BLOWIN' IN THE WIND

When I was 11, I gathered all the empty bottles I could find along the road, turned them in at the store for the 2-cent refund, and bought a grape Nehi. Then I bicycled down the narrow road toward Noah’s Landing. It was a dirt path that ran between two swamps. There was no shoulder and the road was at the same level as the swamp, so it looked like a ribbon floating on the water. Stuffed under the waistband of my jeans were a small spiral notebook, a pencil, and a bottle opener.

I hop-scotched across soggy islands of grass to a good climbing tree in the middle of the marsh, and found a strong limb to perch on. When the pop was open and the notebook and pencil were on my lap, I became a scientist. At least I felt like a scientist. I sketched the birds, made charts and graphs of their comings and goings. After an afternoon of data gathering, I had a notebook full of incomplete and inaccurate information but a heart full of happiness. I was saturated with my favorite subject–biology. I also was saturated with swamp water, and I have no idea why I didn’t contract encephalitis.

Fifty-five years later, I am still sitting in a swamp, trying to organize and categorize information. I have gained more appreciation of nature, the mystery of it all, but arranging things along the x and y axes is still very satisfying.

There’s nothing more beautiful than the sun shining through milkweed seeds. I can never resist sending some of those paratroopers flying. But how do they fit into the big picture? The mind goes to seed dispersal systems. Well, my mind does. And exploring systems only adds to the beauty,  to my amazement.

How do seeds get where they need to go? What mechanisms are there? Don't you hear a list just begging to be created?

Some seeds go blowin’ in the wind like the milkweeds. The little parachute is called a pappus. A Maple seed helicopter has a blade pappus.






Some seeds just give in to Newton’s notions and plop to the ground. Rounder ones may roll away, some falling into streams or rivers. Others stay put, and still others are buried or hidden by animals.

Some seeds float to their final destination. This includes water plant seeds but also those that float, such as coconuts. We grow very few coconuts in Iowa. Coconuts in the front garden might be one benefit of global warming. Some adventuresome seeds travel the ocean by this means.

Some seeds are hitchhikers, traveling in or on animals, including us. Our two little Johhny Appleseeds come in covered with burr-encrusted seeds all the time. The nasty sharp sticker seeds that stick in my socks and ankles are carried unintentionally, but intentional planting has a place on this chart as well

Stella, the Seed Collector

Norah dispersing seeds

And now that the sparrows are nesting in the cow once again, we are well aware of how they carry and “deposit” seeds on our deck. 

Soon-to-be blue blobs on the deck

Dung beetles drag seeds right along with the dung

Some seeds are shot right out into the world. Pods explode and send forth their young ‘uns. The pod dries out, and that has the same effect as hitting one of those tubes of crescent rolls on the edge of the counter.

Some seed capsules have small holes and seeds shake out when the plant blows in the wind or is brushed.

Wistfully the 11-yr.-old in me wishes she had another chance at 7th grade biology. She sees a seed dispersal mechanism chart in her head, blissfully unfettered by actual information. It’s just another way of appreciating the order amidst the chaos in the countryside.