Lost in the Weeds: A Love Letter to the Forgotten Pandanales of South Africa My dear Pandanales, If only the world knew the depths of my affection for you. I find myself wandering through the remnants of your splendor, weeping into the grassland and cursing the shadows of ignorance that overshadow your existence. For in the grand theatre of life where more flamboyant species take center stage, you have languished in the understory, forever overshadowed by the aplomb of the angiosperms, musketeers of the plant kingdom that steal the limelight with their dizzying array of flowers and charms. Is it not an outright tragedy that you, with your subtle grace and undeniable ecological value, have slipped through the cracks of botanical fascination? In a land where diversity flourishes and 23,420 species of vascular plants jostle for attention, how can it be that so few have sung your praises? You have become the neglected middle child, saved from ridicule only by the gentle embrace of phylogenetics and the whisperings of molecular analyses that finally recognize your noble lineage as the lilioid monocots. Oh, beloved Pandanales! What is it that holds us back from celebrating you as you deserve? You, who grace the subtropical realms as trees, shrubs, vines, and herbaceous wonders. You are but a quiet collection of understated beauty amidst the clamor of more ostentatious rivalries. Who can resist the emotional potency of a wandering vine that dreams of climbing higher, yearning to breach the canopy while others bask in the sunlight of admiration? Your potential remains locked away, buried beneath layers of misunderstanding and misclassification, a quiet scream echoing through the verdant expanses of South Africa’s nine biomes. I watch as the Fynbos—champions of flamboyance—demand the attention of botany enthusiasts, while you—true spirit of resilience—find yourself marginalized, labeled with cryptic abbreviations and sterile classifications. In the field guides that line our shelves, who turns the pages to your entries? Instead, the spotlight shimmers on the flamboyant fynbos, a slow dance of high-fashion flora, while you, dear Pandanales, languish in the shadows, an afterthought in the botanical world’s glamour magazine. Each time an ecologist strolls through the rich tapestry of South African biodiversity, I hope against hope that they will stumble upon you—the delightful yet neglected family of Pandanales. Perhaps they will have the decency to kneel, to peer closer at your unique leaves, to marvel at your architectural elegance. But alas, they move on, their eyes glued to the flash of brightly-colored flowers, the siren call of familiar favorites, while you remain a ghost in the garden. How many generations of your kind have trodden the soil of South Africa, only to be forgotten? How many wilted blooms have decomposed quietly in the underbrush, their stories of survival never told? The hearts of plant lovers beat for the flamboyant—but what of you, the steadfast? When I gaze into the complex tapestry of 35,130 taxa cataloged by the South African National Biodiversity Institute, I cannot help but feel a sense of loss for the myriad of voices not present. Countless species, subspecies, and forms attempted to tell their stories only to be brushed aside, relegated to the annotations of synonymy, their tales washed away in the tide of taxonomic revision. In the wake of climate change and habitat loss, the glories of our natural world hang precariously in the balance. South Africa loses more than just plants; it risks losing the souls of those whom history has forgotten—like you, dear Pandanales. The winds of extinction whisper your name, echoing through the shrubby landscapes where botanical treasure lies buried. What will be left of your legacy when the world finally acknowledges that the most beautiful love letters are those written in humble, unadorned petals? So here I stand, writing a love letter to you, my forgotten Pandanales. May this letter reach some far-off heart, maybe an empathetic botanist or an impassioned activist who can channel their energies into resurrecting your story from the thickets of obscurity. Let us together foster a renaissance. Let petals stylishly flutter in the biomes of South Africa. The curtain must rise on the oft-forgotten Pandanales—so we can all weep not only for the lost but for those yet to be found. Yours in botanical despair and fervent hope, A lovelorn admirer