Heralds of Spring

Article Tools

Image Gallery

Print

E-mail

Comments

RSS

Real frost, on the other hand, is simply the frigid-weather equivalent of dew. On some nights, when the temperature dips just a tad below freezing and the air is sufficiently moist, the extra water vapor collects as ice crystals on the ground and on the surfaces of plants and objects. In the process, heat is released. Plants are actually protected by a true, external frost.

Scientists call this direct conversion of vaporous water to solid crystals (or vice-versa) sublimation. Call it what you will, the results sparkling in young spring’s early morning sun certainly are sublime. Frost-glazed fernlike patterns trace unseen scratches on windows; fresh leaves and grass glisten with icy lace; daffodil and crocus flowers stand bejeweled in delicate (and harmless) crystalline coats. Hardly to be dreaded, these final frosts make the new season all the more beautiful.

MALIGNED 'LIONS

Pity the poor dandelion — a legitimate spring wildflower that most blaspheme as a weed. Somewhere along the line the sprightly perennial gained a reputation as a sign of a neglected lawn; ever since it has been the target of chemical companies and blade-wielding, flame-throwing homeowners.

But beauty is indeed in the eye of the beholder, and for some, at least, the appearance of the season’s first bright yellow dandelions is a joy. Consider poet James Russell Lowell’s view: “Dear common flower that grow’st beside the way,” he wrote, “fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, first pledge of blithesome May.”

If the plant’s aesthetics escape you, perhaps you’ll find something to admire in its sheer botanical pluck. The name dandelion is an English spin on the original French, dent de lion, “tooth of lion,” referring to the plant’s broad, fanged leaves, which spread horizontally around the base, maximizing surface area for photosynthesis. Beneath the ground, a tough, deep root system anchors the plant; cut it at the crown, and at least two side crowns will soon emerge as reinforcements.

Now look closely at the bloom: The flower of a dandelion is actually a cluster of many little flowers — each yellow spike is capable of producing a seed. In spring, the blossoms open near the ground, but as the seeds mature the dandelion puts on a final growth spurt, raising each fluffy seed head above the grass, where its paratrooper seeds can freely catch the wind.

RSS | Comments | E-mail | Print