What is the flower language of the black tulip? Interpreting the story behind it

The black tulip is one of the flower colors of the tulip, a plant in the lily family. It was cultivated by 3 students from Singapore Polytechnic in early February 2005, and is commonly known as the "Night Queen." It is one of the rare tulip varieties, and this flower color is still rarely seen on the market. Now let us take a look together at what the flower language of the black tulip is!

The flower language of the black tulip

Because the black tulip is purple-black, it has a rather mysterious feel, symbolizing mystery, strangeness and death. Flower language: unique leadership power, mystery, nobility, chivalric spirit (or melancholy love, beautiful yet sorrowful love).

The origin of the black tulip

The black tulip originates from the northern and southern coasts of the Mediterranean, Central Asia, Iran, Turkey, and eastward to Northeast China.

The story of the black tulip

In the last winter of the German occupation, the weather in the Netherlands was unusually cold, food was in short supply, and the people, hungry and freezing, began to eat small animals and other things they would not normally think of putting in their mouths. Someone discovered that tulip bulbs could be eaten, just like potatoes or onions.

For centuries, my mother's family - the van der Voorde family - was famous for its superb skill in cultivating tulips, and many people in the village depended on their family for a living. The "van der Voorde" tulip bulbs they cultivated were exported in large quantities overseas. The family's fame was known far and wide. But the war destroyed all of this.

In that hungry winter, my grandfather Arnoldis gave all the bulbs to the hungriest people in the village. All of them, except for a few incomparable bulbs. For many years, my grandfather had worked hard trying to cultivate a black tulip. Before him, no flower grower had ever succeeded, and he was very close to success. He guarded those few tulip bulbs like treasure, not letting them be stolen to fill anyone's stomach, not even by family members. Because eating them would only barely fill a family's teeth, yet would destroy his chance to rise again after the war and revive the whole village.

One day, the underground radio announced that the war was over. The people rejoiced. But harder trials arrived: the German army, which had occupied our country for five years, began to retreat battalion by battalion. As they retreated, some soldiers fled in panic toward Germany while looting and plundering along the way. Everywhere one looked, there was devastation. The Dutch still lived in dire suffering.

My grandfather looked at his pale, weak children and thought that perhaps it was time to give his precious bulbs to the children to eat, since that would be better than letting them fall into the hands of the German soldiers looting everywhere. After hours of agonized thought, he picked up a shovel and walked to the garden. There he saw my mother. At that time, my mother was only seven years old, her face flushed and her expression agitated: "Papa, Papa, I have to tell you something." Over her shoulder, my grandfather saw a group of heavily drunk soldiers looting along the road coming toward his house. He told my mother to go back inside and began desperately digging up his tulip bulbs. Again and again, his shovel hit nothing. It was too late. Someone had already stolen them. Frantic with rage, my grandfather rushed into the street and shouted himself hoarse: "They stole my tulip bulbs!" My mother ran forward crying and shouting to stop him. Before she could reach him, a German soldier raised his gun and opened fire on him. Although Germany had already signed the surrender agreement, the curfew was still in effect. My grandfather's action violated the curfew.

My grandfather survived the ordeal and slowly recovered. He was finally able to leave his sickbed, but he only stood by the window, looking at his garden without saying a word. Strangely, my mother also began to become silent and withdrawn, even though before the war she had been such a lively and cheerful child.

Until one day, my grandfather noticed that something was quietly sprouting beneath the broken bricks and tiles. He pointed out the tender green new leaves to my mother. My mother was stunned for a long time, then suddenly burst into hysterical sobbing. Amid broken sobs, she told my grandfather that those were his black tulip bulbs. My grandfather held my mother tightly in his arms and listened to her story in astonishment.