“Ever wonder why we call light red pink? We don’t call light blue or light green anything but light blue or light green, unless you are one of those fancy pants designer people, which I am not.  If I call pink light red, people would look at me like I had my eyeballs painted on my forehead.   I think that we call light red pink just to confuse people, which in my opinion, just isn’t right.” Thanks, Andy.

As confusing as it might be that light red is called pink, there is an actual reason for this. The flower called pinks.  The color was named for the flower and the flower was named for a sewing term. I’ll pause and let you digest that one.

I don’t name the plants, I just question the sanity of the people who name them. So here it goes, the edges of the flowers are pinked (frayed), so they got called pinks. The pink variety were so popular at one point in time that their color just became synonymous with the name of the color. Kind of like we Google to search, Xerox to copy and use a Kleenex to blow our nose.

Anyhoo, pinks’ (the flower) latin name is Dianthus. It became known by the term pinks probably starting sometime around the 15^th century, when it was popular due to the fact that it started out as a symbol of the Virgin Mary and went on to be a symbol of the not so virgin married. In fact, there was a popular ribald story about Maximilian of Austria being told to seek a dianthus (in this case a carnation) under the dress of his new bride.  They say he spent quite a lot of time looking for it, but I suppose he found some distractions under there while he was looking.

Pinks are also called carnations or Sweet Williams, though it has been my experience that we refer to a double dianthus as a carnation, the ground cover form of dianthus as Sweet Williams and the single, more upright form as pinks.  But that could just be where I live.

And, once again, while this flower is all about love and sex on the surface, the ancient Greeks had a interesting  but horrifying story about their origin. The story goes that Artemis, goddess of hunting, was startled by a shepherd boy playing a lyre and ripped his eyes out for it. *sidenote  -You know, why the Greeks and Romans followed their gods, I will never know. It seems to me it was the historical equivalent to making Manson, Gacy and Son of Sam exalted beings.  Anyway, shortly afterwards, she felt bad and gave him dianthus flowers for his eyes. Seriously, you can do anything you want and you give him flowers for eyes?  How about giving him back his eyes, for Christ sake?

Regardless of where they supposedly come from and what effect they have had on the color term etymology, they make a lovely edition to a container or a flower bed. “And if you asked me, I think we all might be better off calling the color light red. After all, it would only be the right term.” Thanks Andy.  But I will still stick with pink.

*side note: Ok, just for the edification of all you men out there with supernatural powers and sex addictions… seriously, changing a woman into a heifer for any reason is not helpful to your future romantic prospects.  *

The legend goes on to say that because of this story, violets have been long associated with love and affection. Seems to me that they should be associated with back handed insults and grounds for increased alimony payments, but that is apparently just me.

Wild violets, aka sweet violets, are a love them or hate them with a passion plant.  For every person out there looking for information on how to kill violets, there is another wanting to know how to grow violets in their own yard or garden.

I have personally found violets very easy to grow. In fact, so easy that I did not have to purchase or plant them. I have 2 varieties growing in my yard, the common “blue” (which is actually purple) kind and the “freckles” variety (which is the ones pictured above). Both came courtesy of my neighbor. Not that she gave them to me, but she planted them in her yard and violets have a emigration rate that rivals Ireland’s during the Potato Famine, so I now have violets too (as do the houses 3 doors down each way). Not that I mind. I rather like them.

Wild violets are edible. In fact, a whole cottage industry has sprung up around sugaring violets for putting on wedding cakes and other food stuffs. By the way, candied violets are easy to make. Simply paint chemical free violet flowers with egg wash and sprinkle with super fine sugar. Voila (or is that viola?) you have sugared violets.

The usefulness of violets does not end there. For centuries, violets have been used in perfumes and medicines. Long ago, you didn’t take cough syrup for a persistent throat tickle, but violet syrup instead.  Of course, like many remedies of the time, its supposed curative powers did not end there. It (and snake oil) was thought to cure… well… everything.  And violet water (perfume) was a proper lady’s best friend in a world before deodorant was invented.

In France, violets were very popular in perfumes, decorations and in the garden, but for subversive reasons. After Napoleon was banished from France, the violet became a rallying image for his supporters. The rebel code name for Napoleon was “Caporal Violet” because he was the little flower that would return in the spring. Apparently, they had no problem pointing out he was short too. Regardless, the French government was so fearful of the Napoleon supporter flower power movement they actually banned images of violets.

When you consider that for centuries, these so called innocent flowers have been associated with home wreckers, quackery and acts of sedition, calling these little flowers “shy” violets seems downright wrong. Perhaps they are not invasive after all. Maybe it is all part of their plot to take over the world.

The word Iris comes from the Greek word for rainbow, which may have something to do with the fact that they come in just about any color in nature and I am willing to bet a few industrious plant breeders are working on some that come in colors that are not in nature too. I bet there would be a real market for Manic Panic Iris among the 30-something gardening crowd. You know, as a way to show our rebellious Gen-X nature without being fired for inappropriate hair color or piercings.

I am not the only one that loves Irises. If you are French, you love them like you love your country because it is the national emblem of France. Good food, good wine and a deep, patriotic appreciation for lovely flowers – tell me again why I do not currently live in France? *sigh* C’est la vie.

Irises, specifically the black iris , is also the national emblem of Jordan. Not that Jordan doesn’t seem like a nice place, but lacking the good food, and good wine (especially the wine), I am not as keen on living there.

In Japan, they are a symbol of heroes, warriors and strong men. During Tango no Sekku, the Boys’ Festival, where boys are celebrated for their courage and strength of character, the iris is prominently displayed because of its sword like leaves and boys traditionally take a bath with iris leaves on this day.

One of the nicest things about the iris is that they are absolutely a set it and forget it plant. They really only need attention every few years for division and other than that, they flower like champions.

They come in two varieties, rhizome and bulbous. (The bearded varieties are rhizomes.) Both are as easy as the other to care for. Plant them in the ground, wait till spring for bloom.

And for you really picky types (as if a world of color was not enough) they come in a huge variety of sizes. Everything for miniature to tall and sizes inbetween.

So, while they may not be as entertaining as Bearded Iris at the circus (I hear she does a pretty kinky strip show for an extra $10), irises certainly do add a spectacular display to the garden.

True to garden naming form, while you might think that the name snowdrop has anything to with the fact that they bloom while we still have snow, you would be completely wrong. They are, in fact, named for a type of earring that was popular with Germans a few centuries ago.

Snowdrops are interesting little flowers, in that they are bulbs, but you will never find them for sale in your local Home Depot. Well, you might, but I would HIGHLY recommend that you don’t buy them as chances are they are dead. Snowdrops should be planted “in the green”. Dry bulbs have a difficult time surviving and establishing. Most reputable plant nurseries will have some stored in a fridge in the autumn.

I am in good company when it comes to my love of snowdrops. There are a few Gods and Goddesses that have take a keen liking to them as well. Mercury used them as a pharmaceutical and Brigid offered them as a promise of Spring’s return.

Apparently, it is not coincidence that snowdrops start me dreaming of Spring. Like little spring ‘shrooms, these plants have the power to make vivid dreams. An extract from the plant has been found to enhance dreaming. The substance galantamine in the plant is responsible for this. But, while better dreaming is pretty cool, better reality is even nicer. This substance is FDA approved for treatment of mild Alzheimer’s disease. It makes for more vivid reality in those who have started to slip away to a permanent dream world.

*sigh* The snow will be back in a few days (in better cold shape than ever, I bet) and the snowdrops will be hidden again. But I will know they are there which, without even having to ingest them like the desperate garden druggie I am, will bring me vivid dreams of my garden to come.

When I travel, I like to take note of the plant life around me. Not just because I am a gardener, but because it can be a good point of reference for the free wheeling traveler. For example, if I wake up from a drunken haze and peer up at a tree branch above me and see maple leaves, I know that I must have stumbled onto a plane that landed in a temperate region. If, on the other hand, if I am kidnapped by terrorists and when they take off my blindfold, I see bougainvillea vines draping the landscape, I will know that my kidnappers had the good taste to hold me in a tropical climate.

There is no better plant on the planet that better botanically represents being on vacation than the brightly hued bougainvillea. I have seen it used for everything from a shrub, a hedge, a wall covering, a pergola draping and as an unintentional camouflage for abandon buildings.

This plant is both versatile and resilient, making it perfect for regions with extreme climates, where heat is constant and in the course of a year, rainfall fluctuates between a glob of spit from a passing construction worker to monsoon. It is also just as happy to grow where monsoon is actually a season, not an occurrence as it is to grow on the fringes of the desert. But in areas where rainfall is consistently high, the plant will not flourish as well as it does in areas that have dry seasons.

But, much like a high school quarterback’s girlfriend, they are lovely to look at but painful to touch. The vines of the bougainvillea are spiked with fiendishly wicked hooked thorns. These thorns help it to climb up over competing plants, structures and slow moving vehicles. Like most tropical plants, it grows rapidly and can be a nuisance in its ideal environment.

While most people grow them for the brightly colored “flowers”, the bright colors are not flowers at all. They are bracts. The real flowers and the small white tubes that you can find hidden among the bracts.

One of the nice things about bougainvillea and what makes it so popular is that it is a year round bloomer. After blooming starts, the flowers (and bracts) will stick around for about 4 weeks and fade, and then will reappear a few weeks later to repeat the performance. As long as the plant receives some, even minimal amounts of water, it will continue in the cycle. If the plant finds itself in a severe drought situation, it will shed all of its leaves and regrow them when the water returns.

The bougainvillea is named for the French admiral Louis Antoine de Bougainville, who along with his on-ship, girlfriend smuggling botanist, “found” it in Brazil in 1768, in much the same way most Europeans “found” most things in the already populated Americas.

But, for as much as the bougainvillea represents the tropical world, the clever Dutch, the kings of horticultural miracles, are conspiring to develop a cold hardy bougainvillea. Which worries me a little bit. How the hell am I suppose to know generally where in the world I have been taken by kidnappers if these festive beauties could soon be grown anywhere in the world?