As the days begin winding down, and the sun escapes from us too soon, reflection is imminent. Another year slips through our fingers, and we are once again confronted with the passage of time. While human obsession creeps in, asking “How am I better than before?” Mother Nature offers her hand, taking us far from the reach of such meaninglessness. She wants to show us something real. We watch the colors from the sky fade into black, just as the leaves with vibrantly fiery hues have long abandoned us; they have fallen, lifeless as the earth below. Lush, flowering fields have since turned to shriveling shadows of their summertime selves.
Months ago, there were no allusions to what would become of the plants that seemed so permanent. It felt as though the green would maybe stick around this time, allowing us to unlearn the life cycle each time we witness the height of it. But, as seasons turn and trees senesce, the reality that time is passing becomes more evident. The life that was once brimming has begun to die in the last breaths of the year, but we should not mourn at the wake, for life often resides in death. Observing each season’s toll on the environment over the course of several months brings this truth into a manageable perspective.
The proud goldenrod stands tall on its stalk, jostling as the breeze rushes through the field, its brilliant flowers mimicking the sun that shines down, its small and pointy leaves absorbing what they can. Its beauty strikes me, and in the moment I am unable to imagine this perennial plant in a dormant state, waiting on the Spring in order to rise anew. Time flies by, and I’m suddenly facing a brown husk, the eponymous golden shade vanished completely. Despite the appearance of total demise, there is a delicate glimmer of hope: in dormancy, the goldenrod sports light, fuzzy seeds that are awaiting to begin a new life.
While not all species show such obvious signs of productivity in their inactive states, either dead or dormant, the idea of life within and beyond death is very real for plants. Resting in the earth, there are extensive stores of seeds known as seedbanks, which preserve genetic diversity. These banks enable dispersal through time, rather than space, giving regionally extinct species the potential to reappear after they’ve been thought of as long gone, seemingly resurrecting them. Such delay of germination, alternatively known as seed dormancy, serves as one of the primary inner-workings that allows for these events to take place. Associated with a quicker initial dispersal, seeds with a smaller size also have a higher tendency for dormancy. The small progeny of long-lived perennials and live-fast annual plants come in higher amounts than their physically larger counterparts, such as the seeds from herbaceous biennials. As perennials, my friends the goldenrods may find themselves within these delayed populations, waiting for the world to change.
Between rainy seasons, the protection of dormancy keeps the seeds from degrading while resources are scarce, interrupting any processes of development. However, with water comes life: when the rain returns, the soil rejoices, and the almost-seedlings readily continue on their journey of growth. Not all seeds within a bank will burst from the ground at the same time, because some species create more permanent stores than others, but the longevity does not change how the thriving desire to succeed exists within each small individual. The rain comes as the sky’s love letter to the earth, an eternal promise.
As the world becomes more tumultuous and the fates seem uncertain, I can look to these seedbanks as a kind of inspiration and reassurance. In the midst of devastation, when all appears to be lost, hidden opportunities are still able to provide hope, no matter how small. Rain will bring life where there was formerly nothing, reinventing the world with a gentle touch. I admire this resilience, especially while we all endure such collective grief in a time of separation and loss. May golden flowers return to us soon, their beauty is missed.