Poison Ivy vs. Tulips

I’ve been contemplating poison ivy recently (don’t ask). Actually, a friend and I were discussing the plant and its unique qualities. Our conversation ended with the inevitable questions, “Does poison ivy serve any real purpose? Does it bring any goodness to the world?”

Sure, it produces oxygen and feeds herbivores, but many other, kinder plants do that, too. Really, poison ivy, what’s the point? Is a plant that causes so much suffering really necessary?

I know many plants have developed poisonous fruit, leaves, and roots as a defense mechanism, but here’s the thing about poison ivy. It’s only poisonous to humans! Yeah, that’s right. All other creatures can munch it, frolic in it, build nests in and with it, with no ill effects. Why on earth would a plant develop such a specialized defense against just one species?

Michael Pollan suggests the intellectual exercise of viewing the world, includin

g humans, through the perspective of plants and animals. So, from the poison ivy’s perspective, what possible advantage could it achieve through a defense against humans?

The answer is clear. Humans have caused more damage to life on Earth more than any other single species. If a plant were to defend itself, this would be the animal against which to do so, and this strategy has worked remarkably well for PI. The mantra, “leaves of three, let it be,” has saved millions of PI plants from the destructive forces of hikers, gardeners, and explorers, so that the plant thrives across all of the many climates and temperature zones of North America and beyond. PI has free range over any habitat it desires without asking permission or begging for support. No wildlife preserves or protected areas necessary for this rebel, no sir. It grows wherever it damn well pleases.

Then there’s tulips. Ah, tulips. Who doesn’t love these beautiful flowers? Although they do have a natural habitat, and there is such a thing as wild tulips, the lovely flowers which we all know and love are asexual, requiring careful cultivation and long-range planning. Tulips spring up in flower beds around the world only because humans work hard to make it so.

You have to admire the tulips’ strategy, too. Taking a radically different course of action than PI, it has made itself so beautiful, so desirable to the dominant species that we go to great lengths to ensure its survival and proliferation. Very, very clever.

Which plant has chosen the better path? A disadvantage accompanies every advantage. Poison ivy, though seemingly unconquerable, plays a dangerous game antagonizing the most powerful, or at least the most destructive, species on earth. Humans have driven plenty of other species to the brink of extinction, even species with whom they had no quarrel. It’s a bold move, PI, but watch your step.

Tulips, on the other hand, have relinquished much of their freedom in befriending the human race. Their domesticated varieties, now in greater abundance than their wild ancestors, grow only where humans desire, and their habitat is much more limited than PI’s. That’s the trouble with powerful friends; you easily become totally dependent on them.

So if you were a plant, which would you rather be? The rebel with great freedom but great risk, or the beauty living in security but almost total dependence on another?