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The pretty vegetable garden of the Hortus is made sunny-colorful by beds of French Marigold, Tagetes patula. Olymp caught a Flower's Brightness just before the gloom set in. And Common Greenbottle Fly, Lucilia sericata, gleamed silkily in the Sun.
The ghastly wet weather and gusty winds drove me into the Glass Houses of the Hortus Botanicus. There's a good collection of plants from South Africa there.
Here's Bright Yellow Poker, Kniphofia linearifolia Baker (for another bright orange Kniphovia in the garden outdoors see my earlier www.flickr.com/photos/87453322@N00/36150773033/in/photoli...). It's a foraging place for tiny black Ants, I think from the Tropics, perhaps hitchhiked here on traveling plants.
This wonderful grassy Wood-rush indeed gleams and sparkles purplish in the Sunlight. And there's probably some truth to the derivation of Luzula from a form of the Latin Lux, light. But nobody can narrow down the reason for its name more precisely. David Gledhill in his great The Names of Plants is quite right to say: Luzula is 'an ancient name of obscure meaning'.
There are at least four theories. The first is that this Wood-rush gleams in the moonlight like a glow worm, a Lucciola in Italian; another idea is that the flowers and their sheaths (ca. a mere 4-5 mm) dew-wet sparkle in the morning sunlight; third advocates claim the anthers and pistil look like lamp wicks, and hence the connection to light; and finally some have said that the pith of Wood-rush has been used to fashion exactly those candle or lamp wicks. I haven't been able to find any confirmation that Wood-rush pith was indeed used that way except for people claiming it. I'm also sceptical about the 'look-like-candle-wick' assertion. That leaves two explanations. It seems to me a bit far-fetched - having often seen glow worms myself - to put them into the equation; their light is far brighter than the gleam of Wood-rush in the moonlight. Which leaves as most likely the idea that our Plant in flower sparkles in the sunlight, as I myself could see this morning.
It wouldn't surprise me if Great Carolus Linnaeus had difficulty in pronouncing the English 'th'. His tongue like that of many non-native speakers was not subtle enough - hairy, as it were - for that sound. There is of course a story to why I think this...
It has everything to do with how Linnaeus first describes this pretty Common Fleabane, Pulicaria dysenterica. In the Flora suecica (1745) his description includes the interesting observation that our Fleabane saved the lives of many Russian soldiers in the Russo-Persian War (1722-1723). They used it as a medicine against dysentery. How exactly it's not said: it might have been through oral ingestion or else by way of its smoke; whatever the case, either the fleas (Pulex) or their effects - bacillary dysentery caused by transmitted Vibrio cholerae - were stymied in their run.
Whence Linnaeus's knowledge? Well, from one James Francis Edward Keith (1696-1758), a Scottish mercenary who fought for Prussians and Russians and anyone who'd have him. You get the picture: 'Keith' must've been a problem for Linnaeus to pronounce; perhaps he never met the man and only corresponded with him. In any case, his Flora suecica prints the General's name as 'Keit.
As far as I know, Keith did not take part in that Russo-Persian War; but he did play a heroic role in the Russo-Turkish War of 1741-1743. I wouldn't be surprised if his experience with our Pulicaria derives from that exercise and not from the earlier one. Possibly Linnaeus got that wrong as well, or otherwise Keith told him what he'd himself heard about the Persian expedition.
Here in the peaceful Hortus Botanicus this afternoon I saw this pretty Lasioglossum - Hairy- or Rough-Tongued Bee - calceatum on Bright Yellow Fleabane. Look at it's pretty reddish abdomen (and let's not be reminded of the less than savory sanguinary effects of dysentery).
It's quite amazing, isn't it, that 'native' insects have no problem foraging on non-native plants. Here's European Red-girdled Mining Bee, Andrena labiata, I thought at first, foraging on an American Golden Crownbeard, Verbesina encelioides. But now I rather think - urged by el.gritche (see below) that it's Lasioglossum sp.
This pretty, sunny scene was photographed in the Hortus Botanicus at Amsterdam.