I am a Coreopsis seed, a tiny, dry vessel of life, waiting. My hard outer coat protects the embryonic plant within, a miniature version of my future self, complete with the first set of leaves (cotyledons) and a root primordia. I am in a state of dormancy, a necessary pause that prevents me from germinating at an inopportune time, like the dead of winter. To break this slumber, I require specific signals from my environment that tell me the conditions are perfect for growth. My internal clock is set to respond to the subtle cues of moisture and temperature.
The journey begins when a gardener places me in contact with moist, well-draining soil. I eagerly absorb the water, a process called imbibition. My seed coat softens and swells, and this physical action triggers a cascade of metabolic activity inside me. The stored energy in my endosperm fuels the initial growth. However, for many of my varieties, a period of cool, moist conditions—a simulation of winter—greatly improves my germination rate. This process, called cold stratification, can be achieved by sowing me outdoors in fall or by placing my seeds in a moist paper towel inside a refrigerator for a few weeks before spring planting. It convinces me that winter has passed and it is safe to emerge.
Once my requirements are met, the first part of me to emerge is the radicle, my primary root. My sole purpose at this stage is to anchor myself firmly into the soil and immediately begin absorbing water and nutrients to support my rapid growth. I am incredibly vulnerable now; I cannot tolerate my soil drying out, nor can I survive in waterlogged conditions that would rot my delicate new structures. Shortly after my root establishes a hold, my hypocotyl (the embryonic stem) pushes upward, arching through the soil surface to pull my cotyledons into the light.
My cotyledons unfold and, while they may provide some initial energy, they are not true leaves. Their main job is to now begin the miraculous process of photosynthesis, converting sunlight into the energy I need to grow. Soon, my first set of true leaves will appear. These will look like the characteristic leaves of a Coreopsis plant, often slender and sometimes lobed. This is a critical milestone. I am no longer relying solely on the stored food from my seed; I am now a self-sustaining, photosynthetic organism. My root system continues to expand, creating a network to support my increasing needs.
As the days grow longer and warmer, I enter a phase of vigorous vegetative growth. I direct my energy into producing more and more leaves and stems, building a strong, bushy framework. I thrive in full sun, which provides me with the maximum energy for this task. The well-draining soil is essential here, preventing my roots from sitting in moisture and developing rot. When I have achieved sufficient size and stored enough energy, I receive the internal and external signals—often the lengthening days of summer—to begin my reproductive phase. I start to produce flower buds at the ends of my stems.
My buds open into the beautiful, daisy-like flowers that gardeners love, typically in vibrant yellows, reds, or pinks depending on my cultivar. My center is filled with hundreds of tiny florets that are rich in pollen and nectar, attracting pollinators like bees and butterflies. This interaction is crucial for my species' survival, as it leads to cross-pollination. Once pollinated, my flowers will fade, and I will divert my energy into developing seeds. These new seeds will mature, dry, and eventually be scattered, completing my life cycle and ensuring a new generation of Coreopsis plants for the future.
