The life of a cherry tree—Cherries in March—Flowering of gorse—Chickweed's descendants—Forest fires in Africa—Spring passing from Italy to the frozen North—Life in the Arctic—Dwarfs—Snow-melting soldanellas—Highland Arctic-Alpine plants—Their history—Arctic Britain—Edelweiss—An Alpine garden.

IT is impossible to understand and very difficult to explain the sort of life and consciousness which is enjoyed by plants.

That they do live is obvious; we know instinctively that they enjoy fine weather in summer and gentle showers in spring, but we cannot prove it.

Much of a plant's life is concealed and hidden from us. Even the few explanations which have been given by certain observers are by no means generally accepted.

This is true even as regards the case of the Cherry tree, which has been experimented with, and fought over and argued about by botanists, and yet we only know a very little about its inner life.

When the leaves fall in autumn, next season's buds are already formed and are then about one-eighth of their full size. At this time the tree contains enormous quantities of food-stores, for the whole season's work of the leaves has been accumulating until this moment. During the long winter's "sleep" the tree is by no means at rest. It is arranging and packing up those stores in the safest place and in the most convenient form.

Just as a bear, before it retires to sleep during the winter, takes care to get as fat as possible, so the Cherry turns its starch to fat, and stores it away in the innermost and least exposed parts of the tree, that is in the central wood. As soon as the winter ends, and indeed before it has ended, preparations are beginning for the great moment of the year. For weeks there is a slow, gradual, almost imperceptible growth of the buds, then they develop with a rush, and in six to ten days double or treble their weight. Then comes the supreme moment, for the flower-buds suddenly burst open and the Cherry is in active and vigorous bloom and covered all over with exquisite blossoms. All last year's fats and starches are rapidly used up. Very soon the young leaves are beginning to make sugar and other food, which give some help during the ripening of the fruit.

The flowers are actively at work. One of our usual misconceptions as to the nature of a flower is that it is an emblem of peace, of restful enjoyment, of serene contemplation of its own beauty. That is very far from being the truth. The petals are actively, vigorously working. If one could take the pulse of a petal, which shows the rapidity of its breathing, one would find that it is twice as fast as that of the leaf. The work of changing water into vapour and pouring it out goes on three times as quickly in the petals (as compared with the leaves). Moreover their temperature is higher, and often distinctly above that of the atmosphere.

This feverish activity of the flowers themselves is matched by the hurrying crowds of excited and exhilarated insects which are searching every blossom.

No wonder that the Japanese Prime Minister, in the midst of their great and famous war, invited the whole cabinet to spend an afternoon watching the cherry trees in bloom!

From the blossom of the springtime all through summer and autumn follows one continuous spell of hard work. Day after day an endless stream of food is entering the stem; night after night it is condensed and arranged and repacked, until, when the leaves fall, the period of slow and quiet preparation begins again.

Under certain conditions it is possible for gardeners to modify the life of a cherry, and to make it bloom much earlier, but this is only possible within well-defined limits. It is no use trying to force it to bloom before January. It must have a quiet time after summer. But by beginning in January and by very carefully managing the temperature, it can be made to produce fruit quite early in the year.

The following account is given to show how very carefully gardeners have to work when they upset the ordinary course of Nature's events. The plant is taken into a greenhouse, and the temperature kept as follows:—

Not merely strong, forcing heat, but a little judicious cold, is necessary to get out the flowers and to ripen the fruit.[43]

Most flowers have very much the same general history as the cherry, but it must not be supposed that they are all alike. The differences are very interesting and curious.

Thus, for example, plants of our common Gorse, furze, or whin may be found in bloom at almost every season of the year. There are at least four seasons when there is that tremendous display of golden blossom which made the great LinnÆus fall on his knees and burst into tears. These are about the 22nd March, 24th May, 15th August, and 21st November; yet there are enough odd flowers blooming in almost every month to give some cause for the saying, "The gorse is out of bloom when kissing is out of favour." The last practice, though uncleanly and dangerous, not only on general grounds, but on account of bacterial germs which may be transferred, has been authoritatively condemned in the United States, but it is still more or less popular in other countries at all seasons.

The Chickweed and some other of our annual weeds show a hardy disregard of climate. Its seeds germinate and grow at any time, so that flowers and seeds can be formed whenever there is a spell of favourable weather. Now one chickweed can produce 3000 seeds. Suppose that there are only five generations in the year, which is a very low estimate. Then one seed of chickweed might produce 3000 × 3000 × 3000 × 3000 individuals in one season!

Other plants show much the same tendency. In fine warm autumns a great many annuals bloom a second time. It is on record that forty-four spring species bloomed in one warm November. At the Cape and in other warm climates many of our annuals do not die at the end of autumn, but go on growing. They become perennial.

It is even possible to make a Tree Mignonette by pinching off the flower-buds, though this plant is usually an annual. In fact plants are not absolutely confined to one rigid scheme, but they can alter and modify their blooming time if they find it convenient to do so. In the Mediterranean some blossom in early spring and others in late autumn, whilst in the dry, hot, and dusty summer very few flower.

In Central Africa during the dry season forest fires are by no means rare. The trees are scattered, and the ground is only covered by dried and withered grasses and sedges. One sees in the distance a rolling cloud of smoke, and soon one comes to a line of flame. It is not dangerous, not even very impressive, for a jump of three feet carries you over the flame and on to a desolate wilderness of black cinders, out of which stand up the scorched trunks and half-burnt branches of gaunt, naked trees. A day or two afterwards, bright blue and white and yellow flowers break out of those scorched branches and also from the ground.

It is difficult to understand why this happens, but certainly it is good for the flowers, which can be seen by insects from a long distance.

But these are unusual cases. Generally the warm breath of spring wakes up the bulbs and buds, and one after another has its moment of flowering.

Spring travels towards the North Pole at an average rate of four miles a day.

A pedestrian visiting Italy in the end of January might follow the spring northwards, and if he wished to accompany it all the way, it would be quite possible to do so without exceeding an ordinary day's march. He would have to reach North Germany by the end of March, Sweden in May, and by the end of June and July would find spring beginning in the desolate Arctic regions.

Of course the presence of mountains would make this tour a little difficult and devious, but still it is quite a possible undertaking. It would be very interesting, for he would be able to watch the cold and frost and chilliness of winter disappearing as the sun's rays thaw out a greater and greater extent of the cold and frozen North.

The life of an Arctic plant is truly set in the midst of many and great dangers.

For 250 days the ground is hard frozen and the temperature never above the freezing-point. About the end of May it begins to rise a little, but the plant has to crowd the whole of its life, its flowers, fruits, and seeds, into the space of two months!

About the 23rd to the 29th June the first flower appears, then follows strong, active growth in uninterrupted sunshine during July and August. The flowers are brilliant in colour and richly produced. The tiny dwarf Arctic plants are covered all over with blue or golden yellow or white blossoms. All is in full activity and luxuriance. Then suddenly, in a night, the icy grasp of winter falls upon them.

Hard-frozen flowers, buds, and ripening fruits remain chilled and incapable of life from the 30th August until the end of May.

Of course, under such conditions, these hardy and vigorous little plants cannot become trees or shrubs. To show the effect of the climate upon them, a few British plants which are also Arctic may be compared.

These wretched little dwarfs seem, however, to have pretty long lives, and, as we have said, deck themselves in the most gaudy colours every summer.

In the Alps of Switzerland and other temperate countries, the flowering season is also a very short one and soon over. It is often not more than six weeks, yet in that short time the rich blue of the Gentian, the Alpine Roses, Soldanellas, Campanulas, and many others make some of these grass slopes high up in the mountains a perfect garden of loveliness.

Sometimes in passing over the snowfields of Switzerland just before spring, one notices the pretty violet flowers of the Soldanella swaying to and fro in the wind above the unmelted snow. One does occasionally see in this country the Snowdrop in the midst of snow, but then it has fallen after the Snowdrop had blossomed.

The Alpine Soldanella flowers whilst the earth is still covered. It begins as soon as the ground below the snow is thawed. Each little developing flower-stalk melts out a grotto in the snow above itself, and so bores, thawing its way up into the air above. It has already been mentioned that, inside a flower, the temperature is often higher than the surrounding air. It is this higher temperature of the flower which thaws a little dome or grotto in the snow above the head of the flower.[44] When a flock of sheep are covered by a snowdrift, a similar hollow is formed above them by their breath and the high temperature of their bodies: they often seem indeed to be little or none the worse for being buried. The Soldanella melts its way in just the same manner.

In this country we have no such magnificent chain of mountains as the Alps, and yet we find on the Scotch and Welsh mountains quite a number of real alpines. There are, for instance, such flowers as Sea-pink (Armeria), Sea Plantain (Plantago maritima), Scurvy-grass, and others, which can be found on windy, desolate gullies and corries high up on the Highland hills, and which also occur on the sea-coast, but never between the seashore and the tops of the mountains. You might search every field, every moor, and every riverside throughout the country, but you would not discover those three plants anywhere between the seashore and the summits.

At first sight it seems quite impossible to explain why this should be the case. But all those three plants are found in the Arctic regions, and the explanation is in reality quite simple.

At one time the shores of England and Scotland formed part of the Arctic regions. Ice and snow covered the hills and mountains; huge glaciers occupied the valleys and flowed over the lowlands, plastering the low grounds with clay which they dragged underneath them, and polishing and scratching any exposed rocks.

When the ice began to melt away and left free "berg battered beaches" and "boulder-hatched hills," Lincolnshire and Yorkshire must have been like the Antarctic regions in those days. This is how Dr. Louis Bernacchi describes the Antarctic continent:—

"The scene before us looked inexpressibly desolate.... No token of vitality anywhere, nothing to be seen on the steep slopes of the mountains but rock and ice.... Gravel and pebbles were heaped up in mounds and ridges. In some places these ridges coalesced so as to form basin-shaped hollows. Bleached remains of thousands of penguins were scattered all over the platform, mostly young birds that had succumbed to the severity of the climate."

Great Britain must have been just as savage and desolate when these hardy little Arctic plants colonized the shingles and rooted themselves amongst the rocks.

They covered not only the seashore, but they probably made a settlement wherever rock or land of any kind was exposed. These original settlers have had three bands of descendants. One band has remained ever since on the seashore of Great Britain; another set gradually travelled northwards. As the ice melted away, leaving the land bare, first in Denmark, then in Norway, and finally in Greenland, this second set followed it, until now we find them far to the northward, populating the Arctic regions of to-day just as they did those of Britain in the Great Ice Age.

The third set of descendants would at first cover all the land and rocks of the lower hills and valleys near the sea; then as the ice and snow melted and exposed the higher mountain sides, they would climb the hills and eventually reach the exposed summits where they are now living. There they find themselves in an impossible, savage sort of climate, in which they alone are able to exist. Violent storms, drenching mist, scorching sunshine (when the rocks become so hot that it is almost impossible to touch them), rainstorms and months of snow and hard frost, cannot kill Scurvy-grass, Seathrift, or Plantain, but there are few other plants which can stand such conditions. Lower down on the flanks of the hills and in the valleys, they have long since been dispossessed of the rich and fertile lands by plants which can grow more rapidly and luxuriantly.

The little Alpine Creeping and Least Willows, for instance, some of which get up to 3980 feet in Breadalbane, are mere dwarfs only a few inches high, and totally different from their allies in the fertile lowlands, which are trees eighty to ninety feet high. Some of the Alpine plants which also occur in the Arctic regions have not even been able to survive by the seaside in Great Britain. Their nearest allies are in the Norwegian mountains.

It would be impossible even for shrubs to stand the violent winds and snowstorms of these summits. Alpine plants are generally low-growing mats. They are also often clothed all over in cottonwool, such as the Edelweiss. This probably keeps them from losing too much water during the dry season, when the rocks on which they grow are strongly heated by the sunlight.

Yet, like the Arctic plants, they have rich, deep, and brilliant colours.

A queer point is that they have got so accustomed to this stormy and perilous existence that it is extremely difficult to grow them in a garden. Like mountaineers, they dwindle and pine away in the richer soil and softer air of the low grounds.

To make an Alpine garden, rocks and stones must be arranged with pockets and hollows, like natural crevices and basins, between them. Rich leaf-mould must be placed in these hollows. There must be good drainage, and as much sunlight as one can possibly get.