Aimee Nezhukumatathil’s World of Wonder column is published by The Butter every other Thursday; today’s post was postponed one day due to New Year’s. Previously: Comb Jelly
Mucho mucho thanks to everyone for the warm welcome to my first entry in World of Wonder. I’m very excited to get you to think of warmth and green as the big bustle of the holiday season fades into a new and sparkly new year.
Photo via vabavdekar on Flickr
When I was a little girl, my parents used to take me to the Chicago Botanic Gardens. Of all the approximately 1.5 million plants they have on-site, the one that scared and delighted me the most was Mimosa pudica — The Touch-Me-Not plant.
Why all the fuss and euphoria over a plant? When you touch the leaves of this plant, they shudder and fold shut. The plant shimmies and moves like fingers. I still coo over the delightful pennation (the double leaf pattern feathering outward then inward from both sides of a single stem) and the spherical lavender-pink flowers that bloom only in summer, as if someone crossed a My Little Pony with a firework.
This particular plant movement is called “sleep movement,” and scientists have figured out that when the leaves are touched, potassium ions get released that cause a drop in plant cell pressure, causing the leaves to collapse as if ready for bed. This elegant movement protects the plant by toppling carpenter worms and spider mites to the ground just when they think they’ll get their bite on with these unique leaves.
It’s native to Central and South America but can be found in shady spots in Florida and as far north as Maryland. I’ve seen grow kits for them in hobby and craft stores, which my parents find amusing because where they grew up, it’s considered a lowly and common groundcover — most tropical places in south Asia and various Pacific islands pretty much think of it as a weed. It’s best as a whimsical houseplant and that’s it. Unless you find yourself cavorting with cobras —then it can be used as a neutralizer for cobra venom.
But woe to those in warmer climes here in the States who decide to plant it in the yard. You don’t want to mess with how fast it spreads and drops roots. Dozens of garden and landscape message boards are filled with urgent pleas to help them get rid of all traces of the spreading plant in their yards before it threatens to grow over their house pets and cover up their lawn furniture like a bad imitation of Miss Havisham’s garden.
My Indian father taught me its name was thottavaadi in Malayalam and my Filipino mother called it makahiya. Other names for the touch-me-not are: sensitive plant, shame plant, humble plant, tickle-me plant, and my favorite—sleeping grass. I call it a botanical marvel.
This past summer, I brought my own kids to the Buffalo Botanical Gardens and let them piano their fingers over the potted plant with those magical leaves I could recognize from yards away — before I was close enough to read the tiny typed label — just from my episodic memory of that little girl in a sundress and ponytail over thirty years ago.
Tags: aimee nezhukumatathil, the butter, world of wonder
Yep. My mom would bring me to the Lincoln Park Conservatory during Chicago’s long winters and my siblings and I would touch every leaf we could reach. My mom would always scold us for not “leaving some for other people.” I’m glad to learn it is a weed in other parts of the world. I always like the rare/common or precious/bothersome quality of plants depending on your geography. My mom and I would always comment on neighbor’s morning glory vines but as I grew up I learned a lot more people hate that plant.
Yes! I keep to myself everywhere in Chicago…except right in front of the sensitive plant in the Lincoln Park Conservatory, where I turn into a friggin docent who’s imploring total strangers to come over and discover the amazing plant magic.
Lovely post.
I remember learning about this plant on a coffee plantation in Cuba where it grew “wild”. It turned out that during slavery the plantation owners actually planted it intentionally around slaves quarters so that if one of them ran away the closed up leaves of the plant would show which way they had gone. It struck me as an incredibly disturbing human manipulation of a wonderful natural phenomenon. People really suck sometimes.
Even the beautiful things can be used for dirty purposes.
Yes! I keep to myself everywhere in Chicago…except right in front of the sensitive plant in the Lincoln Park Conservatory, where I turn into a friggin docent who's imploring total strangers to come over and discover the amazing plant magic.
Sensitive plants! I love these. My grandmother had one as a houseplant, and now the two are indelibly linked for me. Memories are funny things.
my childhood yard was full of Mimosa. The South, she will be still here: sleeping underneath the kudzu and mimosa and beer bottles and a vague sense of delight.
This was rampant in hawaii where i grew up and we'd just call it sleeping grass.
I knew this as the “sensitive plant,” and it was the source of many embarrassing incidents during middle school gym class, when I was fiddling around with the leaves out on the playing field instead of paying attention to whatever group sport was occurring at the time.
The name “Touch-Me-Not” identified an entirely different sort of plant in my experience. This was a small flowering plant with teardrop-shaped, furry seed pods that exploded when handled like something out of Star Trek. The pods were at their most volatile when brown and dried, but could usually be coaxed to detonate when still green. I remember spending entire afternoons popping these seed pods– they were like nature’s own bubble wrap. I can’t even recall with certainty what color the flowers were, just the exploding seeds.
Also, I always thought Mimosa was a kind of tree for some reason. I have all the herb-lore of a penguin.
Actually, I think we humans are just not good at coming up with new plant names. There are at least 2 different tree species that are also called “mimosa”, so despite your penguin ways you are not wrong at all!
One is also called “silk tree” and is considered a weed in the US because the conditions are wrong for it and it’s not hardy here. The other one has very cool wood that is sometimes stripy, and has won botanical awards for greatness: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acacia_dealbata
We also had a tree version of the sensitive touch-me-not plant in Ghana, but I don’t remember/can’t find the name…
Wait. WAIT. Are there botanical awards? That get awarded to plants, for being a great plant??
I want you to know I’m envisioning a huge tree bending towards the microphone, humbly delivering its Oscar speech.
“Thank you. This is truly an honor. I’d never thought I’d be standing here. I usually grow in temperate zones.”
Actually, I think we humans are just not good at coming up with new plant names. There are at least 2 different tree species that are also called "mimosa", so despite your penguin ways you are not wrong at all!
One is also called "silk tree" and is considered a weed in the US because the conditions are wrong for it and it's not hardy here. The other one has very cool wood that is sometimes stripy, and has won botanical awards for greatness: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Acacia_dealbata
We also had a tree version of the sensitive touch-me-not plant in Ghana, but I don't remember/can't find the name…
I used to touch them on my way home from elementary school. I guess my parents told me it’s called sleeping grass? I kept touching them for years and then at one point they went away and I was just touching weeds that didn’t react at all, so I thought I had made up this plant until now.