“Rhoades [zoologist and chemist] had watched a nearby forest be decimated by an invasion of caterpillars. But then something suddenly changed; the caterpillars began to die. Why? The answer, Rhoades discovered, was that the trees were communicating with one another. Trees that the caterpillars hadn’t yet reached were ready: They’d changed the composition of their leaves, turning them into weapons that would poison, and eventually kill, the caterpillars.
Scientists were beginning to understand that trees communicate through their roots, but this was different. The trees, too far apart to be connected by a root system, were signaling to one another through the air. Plants are tremendous at chemical synthesis, Rhoades knew. And certain plant chemicals drift through the air. Everyone already understood that ripening fruit produces airborne ethylene, for example, which prompts nearby fruit to ripen too. It wasn’t unreasonable to imagine that plant chemicals containing other information—say, that the forest was under attack—might also drift through the air.” (From Zoe’s Atlantic piece)
I read this excerpt just after learning about how giraffe’s feed on Acacia trees. When a giraffe begins feeding on a tree, it releases ethylene gas as a distress signal. As soon as the gas reaches the next tree, it increases Tanin levels in its leaves, immediately making them bitter. This ensures they save their community from overgrazing.
As time passes, I expect us to ascribe traits like intelligence and consciousness to plants – just as we do with animals today.
Much to learn about all this magic, we have.
