Floral Pigments in a Changing World

Photo by moggafogga licensed under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Flowers paint the world in a dazzling array of colors. Some of these we can see and others we cannot. Many plants paint their blooms in special pigments that absorb ultraviolet light, revealing intriguing patterns to pollinators like bees and even some birds that can see well into the UV part of the electromagnetic spectrum. UV absorbing pigments do more than attract pollinators. They can also protect sensitive reproductive organs from UV radiation. By studying these pigments, scientists are finding that many different plants are changing their floral displays in response to changes in their environment.

Growing up I heard a lot about the hole in the ozone layer. Prior to the 1980’s humans were pumping massive quantities of ozone-depleting chemicals such as halocarbon refrigerants, solvents, and chlorofluorocarbons (CFCs) into the atmosphere, creating a massive hole in the ozone layer. Though ozone depletion has improved markedly thanks to regulations placed on these chemicals, it doesn’t mean that life has not had to adapt. As you may remember from your grade school science class, Earth’s ozone layer helps protect life from the damaging effects of ultraviolet radiation. UV radiation damages sensitive biological molecules like DNA so it is in any organisms best interest to minimize its impacts.

UV absorbing pigments in floral tissues can do just that. In addition to attracting pollinators, these pigments act as a sort of sun screen, reducing the likelihood of damaging mutations. By studying 1,238 herbarium specimens collected between 1941 and 2017 representing 42 different species, scientists discovered a startling change in the amount of UV pigments produced in their flowers.

Exemplary images for a species with anthers exposed to ambient conditions, Potentilla crantzii (A–C) and a species with anthers protected by floral tissue Mimulus guttatus (D–F). Darker petal areas possess UV-absorbing compounds whereas lighter areas are UV reflective and lack UV-absorbing compounds. (B) and (E) display a reduced area of UV-absorbing pigmentation on petals compared to (C) and (F). Arrows in (E) and (F) highlight differences in pigment distribution on the lower petal lobe of M. guttatus. [SOURCE]

Across North America, Europe, and Australia, the amount of UV pigments produced in the flowers tended to increase by an average of 2% per year from 1941 to 2017. These increases in UV pigments occurred in tandem with decreases in the ozone layer. It would appear that, to protect their reproductive organs from harmful UV rays, many plants were increasing these protective pigments.

However, changes in UV pigments were not uniform across all the species they examined. Plants that produce saucer or cup-shaped flowers experienced the greatest increases in UV pigments. This makes complete sense as this sort of floral morphology exposes the reproductive organs directly to the sun’s rays. The pattern reversed when scientists examined flowers whose petals enclose the reproductive organs such as those seen in bladderworts (Utricularia spp.). UV pigments in flowers that conceal their reproductive organs actually decreased over this time period.

The reason for this comes down to a trade off inherent in UV pigments. Absorbing UV radiation is a great way to reduce its impact on sensitive tissues but it also leads to increased temperatures. For plants that enclose their reproductive organs within their petals, this can lead to overheating. Heat can also be very damaging to floral structures so it makes complete sense that species with this type of floral morphology would demonstrate the opposite pattern. By reducing the amount of UV absorbing pigments in their flowers, plants like bladderworts are able to minimize the effect of increased radiation and temperatures that occurred over this time period.

How changes in floral pigments are affecting pollination rates for these plants is another story entirely. Because UV pigments also help attract certain pollinators, there is always a chance that the appearance of some of these flowers may also be changing over time. Now that we know this is occurring across a wide range of unrelated plants, research can now be aimed at tackling questions like this.

Photo Credits: [1] [2]

Further Reading: [1]

To grow or to flower, that is the cactus conundrum

Melocactus intortus

Flowers are costly structures for plants to produce. In the flowering plant world, there is always a trade-off between growth and reproduction. Flowers are produced from tiny structures called axillary buds, and many plants can only produce one flush of flowers per bud. Cacti are no exception to this rule and their amazing morphological adaptations to harsh climates has forced them into quite a conundrum when it comes to reproduction.

The axillary buds of cacti are located at the base of their spines in little structures called areoles. This is where the flowers will eventually emerge. However, unlike plants that can produce cheap stems and branches, cacti must produce a whole new chunk of stem or internode before they can produce more axillary buds. Think of it this way, if a cactus wants to produce 10 flowers, it must produce ten internodes to do so. This means producing all of the expensive cortex and epidermis along with it. Their harsh environments have forced most cacti into an extremely tight relationship between growth, water storage, photosynthesis, and flowering that is potentially very limiting from a reproductive standpoint.

Micranthocereus estevesii with lateral cephalium

Amazingly, some cacti have managed to break from this evolutionary relationship and they have done so in a bizarre way. Take a look at all of the cacti pictured here. Each has developed a strange looking structure called a cephalium. Essentially, you can think of the cephalium of a cactus as its “adult” reproductive form whereas the rest of the body consists of non-reproductive, photosynthetic “juvenile” form.

The cephalium is a unique and fascinating structure. It differs from the rest of the cactus body in that it is not photosynthetic. It also produces no chlorophyll and no stomata. In fact, it does not form anything like the epidermis of the rest of the plant. Instead, the cephalium produces dense clusters of short spines and trichomes. Most importantly, it produces tightly packed axillary buds in high abundance. These are the buds that will produce the flowers. The end result is a wacky looking structure that has the ability to produce far more flowers than that of cacti that do not grow a cephalium.

Facheiroa tenebrosa with lateral cephalium

Obviously not all cacti produce cephalia but it is common in genera such as Melocactus, Backebergia, Espostoa, Discocactus, and Facheiroa (this is not a complete list). What the cephalium has done for genera like these is decouple the afore mentioned relationships between growth and reproduction. For a period of time (often many years) following germination, these cacti grow the typical succulent, photosynthetic stems we are accustomed to seeing.

At some point in their development, something triggers these plants to switch to their adult forms. Axillary buds within either lateral or apical meristems switch their growth habit and begin forming the cephalium. It is worth mentioning that no one yet knows what triggers this switch. If the cephalium is produced from axillary buds in the apical meristem like we see in Melocactus, the plant will no longer produce photosynthetic tissues. This represents another major trade-off for these cacti. Such species must rely on the photosynthetic juvenile tissues for all of their photosynthetic needs for the rest of their lives (unless the cephalium is damaged or lost). Backebergia have managed to get around this trade-off by not only growing multiple stems, they will also shed their apical cephalia after a few years, thus re-initiating photosynthetic juvenile growth.

Backebergia militaris with bizarre apical cephalia reminiscent of the bearskin hats of the Queen’s guard.

Things are a bit different for cacti that produce lateral cephalia. Genera such as Espostoa, Facheiroa, and Buiningia are less limited by their cephalia because they are produced along the ribs of the stem, thus leaving the apical meristem free to continue more typical photosynthetic growth. Nonetheless, the process is much the same. Dense clusters of spines, trichomes, and most importantly, axillary buds are produced along the rib, giving each stem a lovely, lopsided appearance.

There are other benefits to growing cephalia in addition to simply being able to produce more flowers. The densely packed spines and trichomes offer the developing flowers and fruits ample protection from both the elements and herbivores. Floral buds are free to develop deep within the interior of the cephalium until they are mature. At that point, the cells will begin to swell with water, pushing the flower outward from the cephalium where it will be exposed to pollinators. As the petals curl back, they offer a safe spot for visiting pollinators that is free from menacing spines. Once pollination has been achieved, the flower wilts and the deeply inferior ovaries are then free to develop within the safety of the cephalium. Once the fruits are mature, they too will begin to swell with water and be pushed out from the cephalium where they will attract potential seed dispersers.

Melocactus violaceus with fruits emerging from the cephalium

I hope that I have convinced you of just how awesome this growth form can be. I will never forget the first time I saw a cactus topped with a cephalium. It was a mature Melocactus growing in a cactus house. Sticking out of the odd “cap” on top was a ring of bright pink fruits. I knew nothing of the structure at that time but it was incredible to see. Now that I know what it is and how it functions, I am all the more appreciative of these cacti.

This post was inspired by the diligent work of Dr. Jim Mauseth. Click here to learn more about cacti.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3]

What an orchid that smells like rotting meat can tell us about carrion flies

Satyrium pumilum Photo by Bernd Haynold licensed by CC BY-SA 3.0

Orchids are really good at tricking pollinators. Take, for instance, this strange looking orchid from South Africa. Satyrium pumilum is probably obscure to most of us but it is doing fascinating things to ensure its own reproductive success. This orchid both smells and kind of looks like rotting meat, which is how it attracts its pollinators.

It is a bit strange to think of orchids living in arid climates like those found in South Africa but this family is defined by exceptions. That is not to say that Satyrium pumilum is a desert plant. To find this orchid, you must look in special microclimates where water sticks around long enough to support its growth. Populations of S. pumilum are most often found clustered near small streams or hidden under bushes throughout the western half of the greater Cape Floristic Region.

Satyrium pumilum blooms from the beginning of September until late October. As is typical in the orchid family, S. pumilum produces rather intricate flowers. Whereas the sepals are decked out in various shades of green, the interior of the flower is blood red in color. Also, unlike many of its cousins, S. pumilum doesn’t throw its flowers up on a tall stalk for all the world to see. Instead, its flowers open up at ground level and give off an unpleasant smell of rotting meat.

This is where pollinators enter into the picture. It has been found that carrion flies are the preferred pollinator for S. pumilum. By producing flowers at ground level that both look and smell like rotting meat, the plants are primed to attract these flies. The plants are tapping into the flies’ reproductive habits, a biological imperative so strong that they simply do not evolve a means of discriminating a rotting corpse from a flower that smells like one. This is the trick. Flies land on the flower thinking they have found a meal and a place to lay their eggs. They go through the motions as expected and pick up or deposit pollen in the process. Unfortunately for the flies, their offspring are doomed. There is not food to be found in these flowers.

What is most remarkable about the reproductive ecology of S. pumilum is that not just any type of fly will do. It appears that only a specific subset of flies actually visit the flowers and act as effective pollinators. Amazingly, this provides insights into some long-running hypotheses regarding carrion fly ecology.

(A) The habitat of S. pumilum (B) Satyrium pumilum in situ (scale bar = 1 cm). (C–E) Pollination sequence of a S. pumilum flower by a sarcophagid fly in an arena (scale bar for all three photos = 0·5 cm); (C) the fly carrying five pollinaria from other S. pumilum flowers enters an unpollinated flower (D) as the fly moves deeper into the flower towards the right-hand spur, it presses an attached pollinium against the stigma, and its thorax against the right-hand viscidium; (E) as it leaves the flower, the fly has deposited two massulae on the stigma (1), and removed a pollinarium (2) – it now carries six pollinaria. [SOURCE]

Apparently there has been a lot of debate in the fly community over why we see so many different species of carrion flies. Rotting meat is rotting meat, right? Probably not, actually. Fly ecologists have comes up with a few hypotheses involving niche segregation among carrion flies to explain their diversity on the landscape. Some believe that flies separate themselves out in time, with different species hatching out and breeding at different times of the year. Others have suggested that carrion flies separate themselves by specializing on carrion at different stages of decay. Still others have suggested that some flies specialize on large pieces of carrion whereas others prefer smaller pieces.

By studying the types of flies visiting the flowers of S. pumilum researchers did find evidence of niche segregation based on carrion size. It turns out that S. pumilum is exclusively pollinated by a group of flies known as sarcophagid carrion flies. These flies were regularly observed with orchid pollen sacs stuck to their backs and plants seemed to only set seed after they had been visited by members of this group. So, what is it about these flowers that makes them so specific to this group of flies?

The answer lies both in their size as well as the amount of scent they produce. It is likely that the quantity of scent compounds produced by S. pumilum most closely mimics that of smaller rotting corpses. The types of flies that visited these blooms were mostly females of species that lay relatively few eggs compared to other carrion flies. It could very well be that the smaller brood size of these flies allows them to effectively utilize smaller bits of carrion than other, more fecund species of fly. To date, this is some of the best evidence in support of the idea that flies avoid competition among different species by segregating out their feeding and reproductive niches.

Rotting meat smells are not uncommon in the plant world. Even within the home range of S. pumilum, there are other plants produce flowers that smell like carrion as well. It would be extremely interesting to look at what kinds of flies visit other carrion flowers and in what numbers. Like I mentioned earlier, reproductive is such a major part of any organisms life that it may simply be too costly for carrion flies to evolve a means of discriminating real and fake breeding sites. It is amazing to think of what we gain from trying to understand the reproductive biology of a small, obscure orchid growing tucked away in arid regions of South Africa.

Photo Credits: [1] [2]

Further Reading: [1]

A New Case of Lizard Pollination from South Africa

With its compact growth habit and small, inconspicuous flowers tucked under its leaves, it seems like Guthriea capensis doesn’t want to be noticed. Indeed, it has earned itself the common name of '“hidden flower.” That’s not to say this plant is unsuccessful. In fact, it seems to do just fine tucked in among high-elevation rock crevices of its home range along the Drakensberg escarpment of South Africa. Despite its cryptic nature, something must be pollinating these plants and recent research has finally figured that out. It appears that the hidden flower has a friend in some local reptiles.

Lizard pollination is not unheard of ([1] & [2]), however, it is by no means a common pollination syndrome. This could have something to do with the fact that we haven’t been looking. Pollination studies are notoriously tricky. Just because something visits a flower does not mean its an effective pollinator. To investigate this properly, one needs ample hours of close observation and some manipulative experiments to get to the bottom of it. Before we get to that, however, its worth getting to know this strange plant in a little more detail.

The hidden flower is a member of an obscure family called Achariaceae. Though a few members have managed to catch our attention economically, most genera are poorly studied. The hidden flower itself appears to be adapted to high elevation environments, hence its compact growth form. By hugging the substrate, this little herb is able to avoid the punishing winds that characterize montane habitats. Plants are dioecious meaning individuals produce either male or female flowers, never both. The most interesting aspect of its flowers, however, are how inconspicuous they are.

The hidden flower (Guthriea capensis) in situ.

Flowers are produced at the base of the plant, out of site from most organisms. They are small and mostly green in color except for the presence of a few bright orange glands near the base of the style, deep within the floral tube. What they lack in visibility, they make up for in nectar and smell. Each flower produced copious amounts of sticky, sugar-rich nectar. They are also scented. Taken together, these traits usually signal a pollination syndrome with tiny rodents but this assumption appears to be wrong.

Based on hours of video footage and a handful of clever experiments, a team of researchers from the University of KwaZulu-Natal and the University of the Free State have been able to demonstrate that lizards, not mammals, birds, or insects are the main pollinators of this cryptic plant. Two species of lizard native to this region, Pseudocordylus melanotus and Tropidosaura gularis, were the main floral visitors over the duration of the study period.

Pseudocordylus melanotus

Tropidosaura gularis photo © 2009 Serban Proches licensed under CC BY-SA 2.5

Visiting lizards would spend time lapping up nectar from several flowers before moving off and in doing so, picked up lots of pollen in the process. Being covered in scales means that pollen can have a difficult time sticking to the face of a reptile but the researchers believe that this is where the sticky pollen comes into play. It is clear that the pollen adheres to the lizards’ face thanks to the fact that they are usually covered in sticky nectar. By examining repeated feeding attempts on different flowers, they also observed that not only do the lizards pick up plenty of pollen, they deposit it in just the right spot on the stigma for pollination to be successful. Insect visitors, on the other hand, were not as effective at proper pollen transfer.

Conspicuously absent from the visitation roster were rodents. The reason for this could lie in some of the compounds produced within the nectar. The team found high levels of a chemical called safranal, which is responsible for the smell of the flowers. Safranal is also bitter to the taste and it could very well serve as a deterrent to rodents and shrews. More work will be needed to confirm this hypothesis. Whatever the case, safranal does not seem to deter lizards and may even be the initial cue that lures them to the plant in the first place. Tongue flicking was observed in visiting lizards, which is often associated with finding food in other reptiles.

Male flower (a) and female flower (b). Note the presence of the orange glands at the base.

Another interesting observation is that the color of the floral tube and the orange glands within appear to match the colors of one of the lizard pollinators (Pseudocordylus subviridis ). Is it possible that this is further entices the lizards to visit the flowers? Other reptile pollination systems have demonstrated that lizards appear to respond well to color patterns for which they already have some sort of sensory bias. Is it possible that these flowers evolved in response to such a bias? Again, more work will be needed to say for sure.

By excluding vertebrates from visiting the flowers, the team was able to show that indeed lizards appear to be the main pollinators of these plants. Without pollen transfer, seed set is reduced by 95% wheres the additional exclusion of insects only reduced reproductive success by a further 4%. Taken together, it is clear that lizards are the main pollinators of the enigmatic hidden flower. This discovery expands on our limited knowledge of lizard pollination syndromes and rises many interesting questions about how such relationships evolve.

Photo Credit: [1] [2] [3]

Further Reading: [1] [2]

Why Are Some Plants Overcompensating?

Photo by CanyonlandsNPS licensed under public domain.

Gardeners are all too familiar with herbivory. Countless times I have been awaiting a bloom to burst only to have the buds nipped off the night before they opened. While this can be devastating for many plant species (not to mention my sanity), for certain plant species, an encounter with a hungry herbivore may actually lead to an increase in reproductive fitness.

Overcompensation theory is the idea that, under certain conditions, plants can respond to herbivore damage by producing more shoots, flowers, and seeds. It goes without saying that when this idea was originally proposed in the late 80's, it was met with its fair share of skepticism. Why would a plant capable of producing more shoots and flowers wait to be damaged to do so? The answer may lie in in the realm of biological trade-offs.

Overcompensation may evolve in lineages that tend to grow in habitats where there is a "predictable" amount of herbivory in any given growing season, perhaps a region where large herbivores migrate through annually. Plants in these habitats may conserve dormant growing tips and valuable resources to be used once herbivory has occurred. Perhaps this also serves as a cue to upregulate antiherbivory compounds in new tissues. The trade-off is that the plants incur a cost in the form of fewer flowers and thus reduced reproduction when herbivory is low or absent.

Scarlet gilia (Ipomopsis aggregata). Photo by Dcrjsr licensed under CC BY 3.0

It could also be that plants are exhibiting two different strategies - one to deal with competition and one to deal with herbivory. If herbivory is low, plants may become more competitive, thus favoring rapid vertical growth of one or a couple shoots. When herbivory is high, rapid vertical growth becomes disadventageous and overcompensatory branching and flowering can provide the higher fitness benefits.

These possibilities are not mutually exclusive. In fact, since the late 80's, experts now believe that overcompensation is not an "either/or" phenomenon but rather a spectrum of possibilities that are dictated by the conditions in which the plants are growing. Certainly overcompensation exists but which conditions favor it and which do not?

Research on scarlet gilia (Ipomopsis aggregata), a biennial native to western North America, suggests that overcompensation comes into play only when environmental conditions are most favorable. Soil nutrients seem to play a role in how well a plant can bounce back following herbivore damage. When resources are high, the results can be quite astounding. Early work on this species showed that under proper conditions, plants that were browsed by upwards of 95% produced 2.4 times as much seed as uneaten control plants. What's more, the resulting seedlings were twice as likely to survive than their uneaten counterparts.

Things change for scarlet gilia growing in poor conditions. Low resource availability appears to place limits on how much any given plant may respond to browsing. Also, herbivory can really hamper flowering time. Because scarlet gilia is pollen limited, anything that can cause a disruption in pollinator visits can have serious consequences for seed set. In at least one study, browsed plants flowered later and received fewer pollinator visits as a result.

More recent work has been able to add more nuance to the overcompensation story. For instance, experiments done on two subspecies of field gentian (Gentianella campestris), add further support to the idea that overcompensation is a matter of trade-offs. They showed that, whereas competition with neighboring plants alone could not explain the benefits of overcompensation, browsing certainly can.

Field gentian (Gentianella campestris). Photo by Joan Simon licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0

Plants growing in environments where herbivory was higher overcompensated by producing more branching, more flowers, and thus more seed, all despite soil nutrients. It appears that herbivory is the strongest predictor of overcompensation for this gentian. What's more, when these data were fed into population models, only the plants that responded to herbivory by overcompensation were predicted to show any sort of population growth in the long term.

Despite all of the interest overcompensation has recieved in the botanical literature, we are only just beginning to understand the biological mechanisms that make it possible. For starters, we know that when a dominant shoot or stem gets damaged or removed, it causes a reduction in the amount of the plant hormone auxin being produced. When auxin is removed, tiny auxiliary buds at the base of the plant are able to break dormancy and begin growing.

Removal of the dominant shoot or stem can also have major impact on the number of chromosomes present in regrowing tissues. Work on Arabidopsis thaliana revealed that when the apical meristem (main growing tip of a vertical stem) was removed, the plant underwent a process called "endoreduplication" in which the cells of the growing tissues actually duplicate their entire genome without undergoing mitosis.

Photo by Hectonichus licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Endoreduplication is a complex process with lots of biological significance but in plants it is often associated with stress responses. By duplicating the genomes of these new cells, the plants may be able to adjust more rapidly to their environment. This often manifests in changes to leaf size and shape and an uptick in plant defenses. Thus, plants may be able to fine tune the development of new tissues to overcompensate for browsing. Certainly far more work is needed to understand these mechanisms and their functions in more detail.

Overcompensation is not universal. Nonetheless, it is expected to occur in certain plants, especially those with short life cycles, and under certain environmental conditions, mainly when herbivore pressure and nutrient availability are relatively high. That being said, we still have plenty more to learn about this spectrum of strategies. When does it occur and when does it not? How common is it? What are the biological underpinnings of plants capable of overcompensation? Are some lineages more prone to overcompensation than others? Only more research can say for sure!

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Light Pollution and Plants

I love walking around my town at night. Things really seem to slow down when the sun sets. Growing up in the country, my evening walks were lit only by the moon. Now that I live in civilization, however, street lights punctuate the darkness on every block. Walking around I can't help but wonder what all of this artificial light is doing to our photosynthetic neighbors. 

The vast majority of plants need light to make food. It doesn't matter if this light comes from the sun or a high powered electric light, as long as it is strong enough for photosynthesis. Even weaker wavelengths of light serve a purpose for our botanical friends. Plants can sense the relative length of uninterrupted darkness in their environment and they use that information for myriad internal processes. Its this dependence on light that makes many plant species vulnerable to our addiction to artificial lighting.

Just because a light isn't strong enough for photosynthesis doesn't mean it isn't affecting nearby plants. This is especially true for plants that use day length for timing events like bud break, flowering, and dormancy. The type of lighting favored by most municipalities emit wavelengths that peak especially high in the red to far-red ratio of the electromagnetic spectrum, which makes them particularly adept at disrupting plant photoperiods.

One of the most obvious effects of artificial lighting on plants can readily be seen in street trees growing in temperate regions. Though light sensitivity varies from species to species, trees growing near street lights tend to hold onto their leaves much longer in the fall than trees farther away. Because artificial lighting is enough to trick the red to far-red receptors in plants, it can "convince" trees that the days are longer than they actually are. Additional photosynthesis may not seem that bad but holding onto leaves longer makes trees more susceptible to ice damage. 

[source]

The effects of artificial lighting continues into spring as well. Trees growing near lights tend to break buds and flower earlier in the spring. This too makes them susceptible to frost damage. Early flowering plants run the risk of losing their entire reproductive effort by blooming before the threat of frost is gone. This can really mess up their relationship with pollinators. 

The effects of artificial lighting can even influence the way in which plants grow. Research has found that plants growing near street lights had larger leaves with more stomatal pores and these pores remained open for considerably longer than plants growing under unlit night conditions. This made them more susceptible to pollution and drought, two stressors that are all too common in urban environments. This issues is made much worse if the artificial lighting never turns off throughout the night. 

Artificial lighting affects more than just plant physiology too. Scaling up, the effects of night lights can have whole ecosystem consequences. For instance, researchers found that artificial lighting was enough to change the entire composition of grassland communities. Some plants responded well to artificial lights, producing more biomass and vegetative offshoots to the point that they pushed out other species. This was compounded by the change in reproductive output, with certain species showing higher seed production than others.

Photo by Lamiot licensed under CC BY-SA 4.0

Changes in plant physiology, phenology, and composition also affect myriad other organisms in the environment. Changes in the timing of flowering or bud break can disrupt things like insects and birds that rely on these events for food and shelter. Research even suggests that forest regeneration is being altered by artificial lighting. Seed dispersers such as bats often will not fly into well-lit areas at night, therefore reducing the amount of seeds falling in those areas. Such research is still in its infancy meaning we have a lot more to learn about how artificial lighting is disrupting natural events.

Light pollution is so much more than an aesthetic issue. Artificial lighting is clearly having pronounced effects on plant life. Disrupt plants and you disrupt life as we know it. Certainly more work is needed to tease out all the ways in which lights influence plants, however, it is clear that we must work hard on reducing light pollution around the globe.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3]

Everlasting or Seven Years Little

Photo by Andrew massyn licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Common names are a funny thing. Depending on the region, the use, and the culture, one plant can take on many names. In other situations, many different plants can take on a single name. Though it isn't always obvious to those unfamiliar with them, the use of scientific names alleviates these issues by standardizing the naming of things so that anyone, regardless of where they are, knows what they are referring to. That being said, sometimes common names can be entertaining.

Take for instance, plants in the genus Syncarpha. These stunning members of the family Asteraceae are endemic to the fynbos region of the Eastern and Western Cape of South Africa. In appearance they are impossible to miss. In growth habit they have been described as "woody shrublets," forming dense clusters of woody stems covered in a coat of woolly hairs. Sitting atop their meter-high stems are the flower heads.

Each flower head consists of rings of colorful paper-like bracts surrounding a dense cluster of disk flowers. The flowering period of the various species can last for weeks and spans from October, well into January. Numerous beetles can be observed visiting the flowers and often times mating as they feed on pollen. Some of the beetles can be hard to spot as they camouflage quite well atop the central disk. Some authors feel that such beetles are the main pollinators for many species within this genus.

Photo by JonRichfield licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Their mesmerizing floral displays are where their English common name of "everlasting" comes from. Due to the fact that they maintain their shape and color for a long time after being cut and dried, various Syncarpha species have been used quite a bit in the cut flower industry. A name that suggests everlasting longevity stands in stark contrast to their other common name. 

These plants are referred to as "sewejaartjie" in Afrikaans, which roughly translates to "seven years little." Why would these plants be referred to as everlasting by some and relatively ephemeral by others? It turns out, sewejaartjie is a name that has more to do with their ecology than it does their use in the floral industry.

As a whole, the 29 described species of Syncarpha are considered fire ephemerals. The fynbos is known for its fire regime and the plants that call this region home have evolved in response to this fact. Syncarpha are no exception. They flower regularly and produce copious amounts of seed but rarely live for more than 7 years after germination. Also, they do not compete well with any vegetation that is capable of shading them out.

Photo by Andrew massyn licensed under CC BY-SA 3.0

Instead, Syncarpha invest heavily in seed banking. Seeds can lie dormant in the soil for many years until fires clear the landscape of competing vegetation and release valuable nutrients into the soil. Only then will the seeds germinate. As such, the mature plants don't bother trying to survive intense ground fires. They burn up along with their neighbors, leaving plenty of seed to usher in the next generation.

Research has shown that its not the heat so much as the smoke that breaks seed dormancy in these plants. In fact, numerous experiments using liquid smoke have demonstrated that the seeds are likely triggered by some bio-active chemical within the smoke itself.

So, there you have it. Roughly 29 plants with two common names, each referring back to an interesting aspect of the biology of these plants. Despite their familiarity and relative ease of committing to memory, the common names of various species only get us so far. That's not to say we should abolish the use of common names altogether. Learning about any plant should be an all encompassing endeavor provided you know which plant you are referring to.

Photo Credits: [1] [2] [3]

Further Reading: [1] [2] [3]