Botany: The Science of Plant Life

by Norman Taylor

We see in grasslands a plant response to rainfall and other climatic conditions which, with a little more rainfall, or in locally wet places, always produces woody growth, either as tongues of woods in river bottoms or the parklike landscape, already mentioned. If, however, the rainfall is too low to produce even the grasses and their associated herbs, an entirely different type of vegetation usurps these still more dry regions, resulting in some of those strange plants of the deserts, among which water storage is practically universal, as is the ability to live for long periods without rainfall.

DESERTS

Of absolute deserts there are none in North America, for no part of it is so dry that plants of some sort do not grow, and in fact in hardly any part of the world are there regions of any considerable extent where plant life of any kind is lacking. There is a small section of northern Chile and adjacent regions on the western slopes of the Andes where nothing grows, and the traveler is met with a cheerless landscape of bare ground and sandy or stony soil. There is no record of it ever having rained in such places, and if there be only a single rain consisting of a fraction of an inch a year, a few plants, usually scraggly low herbs with thick leaves or else quick-flowering annuals will be found.

But there are hundreds of thousands of square miles of the earth’s surface where the rainfall is sufficient to produce plant life, but where it hardly exceeds five or at most six inches in a year, and in some regions is less than two inches. From several different stations in the desert area of our own Southwest the average annual rainfall is about five and a half inches. Such regions produce a desert type of vegetation and are popularly, if not properly, called deserts. The largest is of course the Sahara in Africa, but there are huge tracts in Arabia, China, Thibet, Australia, South Africa, and in some other countries where the conditions for plant life are so unfavorable that only in the better sites are plants found at all. In all deserts there are very large areas entirely without plants, due to shifting sand or other local conditions, which, added to the generally unfavorable climate, make plant life impossible.

With rainfall so low and in most of the regions the temperature so high, the vegetation must be insured against too rapid transpiration. Perhaps the best illustration of how high transpiration both in plants and in man may be in such regions is gained by a statement of D. T. MacDougal, who writes of man traveling in the desert that “the amount (of water) thrown off the skin is correspondingly great, and if the loss is not made good, thirst ensues and ten hours’ lack of water may thicken the tongue so that speech is impossible.”

Under such conditions it is not surprising that desert plants are among the most curious and weird members of the plant world. Every device both to retard transpiration and to store up water to last over a completely rainless period, may be found. In America, to which all the hundreds of different species of cactus are practically confined, we find giant forms, often covered with spines and prickles which prevent their destruction by cattle, and many others that hug the dry sandy soil with curious tortuous branches. None of them have leaves such as plants of the forest or grassland possess, for desert plants cannot afford the luxury of foliage that, because of too rapid water loss, would destroy their chance to survive. Cacti do produce tiny leaves at the ends of their joints, but as if recognizing the inhospitable world into which they are born, practically all of them drop off, so that for the great bulk of the life of most cacti only the bare branches are evident. In most kinds these branches are green, assume the functions of leaves, such as transpiration and the manufacture of food by photosynthesis.

While in cacti and in the giant cactuslike spurges of South Africa the ability to store water is tremendously developed—our giant cereus or saguaro often holding 125 gallons—most desert plants rely upon retarding transpiration for their existence. Leafless shrubs and trees whose often spiny branches are green and perform, on a much-reduced scale, the function of leaves, are among the most common characteristics of desert plants. Some, as Parkinsonia microphylla or paloverde, have tiny leaves which they put out during the spring showers, but quickly lose them as it gets hotter and drier toward midsummer. Many of the plants that do produce leaves regularly have the surface of them so shiny as to appear varnished, or so thickly coated with hairs as to simulate cotton or wool, both of which reduce transpiration. There are many plants, some of which do not even live in a desert but in a locally dry habitat, that also have the utmost development of structure to prevent transpiration. One of the most extraordinary is the vegetable sheep in New Zealand. An inhabitant of dry rocky places, its water supply, although rainfall is fairly abundant, is precarious due to drainage and the failure of the rock to prevent run-off. The different species of Raoulia, of which R. eximia is one of the best known, are admirably adapted to exist under such conditions. L. Cockayne, an authority on the flora of that island, writes of these strange plants: “Perhaps the most striking denizens of rocks are the various kinds of vegetable sheep (species of Raoulia), which form hard cushions, mostly white, but occasionally green—and of enormous size. The raoulia cushions are all constructed on the same plan. Above, the stems branch again and again, and toward their extremities are covered with small woolly leaves, packed as tightly as possible. Finally stems, leaves, and all are pressed into a dense hard convex mass, making, in the case of Raoulia eximia, an excellent and appropriate seat for a tired botanist. Within the plant is a peat made of rotting leaves and branches, which holds water like a sponge, and into which the final branchlets send roots. Thus the plant lives in great measure on its own decay, and the woody main root serves chiefly as an anchor. The vegetable sheep are not inaptly named, for at a distance a shepherd might be misled.” The genus Raoulia belongs to the daisy family, and furnishes another illustration of the remarkable diversity of this largest and probably most recent of the families of flowering plants, which appears to have originated in the Andes and now covers the world.

In Damaraland, Southwest Africa, the most remarkable desert plant was discovered years ago, growing in a sandy and stony plain where the rainfall for fourteen years has not averaged more than two and a quarter inches annually. There are sea fogs, however, upon the condensation of which upon sheets of glass the discoverers of Welwitschia mirabilis relied for some of their scanty water supply. The plant, whose woody stem is deep buried in the ground with only the top appearing above the surface, looks not unlike “the burnt crust of a loaf of bread.” To this only two large leaves are attached. These are many feet long and split into several sections which undulate over the ground very like the tentacles of an octopus. With such strange products of the desert scattered over the plains it is little wonder that Welwitschia caused a sensation only equaled by the discovery of Rafflesia in the rain forest of Sumatra.

While deserts seem to be the most unfavorable places in which plants can exist, and their very existence in many deserts is often a precarious affair, it should be kept in mind that the soil of such places is often by no means sterile. As we found in the section of this book on “How Plants Get Their Food,” water is absolutely necessary for the absorption of food through the root hairs. Where, as in an oasis in the desert, water is locally plentiful a luxuriant vegetation springs up, and one of the most fertile parts of our Southwest was transformed from a desert by irrigation. Then, too, in many deserts there is a pronounced rainy season during which there is a marvelous development of showy flowering herbs that die down as rain ceases or becomes too slight, to wait for another opportunity to make the desert blossom into often gorgeous coloring.

Rain forests, temperate forests, grassland, and deserts—all are immense developments of plant societies depending upon climatic differences for their occurrence. There are some other plant communities which also depend for their development on still other differences of climate. Two such are the vegetation of mountain tops in the tropics, and that strange tundra vegetation near the poles which lives all its life on the ice, only the roots and soil in which it grows thawing out during the brief summer. Temperature rather than rainfall is the cause of these and some other plant societies of more local occurrence.