Marsh Marigold, Caltha Leptosepala

Day 285: The plant shown in this image provides a classic example of why I dislike common names. It is not even in the same family as garden marigolds (Asteraceae), so why is it called "Marsh Marigold?" Caltha leptosepala belongs to the family Ranunculaceae, alongside buttercups, anemones and hellebores, among others. Its Latin designation "leptosepala" refers to its narrow sepals, that portion of the flower which encloses the emerging bud and serves as protection for it. In a diagram of the parts of a flower, the sepals form the first whorl and are usually green or greenish. Here, the Latin epithet provides a useful clue to identifying the plant in the field, whereas the most frequently used common name would lead you thoroughly astray. But all is not lost. It's also known as "Elkslip" which, if you think about it, makes more sense.

Calocera Cornea

Day 362: Calocera cornea is distinguished from its cousin Calocera furcata not only by its pointy little fruiting bodies, but by its preference for decaying hardwood over that of conifers. Let's look at the Latin for a second, because in this case, it's descriptive of the growth forms of the two different fungi. "Cornus/cornea" means "horn." The same root word gives us English words like "cornet" and "cornucopia." Likewise, if we say that something is "bifurcated" or "furcated," it means that it divides into points (two or more than two), i.e., it is "forked." Much of the English language is rooted in Latin, and consequently, if we think about scientific names in terms of similar-sounding English words, we can often sort out their meaning and thereby discern some characteristic of the life form we are trying to identify. "Latifolia" describes a leaf with latitude, i.e., a broad leaf; "rotundifolia" refers to round leaves. That said, there is an annoying trend toward naming species after people these days, and had Calocera cornea been called "Calocera lewisia" for example, no such helpful clue would exist unless perhaps we knew that Mr. Lewis dyed his hair orange or furnished his office with oaken chairs.

Things My Mother Taught Me

Day 264: In a roundabout way, my mother is responsible for instilling in me a preference for Latin names. Y'see, her dad came from the Midwest where a very similar flower to our native Columbia Lily goes by the name of "Turk's-cap." He was ignorant of the distinction between Lilium superbum and Lilium columbianum, and therefore applied the common name to the flowers he saw blooming here. My mother grew up calling Lilium columbianum by the wrong common name, so inevitably, that was what I came to call them as well. I was in my early twenties when I discovered the error, but the name was so deeply ingrained in my memory that I spoke of them as "Turk's-caps" more often than not, backing up to correct myself each time it happened. Then one day, I hit upon a solution to the problem. I had already learned enough about wildflowers to appreciate the value of Latin names to distinctly identify species often covered by a much broader common name (there are dozens of Penstemons, for example), so it was a fairly easy shift to say "Lilium columbianum" for our regionally-unique "tiger-lily."

It is common for Columbia Lily to have 3-5 blossoms per stem, but don't be surprised if you see more. In my own experience with the species, I counted a whopping 13 flowers on a single stalk near Windy Gap, and have seen quite a few "11s" during my career, both in the Park and in Flatland. Lilium columbianum is not selective with regard to altitude. It blooms from sea level through most of the subalpine zone, and shows up just in time to present a botanical fireworks display for the Fourth of July.