The earth’s greening

The earth’s greening

Canada mayflower • Photo by Dr. Thomas G. Barnes, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service (Public Domain)

Originally published 9 April 1984

There comes a moment in New Eng­land wood­lands in the spring when up through last sea­son’s brown leaves and mat­ted pine nee­dles comes the first green. Like a car­pet unrolled overnight, sud­den­ly the greedy leaves of the Cana­da mayflower are everywhere.

The Cana­da mayflower—some­times called wild lily of the val­ley — insin­u­ates a web of run­ners beneath the leaf lit­ter, col­o­niz­ing dark con­ti­nents of the for­est floor. From this hid­den infra­struc­ture of com­mu­ni­ca­tion and trans­port, the plant throws up a thou­sand paired green leaves, one to the right and one to the left, like a beg­gar’s hands. In a few weeks there will be tiny white flow­ers and the plant will be busy with arrange­ments for the next gen­er­a­tion. But for the moment, the busi­ness is pure ener­gy. Cap­tur­ing sun­light. Soak­ing up the rays.

There is not much sun­light on the wood­land floor. The Cana­da mayflower must aggres­sive­ly court its share. Hence the num­ber of plants, the broad elf-sized for­est of green leaves that so enchants the walk­er in the spring woods.

Reach­ing for the Sun, each leaf shoul­ders aside the detri­tus of last year’s decay. No law of physics is more basic than the law of entropy, the ten­den­cy of the uni­verse to move toward dis­or­der and death. But life bucks that tide, using avail­able free ener­gy when and where it can find it to build elab­o­rate and ele­gant mol­e­c­u­lar mech­a­nisms for stay­ing alive, for metab­o­lism, motil­i­ty and repro­duc­tion. Stay­ing alive has a col­or and that col­or is green.

Chlorophyll traps sunlight

All life on Earth (or almost all) fuels itself, direct­ly or indi­rect­ly, on sun­light. Ear­ly in the plan­et’s his­to­ry, life found a mol­e­cule — chloro­phyll — that was par­tic­u­lar­ly effi­cient at trap­ping and tem­porar­i­ly stor­ing ener­gy from vis­i­ble light. Chloro­phyll does not equal­ly absorb all parts of the solar spec­trum; if it did, plants would be black. The mol­e­cule absorbs red and blue light selec­tive­ly, reflect­ing green. Spring is green because of that part of the solar feast which life sends back from the table.

The first liv­ing cells obtained their ener­gy by fer­men­ta­tion, by break­ing sug­ars down into alco­hol and car­bon diox­ide (or sim­i­lar prod­ucts) and uti­liz­ing the ener­gy that was stored in the bro­ken chem­i­cal bonds. The cells scrounged the sug­ars from the envi­ron­ment, sug­ars that had been pro­duced ran­dom­ly by the Sun’s radi­ant ener­gy. Life was liv­ing on bor­rowed time. The sug­ars in the seas were a lim­it­ed resource. Organ­isms pro­lif­er­at­ed faster than the food sup­ply. A great dying-out was in the offing.

And then came one of the peak moments in the his­to­ry of life on Earth, the inven­tion of pho­to­syn­the­sis. It hap­pened about 3.5 bil­lion years ago, with­in a few hun­dred mil­lion years of the ori­gin of life. It is tempt­ing to say “just in the nick of time,” but I have the sense that it may have been inevitable. Life was too clever not to solve the prob­lem of its food sup­ply and fig­ure out a way to use the ener­gy of sun­light directly.

Packets of energy

The first pho­to­syn­the­siz­ing organ­isms may have resem­bled the sin­gle-celled cyanobac­te­ria, tra­di­tion­al­ly called blue-green algae. Spe­cial mem­branes in these cells con­tain chloro­phyll which absorbs sun­light. The ener­gy is passed along to the chem­i­cal fac­to­ry which is the cell itself. Pho­to­syn­the­sis involves many steps, but the bot­tom line is that car­bon diox­ide and water are charged with sun­light to yield sug­ar and oxy­gen. The sug­ars are then avail­able for fer­men­ta­tion, tidy pack­ets of ready ener­gy. With the inven­tion of pho­to­syn­the­sis, life learned how to cre­ate its own food sup­ply. No more liv­ing off the land. Life had gone on to sub­sis­tence farming.

There were prob­lems, to be sure. The waste prod­uct of pho­to­syn­the­sis is oxy­gen, and oxy­gen tends to break down large mol­e­cules. Cells had to devise defens­es against their own tox­ic waste. They also had to evolve defens­es against the Sun’s ultra­vi­o­let light. There was no ozone in the Earth­’s ear­ly atmos­phere to screen out the Sun’s dead­lier rays. Cells had to devise strat­a­gems for gain­ing access to the Sun’s vis­i­ble light, with­out being dam­aged by the ultraviolet.

With the inven­tion of pho­to­syn­the­sis life learned how to plug into a star. The bat­tle against entropy had been won. From that time onward, order on Earth could pro­ceed at the expense of a greater dis­or­der at the core of the Sun. The uni­verse as a whole con­tin­ued to run down, as it must, but on the sur­face of the Earth there spread a film of high­ly ordered mat­ter of mar­velous com­plex­i­ty and resourcefulness.

The tree of life

The first pho­to­syn­the­siz­ing organ­isms con­tributed their sun­light-trap­ping tal­ents to the first true plants. Ani­mals devel­oped along a dif­fer­ent branch of the evo­lu­tion­ary tree, and it now seems like­ly that you and I had no pho­to­syn­the­siz­ers among our ances­tors. But the tree of life is a tree of inter­de­pen­dence. With­out plants, ani­mals would not sur­vive. Plants are our food-pro­duc­ing link to our yel­low star.

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