From my perspective as a plant, sunlight is my primary source of energy. It is the fundamental fuel for photosynthesis, the process that allows me to create the food I need to grow, sustain myself, and most importantly, produce flowers. If I am an African Daisy planted in a location that receives less than six hours of direct, unfiltered sunlight per day, my entire system is compromised. I simply cannot generate enough surplus energy to initiate and support the massive energetic expenditure of blooming. My survival instincts will direct all the energy I can produce to my roots and leaves, leaving nothing for the luxurious but non-essential task of flowering.
The nutritional balance in the soil around my roots dictates my growth priorities. When there is an overabundance of nitrogen, it sends me a very strong signal: "Grow foliage!" I respond by channeling all my resources into producing lush, green leaves at the expense of flower production. It makes me look healthy and vibrant vegetatively, but it misdirects my energy away from my reproductive cycle. I need a more balanced diet, one that includes higher levels of phosphorus (the "bloom booster" nutrient) to trigger the hormonal responses that tell me it is time to shift from leaf-making to flower-making.
My relationship with water is a delicate one. My roots are designed to prefer a cycle of thorough hydration followed by a period where the soil dries out somewhat. If I am constantly sitting in waterlogged, soggy soil, my roots begin to suffocate and rot. A root system in distress cannot effectively uptake water or nutrients, leaving my entire system starved and stressed. Under this kind of duress, survival is my only goal; blooming is out of the question. Conversely, if I am allowed to become completely parched for extended periods, I will become dehydrated and shut down non-critical functions to conserve water—flower production is the first thing I abandon.
The act of flowering is not just about the beautiful display; for me, it is about reproduction. If my spent flowers are left to wither and die on my stems, I interpret this as a failed reproductive attempt. My biological programming will then direct my energy into developing the seeds within the old flower head. This process, called deadheading in your terms, consumes a tremendous amount of energy that would otherwise be available to produce new flower buds. By removing the spent blooms, you are effectively telling me that my job is not done. It encourages me to try again, redirecting my energy into creating a new wave of blossoms to achieve reproductive success.
Finally, you must understand my innate cyclical nature. I am not a machine designed for perpetual bloom. I have natural growth rhythms that are often tied to seasonal changes in temperature and light duration. In many of my varieties, the intense heat of peak summer can cause me to enter a period of dormancy or reduced activity. I am conserving my energy to survive the stressful conditions. Similarly, as daylight hours shorten, it signals to me that the growing season is ending, and I should focus on hardening off for winter rather than producing new flowers. My blooming cycle is a dance with the environment, not a constant state.
