Plant names can be frustrating, especially the scientific names (botanical epithets or binomials) and especially when those change once you've finally gotten them to stick in your brain.
In 1998, Dr. J. A. Compton, A Culham, and S. Jury, published a paper reclassifying the genus Actaea to include Cimicifuga. An article about this was published in the January, 1999 issue of the Royal Horticultural Society's publication, The Garden. Being a member of RHS, I look forward to spending a nice, relaxing hour or so in reading it every month. When I came to this article, however, my reaction was anything but relaxing. Actually, I was horrified. I didn't (and still don't) want to stop calling my plants Cimicifuga.
Hoping that there might be some error or at least that there was a chance the change wouldn't actually be accepted, I posted a query on Alpine-L mailing list, where I knew there were many more knowledgeable than I about these things. The responses I received - one from Dr. Compton, himself - haven't changed the way I feel about the name change, but they started me on what has proven to be a fascinating journey of discovery.
What's Your Name?
In western cultures, at least, people have a family name and a given name, and often one or more "middle" names. These identify who we are and where (what family) we come from. Some people also have nicknames; names that identify them to those who know them well, but mean little to strangers, who may know someone else with the same nickname.
Plant names are quite like human names in many respects. Part of the reason for this is that plants are named by humans, who, since the beginning of time, have had a penchant for naming and categorizing everything in their worlds. This desire has been part necessity - how do you talk about something that has no name? - and part a need to create order out of otherwise frightening chaos.
People are used to human names; some are strange to us, but all are readily understandable. But, for some reason, gardeners hit a brick wall when it comes to dealing with a plant's real name - the botanical epithet or binomial - as opposed to it's nickname or common name.
Of course, common names are more comfortable to most of us - they are something easily said and remembered, whereas botanical names are often quite difficult to remember, spell and say. But, like a human's nickname, common names are meaningless, unless you are speaking about them with someone who is from the same family or neighborhood as you are; someone who knows that 'Bunky' actually refers to John Smith over on Elm Street, or that adder's-tongue is an Erythronium.
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
