Showing posts with label ideas that don't work. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ideas that don't work. Show all posts

Saturday, April 19, 2014

Dog Hair as a Rooting Medium

Background:

Dog (Canis familiaris) hair is cheap, abundant, renewable, and produced in such vast quantities that one feels mortally certain that it must be good for something besides canine thermoregulation. Furthermore, most existing rooting media are dependent on the destruction of natural ecosystems (peat moss), require a large amount of energy for production (perlite), or pose a health hazard to the producers and users (vermiculite),1 so finding a more renewable medium would be a boon to both plant-loving dog owners and the environment.

As canine hair has some qualities in common (holds water, fibrous texture) with other substances used in rooting media and soilless potting mixes, it was evaluated for its potential as a rooting medium.


Experiment:

The floor of a home containing a dog ("Sheba," Fig. 1) was swept, and the sweepings collected into a pile. (Fig. 2) The sweepings were then separated into hair and non-hair, with the latter discarded. (Fig. 3) The material which resulted was fibrous and mostly dark gray in color, with inclusions of lighter matter.2

Fig. 1 ("Sheba")

Fig. 2 (material collected by sweeping)

Fig. 3 (collected material post-purification)

The hair was then added to a plastic pot, 7 cm in diameter. Non-hair material was left out of the pot when it was feasible to separate it. Once the hair had been placed in the pot, it was rinsed with water several times to remove water-soluble contaminants. (Fig. 4)

Fig. 4 (rinsed hair in pot)

Next, the cutting to be rooted was prepared. We selected Plectranthus verticillatus (Fig. 5) as a test subject, because P. verticillatus is known to root readily under a large range of conditions. A cutting approximately 7 cm in length was taken from a plant (Fig. 6), and the lowest pair of leaves was removed.

Fig. 5 (the stock Plectranthus verticillatus plant from which cutting was obtained)

Fig. 6 (Plectranthus verticillatus cutting before removal of lowest pair of leaves)

After making a hole in the dog hair at the center of the pot, the end of the cutting was placed into the hole, and the hair packed around the stem to ensure contact between the rooting medium and the cutting. The pot was then placed in a brightly-lit but sunless location. Moisture level was monitored, and water added when it would have been added for a cutting rooted in soil.


Results:

During the first full watering, a considerable amount of dark brown material washed out of the rooting medium. Chemical characterization was not performed, and the identity of the substance is unknown. Similar but lighter yellow material was washed out of the medium following some but not all subsequent waterings.(Fig. 7) Rooting medium had no discernible odor.

Fig. 7 (drainage water containing uncharacterized yellow contaminant)

The experimental pot retained water much longer than a comparably-sized pot of standard potting mix. However, the distribution of the water was quite different. The upper half remained relatively dry, even immediately following the addition of water, while the lower half stayed very wet. This made it difficult to determine when to water the cutting.

The oldest pair of leaves wilted significantly after three or four days. No new leaf growth was observed; a few small (< 2 mm) roots had formed by four weeks (Fig. 8). This is significantly less root growth than would have been expected from potting soil or water after an equivalent length of time.
Fig. 8 (roots formed after four weeks in rooting medium)

After five weeks, the cutting remained alive but wilted, and had produced no new growth. (Fig. 9)

Fig. 9 (cutting after five weeks in rooting medium)


Conclusions:

Though root development suggests that canine hair may be capable of rooting plant cuttings under some circumstances, development was slow compared to standard media, probably due to the different water-absorbing abilities of canine hair, and it is likely not an acceptable substitute for potting soil.

This experiment also demonstrates that Plectranthus verticillatus, contrary to popular perception, is not in fact capable of rooting in any material, merely in most of them.

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1 Large-scale production of canine hair also results in the indirect destruction of natural ecosystems and consumes considerable energy, in addition to generating significant amounts of ecologically problematic waste. Objective observation of human behavior to date with respect to animal companions leads us to conclude that humans simply do not give a shit about the ecological impact of their pets, and would continue to attempt to keep domesticated dogs, cats, hamsters, etc. even if forced to live in a poisoned, radioactive, waterless hellscape as a result, because they are adorable and precious, whoosa good dog, whoosa good dog yes you are. If humans are to keep animals as pets in any case, we may as well figure out how to do so in as minimally disruptive a manner as possible.
2 The inclusions were primarily composed of household dust, lint, fragments of potting medium from indoor plants, and the fallen leaves of said plants.


Monday, January 28, 2013

Tina! Bring me the ax.

Scalepocalypse 2012 2013 update:

So two things happened Saturday night. The first thing was very unpleasant. (A Pilosocereus pachycladus fell backward onto me as I was transporting it to be watered, leaving spines stuck in a small patch on my right shoulder and a somewhat larger patch on my right forearm.) The second was a hundred times worse.1

I went to pick up the Philodendron squamiferum, to take it into the plant room to water it, and there were scale insects all over the new growth. The same scale that it had on it when it arrived here.

Not so terrible in and of itself, granted. But it's what this means.

I'd noticed the scale on the Philodendron squamiferum immediately, when it arrived last May. I'd wiped off the leaves, individually, on multiple occasions, with soapy water, and sprayed every surface of the plant with neem, every time I watered, and I kept it as isolated from the other plants as possible under the circumstances. At some point, I don't remember when (September? October?), I threw some imidacloprid granules in the pot as well.

Imidacloprid is an insecticide, which is supposed to be particularly good against scale and mealybugs, because they have a waxy, water-repelling coat that shrugs off most water-based insecticides. Imidacloprid gets around this by being taken up by the plant's roots. It then circulates throughout the plant's tissues, so that no matter where the insect might bite, it's going to be sucking up a mouthful of poison as well. And then it dies.

Or at least that's the theory. But obviously: if the scale population has increased from invisibility to the point of overrunning the new growth in the span of a month, that means that the imidacloprid didn't work. And neither did the neem, or the hand-washing.

Also, I'd declared the plant officially clean, at some point last fall or early winter, and placed it with a few other important plants (Ficus maclellandii, the BDSP), on a table. Which means that there's a good chance that the other plants on that table also have scale now, scale which is resistant to the one pesticide that's supposed to be halfway decent at dealing with scale.

Which means that the week I spent dumping imidacloprid granules into all 585 plants in the basement was almost certainly wasted effort.2 It's a different infestation of scale in the basement (brought in by Aloe polyphylla instead of Philodendron squamiferum), granted, so hypothetically the imidacloprid resistance might be totally different in the basement, but what are the odds I could be that lucky? Or maybe I've misapplied it. Maybe I wash too much out of the pots when I water. In any case, it doesn't seem like the imidacloprid is likely to be helpful, which makes me REALLY GLAD I spent all that time and money on it.

Now. I had been depressed for much of the month of January anyway, because I spotted some scale on New Year's Day. New Year's was depressing because it meant that the six or seven weeks before that, when I hadn't spotted any scale, was false hope, and they hadn't gone away. So the Philodendron on Saturday night was pretty much the worst thing that could have happened: even my backup hope, the imidacloprid, is probably also false hope.

And if fairly conscientious and repeated use of neem / hand-washing / imidacloprid hasn't worked so far, then the way I see it, I have basically three options.

1) I continue to fight with the inadequate tools I have, and maybe pick up new ones.

This is a non-starter. I've already exhausted and depressed myself dumping imidacloprid into the plants in the basement. There is no way in hell I could hand-wash every leaf of every plant in the house, and it apparently doesn't even help. I might as well sing Tom Petty to the scale.3 I reached the point of not even liking plants anymore at some point last summer, and things have only gotten worse since New Year's. So I am not going to fight. I'm not going to try your home remedy for scale, I'm not going to wait until spring and then move everything outside, I'm not going to buy more and bigger pesticides, I'm not going to buy predatory mites or lacewings or ladybugs or whatever, I'm not going to try to swab a thousand plants with a 50-gallon drum of rubbing alcohol and a pallet full of Q-Tips. I refuse to hope for a cure. I also refuse to give up and just try to coexist with the scale the way I do with fungus gnats or (to a smaller degree) spider mites, 'cause scale is just too damaging, contagious, and icky. Next option?

2) I throw all one-thousand-and-whatever plants in the garbage.

Just pile them up on a snowdrift in the back yard and let them freeze, taking the scale with them. That's not really going to work for me either. It's true that I hate the plants;4 I want to punch them all in their smug green photosynthesizing non-faces until they beg me to stop. (And then keep punching them, because I ain't gonna take no orders from no plant.) But I'm not a monster;5 I'm not going to spite-kill plants that have shown no sign of scale infestation and live in a part of the house where the scale are not known to have spread. Even as bad as things are -- and it cannot be over-emphasized that things are very, very bad, the kind of bad that involves mental health care professionals6 -- there are still plenty of plants in the house that are probably fine, due to natural resistance, luck, or both. Besides which, if I were to get rid of all the gray-variegated Yucca guatemalensises and Anthuriums, I would be inconsolable, because I hate them the least.

Which only leaves . . .

3) The back-burn strategy. I take a zero-tolerance policy toward any scale sightings. I'm not even going to pretend that I can eliminate them from an infested plant. Instead, I'm going to throw away any plant that shows any sign of scale, however beloved or irreplaceable the plant in question might be. If I suspect infestation strongly enough, I'll even throw away plants that have merely been adjacent to scale-occupied plants. The hope is that if I throw plants out fast enough, maybe I can out-run the scale. Eventually, mathematically, I have to reach a point where no plants in the house are infested. Maybe I'll only have twenty plants at that point. Maybe only six. Maybe one. But eventually.

That's a pretty unpleasant-sounding idea all on its own, of course. But wasn't I the indoor-plant blogger who'd been saying that I had too many plants and I desperately needed to pare down to a more manageable number? And haven't I been saying this for pretty much the entire time I've been writing the blog? Well, what's a more manageable number than one?

So that's where we are at the moment: full metal "Tina! Bring me the ax."7



The plants Scalepocalypse 2012 2013 is responsible for killing so far (I'm keeping the list so I know what to write on the eventual memorial):

Alpinia zerumbet variegataAlworthia 'Black Gem'Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Aloe NOID, variegated • Aloe polyphyllaAgave desmettiana (?), variegated • Aloe veraAloe veraAloe veraGasteraloe x beguiniiGasteraloe x beguiniiGasteraloe x beguiniiAloe 'Silver Ridge' • Aloe 'Doran Black' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Sedum rubrotinctum 'Aurora' • Hoya polyneuraHoya polyneuraHoya polyneuraHoya polyneuraHoya polyneuraGynura aurantiacaGynura aurantiacaGynura aurantiacaGynura aurantiacaGynura aurantiacaPhilodendron hederaceum micansPeperomia obtusifolia variegataPeperomia obtusifolia variegataPereskia aculeata var. godseffianaPereskia aculeata var. godseffianaPereskia aculeata var. godseffianaPereskia aculeata var. godseffianaHippeastrum 'Red Lion' x unknown • Hatiora salicornioidesHatiora salicornioidesHatiora salicornioidesHatiora salicornioidesHatiora salicornioidesHatiora salicornioidesHatiora salicornioidesAloe striataAlworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Begonia NOID • Begonia NOID • Callisia fragransCyrtomium falcatumAsparagus macowaniiAnthurium seedling • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Begonia x 'Erythrophylla' • Begonia x 'Erythrophylla' • Aloe 'Firebird'Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Alworthia 'Black Gem' • Ardisia ellipticaFicus benjamina 'Midnight'Ficus elastica 'Tineke'Haworthia attenuataHaworthia attenuataManfreda undulata 'Chocolate Chips' • Podocarpus macrophyllusPhilodendron squamiferum8

And everything down to Aloe 'Firebird' was before the zero-tolerance policy. We're just getting started.

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1 A hundred times worse, in the sense that I would rather do the Pilosocereus thing a hundred times than have the other thing happen once. And yes, I thought about this choice for quite a while: the number is not arbitrary.
2 Imidacloprid does sometimes take a month or two to build up in a plant's tissues before it reaches an effective concentration, but the Philodendron had definitely had a month or two to work already.
3 ("Don't Come Around Here No More," obviously.)
4 (Not an exaggeration. I've been getting negative enjoyment out of them for the last eight months, with the possible exception of August's Epiphyllum-and-Clivia bonanza, and I've only been willing to tolerate the misery for this long because I thought it might end at some point.)
5 (yet!)
6 An overreaction? Well, sure, I suppose for most people it would be an overreaction to go bonkers over finding some bugs on a few houseplants. You have to bear in mind, though, that I have lived and breathed indoor plants, to the exclusion of nearly everything else, for about six years. And it has made Jack a very dull boy, and I wasn't even that good at it compared to some people, but it was at least a direction, a vague plan, a sort of goal. You know: here is a thing I enjoy. Maybe I could make a self-supporting amount of money from this, somehow.
You try hating the thing around which you've let six years revolve and on which you've constructed all of your future plans, and then tell me what's an overreaction.
There is, no doubt, some sort of cautionary tale in all of this about the dangers of turning hobbies into careers. Or the dangers of being generally inept at having careers. I don't know what it is exactly, but I can smell a cautionary tale in here somewhere.
7 (Helga, I'm not mad at you, I'm mad at the scale.)
8 No, I did not get to salvage any of the Alworthia 'Black Gems.' Had 27 at the beginning of all this, and none of them have managed to not have scale at some point or another, so I am 'Black-Gem-'less for the first time in almost six years. This despite heavy and repeated neeming, a summer outside, careful inspection upon re-entry, and imidacloprid.


Thursday, November 17, 2011

Monstrosithurium

Remember this spring, when we all got to bemoan the existence of dye-injected orchids? (Phalaenopsitrocity! Dendrobomination!)

Well, certain douchemonkeys have decided that those were such a great idea that they're wanting to do the same thing with Anthuriums.


Presently, one "breeder" is offering a white Anthurium that's been infused with blue or yellow dye. The picture at the link doesn't actually look that terrible, but I'm guessing it's also been very carefully manipulated. The dyed Dendrobium and Phalaenopsis probably look very nice too, if there's enough Photoshop involved.

I have no hope of being able to stop dyed Anthuriums from happening (indeed, my guess is that in the future, all plants will be available in every color of the rainbow, and every one of them will rebloom white), but I figured I should at least warn y'all that this is on the way.


Thursday, May 5, 2011

Unfinished business: Phalaenopsitrocity

Wound up back at the grocery store yesterday, where I first saw the blue-dyed Phalaenopsis flowers at which we all shuddered two months ago, and they still had them. (More accurately, they'd probably gotten new ones in: I can't imagine even long-suffering Phalaenopsis blooms hanging around for two months, looking exactly the same.)

Which means that I can answer some questions people had back at the end of March.

The bark in which they were planted was not blue; it was normal bark color. Most of the roots were normal gray-white also, though I saw a couple that were the same blue as the flowers. From this, I think we can conclude that the flowers aren't being dyed blue by watering with blue water.

I think I've found a smoking gun for the method, after looking around a bit:


I realize it isn't the best photo (bad lighting), but I think it's clear enough that you can see an injection site with a darker-colored ring around it (it may help to blow the picture up to full size by opening it in a separate window). Not sure what's going on with the leaf that's next to it, but it looks like it's been dyed a little bit too, or maybe bruised.

It's still a lie when you know how it's done, of course. And I'm still angry about it. But my curiosity is satisfied.


Monday, April 4, 2011

Dendrobomination

(EDIT: Sorry; the .gif didn't load properly the first time, but it's working now.)

Okay, for the love of all that is good in the world, someone needs to stop this crap. There must be someone who could stop this.

(Used by permission.)

This photo is from Ivynettle, at Letters and Leaves, which you should be reading already. I'm reposting the photo here at PATSP because I found a .gif that expresses my feelings about this sort of thing perfectly:


There are other pictures at the original post, including some hideous spray-painted Echeverias (possibly Graptoveria or Sedeveria or something like that; it's hard to make IDs on that kind of plant when they're their natural color). Ideas for what we should be doing to make this sort of thing stop are welcome. Obviously not buying them is an important first step, so if you have bought or ever will buy one of these dyed or painted plants, please never tell me.


Monday, March 28, 2011

Phalaenopsitrocity

From the store that brought you the spray-painted, glittered, green poinsettias:


Yes, they really looked like that. I haven't changed the colors.

I'd heard of this before, from Ivynettle, but this is so much worse than anything she described.

I emphasize that they really looked like this. April Fool's Day is still a few days away. This is a real thing, that exists in the world.

The husband had to draw my attention to them. ("Hey, did you see the blue orchids?") I had gone through the floral department (it's a grocery store), and had looked right at them, but apparently failed to recognize them as plants.

I didn't examine the stalks for punctures, but I assume that's how they made these: dye injected into the flowering stalks.

It makes the spray-painted points seem not so bad, right?

Somewhere, somebody is working on creating something even worse than this, and we're going to long for the halcyon days when people were injecting dye into Phalaenopsis flowers. What do you think it will be?


Friday, March 25, 2011

Unfinished business: Quercus seedling

A couple months ago, I reported a very small oak tree growing in the pot of one of my Cordylines. I was excited about this, because having an oak tree in the yard that I'd started myself, and under such unusual circumstances, seemed like it would be neat. So I very carefully removed it from the pot,


and planted it in its own pot.


Whereupon it shriveled and died. Within a month.


So I guess that's not how one raises baby oak trees. I'm not surprised, but I'm not sure what I could have done wrong in such a short time, either. Easy come, easy go.


Monday, March 21, 2011

Random plant event: Musa x 'Cheeka' offsetting

This is another one of those things that's not objectively a big thing, but it's big to me.


My Musa x 'Cheeka' had a couple offsets on it when I bought it, but they withered away fairly soon after it got here, and it didn't grow any to replace them. Since that time, 'Cheeka' has been growing progressively smaller leaves, which are all bunched up together at the top of the plant, and the petioles keep stacking up on top of one another, too, making the trunk V-shaped.

It's supposed to be a compact variety anyway, but you can see that when I bought it, the new leaves were bigger than the preceding ones, and there was a healthy distance between them:

(Pot: 6"/15 cm diameter)

Now, though, they're wadded up at the top:

(Pot: 8"/20 cm diameter)

There are signs that this may be turning around; the last couple leaves have been larger again, and there are suckers too. I'm sort of ashamed to say what I think made the difference: fertilizer.

Not that I haven't been feeding the plant all along, pretty abundantly in fact. But I've been using the N-P-K-only Osmocote, not anything with trace elements in it. With a substantial number of my plants, that hasn't seemed to make a difference -- the Yuccas, Dracaenas and Anthuriums have all been just fine. Hell, the Dracaenas usually don't get any Osmocote, even. But, I had a plastic container of plant food that the husband bought many years ago -- some Miracle Gro product with trace elements;1 the original packaging was gone -- that was taking up space in the plant room, and I kept having to move it out of the way, or else make a special point of opening it up when I wanted to use it for some plant or another. At some point this winter, that got annoying, and I thought, well hell, let's use this up and get it out of the way.

So for the last three or four watering cycles, I've been using it on everything. At first, I only put it on a few plants. I just sprinkled a small amount of the fertilizer directly on the soil without mixing it in water first like you're supposed to (though I emphasize it was a small amount). After a while, I decided that I should use it on all of them, so I started mixing up multiple gallons at a time in milk jugs.

This is when I was only mixing five gallons at a time (the fifth was mixed directly in the watering can); I'm up to eight-gallon batches now.

Now, granted, the plants would be starting to do stuff now whether I was feeding them special food with trace elements or not: it's spring, the days are longer, that's what plants do in the spring. But things are happening that have never happened for me before:

  • The Musa x 'Cheeka' is re-suckering and may be growing bigger leaves again;
  • the Tradescantia spathacea is blooming (hasn't happened in three years);
  • the Coffea arabica grew, I shit you not, like six inches in a month, after a long period of slow, weak growth;
  • the Cereus peruvianus started to grow after staying the same size for at least two years;
  • the Pseudorhipsalis ramulosa cutting has started to grow after being the same size for at least two years;
  • the Schlumbergera 'Caribbean Dancer' is on a third round of blooming for the year;
  • the Euphorbia tortilis is growing again, after remaining the same size for almost two years;
  • the Cissus rotundifolia had stopped growing for a while, turned yellowish, and a couple growing tips died, but is now producing rampant new growth;
  • the husband's old Dracaena sanderiana that was about 60% dead is now producing new growing tips from its base;
  • all the Ficus microcarpas have started to put on serious height, after a pretty slow last year;
  • the Heliconia psittacorum 'Bright Lights' still looks kind of pitiful, but it's gotten greener and is poking up new shoots;
  • the Phalaenopsis is producing more roots than I've ever seen it grow before;
  • the Phlebodium aureum 'Mandianum' has HUGE blue-green fronds, instead of smallish yellow ones.
  • the Rhapis excelsa is also suckering abundantly;
  • the Platycerium stopped dropping fronds and is now growing new ones; and
Not all of those are necessarily because of the fertilizer, but that's a lot of unprecedented stuff happening all at once.

So I guess I've learned a valuable lesson about the importance of trace elements, and now so have you. Except you probably knew already. Or you suspected, at least.

I've been meaning to write a post about fertilizer for a long, long time, but a lot of the information I've seen about it is either the same thing everybody parrots ("Feed with a standard houseplant fertilizer every three months, or diluted with every watering.") or advice for people growing mass quantities of plants outdoors in a Florida shade house to sell wholesale, talking about parts per million of this and parts per million of that and Ca:Mg ratios and all that stuff. So this may be as close as I get to writing a fertilizer post.

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1 I know it contains trace elements because it's that pretty green-blue color of copper compounds; I know it's Miracle Gro because the plastic bags of fertilizer had Miracle Gro written on them. The missing part is the original box or whatever that they came in, which would have the full list of components and concentrations. In general, though, if copper is in there, then everything else will be too. I mean, there are exceptions, but I'd be surprised if Miracle Gro made a product that had copper but not iron.


Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Random plant event: Philodendron gloriosum sprouts

My experience with Philodendron gloriosum indoors has been extremely mixed, so far, and the main problem has been repotting.

Philodendron gloriosum.

You see, P. gloriosum doesn't want to form a neat little rosette of leaves like 'Moonlight' or find a tree to climb like P. erubescens 'Red Emerald.' It doesn't form a self-supporting trunk, either, like P. bipinnatifidum. What gloriosum wants to do is crawl along the ground. Which is fine, except that it has thick, woody stems, and when the stems crawl to the edge of the pot, they make a right-angle turn straight down, over the rim, and won't bend to accommodate a wider pot.

I repotted my plant once when I first got it, but then it stayed in the same 8-inch pot for two years because I didn't know how to deal with the stems that were going over the rim. I don't know what I hoped to accomplish by putting it off, but it didn't work -- the plant didn't magically repot itself, and it didn't take the problem away from me by dying, so I had to do something.

So on July 19, I finally bit the bullet and cut the stems back so I could move the plant into a bigger pot. The plant has responded to the repotting by growing a huge new leaf1 from one of the stems I didn't have to cut, and the cut stems are sprouting new growing tips, though very slowly. But, I also had three pieces of stem left over. I cut most of them back, leaving just 3-4 inches (8-10 cm) of stem at the end, and tried rooting those in water. They didn't die, and one actually grew something that looked like maybe the beginnings of some roots --


-- but that died before it got anywhere (the potential roots died, not the cutting), so I eventually gave up, planted the cuttings in potting soil, and we'll see how that goes. It's not looking good so far.

But none of this is the point of my post! The point of my post is that, after I cut off the pieces so I could repot the plant, and then cut off all but the tips of those pieces to try to root them in water, I had some pieces of stem left over. Which I put in moist vermiculite, because vermiculite is magic, covered the container and put it on the back of a fluorescent light (for the bottom heat). It's taken forever to do anything visible, but two of the three canes have finally produced some sprouts:


So it may be propagatable after all, which pleases me, though it's a strange plant to have indoors, all the same. The stem producing the big leaves is twisting under its own weight, the plant never looks particularly full, it's mildly prone to spider mites (though that hasn't been a problem for a long time), and you have to hack it apart to repot it. On the other hand, the leaves are very pretty (a dark velvety green that doesn't photograph well, with reddish veins in strong light and white ones in less light), it seems to tolerate indoor conditions well, and it appears to be propagatable, if very slowly. I like mine, but I'm not sure I would recommend one to everybody. Does anybody else have experience with this plant? What would you say about it?

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1 I tried to get pictures, but it was late, and the light wouldn't have been great as a result, and I didn't have a good place to set up the backdrop. I used to do this in the basement, but the basement is presently unusable for anything plant-related, because the husband has been waterproofing and insulating the walls down there since the basement flood three months ago. Also, setting up anywhere else in the house is sort of a problem because everything that got moved out of the basement wound up in the rest of the house, which means not as much room as there might be. I am assured that the basement will be usable again one day, and on my better days, I even believe this might be true.
In any case, the leaf truly is big: something on the order of 12-13 inches long (30-33 cm) by about 7-8 inches wide (18-20 cm).


Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Cactus Abuse

Don't buy your cacti from places that do this:


Yeah, that's about half an inch (1 cm) of water standing in the bottom of a plastic tray that apparently has no drainage holes in it. I've seen the same trays at Home Depot before. I do not understand why anybody thinks this is a good idea. I mean, for fuck's sakes, they're cacti -- they'd need to be watered eventually, but if they have to wait two or three weeks to get it, it's not going to kill them. And not watering at all would be kinder than making them stand in water.

I expect there's a logical reason for this, but I don't care what it is. Don't buy cacti if they're standing in water at the store. It's the only way they'll learn.


Friday, September 11, 2009

Cleve Backster Part III: Implication

So far, I've more or less described what Cleve Backster's claims are, with respect to primary perception, and tried to show why they're less impressive than they first sound. This final section is mostly not about Cleve Backster at all, and is instead about the part of Backsterism that I find most interesting: his audience.


See photo-related disclaimer in Part I, if you have not done so already.

Why does primary perception seem to just automatically make sense to so many people? We all know, after all, that in order to have thoughts and perceive the world around us, we have to have a brain and nervous system,1 and even Backster isn't arguing that plants have nervous systems.2 Nor has Backster, or anybody else, proposed any way around this lack-of-a-brain problem: for all of Backster's theorizing about "primary perception," he has yet to propose any actual physical receptor in the plant that receives the signal and leads to the actual physical response, or come up with an idea about what is being transmitted between organisms, or even come up with an explanation for why the electrical conductivity of a leaf should be changing at all. I mean, not that this should all be entirely his responsibility to explain, but he could at least act like the questions are interesting.

And yet: tell a gardener, especially certain flaky-crunchy environmental types of gardeners,3 that plants have feelings and that wanting a plant to do better will cause it to do better, and a lot of them will agree with you and tell you they've observed that very thing. Indeed, they'll find it so obvious as to not even be worth thinking about, except insofar as it means all life is interconnected and Gaia and Nature and isn't it all just so wonderful and amazing? (Everybody else seems to find the interconnectedness of all life so much more profound than I, who was more or less raised on PBS nature specials,4 do.5 Sometimes this bothers me.)

But so anyway. This gut feeling that plants should be responsive, on some deep level, to human thoughts and feelings, and not just any human's thoughts and feelings but our own personal thoughts and feelings, is very common. And who knows, maybe plants are aware of stuff on some level or another. But I contend that from a purely emotional, in-an-ideal-world way, we shouldn't want Backster to be right, and the sorts of people who tend to believe that there is something to primary perception (who are generally the sorts of people who care about others and want people to get along and are empathetic when others have a problem) should want it to be true considerably less than everybody else does.


Why should this idea, of all ideas, be giving anyone warm Gaia fuzzies?6 If Backster is correct, after all, then plants have feelings, and can feel, at minimum, anxiety and pain. He hasn't really even tried, as far as I know, to demonstrate that plants could feel love, or appreciation, or generalized benevolence: the only feelings he's really demonstrated are anxiety and suffering. (In fairness to Backster, those are much easier things to test for.)

So it's all very nice to think that you and your Hoya have a loving, mutually appreciative relationship which makes it grow well. That's easy: you watch out for it, you don't injure it on purpose, you get rid of bugs when you find them. Why wouldn't it love you? But how about your lawn? Your lawn has received years of abuse and mutilation at your hands, and every single one of those mowings hurt. Your lawn, according to Backster's theory, has every reason to hate your guts and want you to die. How are your warm Gaia fuzzies doing now?

And this is not just your lawn; this is everywhere. Everytime you eat a salad, you're eating plants in such abject terror that they're unable to endure the fear without fainting.7 Trimming your yew, taking a pothos cutting, dividing a Hosta, pinching a coleus: in every case, says Backster, not only are you causing pain to another living, feeling being, which would be bad enough, but it knows you're going to do it in advance and consequently gets to helplessly anticipate the pain for several minutes before the actual cutting starts. If you were doing this to a kitten, they'd lock you up. And rightly so.


And there's really very little that human beings do that doesn't have suffering plants at some point in the process. Most of what we eat, wear, pave over, walk on, write on, build with, decorate for Christmas, give one another on Valentine's Day, all of it: soaked in death and pain and fear, according to Backster.8 Sure, go vegan, support animal rights, be against factory-farmed eggs, milk and meat because of the cruelty.9 But you have to eat something, right? And if being against cruelty is your motivation . . . well, best case scenario, you can eat fruit. Period. Maybe.10

So it's really just as well that there's no compelling evidence that Backster's theory is true. Plants probably really don't know what you're thinking, they probably really don't suffer (at least not in the way you do, or even the way a fish would), your lawn is probably not plotting to kill you. And you're probably really not leaving an ever-widening wake of botanical terror and misery behind you with every step you take and breath you draw. So relax already.


I don't imagine that most people consider the universal-suffering angle of it when they're wondering about the emotional life of their plants. Backster himself dwells more on the amazing interconnectedness of all organisms, life energy, and so forth, even though most of his actual experiments are about executions and threats, which now that I think about it is kind of amazing, rhetorically. But it seems to me that there has to be more to the appeal of primary perception than merely people feeling a connection to nature. There are lots of other, less troubling, ways to feel connected to nature, after all. My suspicion is that Backster has accidentally (on purpose?) come up with a theory that satisfies some psychological needs, and that is what keeps this stuff in the public consciousness. Just a guess of mine; I can't prove it's right. But:

Backster's work partly makes intuitive sense to us because it flatters our egos. In the ordinary world, you have a plant, you give it light, fertilizer, and water at the appropriate times, and it grows lush and strong, because that is what it's genetically programmed to do when given those inputs. The plant may be important to you, but you are not necessarily important to the plant. In the world of primary perception, though, you have a plant, you give it light, fertilizer and water at the appropriate times, and it grows lush and strong -- because it loves you. A lot of people don't even get that kind of direct emotional feedback and appreciation from our families, neighbors, co-workers, bosses, etc. So the theory starts out being kind of seductive and emotionally rewarding.


But it gets better, because it only counts in one direction. If you have a plant, and you give it light, fertilizer and water at the appropriate times, and it goes black and dies anyway, nobody is going to tell you the plant died because it found you so repulsive that it would rather die than continue to live with you. Nobody's going to wonder about the mysterious wrongness of your soul that causes plants to blacken and die. Nobody will ascribe the death to the plant's seething rage over being forced into captivity. No, in that case, suddenly everything becomes about stimulus and response: pH, temperature, humidity, pests, etc., and it's not about you in the slightest. So if the plant does well, it loves you, and if it doesn't, well, maybe the air was too dry. You get all the emotional gratification with none of the risk of rejection, and who's not going to at least want to believe that?11

Even besides the obvious emotional appeal of having another organism that cares so much about you that it can literally feel your pain, Backsterism also lets you think that there's another sentient being in the world to whom you are the most important thing in the universe, and allows you to take special credit for perfectly ordinary plant behaviors, like growing.12, 13 As nice as it might be to think that your plant grows only because you share a close emotional bond, which makes you a worthwhile person, wouldn't it also be pretty nice to think that your plant grows because you have skills, knowledge, and all-around competency in plant growing, that makes you a worthwhile person? And the second one of those can actually be verified!

Another factor might be that plants, when compared head-to-apical-meristem14 against people, for my money mostly come out looking better: they're easier to understand, they don't take your stuff without asking and then put it down somewhere else, they don't stop talking to you in order to take a cell phone call from another person, they don't commit genocide or start religious wars, etc. I mean, people are frequently very disappointing, and I have zero blame for anybody who wants to look for alternatives. (I'm not kidding.15)


But anyway.

Because of all this, I feel a little . . . strange, for trying to debunk Backster. I mean, surely this isn't really hurting anybody, right? If it helps some little old lady in Utah feel less alone, is it really so bad for her to think somebody's listening to her when she talks to the plants, or feel loved when her Phalaenopsis flowers? I mean, this is all basically harmless, right?

Well yeah, kind of. Certainly the world has bigger problems to deal with. At the same time, dealing with these bigger problems is going to involve making decisions, and making good decisions does require, minimally, having some kind of grasp on what is actually going on. For example, my opinion on biofuels kind of does depend on whether Backster is right.16 I'm not likely to be the one making that decision for the world, but I would like the people who are to be using the best information available, not just whatever people want to believe or whatever flatters egos. Even at the individual level, these things matter somewhat. It's harmless if our hypothetical lady in Utah believes her plants have feelings, but it's less harmless if some scammer starts selling special water for $25 a gallon that, I don't know, eases plants' suffering, enhances communication between plant and human, or something.17


So here we are at the end. I've more or less convinced myself that if there were something to Backster's work, after 43 years there would be more and better evidence than what he's come up with, which is more or less what I thought when I started out, though at least I have better reasons for thinking this now. You probably didn't change your mind during the course of the posts, either: this is fine with me. What I'd like to do at this point is try to engage people in a conversation about this. If you think I'm being condescending by saying, basically, that I think hard-core Backsterites are all just sad, lonely people trying to validate themselves through their houseplants (not exactly what I was saying, I think, but maybe that's how it sounded), say so. If you have changed your mind, if I brought up a perspective you hadn't considered, if you see a glaring flaw in my logic, you just named your band Warm Gaia Fuzzies, whatever. I thought fairly long and hard about all this, but I know there are perspectives I missed. So please. I invite conversation.

-

1 Some people, I suppose, would argue that neither of these are strictly necessary, and a soul is sufficient. Ghosts and whatnot. Okay, fine, whatever. Unless you're prepared to argue that plants have souls, though, my point still stands.
2 (or souls, for that matter, unless I misread him)
3 I have nothing against gardeners or environmentalists, though there is a particular section of the gardener / environmentalist / critical thinker Venn diagram that I find sort of especially hard to relate to (here labeled "flakes & suckers").
I mostly reside in the "dumb people who think they're practical" region, though I move around. Occasionally I even totally kick ass. I most emphatically do not mean by this that people in this category, or any of the others for that matter, are necessarily stupid or unpleasant or whatever. People in every spot on this diagram can be totally sweet, viciously nasty, drooling idiots, or brilliant original thinkers, all of which is an entirely different and unrelated Venn diagram.
4 Aside from the occasional brief mention of evolution, or "millions of years," nature specials were one of very, very few categories of TV program that my parents found acceptable. Which I was interested in anyway, probably (in true circular fashion) because I watched nature specials all the time. I eventually got over having a problem with evolution (it helps considerably if you learn what evolution actually is, as opposed to the monstrous strawmana creationists claim it is), but growing up thinking of "Growing Pains" and "Doogie Howser, MD" as forbidden fruit has probably warped me in ways I'm not even aware of.
     a (Monstrous Strawman = Band Name Alert!)
5 Well of course life is all interconnected. We all share common ancestors, so we have certain biological similarities in common, and we all live on the same planet, in a complex ecological web, so we are critically interdependent on some/most/all of these other species as well. That anybody could find this mind-blowing, rather than just obvious, sort of baffles me, but then, I was watching National Geographic specials about the Serengeti while you were watching "Miami Vice," so my perspective on these things is odd.
6 (Warm Gaia Fuzzies = Band name alert!)
7 Well, "fainting" is Backster's word for it. I would suggest "coma," or maybe "the sort of pain that knocks you unconscious" as more accurate, considering the scale of the trauma we're talking about.
8 Backster never comes right out and says this, of course. In fact, it's hard to find acknowledgment, in his book, that he's deliberately inflicting pain, suffering or death on one organism in order to measure the responses of another, even though his theory is pretty clear that this is what has to be happening. I don't have a problem with somebody making a career out of torturing plants and yogurt, because I don't believe that plants and yogurt can suffer, but Backster does, or at least claims to, and manages to justify it to himself somehow. This is not right, y'all. I mean, better this than kittens (there's much less doubt that kittens are capable of suffering), and it should be noted that I don't get the impression that Backster is a mean or cruel person in general: quite the opposite, if anything. But there's still something really off about a man who can make a career out of what he believes to be torture and execution and not see any problem with that.
9 Not that you asked, but: I am not a vegan, nor have I ever been, though the husband has (not at the moment, but I think he'd still count as ovo-lacto, or maybe just lacto, presently), and as a result I eat a lot less meat and fish than I used to. All of the good arguments are on the side of the vegetarians (environmental, animal cruelty, nutritional, etc.), and I don't really dispute any of this. But I also still drink a lot of milk, and it's not even the good kind of milk from free-range hippie cows who stand around and sing all day in idyllic meadows until it's time to be milked by gentle hippie milkmaids of all ethnicities and genders who play the autoharp and paint one another with henna tattoos all day while the cows are singing, but eeeeevil factory milk that's probably full of bovine growth hormone and tobacco by-products and asbestos and is extracted by machines operated by slack-jawed men who burn tires for entertainment and can't spell and wear clip-on striped ties with plaid shirts.
Because, apparently, I am a bad person.
Or maybe I just really like milk and really dislike spending money.
But that probably also makes me a bad person.
10 I'm assuming that fruit would be okay because the whole point of fruit is to "pay" animals for dispersing and fertilizing seeds; therefore it wouldn't make much sense for the plant to consider it painful. Though with seedless varieties of grapes, watermelon, bananas, oranges, etc., there's a different problem: eating seedless fruits would be exploitation, because you're receiving the payment for a service you're not providing, and that's damaging to the plant's dignity. So seeded varieties only, and then only if you plant the seeds afterwards. Preferably while surrounded by hennaed milkmaidsa, with autoharp accompaniment.
     a (The Hennaed Milkmaids = Band Name Alert!)
11 Even I would like to believe my plants love me, and that I'm important and appreciated. It sounds nice. It's less appealing to think that the lawn wants me dead, that each plant that's died in my care meant it as a gigantic "fuck you," and that the plants I've thrown out due to mealybugs have been cursing my name all the way to the landfill, but sure, it would be nice to be able to think that the plants spend as much time thinking about how to make me happy as I do thinking about how to make them happy.
12 Hey, your Streptocarpus bloomed. That's pretty awesome, it must think you're a wonderful person. Of course, millions of Streptocarpuses that never met you and have no idea who you are have also bloomed. And the flowers might mean that the plant is making a last-ditch effort to reproduce and pass on its genes before it is consigned to oblivion (some plants really do do this; I'm not making it up) due to your shitty care, and you're actually a horrible caretaker of plants. It's risky, trying to get your personal affirmations from plants. Of course, people aren't so great for that kind of thing either.
13 Curiously, both of these things (being at the center of someone else's universe and taking exceptional credit for nonexceptional growth and development) are also generally involved in having a baby. As far as I can remember from the book, Backster never mentions having kids, and I don't think I even remember him saying anything about getting married, either, though I'm less sure about that. Google searches reveal no wife or children either. Coincidence? Sure, very possibly. But maybe not: he would hardly be the first person to invent a child substitute, if indeed that is what's going on. (Not that there's anything wrong with that, necessarily, so long as you remain aware that your substitute is not an actual child. Some people do have trouble remembering this. Watch "Dog Whisperer.")
14 (apical meristem = growing tip)
15 (I realize it can sometimes be difficult to tell.)
16 Perhaps not the best example, since biofuels are sort of problematic anyway: they don't increase atmospheric CO2, but they don't do anything to decrease it either: ideally, whatever energy source we come up with should reduce CO2 levels. They're also not great from an air pollution standpoint, from what I hear. So I'm probably against them to some degree either way. But you know what I mean.
17 (Maybe some kind of anesthetic for taking cuttings? The skeevy, predatory part of my mind that comes up with scams is unable to come up with any very good ideas, which is unusual, since I'm usually frighteningly good at coming up with that kind of thing. But whatever. It doesn't matter: I know there's money in primary perception somewhere, for anyone who's sufficiently unethical.)


Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Cleve Backster Part II: Deconstruction

So in Monday's post about Cleve Backster, I tried to lay out more or less the claims Backster makes about what he observed. I was a little snarky in the process, but I don't think I fundamentally misrepresented anything he said: I basically gave a super-condensed version of what he claims between pages 21 and 50, with bits and pieces from other parts of the book and a little bit of snark for seasoning.

This is the part where I really have it in for Backster.

See photo-related disclaimer in Part I, if you have not done so already.

I want to be really clear before I start that I am not arguing that plants aren't incredible organisms, or that we already know everything important about them, or that incredible claims about them are necessarily always false. This, after all, is why many of us like plants: they are complex, mysterious, and surprising. And we're still discovering new and cool things about them all the time. For example, the parasitic plant dodder has recently been shown to be able to "smell" victims nearby and preferentially grow in their direction. This, like primary perception, is a type of perception by plants that we weren't aware of until recently. The reason why dodder being able to smell is science and primary perception is not is that the dodder stuff is supported by experimental evidence, and there are obvious ways in which it can work.1 Backster doesn't have particularly good evidence, and has basically no theory at all.2

I don't really have a problem with Backster's story about the original experiment with the Dracaena in his office. I suppose his account may have been somewhat polished from the original event, which is what happens when you tell the same story over and over, but I am, overall, perfectly happy to assume that he really did hook the plant up, and it really did react in the ways he says it did, and at the times it did. It helps that he includes images in his book of the original polygraph graphs: yes, I have to take his word for it that these are, in fact, the original graphs, because I wouldn't know the difference and have no way to prove otherwise, but even so, I'm okay with accepting his word for it.

The point where I begin to have an issue is the part where Backster starts interpreting his results. In a human, remember, polygraphs work because sweaty hands conduct electricity better than dry hands, and people who are anxious or scared tend to get sweaty hands, so there's a fairly straightforward connection between anxiety and changes in conductance.


In a plant, though, it's not clear why conductance of a leaf would be related to the plant's emotional state (and bear in mind that Backster did not, on February 2, 1966, have any reason to believe that plants even had emotional states) in the same way. I mean, perhaps plants do respond to stress by pumping additional water to their extremities, anticipating that extra water will be needed to keep the plant cool when someone is waving a match underneath it, for example, in which case it would make sense for plants to have polygraph conductance traces similar to those of humans. But it makes just as much sense, or more, to think that a plant that thought it was going to be burnt might pull water away from its extremities, to conserve water and lose as little as possible to the fire, in which case the plant's graph would be exactly the opposite of that of a human's.

But Backster jumps to the conclusion that plant graphs can be interpreted in exactly the same way, that plants and humans are emotionally similar in all important aspects. It was his job, and maybe it's natural to make that assumption, but it's been 43 years now, and I have yet to run across anything indicating that Backster even knows there would be a question. So his results are not as impressive as they might be. I mean, how surprised am I supposed to be that you find evidence of humanlike emotions in plants using a polygraph, when you assume that every trace a plant makes on a polygraph is evidence of its humanlike emotions?

And there's a broader problem, too. When it comes right down to it, I'm not sure people can ever really grasp what being a plant is like well enough to understand their emotions, should they have any. Our experiences are too different. We have to eat; they photosynthesize.3 We move around; they stay in one place. We think butterflies are pretty but basically inconsequential; to a plant, a butterfly represents potential caterpillars, which will dismember and eat it. Bees can hurt and occasionally kill us, but to plants, they're reproductive contractors. So it's at the very least lazy to just assume that they have the same feelings and perspective as we do. The fact that Backster can come up with a story that explains plants in human terms does not mean that his story is right.4 It could easily be possible that if plants are picking up on the death of human cells during a person's urination, they could be happy about it, not upset about the death, as Backster would have it. (Why would they have any reason to care one way or the other? We don't even care if our cells are being lost in our urine stream, and they're our cells.)

It's also sort of interesting to me that Backster had just watered the plant, and was, when he set the electrodes on the leaf, expecting to see a dramatic change in conductivity when the water reached the leaf tip, and yet when such a dramatic increase actually occurred, he assumed that he had done it to the plant by thinking about burning it. It's unclear why he forgot about his original plan between the watering and the burning, but it is, perhaps, telling that his first impulse was to make it all about himself:5 ohmygod I'm controlling the plant with my brain!


After that, it all kind of devolves into self-contradiction. He says on page 29 that plants can tell the difference between actual intent to harm them and feigned intent to harm, but on page 26, he tells us that his Dracaena reacted to his colleague's threats repeatedly and consistently even though Backster prevented the colleague from acting on any of them. Unless we're to understand that Backster physically threw himself between the colleague and the plant (repeatedly and consistently!), I have to assume that we're talking about the colleague being instructed to think threatening things at the plant that he had no intention of acting upon, i.e., pretending.

Backster also talks about plant territoriality on page 30, and how the plant won't necessarily react to something happening near itself if it doesn't consider the something part of its territory. On page 48, he's criticizing the real scientists who failed to duplicate his experiments for thinking "you could go to the other side of the wall and watch the experiment unfold through closed-circuit television." Their results failed, he says, because the wall "meant nothing as far as the plant-to-human attunement was concerned." But walls are understood to delineate territories, eighteen pages earlier in the book. So which is it? Will plants react to stuff outside of their territory or won't they?

On page 50, Backster is cautioning experimenters who would duplicate his results from attempting to do so when "noise, visitors, or even a phone conversation" are going on in the area. On 49, he tells the same experimenters it matters a great deal if the plant intended for use has "already been in the lab for more than an hour or two prior to being used in the experiment," because of attunement issues for the people around it. By page 52, he's ripping ivy off the outside wall of a Yale University dormitory, ivy which surely had been there longer than the students living in it had, and examining its conductive responses while some unspecified number of grad students chase a spider around the room. Perhaps the word has changed meanings, but last I knew, dormitories were where students lived, and there was always something going on in them. I mean, if a phone call counts, then it seems like a dormitory would be one of the very last places one would want to set up such an experiment, and certainly it would be a bad idea to use ivy that had been there for considerably more than an hour or two.6


He's also inconsistent about whether or not having a plant attuned to you is a bad thing. If you're trying to get reproducible results, he says, you have to have someone else buy the plant, and put it in a totally separate part of the building, only bringing it into the experimental area immediately before the experiment is to begin, or else it will be attuned more closely to the people nearby and you'll get readings of the people's feelings, not whatever it is you're trying to measure, boiling brine shrimp or whatever. But this is very silly. I mean, seriously, if we could get a plant to consistently respond to strong emotion and unexpressed threats from a human being, in a measurable way, we already have big news. Fuck the brine shrimp. Who even cares whether the plant is interested in the brine shrimp or not: we have OMFG plants that can read minds here. This whole attunement-to-human-caretakers thing appears to be something that Backster just pulls out of his ass to explain why sometimes he doesn't get the results he wants.

And aaallllllso, I take a little bit of offense to the notion that a plant that's just been purchased is a blank slate, as far as attunement to people. When I was working at the greenhouse, I pulled Bryophyllum daigremontianum and Oxalis sprouts out of pots of cactus with tweezers. I hand-washed both sides of every leaf of every Aglaonema in the store (more than once!) to remove black mold from the leaves. I cut dead tips off of seven-foot palms, every tip of every frond. I went over cacti with Q-Tips and rubbing alcohol to remove scale. I wiped the scary gray water/fertilizer/pesticide/dust residue off a four-foot Fortunella once, every tiny little crusty leaf of it, and I started gods know how many seedlings and cuttings and whatever that owed their very existence as an independent plant to me. If plants and people can bond, then those plants and I were bonded, motherfucker, and if experimenters washing leaves with distilled water before an experiment is enough of a bond to invalidate the results, then I bet you a million dollars that none of Backster's experiments ever had a valid result, whether they were stored in a broom closet elsewhere in the building before the experiment or not, because whatever he thought he was seeing was just the plants reacting to the emotions of the florist or garden store employee or whoever in the place they bought the plants from.7

So many of the things Backster's theory "predicts" cut both ways. You have a room full of people eating salad, and you hook electrodes up to a piece of lettuce sitting on your plate. If it registers low conductivity, that's just what the theory predicts: it's gone into shock from all the carnage going on around it. If it registers high conductivity, that's also what the theory predicts: it's agitated by all the carnage going on around it. If you have a brine shrimp experiment set up somewhere and the plant reacts when the brine shrimp get dumped into the water, that's just what the theory predicts: the plant is feeling bad for the brine shrimp. But if the same experiment is giving you results you don't like, well, that's also just what the theory predicts: the plant is responding to one of the many people it's been in contact with before or during the experiment. This is a sign of a bad theory, and even worse science.


And again, not to wail on this wet, vaguely horse-shaped spot on the pavement or anything, but it would actually be a total game-changer in the scientific world if Backster could satisfactorily demonstrate that plants react to people. The brine shrimp thing is his attempt to design an experiment that is entirely external, where he has something more concrete to go on than just his own report that he thought something, which is hard to prove, obviously, and wouldn't be considered very good evidence. But I can think of experiments involving people that would prove human-plant interactions that wouldn't require this kind of self-reporting, and I've only been thinking about this for a couple months.8 Backster's had what, forty years?

And in fact a lot of Backster's stuff works that way. There are too many possible excuses for not seeing the results his theory says you should see, and if all else fails, he can always fall back on the old Mother Nature won't jump through hoops for you because Nature is mysterious and bigger than our comprehension excuse.

Which is, by the way, total bullshit. Every time you drop the ball, it's going to fall toward the ground. Ten times in a row, a hundred times in a row, a thousand times -- always. Every time you combine sodium and chlorine at room temperature, you're going to get an explosive reaction and wind up with salt all over the place. Every time you heat ice up to 32F/0C, it's going to start turning to water. Nature jumps through hoops just fine: that's what science is, is determining which hoops Nature is going to jump through, and in what order, well enough to be able to make predictions about it.


Now, biology is sometimes less straightforward than those examples,9 but it works pretty much the same way. When you dissect a frog, you're going to find the same organs, in the same places, performing the same jobs, as when you dissect any other frog. If you split up a stretch of double-stranded DNA into its component bases, you're going to find that you wind up with the same number of adenine molecules as you do thymine molecules, and the same number of cytosine and guanine. There are principles of biology that work consistently between organisms and between individuals of the same species; that's what makes it a science.

I was initially kind of discouraged when I looked at Backster's book, because some of the stuff that I'd called him out on in earlier drafts seemed to sort of be addressed in the book, but as I looked at it longer, it turns out that it's really not. He still doesn't seem to understand constructing experiments in such a way that they could disprove your theories. (It's not entirely clear that he has a good enough handle on his theory to know what it predicts in the first place, and a theory with no predictive power is a theory that can't be invalidated. So.) He asserts things a lot (that he's constructing experiments with proper scientific controls in place, that lab visitors are routinely just blown away by how awesome the experiment they saw is) without ever providing much in the way of details. (Who visited the lab? On what day? How are they qualified to assess what they saw? What, specifically, did they have to say about what they saw? What would I need in order to duplicate this experiment elsewhere? What kind of scientific controls? Etc.) It's true, yes, that if you take Backster's word for what he's done and seen, then he's achieved something monumentally impressive.

But this is science: we don't have to take him at his word, because we can do the same thing ourselves. The ball always falls to the ground no matter who drops it. That other people appear to have difficulty in getting the same results Backster has, and that Backster doesn't give you the raw data for any of the experiments,10 suggests to me, at least, that this is probably not to be taken seriously.


Really, what I would like would be to have my own equipment, to be able to conduct my own experiments. I don't feel urgently compelled to try to duplicate Backster's experiments anyway, of course. But I sort of feel like I can't be sure it's crap until I've tried it for myself. I want to see the set-up and the results and draw my own conclusions. This is unlikely: polygraphs are expensive, and possibly even slightly rare, now, plus you have to have reams of paper to feed into them, which is not cheap. (I assume by now that someone has found a way to digitize the results, but reproducing Backster's experiments would also, in an ideal world, involve reproducing Backster's equipment.)

At this point, given the evidence as he presents it in the book, the best I could say for primary perception is that Backster has a long ways to go before he has a coherent and testable theory. If he's going to use them as excuses why people aren't getting the results he thinks they should, then he needs to define things like "territoriality" and "attunement." He also needs to refine his theory to the point where it doesn't predict every possible outcome at once, and he needs to stop whining about his persecution at the hands of the scientific establishment and learn what it means to have proper scientific controls on an experiment. (Hint: it is not enough to assert in your book that you were using proper scientific controls. You must actually design experiments which include them.) Until these things happen, only two groups of people have any reason to think that Backster's got something here: one, Backster and the other people whose livelihood depends on promoting his idea of primary perception, and two, people who for whatever reason have decided that they really want to believe him and don't care whether the science backs him up or not.

It's to this second group of people, the ones who want to believe, that we turn for part three of the Cleve Backster series, which is coming up on Friday.

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1 You can smell a tomato plant by taking molecules it produces into your nose and interpreting this as "tomato." Dodder, presumably, does the same thing, except that we're talking about molecules entering its stem through pores instead of molecules entering your nose through nostrils. We may be eventually find ourselves surprised again, once this phenomenon has been studied some more, but at the very least, for right now, we've got a fairly reasonable-sounding theory that doesn't hinge on the breakage of existing physical laws in order to work.
2 Naming something is not the same as explaining it. Though "primary perception" sounds like it could be a theory, Backster may as well use the word "magic," for all the fleshing-out of the theory he does. And, n.b., "magic" is never an acceptable scientific explanation for anything. (If it were, science would be much easier.) The more time I've spent thinking about Cleve Backster and his experiments, the more disturbing I find it that he's not working harder at finding an explanation for what he's claiming to see.
He does, at one point, try running some experiments with plants in copper cages, and in special rooms built to eliminate electromagnetic interference of all kinds. All he demonstrates by doing so is that whatever is going on, it is not blocked by copper cages and special rooms. This still qualifies as science, kinda, because proving that something is not happening is still a way of closing in on whatever actually is happening. But it comes off as kind of half-assed: he's proposing a method of communication between species not previously known to communicate, one of which doesn't really even have any sense organs that could receive such a signal (as far as we know) and the other of which doesn't have any ways of communicating that don't involve sound or electromagnetism (neither of which are observed coming from the humans in the tests), that works just as well across long distances (oh yeah -- one of the claims is that cells taken from a person still react to that person's feelings when they've flown 300 miles away.), and would basically rewrite physics as we know it . . . and he's over here dinking around with chicken eggs and brine shrimp? Obviously I can't prove what Backster knows or doesn't know, but this behavior is so unusual for a scientist that I can't help but wonder whether Backster isn't dimly, subconsciously aware that there's something wrong with his theory and/or experiments.
3 Fertilizer is not enough like food for the two things to be parallel. For one thing, the bulk of a plant's weight comes from water and carbon dioxide, not nitrogen or the other components of fertilizer. Fertilizer is necessary, sure, but it's not what the plant is really made of, not in the same sense that human beings are made of food. You'd have a better argument for saying that water and carbon dioxide are the plant equivalent of food.
4 (And I remind the reader that I know a little something about explaining plants in human terms, okay)
5 One does get the impression, from reading through his introduction, that he thinks that the world revolves around himself to a substantial extent, to the point where that's not especially out of character. We all do this to some degree, and I'm not saying that it makes him a bad person, but he comes across as being sort of singularly unable to see beyond his particular perspective on things. This tendency is bad enough that I question whether he understands why scientists have problems with his work: when he talks about it, he postures as someone who is being unjustly persecuted for no good reason by the botanical establishment. I.e., it's not that his results are unconvincing, it's that they're so amazing that he's going to overturn the entire field of botany, and everybody else is threatened by him, Cleve Backster, the guy who discovered primary perception. (Which is obviously ridiculous, since as we all know deep down in our hearts, even if we won't admit it openly, the world actually revolves around me, Mr. Subjunctive, the guy who singlehandedly overthrew Backsterism and saved all of the life sciences from utter destruction.) We'll revisit human egocentrism again in Part III, in a different context.
6 One could argue, and no doubt Backster would, that this is totally different because the ivy wasn't being cared for by any of the students, it just happened to live near them, and was no doubt territorial about the outside of the building, rather than the inside, which would have been a whole new world for the plant, but even so, it's probably best not to argue this on page 49 when you just said on page 48 that you couldn't just go to the other side of a wall to watch an experiment unfold. I mean, either walls matter all the time, walls matter none of the time, or walls matter or don't matter according to certain predictable rules and principles, and Backster never lays out any such rules, so. . . .
7 And fuck you anyway, Cleve Backster, for implying that the growers and florists and greenhouse workers don't matter to the plants, don't bond with the plants, don't care about the plants. I've got a Big Damn Screw Pine who says differently, and he will fuck you up, motherfucker.
8 Experimental set-up #1: Three plants in a room with one cigarette lighter. Each plant is hooked, by two different leaves, to two sets of electrodes. Each electrode's readings are being recorded continuously, giving you six continuous graphs. Twenty undergrad volunteers in a building across campus, who have never been anywhere near these plants, are instructed to go, one at a time, to the room with the plants, pick up the lighter, and use it to lightly burn a non-electroded leaf of one and only one of the three plants (the students will decide spontaneously which plant to burn when they get inside the room) and then leave. For Backster to be correct, 1) the duplicate electrodes on each plant should give readings which are very correlated with one another; the graph from Plant #1, Electrode #1, should agree with the graph from Plant #1, Electrode #2. 2a) Either one plant at a time should give strong reactions, and the reactions should start before the student picks up the lighter, or 2b) all three of the plants should give strong reactions at the same times due to mutual sympathies among the group. If the duplicate electrodes are not giving similar responses at all times, this sort of undercuts Backster's claim that he's measuring anything meaningful (because you could make the claim that for any of his "successful" experiments, he'd have gotten completely different results if he had had the electrodes on a different leaf), and if the plants do not react solely according to which one is threatened or entirely in unison with one another, then it undercuts the claim that they know when they're being threatened and/or know when harm is coming to another organism in the same room.
Experimental set-up #2: A single plant, highly attuned to Backster, is connected to two sets of electrodes as in the first experiment above, and is monitored for a 16-hour period, from 6 AM to 10 PM, during which time Backster is not permitted to go anywhere near either the plants or the recording equipment. Backster, meanwhile, records his own day during the same 16-hour period, noting when he feels strong feelings or whatever. At the end of that day, a four-hour excerpt of both electrodes' graphs, beginning at a randomly-selected time between 6 AM and 6 PM, is presented to Backster without any time cues, and he is given the job of determining what part of the day this four-hour section came from to an accuracy of within fifteen minutes. As before, it's relevant whether the electrode pairs get similar graphs, but it's more important whether Backster's interpretations of the graphs only work when he already knows the answers he's trying to get, or whether he can actually deduce anything about what's going on from them.
If both of these experiments were performed as described, and the results conformed to Backster's predictions, then I might be more willing to accept that there's something going on. As it is, I think he's coming up with the predictions after he sees the experiment, which is a lot less impressive. I can make predictions of all kinds of crazy shit after it happens.
9 And as far as it goes, those examples aren't as straightforward as they look, either: Newton's understanding of gravity works consistently under normal earth-bound conditions, but there are situations where general relativity is required to explain what's going on, too. Chemical reactions generally produce the same products, but sometimes you get products you weren't expecting or don't want (though I don't think that's possible for sodium + chlorine). Ice melts into water, though by changing the pressure it's under you can make it stay solid at higher temperatures, or turn it directly to steam. All of this is totally reproducible, and illustrates additional laws and additional principles which can be applied to other situations and make predictions about what's going to happen when completely new things are attempted; i.e., they're not random wild deviations from Mother Nature refusing to jump through hoops, they're big flashing signs telling you there are more hoops than you were initially aware of.
10 (In some cases, he does provide the paper polygraph traces, though you have to take his word for it that things happened at the points he has marked on the paper, that the timing of everything is what he's claiming it to be. He never tells you how many times he runs the same experiment, how many times things fail to happen as predicted, what happens when the experimental conditions are changed slightly, etc.)