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Plant Answer Line questions and answers.

common name for Prunus mume

It’s a perennial controversy among friends who are docents in a local garden: what is the proper common name for Prunus mume? Is it Japanese apricot, or Japanese plum? Our interpretive materials go back and forth between the two over the years.

 

With common names, there are no definitive answers. Genetically, Prunus mume is closer to apricots, as this article in Curtis’s Botanical Magazine (v.39, no. 3, September 2022) indicates: “P. mume is classified within subgenus Amygdalus alongside almonds and peaches and sits within section Armeniaca, being most closely related to P. armeniaca and P. sibirica (Yazbek & Oh, 2013).” (Those species of Prunus are both types of apricot.)

However, cultural context is also important. Although the plant originated in China, it was introduced in Japan in the sixth century C.E. Since the garden is focused on plants that are traditional to Japan, you should probably include both plum and apricot in your interpretive materials, as this Seattle Japanese Garden blog post does. Japanese new year decoration includes sho-chiku-bai, a trio of plants which are pine-bamboo-plum or apricot, depending on the English translation. (In China, this same trio of plants is referred to as the Three Friends of Winter because of their resilience during this season.) Which common name you give primacy will be a judgment call. In their book, Garden Plants of Japan, Ran Levy-Yamamori and Gerard Taaffe refer to the English name as follows: “Japanese apricot (sometimes confusingly referred to as Japanese plum).”

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Rainier Valley streets named for plants

I was browsing a couple of older Seattle street maps (1969, and late 1990s) and came across a cluster of streets named for trees and shrubs (Escallonia, Viburnum, Locust, Chestnut, Sumac, Barberry, Heather, Tamarack, Abelia), all tucked in between the east slope of Beacon Hill and near Martin Luther King Jr. Way (or Empire Way on the earlier map). They don’t show up in current online map searches. I am curious about their history.

Before non-Indigenous people settled in the area in the 19th century, this particular area might have been crossed by Duwamish tribe trails that extended from Lake Washington to the Duwamish River along the south edge of Beacon Hill, as well as trails from Pioneer Square to Renton along the Rainier Valley, approximately where Rainier Avenue South is today. The area would have had a wealth of woody vegetation then.

In early 20th century maps of Seattle, I found that the general area you are asking about was at one time owned by Joshua Montgomery Sears, a prominent Bostonian. The area on the 1907 map looks undeveloped, but may have been logged (see Olmsted report below). Sears invested heavily in the King County area, and at one time owned a substantial part of Kirkland. He had a financial interest in the Kirkland Iron Works (as reported in the May 29, 1890 edition of the Seattle Post Intelligencer). I mention Sears because the map snippet you sent shows those streets fanning out around Sears Drive South (which runs from what is now Martin Luther King Jr. Way to S. Columbian Way). In 1930, the city of Seattle purchased the property from the J.M. Sears estate.

This area was part of a 1920s Olmsted plan for what was called the Jefferson Park tract, which included a suggested layout for lot development. A 1903-1905 Olmsted firm report on the Jefferson Park location says that “all of the original forest trees that had any market value have disappeared, and the stumps and logs [… ] are gradually being taken away for firewood […] The southern portion of the park should be made to contrast with the larger open northern part, by having little or no grass, the surface being clothed with low, ground-covering plants. There may be long winding masses of trees and shrubbery […] Some walks may be carried through under the groups of trees, but most of the paths should be carried through the openings between the masses of trees and shrubbery, so as to […] command the distant views of Lake Washington.”

I don’t know if the Olmsted firm ever extended their planting plans beyond Jefferson Park and the surrounding boulevards. There is still a densely forested area now known as Cheasty Greenspace which borders the area where these street names used to be. A photo from 1941 shows newly built houses in an expanse denuded of greenery. At the time, the Seattle Housing Authority had just been formed, headed by Jesse Epstein, a social reformer who championed the creation of affordable public housing. A Russian Jewish immigrant, he grew up in Montana, and began studying at the University of Washington in 1927. Rainier Vista was among his initial Seattle projects, along with Yesler Terrace, Holly Park, High Point, and Sand Point; in every case he lobbied successfully for racially integrated housing.

Work began in 1941 and starting in 1942, the project began serving the housing needs of workers (at Boeing and other industries contributing to the war effort) and later, World War II veterans. The woody plant street names date from the early 1940s. (Some of these plants are classic mid-century stalwarts that are still growing in Seattle neighborhoods.) The names were unusual enough to catch the attention of the Seattle Times in August 17, 1943 [p. 4]. This article discusses their origins: “In the Rainier Vista homes project, for example, a botany expert glorified his enthusiasm by dealing out such monickers as Tamarack Drive, Kinnikinick [sic] Place, Sumac Court, Abelia Court, Viburnum Court and Escalonia [sic] Court. […] The names selected are subject to the approval of Jesse Epstein, housing director.” We don’t know who the botanist was, but naming the streets after trees and shrubs is a gesture toward the idea of a garden community accessible to all, regardless of income, and would have appealed to Epstein. Residents of Rainier Vista and the other housing developments did have gardens, and starting in 1955, the Seattle Housing Authority held an annual Better Yards Roundup competition, sponsored by the Snoqualmie Federation of Garden Clubs.

Your maps show how the streets are cul de sacs, set apart from the more grid-like arrangement of surrounding roads. This design was altered in the 2002 redevelopment, when the previous dwellings were leveled, and construction began. The idea was that streets should connect more directly to the rest of the neighborhood, so as not to isolate the residents from the community. It is a shame to lose the distinctive street names in the process of redevelopment—all except Kinnikinick Place South, east of MLK Jr. Way, which is now an alley with garages facing onto it. Tamarack Drive is gone, but the name lives on in Tamarack Place, an affordable apartment complex on MLK Jr. Way next to the Columbia City light rail station. Interestingly, a 2002 Seattle Times article about the redevelopment mentions a group of black locust trees at the edge of Rainier Vista—a living reminder of Locust Court South. Today, Rainier Vista’s streets encircle a small green space, Central Park, and most blocks are lined with trees in the parking strips. There are also several nearby community gardens that are part of Seattle’s P-Patch program.

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what to call poinsettia

William Jackson Hooker
Hand-colored engraving
from Samuel Curtis (1799-1860)
Curtis’s botanical magazine, or, Flower-garden displayed
London: Printed by Stephen Couchman for W. Curtis, 1836.

I have heard that we should no longer use the name poinsettia for the plant that is popular during the Christmas season, and instead use its Indigenous name. What’s the story behind the plant’s common name?

The plant’s Nahuatl name is Cuetlaxóchitl, meaning ‘a flower that withers.’ This blog post from the Library of Congress discusses the role of Joel Roberts Poinsett in popularizing the plant in the U.S. He was an enthusiastic plant collector, and acting Prime Plenipotentiary Minister of the U.S. to Mexico between 1825 and 1830. He brought the plant back to his home state of South Carolina after noticing it being used decoratively and ceremonially at Christmas time by Franciscan friars in Taxco, Guerrero. The plant’s well-known common name honors him. Poinsett is now considered a problematic figure because he was a slave owner and advocate of the system of slavery. Paradoxically, he also supported the South Carolina Unionists.

Before Poinsett, there was the 16th century Spanish conquest of the Aztec empire (which was itself built on the labor of landless serfs and slaves). The Spanish left a legacy of Franciscan missionaries who were intent on Christianizing the native populations. The missionaries called this plant by various Spanish names, including la flor de Nochebuena (Holy Night flower). Before the era of Conquest, the plant had (and still has) ceremonial uses (offerings to the gods) and medicinal and practical uses (to treat skin ailments and fevers, and in dye for textiles, and cosmetics). It was also planted in the gardens of Aztec rulers, according to this article by Laura Trejo in Chronica Horticulturae 60/04 – December 2020, pp.28-31.

The scientific name for poinsettia (Cuetlaxóchitl) is Euphorbia pulcherrima (a species name meaning ‘very beautiful’). The genus name was recorded in 1753 by Carl Linnaeus but he is not the original giver of this name that honors Euphorbus, Greek physician to King Juba II of Mauritania. Its origins go back to Juba himself. Pliny the Elder, in his 1st century B.C.E. book Natural History, says, “With reference to euphorbia, there is a treatise still in existence, written upon it by King Juba, in which he highly extols its [Euphorbia’s] merits. […] The properties of this plant are so remarkably powerful, that the persons engaged in collecting the juices of it are obliged to stand at a considerable distance.”

Linnaeus is now considered problematic for his classification of humans into varieties based on color, physical traits, garb, behavior, and type of government. According to the Linnean Society of London, Linnaeus’s ideas have been used to fuel modern scientific racism, that is, using science to justify racism: “Scientific racism can have devastating and far-reaching consequences for humanity, including seeing non-Europeans as less human than Europeans, and justifying the use of slavery and genocide.” Despite this, his plant classification has enduring value.

It can be difficult to disentangle plant names (both common and scientific) from the fraught histories of the people who named them. Some names are intrinsically offensive, and others honor those whose behavior was at times dishonorable. If you want to avoid using the name poinsettia, you could substitute the scientific name (recognizable by some) or the Indigenous name, both of which have deep historical roots. The Nahuatl name will be unfamiliar to most outside of Mexico, but with consistent use, it might become as familiar as tomato or avocado, both plant names adapted from Nahuatl.

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Gleaning and the law

Is it legal for me to glean fruit from private gardens if the fruit is overhanging a public sidewalk?

 

First and foremost, it is essential to ask the homeowner’s permission. If they are not available to discuss your request, or if they do not consent, you should not glean fruit from their tree.

I consulted the King County Law Library, and they referred me to a chapter in the book Neighbor Law which addresses a slightly different situation, of fruit overhanging a property line between neighbors. In that case, “the location of a tree’s trunk determines who owns the tree. If the trunk stands next door, the tree, branches, leaves, and [fruit] belong to your neighbor. You may not legally help yourself to the fruit.” Each state may have slightly different laws, and they do not always address branches that overhang a public sidewalk. (In some states, like Mississippi, where pecans are a high-value crop, it is a misdemeanor even to collect fallen nuts on a public sidewalk during harvest season, and doing so can result in a fine and up to a month in jail.)

Given the dubious legality of gleaning from private property without permission, it makes more sense to join organized efforts to harvest unused fruit and vegetables. City Fruit is one place you can volunteer, either to contribute fruit from your own garden, or to help harvest from gardens that have signed up for the program. Sharing Abundance is an effort associated with Seattle’s community gardens, the P-Patch program. You can also join the Seattle Giving Garden Network.

The City of Seattle has information on additional ways of donating food so that it doesn’t go to waste.

 

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Why is Linaria called toadflax

Why is the common name for Linaria toadflax?

 

There are several different explanations, not all equally credible. A Dictionary of English Plant-Names by James Britten and Robert Holland (Kartuz Reprint Ltd., 1965) cites the theory of 17th century naturalist William Coles that the name came about “because toads will sometimes shelter themselves amongst the branches of it.” The authors themselves seem doubtful, since they remark on this theory with an exclamation point!

Geoffrey Grigson, in his book A Dictionary of English Plant Names (Allen Lane, 1974) cites naturalist William Turner’s 1548 The Names of Herbes, which says toadflax a translation from the German Krottenflachs, “i.e., a wild, useless flax, a flax for toads.” This too seems a bit of a stretch. What do toads and uselessness have in common?

Elsevier’s Dictionary of Plant Lore, by Donald C. Watts (2007), cites a number of theories. John Gerard, writing in the 16th century, described Linaria as “a kind of Antyrrhinum [Antirrhinum, the snapdragon],” [having small, slender, blackish stalks ]”from which do grow many long narrow leaves like flax. The flowers be yellow with a spurre hanging at the same like unto a Larkesspurre, having a mouth like unto a frog’s mouth, even such as it is to be seene in the common Snapdragon.” Watts doesn’t fully embrace this because it would then rightly be called toad’s mouth. Another thought is that “toad” sounds like the German word tot, for dead. A dead flax could be one that is unusable as a source of fiber, but Linaria also has a reputation as a noxious weed in flax fields.

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Dark flower on Queen Anne’s lace

Queen Anne’s lace photo courtesy of Jennifer Rose, copyright 2022

I’ve noticed that some Queen Anne’s lace flowers have a dark red spot in the center, like a flower but somewhat elevated and larger than the rest of the white ones. Does it have a purpose?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Daucus carota, the wild form of the edible carrot, is a biennial plant that forms a rosette of leaves in its first year, and an inflorescence in its second year–an umbel made up of mostly white flowers, often with the reddish purple floret (the term for a flower within an inflorescence) at the center, as you noticed.

Even the plant’s common name gave rise to tales about that red spot. In the book Wildflower Folklore by Laura C. Martin, the author mentions a story that “the queen was making lace when she pricked her finger,” and the deep red floret resembles a drop of blood. Questions about the purpose of that floret have a long history. Charles Darwin stated that it had “no functional importance,” and more recent and conflicting studies suggest that it either attracts and guides pollinators, or it repels the predations of insects. An article in Plant Species Biology (April 20, 2012), “The function of the wild carrot’s dark central floret: attract, guide or deter?,” does not dismiss the attraction or deterrence theories, finding value in both. They note that flowers that have a dark central floret tend to have fewer galls, so the floret might repel gall midges by mimicking the appearance of a gall.

Anecdotally, I have noticed that common red soldier beetles seem to like visiting—and even mating—on the umbels of Queen Anne’s lace. Whether that deep red floret attracts them because its color is similar to their own, I can’t say.

Dogwood with anomalous flowers

Can you explain an unusual phenomenon? I thought dogwood flowers had four petals, but I have seen a tree that has anywhere from four to six. Is this normal?

 

There are dogwood species, such as Cornus mas and Cornus sericea, that lack showy bracts, so I imagine you are looking at a species that develops flowers at the same time as leaves (the true flowers are tiny, and clustered in a button shape in the center of the bracts). Cornus florida ‘Appalachian Joy’ is an example of a dogwood that has supernumerary bracts. The number of bracts can be variable, as with Cornus nuttallii, which can have between four and eight unnotched bracts (the lack of notches distinguishes Pacific dogwood from Cornus florida).

Portland’s Hoyt Arboretum blog has a helpful post by taxonomist and herbarium curator Mandy Tu about types of dogwoods which should clarify some of the puzzling floral anatomy. About the species that bloom and leaf out at the same time, she explains that “the large showy ‘petals’ are actually involucral bracts (essentially a whorl of modified leaves) that have the appearance of flower petals! These bracts likely function to attract insect pollinators, as well as to protect the actual flowers.”

Marijuana or cannabis

Washington’s Governor recently signed a bill replacing the word marijuana with cannabis in the text of all state laws because some say the word has racist undertones. But isn’t cannabis from Linnaeus’s system of plant-naming, and isn’t that system implicitly racist, too?

 

How people feel about use of a particular word is something that evolves over time, and has a complex cultural context. The current sense that marijuana is a racist term is linked to the demonizing of Mexican immigrants and others outside the dominant culture and blaming them for ‘reefer madness,’ but the word on its own is not intrinsically racist. It was used in Mexico as early as 1840 for the plant called Cannabis, and its linguistic origins are uncertain: homophone for Maria Juana (uncertain origin: derived from Spanish mariguan, a non-native plant associated with other psychoactive plants known in Mexico), but potentially connected to a word for hemp used by Chinese laborers in Mexico, itself perhaps borrowed from Semitic and Indo-European words for marjoram—note the Spanish word mejorana, and the Mexican slang term for cannabis, mejorana Chino. West Africans, forcibly taken by the Portuguese slave trade to Brazil, used a term ma-kaña that is similar to the Portuguese term maconha. Theories abound. Though some feel the term should be dropped, others believe that to do so suppresses a history that is worth remembering.

Isaac Campos, professor of Latin American history at University of Cincinnati, and author of the book Home Grown: Marijuana and the Origins of Mexico’s War on Drugs (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 2012), challenges the idea that the word marijuana is racist. “Marijuana is just the Mexican word for drug cannabis.” The dubious associations of marijuana with insanity and criminal behavior did not originate in the United States, but first appeared in the Mexican press. Marijuana was made illegal in Mexico nearly two decades before the negative associations of the plant and its use reached the U.S. In his opinion, “the more complete story of the word marijuana is a story about the influence of Mexican culture. He believes banning the word would erase that history.” Undeniably, race and class have played a role in the enforcement of drug policies. This article from NPR’s Code Switch explores the subject.

You are right that the scientific name Cannabis is Latin. Linnaeus included it in Species Plantarum (1753). He did not restrict his classification schemes to plants, and it is true that he had theories about ‘varieties’ of human beings that we now recognize as wrong and harmful. Even the Latin name has a complex history:

The Latin name comes from Greek kannabis, which is derived from the Sanskrit root canna, meaning cane. There is a connection to Semitic languages as well (Arabic kunnab, Syriac kunnappa, Aramaic kene busma, etc.) In the book of Exodus 30:23, Moses receives instructions from god:  “Next take choice spices: five hundred weight of solidified myrrh, half as much—two hundred and fifty—of fragrant cinnamon, two hundred and fifty of aromatic cane [kaneh bosem], five hundred—by the sanctuary weight—of cassia, and a hin of olive oil. Make of this a sacred anointing oil.” This might refer to hemp stalks, which were known and used in the Near East in biblical times, or it could refer to another aromatic cane-like plant.

Because societal attitudes change, it is important to be flexible when communicating with each other, and recognize that we do not all feel the same way about words. Delving into the history and etymology of plant names is one way of arriving at a nuanced understanding of why alternative terms might be preferable.

 

 

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Foraging for escargots

I grow many of my own vegetables, but find it harder to get protein. I have corresponded with someone in Washington State who raises escargots, and he mentioned Cornu aspersum was edible, easy to raise, AND invasive. I’ve noticed that there seem to be more snails than slugs as our climate changes.

I would love to volunteer at UW Botanic Gardens and help reduce the snail population. I was on a recent walk and was told that some of the dedicated gardeners come at night with flashlights to find snails, and I would be happy to assist.

 

Our manager of horticulture says that slug/snail baits are occasionally used as control methods, but there is no such practice as gardeners going out after hours with flashlights seeking slugs and snails in the Arboretum. Your observation about the increasing snail population, and the role of climate change seems to be substantiated. Here is an excerpt from an article in the Everett Herald, which quotes local malacologist David George Gordon: “‘Snails can endure droughts better than slugs because they can pull back into their shells,’ Gordon said. The general warming of the climate, with milder winters, also means there are fewer mass killings during cold snaps.”

The concern when foraging for anything, including invasive snails, is that what you harvest may contain toxic substances. If you want to collect snails, you can try to gather them only from your own garden or a garden you know does not use metaldehyde or iron phosphate-based bait, but even then, they may have been in a landscape nearby and consumed who knows what, including slug bait and poisonous plants.

The USDA APHIS (Animal and Plant Health Inspection Service) has guidelines about quarantine of Cornu aspersum and other non-native mollusk species. This includes not breeding them, and not using them in classrooms or nature facilities. Those who want to cultivate escargots have a different perspective. Perhaps Ric Brewer, the article’s author, is the Washington snail farmer you mention.  He doesn’t address concerns about snails in an urban setting, and what they may have consumed beyond the borders of one person’s small city garden, which is not a closed system.

A safer and more ecologically sound way to introduce protein sources into your garden would be to grow sunflowers for their seeds, and if you have space, a couple of nut-bearing trees.

 

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Remembering Ledebouria

I keep forgetting the name of a plant I added to the garden some time ago, and every year I have to dig through my pile of old plant tags to remind myself. Any mnemonic devices to help me hold Ledebouria cooperi in my head? Any tips on keeping it growing well? How can I propagate it?

 

There are some common names that might guide you to the scientific name: Cooper’s false squill (it used to be named Scilla cooperi), Cooper’s African hyacinth, and Zebra’s quill (which evokes those delicately veined or striped leaves).

The genus is named for German botanist Carl Friedrich van Ledebour (1785-1851). The species name was given by Joseph Dalton Hooker to honor English botanist Thomas Cooper (1815-1913), who collected plants in South Africa’s Drakensberg mountains in the mid-nineteenth century.

The Pacific Bulb Society says this bulbous plant of damp eastern South African grasslands will grow well with its bulbs exposed or unexposed. It would thrive in a rock garden, growing in a wall niche, a container, or at the front of a border. According to Missouri Botanical Garden, it prefers well-drained but moist soil during active growth (but dislikes winter saturation which can rot the plant). It can be propagated by division, which is easiest to do when it is visible, not when it is dormant.

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