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Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information, Inc.
--This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.
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In an attempt to confirm that a creature like a mastodon would willingly eat Osage oranges, Martin and Barlow persuaded the director of the Brookfield Zoo in Chicago to offer the fruit (scientific name maclura pomifera) to three of the zoo's elephants. "Affie, the matriarch of the Brookfield elephants, did eat maclura--but just the first fruit she was offered. After that, she showed no interest in any more. The reactions of the other elephants were strongly negative. One wasn't even willing to smell the fruit when the offer was first made. Finally, she took it from her keeper and hurled it down the hall. The second elephant did the same thing but aimed for the public area." I can't say that I blame them. As a child, I was under the impression that Osage oranges (or hedge apples) were poisonous.
Zoo elephants' finickiness notwithstanding, the book argues that some species are obviously "overbuilt" for the ecological niche they inhabit today. Why would natural selection lead to such an outcome? For example, pronghorns can run not just a little faster but way the hell faster than any of their nearest predators (wolves and coyotes). This speed is apparently a relic of days when something faster than wolves or coyotes were chasing pronghorns, possibly a New World cheetah that became extinct thirteen thousand years ago. Well, you may ask, why haven't the pronghorns slowed down and devoted their evolutionary energy to something more productive, like jumping barbwire fences? More generally, what is a believable schedule on which a species reacts to changes in its environment?
As Connie Barlow analyzes the results of experiments with the exotic fruits and seeds in her New York apartment kitchen, she writes with delight and authority. She teaches us technical and colorful terms such as seed predator and pulp thief. The former destroys seeds by eating them rather than by defecating them intact. The latter eats the flesh around the seed and discards the seed without transporting it to a promising new sprouting site. We humans are guilty of both depredations, although with our compost heaps we have introduced a modest new dispersal path for domesticated fruits. Barlow's story is certainly not bereft of poetic lyric, as in the "paucity of pawpaw pollinators"--or of Conan Doyle-ian suspense: "Perhaps the most compelling evidence that Mrs. Foxie defecated persimmon seeds intact can be found in my collection of fox feces."
In her final chapter, Barlow preaches the gospel of "the great work:" the purposeful and painstaking reversal of the appalling history of extinction for which our species has, knowingly and unknowingly, been responsible. If the dedication to and passion for nature that is evident in this book can infect an emerging generation of professional and amateur naturalists, we may within our lifetimes see the beginning of this work.
The exciting idea in this book is that there are trees that "lament" the passing of the mastodons and the other extinct megafauna that once distributed their seeds. What animal now regularly eats the avocado whole, swallows the seed and excretes it far from the tree in a steamy, nourishing pile of dung? No such animal exists in the Western Hemisphere to which the avocado is native. (Barlow reports that elephants in Africa, where the avocado has been introduced, eat the avocado and do indeed excrete its pit whole.)
How about the mango with its pulp that adheres so tightly to the rather large pit? As Barlow surmises, such fruits were "designed" for mutualists that would take the fruit whole and let the pit pass through their digestive systems to emerge intact for germination away from the mother tree. Note that the avocado pit is not only too large to pass comfortably through the digestive system of any current native animal of the Americas, but is also highly toxic so that such an animal would have quickly learned not to chew it. Note too that the mango pit is extremely hard, thus encouraging a large animal to swallow it along with the closely adhering pulp rather than try to chew it or spit it out. Consider also the papaya. The fruit are large and soft so that a large animal could easily take one into its mouth and just mash it lightly and swallow. Note too that the fruits of the papaya tree grow not high in the tree, nor is the tree a low lying bush. Instead the tree is taller than a bush but its fruits are clustered at a height supermarket convenient for a large animal to pluck.
Barlow considers a number of other trees, the honey locust and the osage orange, for example, as examples of ecological anachronisms, trees that have out-lived their mutualists and consequently must form new partnerships with other seed distributors or face extinction. For those trees that have pleased humans, the avocado, the mango, the papaya, etc., there is no immediate danger, but some other trees are at the edge of extinction. Their fruits fall to the ground and stay there until they rot. New trees grow only down hill when an occasional flood of water moves their fruit to a new location.
Barlow also sees ghosts from the Mesozoic era. She writes, "Ghosts of dinosaurs are easy to conjure in October and November wherever city landscapers planted ginkgo trees...even when I forget to look for the ghosts of dinosaurs my nose alerts me to their presence. Only a carrion eater could find the odor of fallen ginkgo fruit appealing. Before beginning this book, I wrongly blamed the alcoholic homeless for the vomitlike stench in Washington Square Park." (p. 12)
In short this book is about those trees--anachronisms--have been without their mutualists since the mass extinction of the megafauna of the Western Hemisphere that took place about 13,000 years ago. It is a popular expansion on some original work done by ethnologist Daniel H. Janzen and paleontologist Paul S. Martin, their seminal paper appearing in the journal Science in 1982. Connie Barlow's prose is not only very readable, but is full of the excitement of scientific discovery, vivid and concrete, and packed with an amazing amount of information so that not only the trees described, but the giant sloths, mastodons and mammoths--the ghosts of harvests past--come alive on the pages.
What Barlow does more than anything is open our eyes to the ecological nature of fruit and the relationships that exist between trees and the animals that eat the fruit. We learn how color, taste, aroma, texture, nutritional value, toughness of rind, size, shape, number of seeds and how they are encased, etc.--how all these qualities of fruit have evolved to entice the animals that will faithfully distribute the seeds, but also how some qualities discourage other animals, "pulp thieves" or "seed predators," that benefit from the food provided by the tree, but do not help in its propagation.
The story of the desert gourd was of particular interest to me because during many walks in the chaparral and deserts of California I have come across this vine with its hard, dry and unattractive gourds that were never picked or eaten. Barlow theorizes that the plant is also an anachronism, and that there did exist in the past animals that found the gourds, if not delicious, at least palatable.
Another curious anachronism reported on is the devil's claw of the Chihuahuan desert of Mexico. This plant produces a most amazing apparatus that wraps itself around an animal's foot and claw-like clings to the animal, dribbling its seeds to the ground as the animal moves. There is a photo of the claw on page 151 wrapped around a human ankle. Incidentally, the text is enhanced by a number of interesting black and white photos of the trees and their fruits.
This is one of the most interesting and original books on evolution that I have read in recent years, and one of the most informative.
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