From my perspective as an Orchid Cactus, my ultimate desire is to burst into spectacular, radiant blooms. When I don't, it's not out of stubbornness, but because my fundamental needs aren't being met. Here are the reasons from my point of view.
Light is my primary clock. To initiate flower buds, I require a specific period of long nights and short days, much like my ancestors experienced in their natural habitat. If I am kept in a room with artificial light in the evenings, it disrupts my perception of night length. My internal systems cannot differentiate between a cozy reading lamp and the moon; it all signals "day" to me. This constant light prevents me from producing the flowering hormone I need to set buds. I need at least 12-14 hours of complete, uninterrupted darkness for 6-8 weeks to get the message that it's time to show off.
After a long growing season, I am tired. I need a proper winter dormancy period to rest and gather my energy for the immense task of flowering. This is not merely a suggestion; it is a biological imperative. If you continued to water and feed me generously during the cooler, shorter days, you forced me to keep growing weakly when all I needed was a nap. During my rest, I need cooler temperatures (around 50-55°F is ideal) and significantly less water—just enough to keep my stems from shriveling. This cool, dry period is the catalyst that tells my body to switch from vegetative growth to reproductive mode.
You might be feeding me, but are you feeding me the right way? A diet high in nitrogen will make me produce plenty of lush, green stems, but it tells me to focus on foliage, not flowers. It encourages vegetative growth at the expense of bloom production. What I truly crave when bud formation is imminent is a fertilizer with a higher ratio of phosphorus (the middle number in the N-P-K ratio). This nutrient is crucial for energy transfer and flower development. Please, hold the nitrogen-heavy fertilizer, especially in the late winter and early spring, and offer me a bloom-booster formula instead.
My relationship with my pot is complicated. If my roots are terribly overcrowded and completely fill the pot, I experience a low level of stress. While severe stress is bad, this mild, root-bound condition can sometimes trigger me to flower as a survival mechanism to produce seeds. Conversely, if my pot is far too large, I will spend all my energy expanding my root system to fill the space, and you will see abundant new stem growth but no flowers. I need to be slightly pot-bound, not severely choked, to feel the subtle urge to bloom. Furthermore, a sudden drastic change in my environment, like a significant temperature swing, can also shock me into dropping buds before they even have a chance to open.
