The Father of Japanese Botany: Tomitaro Makino’s Extraordinary Legacy

April 24, 1862

On this day, Japan celebrates Botany Day—a delightful occasion honoring the birth of Tomitaro Makino, aptly known as the Father of Japanese Botany. While the rest of society busied themselves with politics and commerce, young Tomitaro was embarking on what would become a most remarkable botanical odyssey.

Born into the family of a prosperous sake brewer, our botanical hero suffered the cruel misfortune of losing his father, mother, and grandfather before he reached the tender age of six. His grandmother, bless her perceptive soul, took him under her wing—unwittingly nurturing what would become one of Japan's most prolific botanical minds.

What fascinating quirk of character drives a young boy toward the silent companionship of plants? Whatever the seed of curiosity, it blossomed magnificently in Tomitaro's case. As a man, he developed what one might call—if one were being charitable—an obsession with collecting specimens.

Indeed, dear readers, until he was quite literally confined to his bed in his final days, Tomitaro roamed the Japanese countryside with the determination of a man possessed, amassing a personal herbarium of over 400,000 specimens! The University of Tokyo now houses this extraordinary collection—though one wonders if they quite anticipated the volume when agreeing to the acquisition.

Being a man of method amid his passion, Tomitaro wisely adopted Linnaean principles for naming his botanical treasures. In 1940, he presented the world with his magnum opus, the Illustrated Flora of Japan, documenting more than 6,000 plants with meticulous precision. A first edition can be acquired for the surprisingly modest sum of $67—a small price to pay for such botanical magnificence, wouldn't you agree?

The good citizens of Kochi City, his hometown, honored their botanical son by establishing the Makino Botanical Garden after his death in 1957. He lived to the impressive age of 94—undoubtedly the beneficial influence of spending one's days among green, growing things.

Makino left us with this rather pointed observation:

"Plants can survive without humans; but humans can't survive without plants".

How deliciously humbling. While we gardeners tenderly nurture our precious specimens, believing ourselves their benefactors, Makino reminds us of the uncomfortable truth—they could manage perfectly well without our ministrations, while we would perish within days without their generous provision of oxygen, food, and medicine. Perhaps this realization should inspire a touch more humility as we go about our horticultural endeavors.