The plant also, in a way, knows which way the light is falling on it. Commonly, as everybody is supposed to know, the plant grows toward the light. Yet the curious thing about it is that some parts of some plants always grow away from the light. The leafless runners of the strawberry geranium grow away from the light; but when they begin to form leaves on their ends, then they change and grow toward the light like other plants. The tendrils of many vines also, always grow away from the light, while the leaves and, stems are growing toward it. The reason is that by turning away from the light, they turn back toward the rock or tree trunk or wall or trellis which gives them support.
Thus the plant, that seems to know two things, is twice as well off as the infusorian that knows only one.
XXIII
What Plants Can Do
As trees and vines and shrubs and bushes are wiser than they look, so they can do more than we commonly suppose. We think of all plants as merely sitting still and growing; but they really do much more. Most ponds and ditches, the water squeezed out of bog moss, even damp spots on rocks or the ground, often swarm with minute green plants, that swim about quite as freely as if they were animals. Some of these, single-celled, pear-shaped affairs, have two long tails at the smaller end, with which they lash the water and so get about as freely as do the equally small animals which live with them. In fact, some of these little plants are so much like some of the infusoria, which I have already told you about, that about the only way to tell them apart is by the green color of the vegetable—tho to be sure the plant is apt to have two tails, while the animal has only one.
Then there are the so-called “diatoms” which live, absolutely millions upon millions, in the slippery coating which covers the sand and stones at the bottom of streams and ponds. These are commonly counted among plants; but they have two shells like an oyster and swim about freely—as an oyster does not, for all it is an animal. Then too, there are the “slime moulds,” which at some times of the year look like common puff-balls, and at other times change into a soft jelly, and crawl away to find a new place to change back into a puff-ball again.
In short, there is simply no end to the animal-like actions of the simpler plants, for after all, plants and animals are a good deal alike. To be sure, you don’t have any difficulty in telling a cow from an apple tree, but that is because a cow is a very complex sort of animal, and an apple tree is a very complex sort of plant. But the simpler plants, which have neither stem nor twigs nor leaves nor roots nor branches, and the simpler animals, which have neither heads nor legs nor bones nor muscles nor skins, are naturally not nearly so different from one another as apple trees and cows. And when you come to the very smallest and simplest creatures, the distinction between the two seems hardly worth counting. Some animals grow on stalks, and some plants swim about or crawl. Many plants are not even green; a few animals are. Once in a while, you find the very same creature described as an animal in one book, and as a plant in another.
However, I began to tell you about the animal-like actions of the plants which we see more commonly, the ordinary trees and shrubs and bushes, grass and house plants and the like.
We say that plants grow toward the light. They really do much more than that. When a houseplant has stood for some time at a window, in the same position, every leaf, as you know, is set to face the light, so that as much sunshine as possible falls on the upper surface of each. But if you turn the pot round, so that the leaves face away from the light, within a day or two, every several leaf will have skewed itself round toward the window again. So the plant can move its leaves about as much as an animal can move its head; only it moves very much more slowly. But the sunflower, grown out of doors, can wag its head fast enough to keep up with the sun. Indeed, it is called the sunflower, not so much because its blossom looks like the sun, as because, in the morning at sunrise, it bends its tip over toward the east so that the rising sun shall strike the upper sides of its leaves, follows the sun around thru the sky all day, and in the evening finds itself with all its upper leaves facing west. Then in the night it nods back again ready for the next sunrise.
Many leaves, if you notice them closely, have a soft bunch or cushion, either where the blade of the leaf joins the stem or where the stem of the leaf joins the branch or sometimes at both places. This is the joint on which the leaf does its turning. The clover, which is an especially active little plant has one of these joints for each of its three leaflets.