Deciphering Plant Names: Common vs. Scientific Nomenclature

Plant common names can mystify gardeners. They're familiar names: maypop, skunk cabbage, obedient plant. They aid pronunciation—who wouldn't rather say centipedegrass than Eremochloa ophiuroides?

Common names reassure: they describe physical traits (balloon flower, gooseneck loosestrife), flowering time (Lenten rose, daylily), garden use (butterfly bush), or other features. Some origins are lost in time: Why is titi called titi? Who was Sharon of Rose-of-Sharon? Does privet come from backyard privies?

Scientific names are more daunting: Hemerocallis, Platycodon, Helleborus—rarely heard outside committed gardeners. I was intimidated until Mrs. Inez Hames convinced me rural Fayette County kids could benefit from Latin. Now I recognize alba, uniflora, dentata.

Writing about plants taught me the utility of a common plant language across boundaries. A Quercus nuttallii is a Nuttall oak—but more importantly, it's the same plant in France, Fiji, or Finland. So is Hibiscus syriacus (Rose-of-Sharon), distinct from Hibiscus mutabilis (Confederate rose)—a knowledgeable gardener anywhere recognizes the difference.

Scientific names classify plants into families and hierarchies. All Acers are maples, but Acer rubrum is specifically red maple. All Quercuss are oaks, but Quercus rubra (red oak) differs from Quercus stellata (post oak). Quercus virginiana (live oak) is distinct from all other Quercus species.

Anywhere I see a plant name starting with Quercus, I know it's an oak genus. Studying the epithet (last word) sometimes reveals the common name. Mrs. Hames would be proud I used eighth-grade Latin to deduce Quercus alba = white oak.

Our lineage mirrors plant naming. My family: Frank Reeves and Frances Cowart produced five hybrid offspring. Walter (eldest) got science/speaking genes. Robert (art dealer) inherited beauty/order. Alan (environmentalist) got nature/outdoors passion. Carol (business professor) observed her treasurer father. Nancy (programmer) organizes details like her tax accountant mother.

All five are Reeves family members yet completely different. They belong to the Reeves genus, as oaks to Quercus. Given names distinguish the face-jug expert from the razorback-mask-wearing professor.

A friend, a reading specialist, struggles with plant names. She dislikes metal markers (too institutional) but labels plants with small clay pots, names written in grease pencil, secured with aluminum gutter spikes. She now comfortably identifies oakleaf hydrangea (Hydrangea quercifolia) vs. bigleaf hydrangea (Hydrangea macrophylla) for garden club visitors.

I use common names in media—they're less intimidating, more educational. When needed, I sling Salix, Sarcococca, Syringa with hort-head comrades. Paying attention to both names enriches gardening enjoyment as you decipher a plant's dual appellations.

Hydrangea macrophylla