A tree is a pump, and a fountain
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- That fifty-foot tree that stands in your front lawn—you think of it as a hard column of wood with rigid limbs branching into flexible boughs and finer twigs, from which the leaves stem out more or less toughly. It is, in short, a large and intricate complex of cellulose fibers.
Your picture is perfectly correct so far as the structural solids
of your tree are concerned. But to comprehend the tree more fully,
another picture is necessary. What you are looking at also is
an invisible column of water. This column is moving constantly
upward, dividing and subdividing as it rises into smaller streams
and threads until, in the leaves, a continuous nimbus of moisture
meets the atmosphere. The tree's whole structure is composed of
roughly fifty per cent water, always in motion. During the growing
season your tree is actually an unfailing fountain.
For the fountains that men contrive, an external force is needed
to send the water up and throw it outward. This force can be gravity,
the water being piped from a source higher than the jets or it
can be a pump which gives the water a pressure greater than gravity.
Trees are so constructed that their pumping force is internal.
They have no hearts, in the organic sense that animals have, to
impel their circulations. What is called a tree's heart, the dense
wood at its center, is inert. Like an animal's bones, its prime
function is to support. Nevertheless, a tree has powerful inner
pumping action: in fact, except for its inert heart and outer
hide, the entire tree is a pump.