Rorippa Curvisiliqua

Day 321: Be reasonable here. If you had a fun-to-say name like Rorippa curvisiliqua, wouldn't you consider it an insult to be called something as uninspired as "Western Yellowcress?" The Latin binomial breaks the standard rule of emphasis. Rather than weighting the antepenultimate syllable (the third one back from the end) as one would do in a single word, it should be understood that "curvisiliqua" is a compound word, "curvi-" for the shape and "-siliqua" for the type of pod. In other words, Ro-RIP-pa cur-vi-si-LI-qua bears a curved silique when it is in fruit. I may occasionally mangle the Latin, but in this instance, I'll argue my point with any taxonomist you care to bring forward.

Known for living in wet, sandy soils, at Ghost Lake, Rorippa takes habitat to a whole new extreme. Sometimes it leafs out while still under water! By the time the lake has dropped to summertime levels, it's ready to bloom. Specimens here are somewhat smaller than those found elsewhere in the Park, justifying subspecies nomenclature of R. curvisiliqua var. curvisiliqua. Rorippa may not be much to look at, but you have to admire it for the way it has adapted.

Rorippa Curvisiliqua

Day 309: "Curvepod Yellowcress." That's the common name given to this enchanting little plant, awkward to enunciate and although descriptive, not particularly inspired. The Latin (Rorippa curvisiliqua) is much more euphonic: ro-RIP-uh cur-vy sil-EE-qua. Now that's loads of fun to say! As far as description goes, it's on a par with the English. The term "silique" (sil-EEK) tells us how the pods behave when they are fully ripe, i.e., typically at least twice as long as they are wide, they split longitudinally to release the seeds inside. This action can be quite dramatic, launching the seeds with force and an audible "pop."

I observed this plant in the Park for the first time last year, and to date have not seen it in any other location within our boundaries. In other environments, it grows taller and bushier, factors which make me wonder if the specimens in this particular area are stunted by late-lying snow, limited light and cold temperatures, or if they might be an undocumented subspecies. The presence of an unidentified "mini-aster" in the same location inclines me to think that the "habitat" theory is most likely the case (Occam's Razor: the simplest solution is most often correct). I love a good botanical puzzle, and this site presents two, the solutions for which may or may not be linked.

Syl-LAB-ic Em-PHA-sis

Day 311: Pronunciation of scientific names is widely varied among amateurs and professionals alike, but some leave very little wiggle room if you analyze the sections of the Latin. A prime example is presented in Rorippa curvisiliqua, "Yellowcress" in boring and uninspired English. "Rorippa" can't be fumbled so badly that it's rendered unrecognizable, but "curvisiliqua" might tangle the most adept tongue unless you understand what it means.

At the altitude where I observed it, this member of the Mustard family grows in a dwarfed state. I might have recognized it immediately if it had been full height (up to 40 cm), but at Ghost Lake, plants seldom exceed 10 cm. Upon seeing a "little yellow flower," I bent over for a closer look. That was when I noticed the "curvisiliquas." When dry, the curved seed pods of Yellowcress (visible in the bottom image) split in two lengthwise to release the seeds (technically, they become dehiscent). The curved, ripe pod is referred to as a "silique," a word which implies a specific botanical morphology and explains what action to expect. In its own way, you could say that the Latin term dehisces verbally. When it breaks in two along its length, it gives us the seed words "curvi" and "siliqua," i.e., a curved silique. Thus the pronunciation is obvious: curvi-si-LEE-qua. Wasn't that easy?