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| L'Arbre du Ténéré by Michel Mazeau |
I am not an Acacia expert, far from it, but I have observed
a number of species – in either Californian botanic gardens or in southern
retail nurseries – but I have never grown one. I have never been to Australia
to encounter the “wattle trees,” but there are tons of species endemic to that
southern continent. I recently read about the L'Arbre du Ténéré, or in English the “Tree of Ténéré,”
which was an Acacia growing in isolation in the Sahara Desert in northeast
Niger, a full 400 km (250 miles) away from any other tree. Naturally it
was a landmark on caravan routes through the Ténéré portion of
the Sahara, and its success was due to the discovery of a 131' well located
nearby. Sadly, the phenomenal specimen was terminated by a rough-house-drunken
Libyan truck driver in 1973. Why the solo-tree was able to survive was because
it was considered taboo by the caravaniers, and known by the
resident tribe as the first, or last, lighthouse when crossing the Ténéré.
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| Acacia abyssinica |
Acacia is in the Leguminosae family, and its Greek name
refers to Acacia arabica, for akis, meaning a “sharp thorn.” The
“wattles” are the most widespread of all Australian plants, and frankly,
I find most of them to be quite ugly. Nevertheless, some inhabit most
inhospitable regions in desert sand. They can vary from low scrubby brush to
upright trees, and locally (Australia) they are known as “Mulga,” from an
Aboriginal language of New South Wales. Acacia abyssinica, from Ethiopia,
impressed me with its reddish-tan flaking trunk, even though its boring
pea-foliage did not, but I liked its flat-topped canopy when I encountered it
in a southern-Californian arboretum last year. This “Umbrella Acacia” is also
known as Vachellia abyssinica, due to the
International-Botanical-Congress decision in 2011 to split what was once
lumped.
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| Acacia nilotica |
Acacia nilotica (or Vachellia nilotica) is also native to
Africa, but it is now considered an invasive species in Australia. This “Arabic
tree gum” was the “type species” of the genus Acacia, and was rendered by the
eminent Greek botanist-physician Pedanius Dioscorides as a medicinal in his
book Materia Medica. Thereafter the “classifier” Linnaeus named the
species nilotica because its best-known occurrence was along the Nile
River. But it is also native to Mozambique, India and Burma, and it's
interesting that its seed is spread by livestock. The twigs of the tree are
used as a toothbrush in Africa, and I have seen such use in India.
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| Buddleja 'Tutti Fruitti' |
So what's the point of this blog, and why am I describing
plants that I don't have for sale? Because I usually discuss plants that I
sell, and I felt like going further afield this time. Actually it was inspired
when I pulled my well-worn Dictionary of Plant Names by Allen J. Coombes
off the shelf. I never get tired of the story of a plant, and the
name can be fascinating. I'll bet that 95% of American nurserymen who grow and
sell Buddleja (Butterfly Bush) don't know that the genus was named after the
Reverend Adam Buddle (1662-1715). Linnaeus bestowed the name posthumously on
the good Buddle, but the reverend-botanist never once set eyes on the plant. I
keep a couple of Buddlejas in the garden, and do so for my children's sake: so
they can experience the honey-like fragrance. And also Clerodendron for its
peanut butter-like smell. Its name is from Greek kleros for “chance” and
dendron for “tree,” referring to various medicinal properties.
Well-adjusted kids will have more fun with peanut butter-and-honey trees than
with video games and digital gadgets.
Corokia cotoneaster
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| Cotoneaster 'St. Monica' |
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| Cotoneaster bullatus 'Floribundus' |
We used to propagate Corokia cotoneaster, and I still keep a
pot of it in GH20; if planted outdoors it would probably croak in many of our
winters. The genus name is from the Maori korokia, as these evergreen
shrubs are native to New Zealand. The species name cotoneaster is due to
the branching habit of some cotoneasters. However, I've never seen any
cotoneaster that resembles Corokia cotoneaster. Did you follow that? Anyway cotoneaster
is from Latin cotoneum for “quince,”
and aster for “resembling somewhat,” due to the similarity of the leaves
of some species. Corokia cotoneaster is a fun plant, commonly called the
“wire-netting bush,” and its pretty tiny flowers are slightly fragrant. Still,
I think the powers-that-be did a poor job in naming the plant, but the rules
are the rules so we're stuck with it.
Crataegus monogyna 'Inermis Compacta' at the Royal Botanic Garden Edinburgh
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| Crataegus monogyna 'Inermis Compacta' at the Royal Botanic Garden Edinburgh |
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| Crataegus cunneatra |
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| Crataegus calpodendron |
Crataegus
comes from the Greek kratos for “strength,” referring to the hard wood.
The common name today is “Hawthorne,” and in Old English it was haguthorn
for haga (hedge) plus thorn for thorn. I grow C. monogyna (pronounced
mon-o-gi-na) 'Inermis Compacta'. Monogyna means “with one pistil,” inermis
means “without thorns” and compacta you already know. I have one
Crataegus cunneatrea in the collection, and it features white flowers in spring
followed by yellow fruits resembling small apples, but I don't know what the
specific name means. Any Crataegus experts out there? Crataegus calpodendron is
a pretty tree. We know that dendron is Greek for tree, while colpo
means “vagina,” and is from Greek kolpos for “fold” or “hollow.” Yikes,
a vagina tree! We can imagine what was in Jakob Friedrich Ehrhart's mind
when he looked at the trunk when naming the species.
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| Primula secundiflora |
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| Primula japonica |
The name Primula is from Latin primus meaning
“first,” referring to its early blooming. The common name is “primrose,” but in
England the native Primula veris is known as the “cowslip,” which is thought to
have derived from Old English for cow dung, probably because the plant was
often found growing amongst the manure in cow pastures. Another derivation
could refer to slippery or boggy ground which is the typical locale of the
species. Veris means “of spring” in Latin, but old folk names include
“herb peter,” “fairy cups,” “petty mullein” and “cuy lippe.” “Herb Peter” could
possibly refer to the pendent flowers that suggested a “bunch of keys,” the
emblem of St. Peter for his keyes to heaven. That was possibly derived
from Norse mythology where the flower was dedicated to Freya, the “key
virgin,” where one could hopefully be admitted into her treasure palace. The
best “treasure” is that the flowers have a fresh fragrance and are slightly
narcotic, and they are used in making the fermented liquor called “Cowslip
Wine.” Sadly, I have never sampled that concoction, but I would do so
immediately (if possible)... from a research perspective. Medically, Primula
veris can be used as a sedative and antispasmodic, and home-remedies suggest
their value to strengthen the nerves, the brain and to relieve restlessness and
insomnia – all of which afflict me.
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| Primula 'Zebra Blue' |
There are many species and hybrids of Primula, and even my
local Safeway grocery store now – March 7th – has them for sale –
for cheap – next to their doorways. My wife bought a few gaudy hybrids a few
years ago and planted them in front of the house. I counseled her that they
would probably die after the first season...but go ahead and plant them. To my
amazement they still thrive and soon again they will be in bloom. I even paid a
ridiculous retail amount to acquire Primula 'Zebra Blue' from Plant Delights
Nursery in North Carolina. A New York customer who visited a week ago wanted to
plant a mass of fifty in their arboretum after seeing one in my nursery in
bloom, but they certainly didn't know that I paid $16.95 for a small 3 ½ inch
pot for my one. These “types” cannot relate to my despair when they want to buy
something that I have gone through hell and high water to acquire, then
expect that since I have it, then it must be for sale. Geeze,
just look at my Availability, and decide from that what to buy.
Of course, like me, every customer – or potential customer – is “special” and
wants to be treated as such, but at least I show more respect for a plant
company's protocol, as it usually has evolved from the need to survive.
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| Primula vialii |
Back to Primula, I think my favorite species is vialii. It
is from China and was named for Pere Vial, a French missionary who labored in
the northern Burma – southern Yunnan area. The story about Vial's experiences
in Yunnan are known largely due to the British engineer Archibald Colquhoun's
account in 1883, while he was searching for a Burma-to-China route. Colquhoun
had a dickens of a time with the Chinese, and of course he could speak none of
the tribal languages or Chinese. Vial offered to act as his guide, and being
fluent in Chinese, he was able to settle difficult and dangerous situations. I
don't know if Vial actually discovered the Primula, or if it was just named
after him. I have not seen P. vialii in the wild, but there is a thriving
colony of them in a boggy area at the Rhododendron Species Foundation in
Washington state, and the photo above is but one of their many clumps.
Feijoa sellowiana
I do not grow Feijoa sellowiana because it is not hardy in
Oregon. The generic name is after Don de Silva Feijo, a 19th century
Brazilian botanist, and how appropriate that de Silva would be in a
botanist's name. The genus is an evergreen tree native to South America and is
known for its egg-shaped reddish-green fruit that smells and tastes like
pineapples. The specific name is after the German (Prussian) botanist Friedrich
Sellow (or Sello) 1789-1831. Sellow was an interesting fellow. He began his
career as a gardener, then gained experience working and studying at the famous
botanical gardens in Berlin and Paris. In 1814 he was recognized as an
“official naturalist,” and he then joined an expedition to Brazil. He collected
thousands of specimens and sent them to botanical gardens in Europe. One reason
he took off for Brazil was to avoid Europe during the Napoleonic wars. He never
did return to Europe, as he drowned in a river when only 42 years old.
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| Hosta 'Medusa' |
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| Hosta 'Dragon Tails' |
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| Francis II |
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| Napoleon Bonaparte |
Hostas are herbaceous perennials and were named for Nicolas
Tomas Host (1761-1834). The Austrian botanist was also the personal physician
of Holy Roman Emperor Francis II. Unlike Sellow, his Holiness Francis stayed in
Europe during the Napoleonic wars, but his empire was dissolved after Napoleon
whipped his army at the Battle of Austerlitz. Downsizing his realm, he declared
himself the first Emperor of Austria, thus becoming the only Doppelkaiser
(double emperor) in history. Francis's greatest defeat was not on the
battlefield, but from the humiliation from Napoleon when he demanded Francis's
daughter Marie Louis for marriage. Back to Host, he was honored for the eastern
Asian genus (Hosta) by a later Austrian botanist, Leopold Trattinnick. Host
published works on new species, the grasses of central Europe and Salix. Hostas
are commonly known as “plantain lilies” in Britain and “giboshi” in Japan.
Another name for Hosta is Funkia, and it has been suggested that Funkia
deserves generic status; but forget about it as the notion has been rejected.
I've got a few Hostas in the gardens, but I'm not big into them because they
become slug hotels.
I must thank Allen Coombes for this little excursion into
plant names. He was the Botanist at the Sir Harold Hillier Gardens in southern
England, and I have read his articles in The Garden and in The
Plantsman, two very fine British plant publications. Surprisingly, he is
now the coordinator of the Scientific Collections at the University Botanic
Garden in Puebla, Mexico. And damn! – I was in Puebla not so long ago – but I
had no clue that there was a botanic garden there. By the way, Timber Press,
publisher of Coombes's Dictionary of Plant Names, my 1987 2nd
edition is literally falling apart; not from over-use or abuse from me, but
because it was poorly made. I see that it was “printed” in Finland, but does
that mean that it was “bound” there also? Anyway, send me a new copy at no
charge.
I'll conclude with a skeletal list of more Coombes plants
with their derivation and meaning (at risk of plagiarism):
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| Robinia pseudoacacia |
Robinia: named after Jean Robin (1550-1629), herbalist to
Henry IV of France.
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| Parrotia persica 'Select' |
Parrotia: named after F.W. Parrot (1792-1841), a German
naturalist.
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| Globularia cordifolia |
Globularia: from Latin globulus for a “small ball,”
referring to the flower heads.
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| Rehderodendron macrocarpum |
Rehderodendron: named after Alfred Rehder, early botanist at
the Arnold Arboretum, and dendron, Greek for “tree.”
Syringa chinensis 'Lilac Sunday'
Syringa: from Greek syrinx meaning “a pipe,”
referring to the hollow stems.
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| Ribes sanguineum 'King Edward VII' |
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| Ribes sanguineum 'Poky's Pink' |
Ribes: from Arabic or Persian ribas, meaning
“acid-tasting,” referring to the fruit.
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| Skimmia japonica |
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| Illicium parviflorum 'Florida Sunshine' |
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| Illicium floridanum 'Halley's Comet' |
Skimmia: from the Japanese name Miyami shikimi.
Chotto matte (Japanese for “wait a minute”). Haruko says there is no word Miyami,
but rather it is Miyama, literally meaning “deep in the mountain,” but
in this case it means “deep in the woods.” She's not so sure about shikimi, but
one meaning can be “bad fruit,” as in the berries are poisonous. Chotto matte –
Haruko has her smart phone in one hand and a Japanese tree-book in the other.
It could mean “like Illicium anisatum...in the woods.” Or, or. It's late at
night. I'm tired, but Haruko has taken up the puzzle in earnest and she won't
stop. I stumble off to bed, too weary to care anymore. Besides, how about I
stay out of it, and Haruko and Mr. Coombes can work it out.
