Cultivated-Plant Siudy 619 



5. Does the poppy remain open at night? Does it remain open 

 during cloudy or rainy weather? Why? 



6. Do the petals have the same position that they did in the bud? 

 As the flower matures, note how each petal curls. Do they all fall at 

 once? Are there any anthers left after the petals fall? 



7. How does the little pod look when the petals first fall? What 

 happens to it later? Note the little rim at its base. Cut the seed-pod 

 open lengthwise, examine the seeds with a lens, and describe how they are 

 fastened to the sides of the pod. Are the ribs straight from end to end in 

 the pod at first? Do they remain in this position? How does the pod 

 open and scatter its seeds? 



8. Study the leaf of this California poppy. Describe how it joins the 

 stem. Sketch a leaf showing its chief divisions into leaflets and how each 

 leaflet is divided. Note that the juice of the stem has the peculiar odor of 

 muriatic acid. 



9. Look at the root. Do you think it is fitted to sustain the plant 

 through a long, dry summer? What kind of summers do they have in 

 California? Where does the poppy grow wild? 



10. Read all the accounts you can find of the California poppy, and 

 write a little theme describing why it was chosen as the flower of that great 

 State, and how it came by its name. 



In a low brown meadow on a day 



Down by the autumn sea, 



I saw a flash of sudden light 



In a sweep of lonely gray; 



As if a star in a clouded night 



One moment had looked on me 



And then withdrawn; as if the spring 



Had sent an oriole back to sing 



A silent song in color, where 



Other silence was too hard to bear. 



I found it and left it in its place, 



The sun-born flower in cloth of gold 



That April owns, but cannot hold 



From spending its glory and its grace 



On months that always love it less, 



But take its splendid alms in their distress. 



Back I went through the gray and the brown, 



Through the weed-woven trail to the distant town; 



The flower went with me, fairly wrought 



Into the finest fiber of my thought. 



A CALIFORNIA POPPY IN NOVEMBER, IRENE HARDY. 



