I have lately stopped blogging about my orchids because I have heartlessly decided to let them die in my father's incapable purple thumbs. My father is an incompetent gardener of the worst kind: he refuses to acknowledge his incompetence and he argues with everyone about the right way to grow them. Due to his care, the spider orchid has grown brown and died; two phals are withering from root rot; the Mokara and Vanda has roots thin from poor fertiliser; a mini den and another mini cat became badly sun burnt. And because his eyesight is bad, he did not see the holes the adult weevils made. Still, with such proof - just in a month he insisted on caring for them - he refuses to acknowledge he's such a bad gardener: he blames everything else except himself for the ruination of the plants. I think planting shows up a person's personality in the worst way. In me, irresponsibility and in him, thick headedness.