© Janet Davis
Until 1753 when
the Swedish naturalist Carolus Linnaeus (later known as Carl von Linné), shown in the portrait at left, published
his 1200-page opus, Species Plantarum, which established binomial
(two-word) Latin nomenclature as the universal method for assigning a botanical
name to plants, gardeners the world over had spent a few thousand years
stumbling along with common or vernacular names. The drawback to these well-loved names was that a single
descriptive often referred to numerous different species. Bluebell, for example could mean any of Hyacinthoides,
Scilla, Mertensia, Campanula or Eustoma, among others. But common names and the way in which they
evolved make for interesting reading nonetheless.
Many plants were grown
by medieval herbalists for their medicinal qualities—real or imagined. The 16th Century Doctrine of
Signatures by Swiss medical professor Paracelsus held that God provided
humanity with natural remedies for any devil-sent ailment. Not only that, but the miracle cure would
have a visible characteristic (or “signature”) as a kind of clue to which ailment
it would treat. So the pretty spring flower
we know commonly as Bethlehem sage, was called lungwort or pulmonaria because
the white spots on its leaves, shown in the photo on the right, bore a
resemblance to tubercular lesions on the lung.
The word daisy comes from “day’s eye”. Evidently, daisies (probably common oxeye daisies) were designated by the Doctrine as a good cure for eye ailments. If daisies didn’t do the job, you could always try an eyewash made from the biennial sage we now know as clary—but which started out as “clear-eye”. The delicate, pink-flowered soapworts (Saponaria) we grow in our rock gardens got their common name because the roots of certain species tend to lather, making them good soap substitutes.
Spiderwort (Tradescantia)
is an American native with grassy leaves and small purple or pink flowers; it
was once believed to cure spider bites.
Today, interestingly,spiderwort’s unique habit of changing stamen colour
after exposure to high radiation levels has caused it to be used as a detection
device for harmful pollution or cancer-causing radiation. Several modern pharmaceuticals, in fact, owe
their existence to the plant world.
Until German chemists learned how to make synthetic salicylic acid
around 1914, the primary ingredient of aspirin was harvested from willow (Salix)
bark.
Foxglove (Digitalis), shown left, is still the source of the heart drug digitalin, used to treat cardiac illness. Taxol, a drug used to treat ovarian and breast cancer was harvested from the bark of the Pacific yew and Canada yew (though it is now also synthesized).
Some common names have
their origins in other languages besides Latin or Greek. The ubiquitous little dandelion we love to
hate is named, not in honour of the king of the jungle, but from the French
“dent-de-lion” (so called because the leaf is said to resemble a lion’s
tooth.) The name of the pansy, right,
is derived from the French word pensée, meaning “thought”, for
the French believed that just looking at the sweet face of a pansy could
make your lover think of you. (A nice
idea, but just think how much more thoughtful lovers would be if the French had
only switched dandelions for pansies!)
Some plants got their names because of their similarity to an item of clothing. Lady’s mantle (Alchemilla) has a beautiful leaf that looks like a gently gathered cape, while ladyslippers (Cypripedium) bear a passing resemblance to shoes (if a little broad in the toe). Sometimes flowers were named, not because of what they appeared to be wearing, but what they were not. Hence, “naked ladies”, referring to the leafless flowering stems of the summer bulb Lycoris squamigera.
Annual celosia looks like a rooster’s plumage, thus its common moniker “cockscomb”. Oher birds on the wing in the garden are cranes (cranesbill or Geranium)), robins (wakerobin or Trillium), cardinals (cardinal flower or Lobelia cardinalis) and canary creeper (Tropaeolum).
White flowers, white
leaves and early bloom time inspired the odd wintry analogy, thus
snow-on-the-mountain (Euphorbia marginata), snow-in-summer (Cerastium),
snowdrops (Galanthus), snowflakes (Leucojum) and snowball trees (Viburnum
plicatum).
If you were a friend of Linnaeus or had carved out a respectable name for yourself in 16th or 17th century botany, horticulture or naturalism, odds were you’d end up enshrined as a plant name. So it went for German herbalist Leonhard Fuchs (fuchsia), Swedish botanist Olof Rudbeck (whose name was honored by Linnaeus in the North American wildflower rudbeckia, left), English botanist Rev. Adam Buddle (buddleia), Finnish naturalist Peter Kalm (kalmia), and the governor of late 17th century French Canada, amateur botanist Michel Begon (begonia), among numerous others.
Adapted from a
column that appeared originally in Toronto Gardens