On the brink of World War I, Micholitz wrote to Sander that he worried about the approaching conflict but just for one reason, one that Sander certainly understood: “I suppose if it comes to a universal war, there will be very little demand for orchids.” A few years later Sander was on his deathbed. Just before he fell into his final coma, he sent a note to a garden director in Frankfurt and signed off with a few lines Micholitz would have appreciated: “This illness will be the end of me. Tell me, how are the plants I sent you? Are they still alive?”
