Parsing Petals: John Berkenhout and the Language of Botany
This botanical history post was featured on The Daily Gardener podcast:
July 8, 1726
On this day, dear readers, we celebrate the birth of one John Berkenhout, an English physician, naturalist, and writer of no small repute.
While his name may not be as familiar to us as some of his more celebrated contemporaries, his sharp wit and uncompromising stance on botanical education deserve our attention.
Picture, if you will, the hallowed halls of Edinburgh University in the mid-18th century.
Among the bustling students and learned professors, we find young Berkenhout, his mind alight with the fire of botanical discovery. It was here, amidst the clamor of academic pursuit, that he penned a botanical lexicon that would raise more than a few eyebrows.
In this tome of herbal wisdom, Berkenhout boldly declared:
Those who wish to remain ignorant of the Latin language have no business with the study of Botany.
Oh my! One can almost hear the collective gasp echoing through the centuries. How deliciously provocative! How utterly divisive! And yet, dear gardeners, can we dismiss his words so easily?
Consider, if you will, the botanical names that trip so lightly off our tongues.
Digitalis purpurea, that foxglove that graces our cottage gardens. Quercus robur, the mighty oak that stands sentinel in our parks. Are these not the legacy of Linnaeus and his binomial nomenclature, all rooted firmly in the soil of Latin?
But perhaps our dear Berkenhout was being a touch... shall we say, overzealous in his linguistic gatekeeping? After all, does one need to conjugate Latin verbs to appreciate the delicate unfurling of a fern frond? Must we decline nouns to feel the velvety softness of a lamb's ear leaf?
And yet, there's a kernel of truth in Berkenhout's blustery statement, is there not?
The language of botany, with its precise descriptors and universal application, allows us to communicate across borders and centuries. It's a botanical Esperanto, if you will, uniting gardeners from Cornwall to Kalamazoo.
So, my fellow horticultural enthusiasts, what are we to make of Berkenhout's proclamation?
Shall we all rush to dust off our Latin primers? Or shall we content ourselves with the common names, the Marry-me-quicks and the Love-in-a-mists?
Perhaps, as with so many things in the garden, the middle path is the wisest.
Let us savor the poetry of the Latin names, rolling them around our tongues like fine wine. But let us also delight in the whimsy of the vernacular, the Butter-and-eggs and the Granny's bonnets.
And as we tend our plots this day, let us raise a trowel to John Berkenhout, that prickly proponent of botanical Latin.
May his words inspire us to delve deeper into the rich tapestry of plant lore, whatever language it may be cloaked in!