Crazy plant names

Jill Severn

Photo by Anna Schlecht

All my gardening life I’ve marveled at the many oddly named plants. Who named them, and why?

Jupiter’s Beard, for instance, is known as red valerian, kiss-me-quick, fox’s brush and devil’s beard. I don’t see any resemblance to beards, fox tails or kisses, slow or quick. And it’s not really red.

Its Latin name – Centranthus ruber – doesn’t describe it very well either. “Ruber” which means red, is close, but my Jupiter’s Beard is the color of a sockeye salmon fillet. I can’t find a definition for Centranthus. I wonder if the 18^th-century Swedish botanist Carl Linnaeus, who established the assignment of Latin/scientific plant names, made that word up.

I understand why he assigned all those Latin names, since ordinary gardeners seem to come up with multiple names for many plants.

Some of the names he chose stuck – rhododendron, iris and azalea for instance. But if he hoped his scientific names would replace all the common names, he would be disappointed; the names he assigned are nearly always in italics, after one or another of the common names. And it seems anyone can coin a common name.

Though I don’t know how Jupiter’s Beard got its name, I do know that if I snip off fading flowers, it will bloom all summer. Also, though it’s a perennial Mediterranean native said to be sun-loving, it does well in half shade. I’m going to call it “salmon blossom.”

Once in a while though, a single common name nails it: The delightful pincushion flower looks so much like a pincushion with tiny white-headed pins in it that no one calls it anything else. In this case, it’s the Latin name I recoil from: it’s scabiosa – an ugly name for a charming flower. (And FYI, pincushion flowers don’t do very well in half shade, so they’ve been promoted to the front yard.)

Jill Severn writes from her home in Olympia, where she grows vegetables, flowers and a small flock of chickens. She loves conversation among gardeners. Start one by emailing her at  jill@theJOLTnews.com