set before me, and an overflowing cup – to quote David.
There are lessons here. There’s something about faith and risk. There’s something about where my treasure lies. There’s something about living in the moment. There’s something about gratitude. There’s something about being all-in, too. I think about my orchid adventures over the years and am sure that no one could doubt my passion and commitment. I wonder though, am I equally all-in when it comes to spreading the message of God’s love? How passionate and committed am I? I think of that sobering message to the church in Ephesus: “But I have this against you, that you have left your first love.” Clearly, I still have my first love for the natural world and its rare flora, and I foster that love. But can the same be said for my life of faith? What do I keep in my heart? Like Mary treasuring all these things in her heart, am I doing the same with Jesus?
There’s another lesson in the daltonii’s own story; a story about extinction in one place while quietly thriving in another. I returned from my retreat into the bustle of and turmoil of everyday life, and turning on the News everything seemed so bleak… But, if the daltonii represents hope and beauty and truth and the survival of things that matter, then the apparent decline of those things in one place cannot and does not mean that they are eradicated everywhere forever. There is still hope and beauty and truth. Somewhere.
God’s power and love are as ancient as the Grampians, and they will remain. Despite the worrying stories in the News, despite the busyness of life, even despite those moments when the car breaks down in the middle of nowhere where phones don’t work! The story doesn’t end there. I think of those daltonii continuing to flower and seed in the Victorian valley, despite the fate of their South Australian neighbours. It makes me think of the hymn,
“Jesus bids us shine,
With a clear, pure light,
Like a little candle burning in the night;
In this world of darkness, we must shine,
You in your small corner,
And I in mine.”
Long may the daltonii shine in its part of the world. Now, what can I do to shine for Jesus in my own corner?
*
Scripture refs. Gen 15:5, Mt 2:2, Ps 37:4, Mal 3:10, Jn 10:10, Ps 23: 5, Rev 2:4, Mt 6:21, Lk 2:51.
“Jesus bids us shine” is by Susan Warner, 1881. https://hymnary.org/text/jesus_bids_us_shine_with_a_pure_clear_li