We’re finally seeing a few signs of the growing season starting here in Pennsylvania, but there are still several more days before spring officially arrives, so I’ll indulge now in one of my favorite winter topics: botanical nomenclature. One subject I haven’t covered yet is plant names that relate to the body parts of all kinds of critters, including people. Usually there’s some relation between the body part and the shape or texture of the flower, leaf, or some other structure, but sometimes it’s a clue to the plant’s historical use.
Most, if not all, of these will be obvious to those of you who work in the medical field, and I’m sure all of you will recognize at least some of these. It’s not an exhaustive list, as I couldn’t find plant-name examples for all body parts (feel free to speak up if you know of any I missed), and I deliberately left out some parts to keep things…um…safe for all readers. I’ll warn you now, this is a long one, so if nomenclature isn’t your thing, maybe you’d rather just scroll through the pictures and catch the bit of news at the end.
Still here? Ok, then, working roughly from head to hoof…
With so many flowerheads, seedheads, and individual blooms and seeds that have a head-like placement or shape, genus names and specific epithets that include “caput-,” “capit-,” or “cephal” (from the Latin caput and cephalicus and Greek kephale) are quite common. It’s no challenge to guess how pink knotweed (Persicaria capitata, above) and round-headed bush clover (Lespedeza capitata, below) got their names, for instance.
It’s also easy to imagine what the air plant Tillandsia caput-medusae looks like just from the name (yep, like a hairdo of writhing reptiles). A few more common examples include Cephalotaxus (Chinese plum yew), Cephalanthus occidentalis (buttonbush, below)…
…Dracocephalum moldavica (Moldavian dragon’s head, below)…
…or Cephalaria gigantea (giant scabious, below).
There’s even a group name—Brassica oleracea Acephala Group—for cabbage-family members that don’t form a distinct head, such as collard greens, kales, and couve tronchuda (below).
Moving down to the eyes (oculi, or oculus for a single eye), conifer lovers probably already know ‘Oculis-draconis’ as the cultivar name for dragon’s eye selections of both Pinus densiflora (Japanese red pine) and P. thunbergii (Japanese black pine)—coming from the eye-like pattern produced by the color banding on the needles when you look at a branch straight on. There’s also Lychnis coronaria Oculata Group: a name used for rose campion plants that have pink-eyed white blossoms instead of solid white or magenta blooms. (They’re also sold under the more romantic name of ‘Angel’s Blush’).
Cilium (Latin for eyelash) and blepharon (Greek for eyelid) sometimes appear in the botanical names of plants that have parts edged with hairs, in the same way that eyelids are fringed with eyelashes. Salvia blepharophylla (commonly known as eyelash sage), with an edging of fine hairs on the foliage, is one obvious example; another is Habenaria [now Plantathera] blephariglottis (white fringed orchid, with a fringed tongue in each flower).
Ciliatus, ciliatum, ciliata, and ciliaris show up in lots of plants names: Plectranthus ciliatus (speckled or eyelash spur flower), Lysimachia cilata (fringed loosestrife), Bergenia ciliata (hairy bergenia), and Erica ciliaris (Dorset or fringe-leaved heath) are just a few. Another eye-related term you may have already run across is lacrima or lachryma (Latin for tear), as in Coix lacryma-jobi (Job’s tears, below).
Botanists who saw a likeness between leaf shapes and animal ears sometimes based the names they came up with on auris (Latin for ear) or ous or otis (Greek for ear), as in Primula auricula (sometimes known as bear’s ear), Coreopsis auriculata (mouse-ear chickweed), Ficus auriculata (elephant-ear fig), Leonotis (lion’s ears), and Myosotis (forget-me-nots or mouse ears, below).
If you suffer from rhinitis—a stuffy or runny nose—or post-nasal drip, you can easily remember that plant names that include rhinus or nasus have something to do with noses. The genus name for snapdragons—Antirrhinum (from the Greek anti, which can mean “equivalent to” as well as “against,” and rhinum, or nose)—came about because someone apparently thought the flowers (or maybe the seedpods?) look nose-like. Below is Antirrhinum majus ‘Black Prince’. You can decide for yourself if you see the noses.
And if you’ve ever scrunched up your nose after nibbling on the spicy leaves of Nasturtium officinale (watercress) or nasturtiums (Tropaeolum majus, below), you can easily relate to “nasturtium” as “nose-twisting” (nasus + tortum).
There’s also rostrum, for beak, bill, or snout, as in Carex rostrata (beaked sedge) or Yucca rostrata (beaked yucca).
Moving down to the mouth—os in Latin and stoma in Greek—there’s Oscularia, a succulent with leaves that look something like toothed, open mouths, and Melostoma, tropical shrubs with fruits that may turn your mouth purple-black if you eat the berries.
Lip (labium in Latin and cheilos in Greek) shows up in Labiatae—the old name for the mint family, with flowers usually divided into lips—as well as Cheilanthes (lip ferns).
A resemblance to a tongue (glossum)—mostly where leaves or petals are concerned—is evident in the genus name Cynoglossum (hound’s tongues). And then there’s the double-dental Odontoglossum (from the Greek odon, for teeth, plus glossum): the genus name for a group of orchids with tooth-like structures on the tongue-like lip of the flower. Odon and dens or dentis (Latin for tooth) appear in many other plant names, too, mostly to indicate toothed edges on the leaves or petals, but sometimes for other tooth-like parts. Dentaria (the toothworts), Pelargonium denticulatum (pine-scented or tooth-leaved geranium), and Erythronium dens-canis (dog-tooth violet) are just a few examples.
For the neck or throat (trachea or trachia), think of Campanula trachelium, Trachelospermum, and Trachelium (throatwort; below is Trachelium caeruleum ‘Black Knight’). In these cases, the reference is usually to their historical use as remedies for sore throats.
You’ve probably already run across the term “axil” at some point, as in “leaf axil”: the angle between a leaf or leaf stalk and the stem. Derived from axilla—Latin for the armpit—it also appears in botanical names, such as Leucothoe axillaris and Muehlenbeckia axillaris, both of which produce their flowers in the leaf axils.
Moving down to the belly, there’s umbilicus and omphalos, the Latin and Greek words for the navel, as in the two genera commonly known as navelworts: Omphalodes (which apparently get their name from their seeds) and Umbilicus rupestris (due to the dimpled center on each rounded leaf).
Crus—Latin for “leg”—appears in Crataegus crus-galli (leg + gallus, Latin for a male chicken: a cock or rooster). In this case, the common name of cockspur hawthorn actually tells you more: the name refers to long spines that supposedly resemble the spurs on the lower legs of a rooster.
Genu—Latin for knee—appears in specific epithet for the wildflower Angelica genuflexa, commonly known as kneeling angelica due to the backward-bending leaf stalk.
Examples abound for plants with foot references in their name. The Latin pes and pedes and the Greek pous and podos show up in several prefixes and suffixes, producing names such as ped- (Pedilanthus), pes-, and pod- (Podophyllum), and suffixes, including -pod, -podium, -pes, and -pus.
The Greek cheir, for hand, shows up in Cheiranthus (wallflowers), apparently to indicate their historical use in hand-held bouquets.
From digitatus and daktulos, the Latin and Greek words for fingers or toes, we get names with digit- and dactyl- or -dactyl, such as Digitalis (foxgloves, for the shape of their individual flowers), Digitaria (crabgrasses, with seedheads that have finger-like branches), and Tripsacum dactyloides (eastern gamagrass, with finger-like flower spikes; below).
Structures at other extremities that show up in some plant names include…
Latin and Greek words for coverings that appear on the outside of the body frequently appear in plant names, too.
And, we can’t forget about organs and other structures inside the body, such as…
Ok, I think we’ve all had enough of a nomenclature lesson until next winter! Whew.
On a lighter note, this spring is bringing more than beautiful blooms: it’s time for lots of new garden books, too. Fellow blogger Dee Nash of Red Dirt Ramblings recently released her first book, The 20-30 Something Garden Guide: A No-Fuss, Down and Dirty, Gardening 101 for Anyone Who Wants to Grow Stuff. Dee sent me a gift copy a few weeks ago, and flipping through its pages made me wish I’d had such a friendly and encouraging guide when I was a new gardener. (In fact, it set me off on a long post about the books I started with nearly 30 years ago, which then turned into my rambling thoughts about what turns ordinary people into plant-obsessed gardeners. Be glad that I decided to spare you that and flatten you with nomenclature instead!) Anyway, if you have a non-gardening friend or family member you’d like to lure over to the dark side–or rather, the green side–Dee’s book could be a great gift for them.
Other garden bloggers who have new books this spring include Kris Greene of the Blithewold blog (her book Plantiful includes ideas for using vigorous and self-sowing plants to fill space in your garden, as well as tips for overwintering tender perennials) and Shenandoah Kepler of Fleeting Architecture (her e-book A Sensual Garden addresses ways to make more of visual appeal, scents, sounds, tastes, and textures in our gardens). In the interest of full disclosure, I haven’t yet read Kris’ book, but I did get to see a pre-release review copy of Shen’s e-book.
I’m very pleased to announce that Rob Cardillo and I also have a new book out this month, called Five-Plant Gardens: 52 Ways to Grow a Perennial Garden with Just Five Plants. (Just to be clear: that’s five different plants, not five plants in total.) Each of the plans is small enough to dig and plant in just a few days, with enough plants to be interesting but not so many as to be overwhelming for a new gardener. The perennials included aren’t the most cutting-edge new releases, but readily available, time-tested cultivars that should be easy to find and reasonably priced. There’s also a care calendar for each plan to tell what’s going on in each season and what kind of care the garden needs to look its best.
If you’re relatively new to gardening yourself and need some inspiration, or if you know someone you’d like to inspire with simple plans for manageable starter perennial gardens, you can get the print version of Five-Plant Gardens on Amazon, directly from Storey Publishing, or through lots of other booksellers.