Personality of plants

by Royal Dixon; Franklyn Everett Fitch

It was Darwin who first noticed the extensive conquests of the Cardoon Artichoke (Cynara Cardunculus) in South America. In one section, these prickly plants covered an area of several hundred square miles, having entirely superceded the aborigines.

It is well known that the most troublesome of the American weeds are of British origin. On the other hand, the American water weed Anacharis blocks up small English streams. The grass called Stipa Tortilis has captured the steppes of southern Russia. The love of change seems to be an inherent tendency in plantdom. The Pigweed and the Morning Glory have come north from the tropics. The Canada Thistle, originally a foreigner in North America, has spread all over Canada and New England. The American Erigeron Canadense has emigrated to all parts of the world. The flora of Scandinavia, like its people, are aggressive colonizers. More than one hundred and fifty species have reached New Zealand alone and nearly as many have established themselves in the eastern United States.

Some plants seem to be able to adapt themselves to any climate and therefore are born explorers, but the greater number are too fastidious regarding conditions of soil, heat, light and moisture to thrive well everywhere. It is a noticeable fact that the most successful plant invaders usually come in the wake of human colonizers and stick to the sphere of man’s influence. For example, the Butter-and-Eggs (Linaria Linaria) has followed the railroad tracks almost entirely over the tropical and semi-tropical world. Sometimes, however, hardy plants advance into the primeval jungle, there to give battle to its lusty inhabitants.

On the whole, annuals have a better chance than perennials to gain a foothold in a new country. Every spring the weeds, grasses, and common flowering plants have to start all over again from a seed beginning. The spores of newcomers, therefore, have almost an equal chance with the established inhabitants. On the other hand, the bodies of perennials occupy the land in close-packed ranks all the year, ready to dispute every inch of ground with an aggressor. It is very hard for new plants to gain entrance into a well-grown forest.

Man has been of tremendous aid in the distribution of plants over the earth’s surface. Either consciously or unconsciously he takes his plants with him wherever he goes.

It was the Emperor Chang-Chien who carried the Bean, Cucumber, Lucerne, Saffron, Walnut, Pea, Spinach and Watermelon from Asia to China about 200 B. C. The period of Roman conquest was a great epoch in the history of plant migrations. The Peach and the Apricot first became prominent as fruits at that time. Roman generals introduced the Pear, Peach, Cherry, Mulberry, Walnut and many ornamental shrubs into England.

From an obscure native of Bengal, the Sugar Cane has become an important plant of wide distribution. Coffee, a wild berry of Arabia, is now the chief crop of whole countries in the West Indies and South America. The yellow Maize of America has become a citizen of the world. The weak and humble Wheat is the sole possessor of thousands of square miles of land in America, Russia and elsewhere.

All this has been wrought by man’s efforts. When it is to his interest, he fights the battles of plantdom, and because of his superior knowledge and equipment is of tremendous service. Sometimes, however, he gives aid to his plant friends through motives that are quite unselfish. A romantic story is related of a French naval officer named Declieux who once elected to carry a Coffee Plant to the Colony of Martinique. The supply of water ran low during the voyage, and, rather than see the plant die, the man shared his daily glass with it, at considerate discomfort to himself.

Until man becomes all-wise, he will continue to make mistakes; and not least of these will be in connection with his investigations into the mysteries of Nature. It has happened more than once that he has introduced some new plant into an old land, or vice versa, and lived to thoroughly regret his action.

Sometime in 1890, a generously inclined individual threw a Water Hyacinth into the St. Johns River in Florida. In the space of a few short years, that single plant had multiplied so prodigiously as to seriously impede navigation, lumbering and fishing.