Later
Now isn’t the only time to push through,
latency as strategy.
The dark, chilled-to-the-core, winter days always make me feel stagnated. If you are in a temperate region like me, you might share this feeling too. Meanwhile, the trees peacefully fall dormant, seeds in the soil staying put, the little critters retreat to their burrows. The winter freeze will kill them if they rush to grow, thrive, or get ahead, but a mere few months of waiting later, it’s a different story.
Silene stenophylla in bloom.
via The Guardian, 2012
An ancient specimen of Silene stenophylla, found in the Siberian permafrost, was regenerated from placental tissues extracted from immature seeds. The scientists responsible for reviving the plant believe that these seeds were stashed in burrows by Arctic ground squirrels and have stayed dormant in the permafrost ever since. What the arctic ground squirrels stored away in their burrows for later survived to see the world again, more than 31,000 years later. The time-travelling Silene stenophylla specimens revived from the 31,000-year-old materials, exhibited only minor differences from the current-day Silene stenophylla. I couldn’t help but imagine, how does it feel to be put on hold, waiting for 31,000 years below the permafrost? Upon its revival, does a plant feel out of place? Or, they feel just fine after a long nap?
Although the example above resulted from many preferable conditions coinciding miraculously, it isn't rare for seeds, in general, to stay dormant for years or even decades and still be viable, waiting to emerge in perceived safety. For example, the much-hated wild parsnip produces about a thousand seeds per plant. Each of the seeds will effortlessly stay dormant, perhaps in a piece of soil lodged at the bottom of someone's shoe, lurking while travelling inconspicuously. What makes the species so prone to spreading uncontrollably is the ability to stay put. In fact, it completely disregards our human-imagined borders. It will thrive where it feels at home, even though we consider wild parsnip, along with any species that crossed into our officially mapped borders, alien invaders. I always find it brilliant that all it takes for wild parsnip to take over a field is to stay in the dark, do nothing for years, and re-emerge when the conditions become favourable (to wild parsnip, "favourable" is a wide, wide range). In many cases, they travel across distances and find themselves waking up, taking over a brand new terrain that feels familiar enough to call home.
The process which plants “feel” where they might belong, and subsequently decide to delay no more and sprout, is also fascinating. I attempted to grow alpine strawberries from seeds and have not succeeded. However, the cold-stratification suggested for breaking the seeds' dormancy caught my attention. It turns out seeds have the ability to "sense" and respond to environmental triggers. They delay germination until triggered by indicators of favourable growing conditions. This trait is described as serotiny, which means "later." In the case of the alpine strawberries, the freeze-thaw cycle weakens the seed coat and signals the seed to start absorbing water and sending out roots. Many pine trees, like the lodgepine, Pinus contorta, produce pinecones sealed shut with resin to ensure the seeds stay dormant until a great fire comes along. Disastrous to most of the creatures in the living forest, an event as such happens to create an ideal environment for young lodgepines by clearing the understory and enriching the field with a layer of ash. The fire doesn't break dormancy for the seeds, but the heat melts the resin, causes the pine cone to open. The seeds that were encased in the pinecone and sealed by a layer of resin are finally exposed to the elements. The subtle pine cone doesn’t just sense dramatic events like a fire, it uses other fluctuating conditions in the environment to its advantage. An article from the journal Nature describes that the broader physiology of pinecone has a mechanism that releases the seeds through the wet-dry cycles, indicative of conditions that supports germination and growth. The expansion and contraction of the pine cone physically push the seeds out of the pinecone in the event of repeated rainfall and sunshine. I’m fascinated by that the knowledge for these plants to navigate their life paths, even when, in the dark, in transit, or in indefinite periods of waiting, are encoded into the very physiology of these plants. It makes me reconsider the scope of knowledge-sharing, as well as the unexpected survival strategy a parent tree gift to their offsprings.
In my journey of making sense of my place in diaspora, by observing species that are so distantly related to me, I might consider that my ancestors speak to me just like the ancient trees speak to the pine saplings emerging after a fire. Drastic changes bring new grounds to inhabit. The body is constantly scanning for cues, sensing the environment, grounding oneself, and looking beyond the perceived uncertainties. However, I find my current life incoherent with this narrative. The anxiousness from being in the dark, in transit, or in indefinite periods of waiting often overtakes my thoughts, consumes me. In 2020, I was living with intense pain all over my body for no reason. I was working under the thought that I can simply push through projects, including the ones that don’t bring any value into my life, except for providing some sort of possible safety. The business softwares and other productivity tools I use told me things are going well, despite being in a global pandemic. Without an external measure of my own bodily experiences, I was ignoring signs that manifested in bodily pain, crying inexplicably, and lashing out at people who I care a lot. Eventually in 2021, I decided to depart from what’s been weighing on me. I did earn less, and the time off was brief for that reason. At the very least, the time off offered me a chance to observe the natural cycles. Falling into my circadian rhythm, allowing myself to feel less enthusiastic on a rainy day, breathing through the heatwaves, letting the morning dew soak my shoes wet and not be frustrated by that… and to simply be in the dark from the updates of business softwares, in fact, business matters altogether.
The natural yet difficult part is to remain in the dark when surrounded by everything blooming, bourgeoning and thriving. Growth is in the light, out there, visible. Waiting isn’t, even though many times of the day in life, we are being placed on wait when the promised seamless experiences fail to deliver. What if we choose to wait? What if we rebel against the efficiency and immediacy demanded of us by simply taking the time to come back to these demands later? Serotiny in seeds as a metaphor is noteworthy in a world that asks for us to constantly show up, be in the open, even when we don’t perceive any signs of safety. The technologies we interface daily, more often than not, blunt our senses rather than heighten them. The data sensed by machines aren’t remotely representative of us. Yet, we are encouraged and incentivized to churn out what we sense through our bodies into machine-readable data and then have the machines tell us how to feel. The machines in my life keep me on my toes, updating me, seamlessly, with everything that “they” think I should know.
Maybe one day we can finally feel no awkwardness in being in the seams, a bit out of the loop, like the seeds left behind by the Arctic ground squirrels a bit too long, or the wild parsnip travelling the world under one’s shoes, or perhaps the pine cone so tightly encased only flames can bust it open.
