Naming Nature’s Dance: Carl Linnaeus and the Birth of Modern Taxonomy
This botanical history post was featured on The Daily Gardener podcast:
May 23, 1707
On this day, dear readers, we celebrate the birth of a man whose name is whispered reverently in gardens and herbaria across the globe - Carl Linnaeus (books about this person), the Swedish botanist, zoologist, taxonomist, and physician who would forever change the way we name and categorize the natural world.
Imagine, if you will, a young Carl, finding solace in the petals of flowers offered by his mother whenever distress clouded his day.
Fast forward to May 1st, 1753, when Linnaeus's magnum opus, Species Plantarum, burst onto the scientific scene like a rare bloom, revolutionizing plant taxonomy. This work earned him the illustrious title "Father of Taxonomy" and introduced the world to binomial nomenclature. But what, pray tell, is this system?
Picture, if you will, a grand botanical ball, where each plant is introduced by two names - its genus (capitalized and perhaps abbreviated) and its species (in lowercase, potentially shortened to 'sp.'). If you find yourself befuddled by taxonomy, think of it as a person's name in reverse - surname first, then given name.
Linnaeus's legacy lives on, his named species marked with a distinguished "L." after their appellations. As the man himself so boldly proclaimed:
God created, Linnaeus ordered.
But oh, there's so much more to our floral father than mere naming conventions!
Did you know, dear readers, that Linnaeus played a pivotal role in the creation of the temperature scale we use today?
Picture this: Linnaeus's friend Anders Celsius creates the Centigrade thermometer in 1742, with water boiling at 0 degrees and freezing at 100. Three years later, our botanical hero reverses the scale, sharing his insight in an article with the Botanical Garden at Uppsala University. One can almost see the mercury rising in celebration!
And what of the charming tale of Linnaeus and the genus Commelina, the Asiatic Dayflower?
Imagine three brothers - two accomplished botanists and one who, alas, died young before achieving greatness. Linnaeus, in a stroke of poetic genius, names a genus after them, writing:
Commelina has three petals, two of which are showy — where the third is not conspicuous.
Next time you spy a Commelina communis with its two large blue petals and one tiny white petal, pause and remember the Commelins and Linnaeus's touching tribute.
But wait! There's more! Picture a 25-year-old Linnaeus embarking on a perilous six-month expedition to Lapland.
Can you imagine the trials he faced?
Hunger gnawing at his belly, mosquitoes nipping at his heels, freezing temperatures chilling him to the bone, near-death experiences with rockslides and gunshot wounds!
Yet, through it all, Linnaeus fell head over heels for Lapland, returning with a traditional costume and a magical drum as souvenirs.
Now, picture this delightful scene: five years later, an obscure German painter named Martin Hoffman is tasked with painting Linnaeus's portrait. And what does our botanical maverick choose to wear?
Why, his Lapland costume, of course!
In Hoffman's portrait, we see a 30-year-old Linnaeus resplendent in reindeer skin boots, sporting what one might call an 18th-century toolbelt.
Suspended from this belt?
A shaman's magical drum, a net-making needle, a snuffbox, a cartridge box, and a knife. His hands are adorned with traditional Laplander gloves, and in his right hand, he cradles his beloved Twinflower, Linnaea borealis.
As we tend to our gardens today, let us remember Carl Linnaeus - the man who gave order to nature's chaos, who found beauty in the tiniest bloom, and who wasn't above a bit of sartorial eccentricity.
May we approach our horticultural pursuits with his passion, his curiosity, and perhaps a touch of his flair for the dramatic!
