A Rose by Any Other Name

August 4, 2025

Greetings from Botanicus Bogus,

For years I have been mispronouncing the name of the Chrysanthemum in our yard.  It is actually pronounced ‘daisy’.

People often ask me: “David, you say you love being in nature, why is it you have never learned anything about it?”  (Actually, that might just be a voice in my head, I don’t think real people ask each other those kinds of questions.)  Regardless, I was talking to myself as I walked along a path in the forest and I answered the question anyway.

“It’s complicated,” I said out loud, which startled other hikers in the area. Usually, the thoughts I let leak into words are simpler and easier to ignore.  Recently I found out that I often say “Okay.” Or “Well.” out loud with no context, which has led my family to consult with both psychologists and parapsychologists, just to cover all the bases, since it’s not clear to what dimension my remarks are intended.

But back to the question.  I do love nature, I just haven’t felt the need to know it on a first name basis.  I realize how disrespectful that sounds, and yet I still said it.  I’m not usually so careless with what I say out loud, unless I am in the woods, in church, or at my 50^th class reunion, in either case I just assume I am probably not going to see any of those people again, so no harm.

I know the names of many trees, but actually aligning them with the correct living example is a little like winning the lottery.  I keep trying, knowing that one day the odds will have to help me out. (This is easy to say when you don’t understand probability theory.)  For the most part, no one is listening to my ramblings, other than my grandson Finley, who is three, and whether I know or don’t know something is the same to him.  Also, whatever I tell him is between us, largely because he forgets it immediately.  Still, I love sharing what I know, despite it having rather shallow roots in truth.

For many years, our family motto was: “Is this poison ivy?”  It was how we taught our children about the many mysteries of the world.  Well, one mystery anyway.  I tried to share my knowledge of living things with my kids, and I think they learned important lessons, primarily not to pay any attention to what I say.   

There are some flowers that I love talking about.  Bougainvillea, for example which might be the capital of a South American country, or Hydrangea, which is either a flower or the one monster that finally defeated Godzilla.  I avoid discussing some flowers, like Anemone, which I can never stop at the right number of syllables.  (I have the same problem saying ‘Worcestershire’, which I am confident is not a flower, and might be where the Beatles grew up)

There is someone who lives with me who is an expert in flowers and other living things, and so I defer to her with practiced silence, or risk unprecedented humiliation.  For example, when she asks me if I noticed the Zinnia’s down the street, I have said with confidence, “I am certain the Zinnias moved out and the Garbanzos bought their house.”  Which is how I show her I also am paying attention and learning the names of our neighbors.  And also legumes.

I have learned that flowers can be categorized as annuals, perennials, semiannuals and  sesquicentennials.  I don’t know what this means other than when they are on sale at Aldi’s we are going to get a bunch of them to plant before they die. 

Recently I have heard a lot about ‘Invasive Species’ which I first assumed was a follow up to the blockbuster franchise ‘Alien’ films. But no, Invasive Species refer to the living things in our yard that are not native, don’t belong here and are pushing out the things that do. Before you reach for the phone to call ICE, I should clarify that we are talking about plants.  Your job is safe.

For some reason the things that are thriving in our yard and in the forest nearby and in the ditches along the road are things we don’t want.  They are botanical bullies, of sorts.  They swagger in here from Iceland or wherever and just grow pell-mell and willy-nilly, (pell-mell and willy-nilly, as you know, are not plants) and meanwhile we can’t get our Phlox to flourish.  It’s ironic.  (Irony might also be an invasive species.)

I know enough about plants and trees not to eat any of them while I am tramping in the woods.  Same goes for spiders.  And rocks.  It’s obvious I’m still learning things about the world, maybe at a slightly slower pace than some others, but my philosophy has kept me alive this long. 

Someone once said “When the student is ready, the teacher will appear.”  I like to think that there will come a day when I am walking in the woods with Finley and he will show me a Delphinium or a Larkspur, and teach me about them in a way I’ll understand, and maybe it will finally stick. 

Of course, by then I will think I’m a dinosaur, so I will probably just eat whatever he shows me.

Hope this finds you growing,

David

Copyright © 2025 David Smith