How a Fern Bud Unfolds

Teacher’s Story

Of all “plant babies,” that of the fern is most cozily cuddled; one feels when looking at it, that not only are its eyes shut but its fists are tightly closed. But the first glance at one of these little woolly spirals gives us but small conception of its marvelous enfolding, all so systematic and perfect that it seems another evidence of the divine origin of mathematics. Every part of the frond is present in that bud, even to the fruiting organs; all the pinnæ and the pinnules are packed in the smallest compass—each division, even to the smallest pinnule, coiled in a spiral towards its base. These coiled fern buds are called crosiers; they are woolly, with scales instead of hairs, and are thus well blanketed. Some botanists object to the comparison of the woolly or fuzzy clothing of young plants with the blankets of human infants. It is true that the young plant is not kept at a higher temperature by this covering; but because of it, transpiration which is a cooling process is prevented, and thus the plant is kept warmer. When the fern commences to grow, it stretches up and seems to lean over backward in its effort to be bigger. First the main stem, or rachis, loosens its coil; but before this is completed, the pinnæ, which are coiled at right angles to the main stem, begin to unfold; a little later the pinnules, which are folded at right angles to the pinnæ, loosen and seem to stretch and yawn before taking a look at the world which they have just entered; it may be several days before all signs of the complex coiling disappear. The crosiers of the bracken are queer looking creatures, soon developing three claws which some people say look like the talons of an eagle; and so intricate is the action of their multitudinous spirals, that to watch them unfolding impresses one as in the presence of a miracle.