From my perspective as a Dendrobium orchid, the production of keikis (a Hawaiian word for "baby") is not a random event but a deeply ingrained survival strategy. In my native habitat, growing on trees or rocks, my opportunities for propagation through seed dispersal are incredibly uncertain. My seeds are dust-like and require a specific fungal partner to germinate, a chance encounter that is far from guaranteed. Therefore, growing keikis is my primary method of asexual reproduction. It is a guaranteed way to clone myself and ensure my genetic material continues to thrive in a favorable location. By producing a new plant that is genetically identical to me, I am securing my legacy without relying on the unpredictable elements of wind, insects, or fungi.
The decision to channel energy into keiki production is often a direct response to specific environmental conditions that I, the plant, interpret as stress. This stress signals that the current situation might not be ideal for flowering, which is a more energy-intensive process. For instance, if the temperatures are consistently outside my ideal range—too warm for a dendrobium nobile type or without a sufficient cool, dry rest period for others—my hormonal balance can shift. Instead of initiating flower buds, my nodes may be triggered to produce a keiki. It is a way to prioritize creating new life over expending energy on the reproductive gamble of flowers when conditions seem suboptimal.
Internally, my growth is governed by a complex system of plant hormones, primarily auxins and cytokinins. The development of a flower spike versus a keiki from a node is a delicate dance between these chemicals. When the concentration of cytokinins becomes relatively high at a node, it can stimulate the formation of a keiki. This hormonal shift can be influenced by external factors. For example, if my apical meristem (the main growing tip) is damaged or my flower spike is cut back too high above a node, it can disrupt the hormonal flow. This disruption halts the production of auxins that normally suppress growth from lateral buds, effectively giving the "all clear" for those buds to develop into keikis instead of remaining dormant.
While often linked to stress, it is also important to understand that I must be sufficiently healthy and mature to produce a keiki. The process demands a significant investment of stored energy and nutrients from my pseudobulbs (my water and food-storing stems). A weak or struggling plant simply lacks the resources to support such an endeavor. Therefore, a keiki can also be a sign that, despite a potential cultural misstep (like incorrect temperatures), I am fundamentally vigorous. I have stored enough energy not just to sustain myself, but to also support the growth of an entirely new plant. It is a testament to my resilience and a backup plan I deploy when I judge the conditions to be stable enough for a new offspring, even if not perfect for blooming.
