blue artichoke

What botanical species can produces hundreds of gigantic seeds and reproduce exponentially, but is utterly dependent upon "the man" for survival? Corn, that dirty protocapitalist mistress. Look at a corn cob: those tasty kernels are the result of a "catastrophic sexual transmutation" (word of botanist Hugh Iltis); several thousand years ago, a series of mutations transferred the plant's female organs from the top of the grass to a monstrous sheathed ear in the middle of the stalk. The male organs stayed put, remaining in the tassel. There was a point to this mutation; relocating the ear halfway down the stalk allowed it to capture far more nutrients than it could up top, and increased nutrients allowed for increased seed production. But it was also reckless. The seeds were now trapped in a tough husk, costing the plant its ability to reproduce. Plant a corncob and what will happen? Nothing; if any kernels manage to germinate, they'll crowd themselves to death. Nature's eugenics program would have succeeded if it weren't for some guy somewhere in Central America who was seduced by the freakish cob, peeled it open and freed the seeds.
Tasty.

But there's more to this tawdry tale of corn. Corn sex is inventive, complicated and kinky. For starters, the male organs (anthers) look like flowers and the female organ (cob) resembles a phallus, making corn the ultimate cross-dressing couple. The tassel at the top of the corn plant houses hundreds of the male anthers; over a few summer days, the anthers release 14-18 million grains of pollen per plant (that's 20,000 for each potential kernel) in hopes that one will reach the flowered cob a few feet below. It's not overkill, though, because those millions of pollen grains have to travel to the cob and navigate the tight chastity-belt husk to reach the ovary. The flowers try to sneak out past the watchful husk to meet the pollen halfway, by sending out through the tip of the husk a single sticky strand of silk to snag a grain of pollen. In the perfect timing only nature is capable of, the silks emerge from the husk on the very day the tassel is set to shower its pollen. This isn't even the kinkiest part. Once the silky strand has caught a grain of pollen, its nucleus divides in half, creating genetic twins who work together to reproduce. The first twin is the maverick navigator, tunneling down through the center of the silk thread, creating a microscopic tube for its twin to follow, emerging from the tube into the flower behind the husk fortress. Upon arrival, the second twin fuses with the egg to form the embryo – the germ of the future kernel. After all its hard work, the first twin then gets a turn, entering the now fertilized flower and forming the endosperm – the big, starchy part of the kernel. Every corn kernel is the product of this intricate ménage à trois. After conception, the silk dries up, turns reddish brown and gets stuck in your teeth when you eat corn on the cob. Just think about that the next time you eat corn.

Why did corn involve humans so intimately in its sex life? Loneliness. Impatience. It's a simple matter for a human to get between a corn plant's pollen and its flower; instead of the agonizingly slow and wasteful process of Darwinian trial and error, hybridization is a much faster and more efficient means of communication between plant and human. By allowing humans to arrange its marriages, corn can garner the attention it requires and live a worthy and purpose-driven life.

How on earth do I know so much about corn? I read. Though not a self-help book, I'm reading The Omnivore's Dilemma. I'm still reading self-help books, currently The 4-Hour Workweek, but those get me too riled up and productive to read before bed; when I found TOD on my bookshelf, I decided to give it a go. I thought it would be dry, academic and boring (perfect for lulling me to sleep), but it's well-written in an entertaining style and far more interesting than I anticipated (some of the above comes directly from the book). Expect more fun corn facts in the near future, as I make my way through the next 400 pages.

Getting to Know All About You: In what obscure field are you a self-proclaimed expert?