© 2026 Nanjing Finechem Holdings Co., Ltd,
All Right Reserved
Coronatine didn’t emerge overnight. In the early 1970s, researchers first noticed that certain strains of Pseudomonas syringae could twist the growth of plants in odd directions, stunt seedlings, and mess with natural defenses. This led them down a winding path that ended up at coronatine, a molecule with a knack for mimicking part of the plant hormone jasmonic acid. It took years of steady work, trial, and plenty of dead ends to uncover the gene clusters behind coronatine synthesis and map out how bacteria use this weapon to tilt the odds in their favor. People in plant biology and pathology circles still point to this work as a good example of what happens when curiosity and persistence find common ground.
Coronatine stands out for more than just a complicated name. Structurally, it looks like a two-part assembly—coronafacic acid bonded in a ring with coronamic acid. Both pieces are essential. This unique setup lets coronatine wedge itself into jasmonic acid’s spot in plant machinery and trigger responses meant for injury and infection. Scientists sometimes call it a “molecular impostor,” but the practical impact feels real: coronatine changes how plants grow, resist infection, and carry out simple day-to-day chores. This makes it more than a chemical curiosity; those in agriculture and research notice its subtle but strong effects.
Coronatine usually appears as a pale, crystalline solid. It dissolves well in water, methanol, and other polar solvents, revealing its ionic nature. Heat and light can break it down, so both need consideration in storage and handling. The structure consists of a cyclopropyl amino acid and a substituted cyclopentenone, creating a rigid framework. This particular arrangement underpins much of coronatine’s biological punch—by forcing its shape into the right groove for plant recognition. The molecule weighs in at about 337 daltons and its stereochemistry remains tightly controlled, a reminder that in chemistry, shape often matters as much as content.
Lab-grade coronatine often comes with purity above 98 percent and detailed certificates. Most sources report melting points near 172–176°C. Attention to the purity isn’t window dressing; small impurities can shift biological effects. Chemical suppliers note CAS number 477-36-1 among the primary ways of recognizing the compound. Most vials carry hazard warnings about inhalation, ingestion, or skin contact, and safety sheets reflect a clear consensus: careful practices beat haste every time. Accurate labeling ensures traceability, especially in research where a mislabeled vial means wasted weeks or wrongful conclusions.
Early attempts to harvest coronatine meant coaxing it out of Pseudomonas grown in careful culture. Over time, fermentation and extraction gave way to more precise methods. Now, total synthesis in the lab supplies small amounts, though biological fermentation remains the go-to option when grams, not milligrams, get called for. The process asks for solid fermentation expertise; balancing nutrients, oxygen, and pH brings yields up and side products down. Purification uses solvent extraction and chromatography, both requiring hands-on familiarity with tricky separations. Each yield reflects the craft and habit of those running the machines, not just recipes pulled out of a book.
Coronatine’s sensitivity to acids, bases, and certain oxidizers allows chemists to nudge it in several directions. Subtle tweaks to either the coronafacic acid or coronamic acid portions can change how the molecule acts on plants. Some research points to semi-synthetic derivatives with mild changes to the cyclopropane ring, giving new insights on how plants spot and respond to foreign molecules. Most modifications aim to alter stability, uptake, or biological impact, and each tweak teaches something about the plant’s immune machinery along the way. Understanding these chemical reactions isn’t just for academic curiosity—it holds the key to future applications and surprises in plant science.
Coronatine moves between books and catalogs under different banners. Some call it Coronatine, others stick with more systematic names like (1S,2S,3R,6R)-6-((1R,S)-2-((S)-1-Carboxy-2-hydroxyethyl)cyclopropyl)-3-hydroxy-2-methylcyclopent-4-en-1-yl hexanoate. In discussions, people sometimes slip into calling it just “COR.” Most labels include reference to its bacterial origin or to its place as a jasmonate mimic. The key remains clarity—everyone in the chain, from researcher to regulator, needs to know coronatine by sight and by name to keep mistakes and missteps at bay.
Any handling of coronatine calls for careful work. The underlying bacterial toxins are no joke. Labs keep gloves and eye protection close at hand, along with good ventilation or hoods. Spills get neutralized and cleaned immediately since coronatine poses risks if inhaled or absorbed through skin. Waste moves to secure chemical disposal streams. Institutions set clear operational procedures—at universities and corporate labs alike—to keep people and property out of harm’s way. No shortcut replaces routine drills or a first-hand understanding of risks. Every safe day stems from a stubborn respect for the hazards at play.
Coronatine carved out its niche in plant science, especially in studying plant-pathogen interaction. By mimicking jasmonic acid, it forces plant defense into overdrive or suppresses other immune responses. Crop researchers use it as a probe to unravel immune signaling, competition between plant hormones, and growth regulation. Some studies test its role in selective breeding or stress response enhancement, looking for ways to produce crops that hold up better under disease or drought. Despite the temptations, coronatine’s dark side—its toxic impact on plant tissue—limits its leap into widespread agricultural practice. For now, its real power lives in the research lab, where experimental focus trumps quick commercial rollout.
Decades after its discovery, coronatine remains a topic in journals and conference halls. Advances in genomics and transcriptomics have let researchers chart precise downstream changes after coronatine exposure, tracing every twist and turn in plant defense pathways. Genetic engineering in both the producing bacteria and target plants reveals even deeper insights. Industry keeps an eye on coronatine as a model, hoping spin-offs or analogs might deliver growth boosts or help manage plant health in fields and greenhouses. Most real-world applications remain mostly speculative, given risk and legal hurdles, but the molecule keeps its value as a research linchpin.
Every tool in the lab toolbox brings risks, coronatine included. A keen interest in toxicity got underway soon after coronatine’s isolation. Studies show it hampers seedling growth, distorts leaf formation, and occasionally tips plants into full systemic collapse. Mammalian toxicity remains lower, yet not negligible—so scientists wear protection and never treat coronatine as harmless. Chronic exposure or high doses raise red flags. Beyond effects on plants, the impact on soil microbiomes and off-target species—both in labs and accidental spills—demand further research. Proper handling guidelines continue to rely on hard lessons learned through careful observation rather than optimism.
Opportunities ahead for coronatine come with caveats. Researchers dream of harnessing its unique ability to stimulate or rewire plant defense systems—perhaps one day giving crops a timed, precise boost against disease or drought stress. Tweaking the molecule or controlling its release could let scientists capitalize on the benefits without inflicting harm. Gene-editing and synthetic biology might one day unlock cheaper, safer production. Continued work on toxicity and environmental fate matters just as much as chasing bigger yields or sturdier plants. The history of coronatine teaches a broader lesson: progress in plant science comes fastest when built on clear-eyed respect for nature’s own complexity, not by bulldozing forward with blinders on.
Coronatine comes from certain plant-pathogenic bacteria, most notably Pseudomonas syringae. It looks a lot like the plant hormone jasmonic acid, which shapes how plants react to their surroundings—sometimes causing them to drop their guard against disease. Coronatine does not just copy jasmonic acid in structure; it tricks the plant into changing its own behavior.
Farmers and plant scientists have watched crops suffer from bacterial infections, feeling the sting of lower yields and mounting losses. My own garden fell prey to mysterious tomato leaf spots a few summers ago. Only after reading more did I grasp that these symptoms often go hand-in-hand with bacteria that produce coronatine. Field researchers noticed that plants infected with coronatine-secreting bacteria lost water faster through their opened pores, making it easier for other pathogens to sneak in.
Coronatine latches onto the jasmonate receptor inside plant cells. This receptor helps direct the plant’s priorities on whether to focus on growth, repair, or defense. By binding to this receptor, coronatine tricks the plant into flipping certain genetic switches. My background in biology taught me that this hijacking lets bacteria suppress the plant’s innate immune response, so bacteria stick around longer and multiply faster.
This manipulation means crops can lose more water, especially under drought stress. Coronatine forces the plant’s pores (stomata) to stay open. Normally, plants close those pores to lock out invaders or survive a dry spell. If pathogens fool those pores to stay open, you end up with wilting crops, more disease, and frustrated farmers.
More than just a scientific curiosity, coronatine affects food security. In 2018, research showed that outbreaks tied to coronatine-producing bacteria led to outbreaks in lettuce and tomato crops—key foods in many diets. Farmers did not have clear methods for stopping the spread, since these bacteria work in clever, hard-to-detect ways.
Some agricultural scientists have started to focus on breeding for crops that either ignore coronatine's false signals or bounce back quickly after exposure. New gene editing tools, such as CRISPR, mean it’s possible to dial back some of the plant’s jasmonic acid signaling so that crops don’t fall for the bacterial trick. In greenhouse experiments, certain mutants that resisted coronatine infection produced higher yields.
Improved crop management could help too. Farmers who rotate crops, keep plant debris off the soil, and practice timed irrigation sometimes see less disease pressure. Organic growers tweak soil health to strengthen plant immune systems, and this basic wisdom from generations of small-scale growers highlights the value of balanced practices. Plants cope better with stress and infections when their roots and leaves grow in healthy, diverse environments.
Coronatine might sound obscure and technical, but it shapes the daily challenges faced in fields, gardens, and even supermarket aisles. By understanding what it is and watching for new solutions, food systems can get a little more resilient.
Coronatine stands out in conversations about plant responses and crop protection. It’s a compound produced by certain strains of bacteria—specifically, Pseudomonas syringae. What caught researchers’ attention is how coronatine mimics a natural plant hormone called jasmonic acid. On the ground, this means coronatine can push plants to activate processes usually switched on during stress or attack. For farmers, anything that taps into those survival instincts can turn into big value—or big headaches if not handled carefully.
Some growers and scientists have put coronatine to work nudging crops to grow a bit faster, or push out more branches and flowers. It can coax fruit sets in tomatoes and peppers, especially during tricky weather. Research carried out by the Chinese Academy of Sciences noticed a jump in crop yield after careful application. The practical appeal here isn’t about chasing science fiction. It’s about eking out more from every acre without pouring in extra fertilizer or water—tools already under heavy strain in modern agriculture.
Rarely does a season pass without some patch of farmland battered by drought, heat, or sudden cold. Coronatine triggers plants to shut their leaf pores—stomata—a bit tighter. That move means less water lost to the air and a better shot at surviving dusty windstorms or dry spells. In my own family’s small orchard, we noticed that fruit trees under stress had fewer shriveled leaves and dropped less fruit after a neighbor tried a coronatine-based treatment during a dry spring. Cutting water loss buys precious time when every drop is gold.
Bacterial and fungal infections rip through fields fast, leaving little margin for error. Coronatine may act like a double-edged sword: while it helps plant defenses, it can also mimic a bug’s sneak attack, lowering plant guard in some cases. On the positive side, managed doses can prime plants for quicker, stronger responses to infection, as studies by the American Phytopathological Society highlight. The message coming from recent lab work leans toward using coronatine not by itself, but woven into broader plant health plans.
No agricultural tool comes without strings attached. Overusing coronatine, or relying on it alone, brings big risks. Bacteria that produce coronatine naturally act as plant pathogens, so direct use on wide fields could tip the balance the wrong way and spark outbreaks or resistance. Regulatory agencies in Europe and the US keep a tight grip, and for good reason. Safe, effective use calls for respect—starting with deep understanding and limited, controlled application. Farmers and scientists need to team up, run local trials, and swap real-world results before coronatine can move from small tests to wide adoption.
Crops face a rough road as weather patterns break records and pests adjust. Coronatine offers a sharp tool, not a silver bullet, for those challenges. Promising solutions involve carefully mapping each field, combining biological agents with coronatine, and tracking impacts season to season. As more experts focus on plant health from the ground up, the hope is that coronatine will earn its place alongside other trusted inputs.
Coronatine stands out as a plant toxin produced by certain strains of Pseudomonas syringae, a bacterium notorious for causing diseases in crops. In labs, researchers value coronatine for its ability to mimic a plant hormone called jasmonic acid. This trait unlocks new understandings in how plants react to stress, fight off invaders, or manage growth. Conversations about its use outside the lab are gaining ground, especially among those searching for new tools to enhance crop resilience or manage weeds.
I’ve seen people wonder if labs can keep their walls up, stopping research chemicals from slipping into our food or air. Coronatine hasn’t entered commercial agriculture, so, outside a lab, most people won’t touch or breathe it. In research settings, scientists wear gloves and masks. Government agencies like the EPA and EFSA take a slow approach, demanding full health and toxicity data before any new molecule gets market approval. Right now, coronatine lacks safety clearance for human use or exposure. Research on effects in mammals shows potential for toxic reactions at certain doses. No food safety authority has approved this chemical as safe. That should tell us something about the need for caution.
Chemicals that disrupt plant growth may ripple through ecosystems. Understanding coronatine’s impact on animals is still in early stages. The available toxicity data on vertebrates remains thin—lab rats or fish face risks when exposed to plant toxins designed to shut down natural growth processes. It’s easy to underestimate the lasting effects if a substance leaches into water sources or sticks to soil. Birds, pollinators, and beneficial insects play key roles in crop health, and few studies measure consequences for these animals. Without strong evidence of safety, releasing coronatine into real-world spaces brings more questions than answers.
Introducing new biochemicals to the environment usually follows strict guidelines. Coronatine’s biological activity brings both promise and risk. Researchers often study it in tightly controlled settings to explore potential benefits, like boosting plant tolerance to drought or pests. Pulling these findings into commercial fields creates room for unintended results. Once out in the open, chemicals often end up in places we least expect. Soil health, water run-off, and the plants not targeted by coronatine can all take a hit. Think back just a decade: stories about pesticides like neonicotinoids exemplify how quickly a promising idea sours after examining ecosystem effects. With coronatine, strong evidence for long-term environmental safety remains missing.
Progress in agriculture often trips up on the question of risk. If a plant toxin like coronatine shows strong promise in early research, researchers must press for more data—long-term studies, field trials outside petri dishes, and rigorous third-party review. Regulators have a duty to seek proof of safety before setting loose any product in shared environments. Farmers, researchers, and consumers deserve honesty about what is known and where real gaps lie. Until coronatine passes through this scrutiny, responsibility calls for restraint.
Coronatine, a molecule that mimics a plant hormone, gets a lot of attention from both researchers and growers. Plants view coronatine almost like jasmonic acid, a chemical they use to trigger defenses or shift their growth. This trick makes coronatine valuable for targeting very specific plant responses, especially when protecting crops from stress or improving resilience. Before pulling out the sprayer, it helps to know what sets coronatine apart. In my experience working alongside growers, timing and context matter just as much as the active compound itself.
Coronatine works in tiny doses. Too much, and plants could experience stunted growth or leaf issues. Too little, and the desired effect falls flat. Research and field trials have found that low nanomolar concentrations—sometimes just a few micrograms per liter—prove enough to kickstart a plant's internal systems. Even so, no two crops respond exactly the same. Young seedlings, for example, react much faster than mature, woody plants.
Field experience says that applying coronatine makes most sense during early stages of stress—maybe after a cold snap or ahead of a hot stretch. Spraying coronatine just after transplanting can help crops push through shock. On tomato or wheat, applications have been shown to reduce disease impact when timed just before infection risk. Trained agronomists recommend small-scale trials before rolling out across acres. That extra caution keeps damage or wasted product to a minimum.
Coronatine's power lies in its strength as a signaling molecule, so safe handling is non-negotiable. Personal protective equipment—gloves, masks, and eyewear—belongs in the routine, as this compound acts fast on both skin and plants. Diluting coronatine in distilled water ensures clear uptake, with gentle agitation to avoid hotspots or residues at the bottom of a tank. Sprayers should deliver a fine mist, not droplets, so leaves absorb the material evenly.
I have seen growers opt for dusk or dawn applications to avoid burning leaves in bright sunlight. These windows also cut down on evaporation, giving the compound more time to work its way into plant tissue. Sticking agents can help coronatine adhere to waxy or upright foliage. For high-value crops with tight margins, getting the most benefit means treating each spray like an investment, not just a routine step.
Plants speak through color, posture, and even the slightest curl at the edge of a leaf. After using coronatine, careful observation often tells more than lab results. Some growers keep logs for days after each treatment—tracking leaf thickness, new root formation, or rates of disease breakouts. If unexpected results show up, it pays to pause and review. Regular soil and tissue testing makes it possible to fine-tune future use.
Coronatine's power doesn’t override good farming sense. Crop rotation, soil nutrition, and prevention still matter most. Used with care and knowledge, coronatine fits into a bigger strategy for resilience—a little like boosting human health with the right mix of exercise, diet, and rest rather than relying on one miracle solution. Getting that balance marks the difference between a lucky year and a consistent harvest.
Coronatine isn’t a household term. In science circles, researchers know it as a bacterial toxin produced by certain strains of Pseudomonas syringae. This compound grabs attention because it mimics the plant hormone jasmonate. Seed labs and university projects often use coronatine for research on plant cell signaling and defense responses. It’s not a chemical you’ll spot at the local garden center, and for good reason: coronatine isn’t meant for casual use.
A few specialized chemical suppliers cater to universities, labs, and companies who have the expertise and permits to work with potentially hazardous substances. Vendors such as Sigma-Aldrich and Cayman Chemical offer coronatine, but buyers go through strict verification. Orders almost always require a legitimate institutional account and documentation explaining the intended research purpose. Deliveries usually go only to officially registered labs, not private homes.
The industry keeps tight control on sales because coronatine doesn’t fall under substances with everyday or commercial uses. You won’t find coronatine on agricultural product shelves, nor listed in pesticide catalogs. There’s no legal way for private individuals, hobby gardeners, or unregistered businesses to purchase this toxin.
Coronatine isn’t specifically named in every country’s chemical control lists. Still, many governments group it with other laboratory-only reagents that raise biosafety and environmental concerns. For example, US regulations such as OSHA and EPA keep a close eye on biological and chemical hazards in research settings. Many European countries follow REACH or corresponding local frameworks for dangerous substances. The bottom line is, suppliers treat coronatine as a restricted chemical because of both its biological activity and its origins from plant-pathogenic bacteria.
Labs handling coronatine follow biosafety protocols, including secure storage and strict waste disposal. Supervisors account for every milligram. There have been occasional cases where improper handling of lab chemicals led to environmental or occupational health risks. These risks keep coronatine off the general market, and oversight continues to tighten.
Letting just anyone buy biologically active compounds could mean real trouble. Coronatine, by disrupting plant hormone signaling, creates opportunities for damaging crops if misused. In the wrong hands, even small quantities could cause unintended side effects. My experience in university labs taught me to respect these chemicals. Every researcher signed off on safety training, and storage required secure, tracked cabinets. Anyone sidestepping the rules put their institution at risk of serious penalties and loss of funding.
No shortcut exists for safe access. The science community recognizes that a rogue actor could severely impact the environment or even food security if substances like coronatine slipped into uncontrolled markets. That’s one reason the research sector pushes for uniform global standards on chemical sales.
Some have called for easier access to research chemicals in the name of innovation. Still, every bit of expert advice points to the need for tight monitoring instead. Oversight bodies ought to streamline legitimate academic purchases, but keep barriers high for anyone without the credentials and safety training to handle coronatine. Public awareness, professional integrity, and tough supplier scrutiny together help guarantee that coronatine stays where it belongs—inside the safety protocols of trained research labs.
| Names | |
| Preferred IUPAC name | (1R,2R,3R,4R,5S,7R,8R,9S,11S,12S)-4-[(1R)-1-hydroxypropyl]-2,8,12-trimethyl-6-oxa-10-azatricyclo[6.3.0.0^{3,11}]undec-8-ene-5-carboxylic acid |
| Other names |
Coronafacic acid + coronamic acid CFA + CMA |
| Pronunciation | /kəˈrɒn.əˌtiːn/ |
| Identifiers | |
| CAS Number | 104144-63-0 |
| Beilstein Reference | 120212 |
| ChEBI | CHEBI:90729 |
| ChEMBL | CHEMBL521653 |
| ChemSpider | 21541901 |
| DrugBank | DB14698 |
| ECHA InfoCard | 19e1de4a-02e6-4adb-857e-82b9a7f22203 |
| EC Number | 429-370-4 |
| Gmelin Reference | 83270 |
| KEGG | C15806 |
| MeSH | D017929 |
| PubChem CID | 6436039 |
| RTECS number | GZ3191000 |
| UNII | KV8M11L5O0 |
| UN number | UN3077 |
| Properties | |
| Chemical formula | C18H25NO4 |
| Molar mass | 610.75 g/mol |
| Appearance | white powder |
| Odor | Odorless |
| Density | 1.11 g/cm³ |
| Solubility in water | slightly soluble |
| log P | 2.92 |
| Acidity (pKa) | 13.57 |
| Basicity (pKb) | 13.15 |
| Magnetic susceptibility (χ) | Magnetic susceptibility (χ) of Coronatine: -54.3 × 10⁻⁶ cm³/mol |
| Refractive index (nD) | 1.594 |
| Viscosity | Viscous liquid |
| Dipole moment | 4.36 D |
| Thermochemistry | |
| Std molar entropy (S⦵298) | Std molar entropy (S⦵298) of coronatine is 579.5 J·mol⁻¹·K⁻¹ |
| Hazards | |
| Main hazards | Harmful if swallowed. Causes skin irritation. Causes serious eye irritation. May cause respiratory irritation. |
| GHS labelling | GHS07, GHS09 |
| Pictograms | GHS06, GHS08 |
| Signal word | Warning |
| Hazard statements | Harmful if swallowed. Causes skin irritation. Causes serious eye irritation. May cause respiratory irritation. |
| Precautionary statements | Keep out of reach of children. Avoid contact with skin, eyes, or clothing. Wear protective gloves and eye protection. Do not eat, drink or smoke when using this product. Wash hands thoroughly after handling. |
| NFPA 704 (fire diamond) | 1-2-0-0 |
| LD50 (median dose) | LD50 (median dose) of Coronatine: 84 mg/kg |
| NIOSH | NA |
| PEL (Permissible) | 0.01 mg/kg |
| REL (Recommended) | 25-100 µM |
| IDLH (Immediate danger) | Not established |
| Related compounds | |
| Related compounds |
Coronafacic acid Coronamic acid |
