It Glows at Night, Feeds on Fungi, and It's Vanishing.

Meet Minnesota's Most Mysterious Orchid.

By Diana Pierce | March 18th, 2026

Photographed in a University of Minnesota Landscape Arboretum lab. This is possibly one of the first studio portraits ever made of this federally endangered species. Photo: Diana Pierce

Something rare happened recently inside a University of Minnesota Landscape Arboretum laboratory.

A Western Prairie Fringed Orchid bloomed.

That may not sound like breaking news. But for David Remucal, PhD, Delores E. Isaacson Curator of Endangered Plants, it was a moment years in the making and one that very few researchers have ever witnessed outside the wild.

“I don’t know how often anybody has ever gotten to bloom one in captivity,” Remucal told me. “I don’t know if anyone’s ever had a chance to photograph it indoors. I would imagine almost all of the photos you would see of this species come from the wild.”

This plant is federally listed as threatened. Minnesota holds some of its largest remaining populations and is tucked into remnant native prairies on the western edge of the state. But with 99% of Minnesota’s native prairie gone, the patches where this orchid survives grow smaller and more fragile every year.

Remucal’s team didn’t grow this plant from seed. They extracted it whole, meaning roots, stem, and all, from a protected western Minnesota site to study its root system, because this orchid cannot survive without a very specific fungal partner living in the soil.

Finding and banking that fungus is the key to any hope of reintroduction.

Behind-the-scenes lab shoot of the Western Prairie Fringed Orchid. Photo: Diana Pierce

When the plant unexpectedly bloomed, it gave Remucal a rare opportunity: hand pollination. Orchid pollen comes in tight little packets called pollinia. Two packets per flower, each sitting at the tip of what Remucal describes as looking like eyebrows.

“When you touch one of those sticky pads, that whole packet of pollen comes off,” he said. “I used a toothpick.”

Pollinium on toothpick. Photo: D. Remucal

In the wild, the pollinator is a hawk moth. The orchid’s pale white petals, ghostly, fringed, almost luminous, seem designed for moonlight. There’s something almost otherworldly about it. It slightly glows at dusk. It feeds on fungi in the soil. It lures a single night-flying moth with scent released after dark. I told Remucal it reminded me of a zombie flower. He didn’t disagree.

Below ground, Remucal’s team has isolated a fungus from this plant’s roots and is now attempting something remarkable: pairing that fungus with orchid seeds to see if germination follows.

Orchid seeds paired with the isolated fungus. That small spider-like shape in the center? A germinating seed. Photo: D. Remucal

“If we can figure out how to bank the seed, propagate it, and get it to survive,” Remucal said, “we’ve got a pretty good shot at augmenting these populations. The ultimate goal of any listed species is to delist it.”

That’s a long road. But a toothpick, a petri dish, and one unexpected bloom just moved it a little closer.

This orchid doesn’t need you to be a botanist. It needs you to care.

Here’s how:

Visit- The U of M Landscape Arboretum in Chaska is where this research lives. Your membership and admission dollars fund it directly.

Support land protection- The Minnesota DNR and The Nature Conservancy both manage habitat where this orchid still holds on. A donation, any size, keeps that land protected.

Spread the word- Share this article. The more people who know this plant exists, the harder it becomes to ignore its disappearance.

Minnesota is one of the last places on earth where this orchid thrives in any meaningful number.

That’s not a burden. That’s a privilege worth protecting.

Diana

#bloomwithme

© 2026 Diana Pierce