World of Wonders: In Praise of Fireflies, Whale Sharks, and Other Astonishments

by Aimee Nezhukumatathil

After that first visit in Wisconsin, I spent three years tracking blooming corpse flowers all over the world, and in that time, only one man out of dozens—one—didn’t blanch at my description of this incredible plant or disparage my enthusiasm. Only one man didn’t wince when I said the word inflorescence. In fact, this man wanted to know more. He wanted to see a corpse flower for himself. He didn’t seem fazed when I reminded him of the odor. I couldn’t believe my luck when, a few months later, over what had become our near-weekly dinner date, this handsome, green-eyed man put his fork down and said he wanted to take a road trip with me the next time a corpse flower bloomed. That it didn’t matter where it was. I knew he wasn’t joking when he said he’d go anywhere with me, and that he meant it. I’d met my match. Laughing eyes–my mom once observed after she first met him–to describe how his eyes shine at everything, how this man has a knack for making everyone around him feel pretty darn magnificent. You know, it’s very good for a man to have laughing eyes! But at that moment, his eyes weren’t laughing across the restaurant table from me. His serious face told me–through all the electric and fragrant greens, the spray and the shine of the wild bursts of fruit, the messy blood-red days and the stench and the stink too—this finally was a man who’d never flinch, never leave my side when things were messy, or if he was introduced to something new. This was a man who’d be happy whe...