A Tale of Two Susans - II
or
A Linnæus Sandwich: Carl Peter Thunberg
Flickr photo: Susans Black-Eye
Originally Uploaded on 10 August 2006
By ~K~
Sometimes coincidences collide. And sometimes, when they do, they remain coincidental. These occurrences are interesting to me. And I've run across one that strikes close to home. It has to do with Linnæus.
Pick a flower, any flower... What are the chances that the flower you pick will share a common name with several other plants? The chances are high! Many radically different plants share a common name. Just search the Dave's Garden Plant Files by Common Name if you are reluctant to believe.[1] But what are the chances that this flower you've picked was named by Linnæus? Again, the chances are still high, Linnæus named a great many plants... though he didn't give them common names. But what are the chances that this flower, which shares a common name with another (and was named by Linnæus), was named for Linnæus' most important teacher? The chances are much, much smaller. That's only one genera of plants... several species plants from the genus Rudbeckia, named after the Olof Rudbecks, elder and younger. (I've droned on about this before so I won't rehash it here.) But what are the chances that this flower you picked (which was named by Linnæus for his most important teacher) shares a common name with another plant which was named by Linnæus for his most important student? That could be only one plant name: The Black-Eyed Susan.
In other words, the myriad of disconnected forces in the world which bring about the almost infinitesimal variety of "common names" have coincidentally conspired to make a Linnæus "sandwich."
Some time ago I began a "stream" about Black-Eyed Susans and the Linnæan "sandwich" they represent: A Tale of Two Susans - I . I sorta let it get away from me and only told about a third of the story. There's more.
On Branches & Leaves | Carl Peter Thunberg | The Father of South African Botany | A Pretty Cool Horse and Ship Story | The Japanese Linnæus | Thunbergia alata | Further Reading | Notes | A Tangential Survey | Sources
Maybe a decade ago I was working with a young artist and filmmaker, David Claire, whose wife had just given birth to his child. He was a changed man and one evening over several lobby cocktails at the Hotel DuPont, he remarked, unsolicited, that he was now a "branch" and not a "leaf." He went on speaking at some length. And since he was a man of few words, I paid particularly close attention and enjoyed and listened. His point was this: He had always felt (up until the birth of his child) that he was a leaf at the tip of a small branch, at end of a large limb, on his particular tree of life: the tree of his family and of his culture... an occidental tree... and in this case, a tree with Georgia roots and a limb reaching over Los Angeles and New York. But now that he had a child, he knew what that he was only a small "twig of a branch" connecting this new leaf to the larger tree.
To his thinking he had never been a leaf at all, but had always just been a branch. (He just didn't know it.) I disagree in theory but not in practice.[9]
Like David Claire, Linnæus was also a "branch." He was very much the product of what came before. And he was instrumental in what came after. (And by "after" I mean both IMMEDIATELY after and through the long term.)
I've spent a good bit of space in the previous essay on Linnæus' teacher, Olof Rudbeck the Younger... the branch to Linnæus' leaf after whom the genus Rudbeckia was named. Now to Linnæus' star pupil... the first big leaf on Linnæus' branch. And what a leaf!
I am, of course, writing about Carl Peter Thunberg. Now... here's a guy. Just wait until you read about him. Who needs fiction when we have history?
Portrait of Carl Peter Thunberg (1743-1828)
By Per Krafft the Younger (1777-1863), 1808
Oil on canvas
Uppsala University Art Collections
(Photography by Bo Gyllander)
Photo from Orientations:
the Magazine for Collectors and Connoisseurs of Asian Art
Vol 35. No 1. Jan/Feb 2004
Take a good look at that portrait.[12] He looks to me like he's trying to decide if he wants to laugh at something. Confusion in the brow... a hint of a smile... like maybe the painter said something humorous and old Carl is trying to decide if heard what he thought he heard. I could hang this thing in my office and be amused indefinitely. I bet Thunberg was a fun guy at a dinner party. But I digress.
Thunberg was born in Jönköping, Sweden in 1742 or 1743 (there seems to be some confusion about the date). "He studied medicine and natural philosophy at Uppsala University and in 1767 he defended a dissertation entitled 'De venis resorbentibus' [14] under Linnæus' presidency"[xi] and with Linnæus' guidance. I get the feeling they were friends.
By most accounts, Thunberg was Linnæus' star pupil and apparently Thunberg received a sizable grant to travel to Paris to study. And so in 1770, Thunberg left Sweden to study Natural History. Linnæus was 70 years old at the time and in good health. Linnæus would live almost another ten years and do more great things. Thunberg probably never had any idea he'd never see Linnæus again... but he wouldn't. You see, Thunberg's adventures were just beginning. It would take him a while to get back home.
Imagine the world in 1770.
In the new world, the Boston Massacre took place that year... an event that would help start the American Revolutionary War 5 years later. And it was in this year that William Clark (of Lewis and Clark) was born. He would go to be Governor of the Missouri Territory and Superintendent of Indian Affairs.
In France, a 14-year old Marie Antoinette arrived at the French court and married the 15-year old Louis-Auguste (who later becomes Louis XVI King of France). In Bonn, Germany, Ludwig van Beethoven was born.
Farther a field, 1770 was the year James Cook claimed the eastern coast of New Holland (Australia) for Great Britain.
And not yet 30 years old, Thunberg was beginning the journey of his life.
In the letters which survive, Thunberg is "astonished that the French were not permitted to bring their swords into the laboratories, as well as over their habit of applauding during dissertations and autopsies." [xii]
It must have been an interesting time. He studied the botanical gardens, herbaria, and musea in Paris and then traveled to Amsterdam to visit one of Linnæus' very close friends: Johannes Burman, the Dutch botanist and medical professor.[xiii]
The key word here is "Dutch."
In and around 1770, there were certain opportunities available to Dutchmen that were simply unavailable to Swedes. These opportunities had everything to do with a very powerful company... a Dutch company... the Verenigde Oost-Indische Compagnie (or V.O.C.). English speakers would know it as the Dutch East India Company.[xiv]
It was at this point that opportunity knocked upon Thunberg's door. Johannes Burman had some pull with the V.O.C... and the V.O.C. went everywhere! After many letters back and forth between Burman and Linnæus (which still exist)[15] , Linnæus advised Thunberg and Burman on a course of action which was to change Thunberg's life, and add to the worlds knowledge of Natural History. Thunberg was headed for the closed and isolated land of the Shogun: Japan.
The Father of South African Botany
In 1771 not just anyone could visit Japan... and even those who were allowed to go there weren't allowed to actually step on Japanese soil. More on this in a second, but the point is that all Linnæus, Burman and V.O.C. could do was open a door. Thunberg had to walk through it. More to the point, Thunberg had to be ABLE to walk through it. So Thunberg had to go "under cover" and learn to pass for a Dutchman.
Thunberg had to undertake some fairly rigorous efforts. And the best place to do this at the time was South Africa (Suid Afrika).
So off he went! In December of 1771 he signed on as an extra ship's surgeon in the Dutch East India Company[16] and arrived in Cape Town, Cape Colony in April of 1772. He stayed there for three years.[xv]
But he didn't just study the Dutch language and people. As was his nature, he studied everything. It was during this time that he became a doctor of medicine (ship's surgeons were not required to be doctors of medicine).[xvi]
He also studied the natural world and his time around Cape Town would earn him the moniker "Father of South African Botany."
"He collected a large number of plants in the Cape Colony during several long and often dangerous travels." [xvii]
And of course, he sent them back to Linnæus and Burman, where many of the specimens (and letters) still exist today! Just imagine a parcel arriving from South Africa in Stockholm filled with unknown and unfathomable mysteries! What a thing! (This was the magic of Linnæus in my opinion. Not just what he, himself, did, but that he created something much larger!)
There is something else to consider when you think about a Swede traveling with the Dutch in the early to mid 1770s. Actually, these were interesting times for all Europeans abroad (and especially for the V.O.C). You see, Europe was headed for a massive world war so large in scope that it is most easily understood as several independent wars. But it was a true global conflagration. I've always thought of it as the very first world-war. Cape Town was to become VERY IMPORTANT.
And as far the Dutch were concerned, the problems started about a hundred years before, in 1688, with the Glorious Revolution which placed the Prince William III of Orange (who was Stadtholder of the main provinces of the Dutch Republic) on the English throne as co-ruler with his wife Mary.[xviii]
"The Dutch merchant elite immediately began to use London as a new operational base. Dutch economic growth slowed." [xix]
With the decline of economic growth comes a decline of global power. Dutch hegemony was fading, and hegemony never fades peacefully. War was coming. French, American, British, Prussian and Dutch. It wasn't a particularly "certain" time to be abroad on a Dutch ship. In the mid 1770's, the British Royal Navy projected power EVERYWHERE!
Well, not exactly everywhere. Not Japan. (That wouldn't happen until a generation later, in 1808, with Phaeton Incident.) And Japan was where Thunberg was heading!
A Pretty Cool Horse and Ship Story
But let's not go to Japan just yet! There's another Thunberg story to tell... a story of ships, heroism and a fantastic horse named "Vonk."
Wolraad Woltemade and his horse, 'Vonk', during the great north-west gale of June 1773
The following tale is drawn mostly from: A Wreck, A Man and his Horse
In March of 1773 a Dutch East Indiaman (a trade ship) dropped anchor in Table Bay at Cape Town. She'd been bound for five months from Amsterdam. The ship was the Jonge Thomas she was a "fairly typical Dutch East Indiaman of 1150 tons." She was having a rough go. By the time her anchor dropped in Table Bay she'd lost 70 of her complement of 300 during the voyage and had another 41 ill (who were transferred to the hospital in Cape Town). Those poor bastards were the lucky ones.
It was March is the Southern Hemisphere - not spring, but autumn - with winter looming.
The V.O.C. Council forbade Company vessels from using Table Bay during the winter months (between 15 May and 15 August) as the result of the huge losses - of vessels, cargos and crews - suffered in a series of winter gales. It seems that in Table Bay is bad place to be during a north-westerly gale. If a ship lost its anchor it was invariably forced onto the beaches at Paarden Island, Salt River and Woodstock. Simons Bay was generally used in the winter months.
Location of Table Bay showing how winds from the North West would pin a sailing fleet
Now, the Jonge Thomas arrived in March, but it was to be two months later, at the end of May, before the Jonge Thomas and the rest of the outward bound VOC fleet also lying in the Bay were ready to continue their journey. And as fortune would have it, a norwester blew in. It blew for days. As the storm got worse, vessels set additional anchors. But the storm grew and the seas rose.
A gale on a lee shore. This is a nightmare.
(I can barely imagine this. I keep thinking of my last storm of last year - last September - on Lake Michigan. And then I remember that this beast of a storm only went on for ONLY eight hours or so. I wrote about it at the time. These poor devils must have been exhausted.)
And then, the storm became too much. "Anchor cables began to part, anchors began to drag and distress signals began to boom out across the Bay." By the next morning the Jonge Thomas was in serious danger.
"The vessel was down to its last anchor when at 5 o'clock that morning her captain decided to cut his anchor cable and beach his vessel - an option which often saved both vessel and crew."
But it didn't work. Instead driving up on to the sand, she struck before shore and swung broadside to the beach. "Within minutes the powerful seas broke her back near the mainmast."
God Almighty. A broken ship in the surf. The thought makes me physically sick.
"At dawn, a detachment of soldiers was dispatched to the beach to salvage whatever cargo washed ashore and to offer what help they could to the sailors aboard the wreck. It seems though that the plight of those aboard the disintegrating wreck was not their primary concern and that the rescue of Company goods was more important."
At this point Wolraad Woltemade trotted onto the beach on the back of his horse "Vonk." He was an elderly, retired employee of the VOC at the Cape. His son, Christiaan was one of the soldiers on the beach, and Wolraad was bringing him some breakfast. He was shocked by what he saw.
"Upon seeing that nothing was being done to rescue the stricken sailors, Woltemade spurred his horse into the waves." To the wreck. In the storm.
"When horse and rider reached the wreck, he called for two men to jump into the sea and hang on to his mount's tail. After a momentary hesitation, two men threw themselves into the sea and were dragged to safety by Woltemade and his horse." They went back six more times and brought in all, fourteen men to safety.
By then old Woltemade and Vonk were exhausted.
"It must have been clear to those still on the wreck that Woltemade's eighth trip would be the last. Their restraint vanished, and when Woltemade reached the wreck, six men desperately plunged into the sea. One of them grasped the horse's bridle and pulled its head under water, and horse, sailors and Woltemade sank beneath the waves."
After this, no further rescue attempts were made.
The following morning the storm had blown itself out. Only 25 of the 207 aboard when the vessel struck were able to wade ashore to join the 14 men who Woltemade and Vonk saved.
"The beach was littered with bodies, including those of the captain and Woltemade. While the former was subsequently given an official funeral, Woltemade was not even mentioned in the first report of the loss of the Jonge Thomas dispatched to Holland - the opinion being that he was a fool to have done what he'd done."
--
So what does any of this have to do with Carl Thunberg?
Everything! Thunberg was there! He and the Dutch naturalist Anders Spaarman witnessed the whole thing and were impressed by Woltemade's herosim! They both "published the story and it spread far and wide."
"The survivors of the wreck also recounted Woltemade's deeds to the V.O.C. Council, who made a substantial financial award to his wife and sons, and later honoured him by naming a vessel after him - the Held Woltemade, which proudly carried a painting of his deeds on her stern."
Adventures abound!
In August of 1775 Thunberg arrived in Japan. Sort of. He arrived in the only part of Japan where foreigners were allowed... which wasn't really Japan. I'm referring of courses to the Dejima, a tiny artificial island in Nagasaki Bay. It was connected to the city by a single small bridge.[xx] Upon arrival, Thunberg was appointed head surgeon of the V.O.C. operations on the Dejima (1775-1776).[xxi] (The maximum continuous term a European was permitted in notoriously inaccessible Japan (at the time) was 12 months, so Thunberg's term as physician was such. But Thunberg stayed 18 months, which is demonstrative of his accomplishments. [xxii]
Nagasaki is relatively remote and a very good place for foreigners... i.e. far away.
Map of showing remote location of the Dejima and Nagasaki relative to Edo
To put this in perspective, it is worth spending a moment or two on the Dejima.
The "Dejima, also Deshima (出島, literally 'protruding island') was a fan-shaped artificial island in the bay of Nagasaki that was a Dutch trading post during Japan's self-imposed isolation (sakoku) of the Edo period, from 1641 until 1853."[xxiii]
It was originally constructed (in 1634), on orders of shogun Lemitsu, and originally accommodated Portuguese merchants... ever so briefly. You see, it was right about the time the Dejima was completed that the Shimabara uprising broke out. This was a shockingly bloody affair and lasted a good while - giving the Shogun and his Samurai real trouble. And it just so happened that Christian Japanese took an active part in the uprising (which was about taxation not religion). [xxiv]
Let me be clearer. When I write "Christian Japanese" I mean "Roman Catholic" Japanese. You see, a big part of the Portuguese presence in Japan was missionary work. And as far as Japan was concerned, the Portuguese had everything fairly well locked down (and the Dutch fairly well locked out).
One can imagine that the Dutch were only too happy to change this situation. And when the shogunate requested PROTESTANT Dutch help, you can bet they got it.[17] The Dutch sailed into Nagasaki Bay and bombarded a rebel fort (although it didn't do much good).[18]
Rather, the ship didn't do much good against the rebels. It fairly deftly defeated the Portuguese.
"Eventually, the uprising was put down was crushed with the help of the Dutch. Afterward the Portuguese and other Catholic nations were expelled from Japan in 1638." [xxv]
The Portuguese were out. The Dutch were in... and onto the Dejima they went!
"From then on, only the Chinese and the Dutch could trade with Japan. It is significant that Dejima was a man-made island, hence not part of Japan proper, thus the foreigners were kept at arm's length from the sacred soil of Japan.[19] It was a small island, 120 by 75 meters, linked to the mainland by a small bridge, manned on both sides by guards, with a gate on the Dutch side. It contained houses for about 20 Dutchmen, warehouses and accommodation for Japanese government officials. The Dutch were watched by a number of Japanese officials, gatekeepers, night watchmen and a supervisor (otona) with about 50 subordinates. There were a number of merchants for supplies and catering and about 150 tsūji (interpreters). They all had to be paid by the V.O.C."[xxvi]
By all accounts, life on/in the Dejima was isolated and lonesome.
"Foreigners were prohibited from studying the Japanese language, so commercial and diplomatic negotiations were carried on through Japanese interpreters whose knowledge of Dutch ranged from excellent to mediocre."[xxvii]
Thunberg himself described the isolation in his travels in his Europe, Africa, and Asia performed between the years 1770 and 1779:
"Not long after this the ship sailed, and left behind fourteen of us Europeans, among some slaves and Japanese, in solitude, and, it might in some sort be said, confinement, we being now shut up within the narrow circle of this little island of Dezima, and separated not only from Christendom, but, in fact, from the whole world besides. An European, that remains here, is in a manner dead and buried in an obscure corner of the globe. He hears no news of any kind; nothing relative to war, or other misfortunes and evils that plague and infest mankind; and neither the rumours of inland or foreign concerns delight or molest his ear."[xxviii]
Period Sketch of Dejima in Nagasaki Bay
"Dejima was under direct central supervision of Edo (the old name of Tokyo) by a governor, called a bugyō, responsible for all contact between the V.O.C. and Edo. Every Dutch ship that arrived in Dejima was inspected by the bugyō. The sails were seized until the ship could leave again. Religious books and weapons were sealed and taken in custody. No religious services were allowed on the island."[xxix]
"For two hundred years, Dutch merchants were generally not allowed to cross from Dejima to Nagasaki, and Japanese were likewise banned from entering Dejima, except for prostitutes."[xxx]
One can imagine an underground communications network between the Dutch and various Japanese businessmen, with messages passed over pillows. I can find no evidence of this, but believing what I believe about human nature it seems quite natural.
There were a few exceptions to this rule, especially following Tokugawa Yoshimune's doctrine of promoting European practical sciences. One such exception was our guy, Carl Peter Thunberg. But even the exception was not given carte blanche... and when he traveled outside the Dejima he had to be watched by a great many people... and he had to pay them for their services (for surveiling him), plus expenses.[20] WOW.
This is something Thunberg wrote almost six months after arriving at the Dejima:
"February the 7th. Having been fortunate enough to receive from the governor a second time, his permission to botanize, I, for the first time, took a walk about the town of Nagasaki. I was accompanied by several head and sub-interpreters, head and sub-banjoses [banjõshi, harbor guard], purveyors, and a number of servants. This numerous train, did not, it is true, impede me in my quick progression up mountains and hills, but yet it made my diurnal expeditions rather expensive, as it became incumbent upon me towards evening to regale my wearied companions at some inn or other, which amounted each time to sixteen or eighteen rix-dollars. As often as the weather permitted, I made use of the liberty thus accorded to me, at least once or twice a week, till such time as I accompanied the ambassador to the imperial courts"[xxxi]
This trip to the "imperial courts" came in mid 1776, almost a full year after arriving, Thunberg was allowed to accompany the director of the Dutch settlement on a visit to the shogun (in Edo).
"During this slow travel, he was able to collect many Japanese plants. His scientific activities resulted in the first detailed description of the flora and fauna of Japan:[xxxii] "Flora Japonica"."[21]
It seems that Thunberg became close friends with the "shogun's private physician, Katsuragawa Hosshu, a notorious rake"[22] and the two maintained a correspondence even after Thunberg left Japan.[xxxiii] This must have helped.
There is also evidence that Thunberg he traded his knowledge of European medicine with Japanese interpreters for even more specimens.[xxxiv]
"Thunberg left Japan in November 1776. After a short stay in Java, he arrived at Colombo, Ceylon (now Sri Lanka) in July 1777. He made several travels, such as the one to the Dutch settlement at Galle, and collected a great number of plants."[xxxv]
In February 1778, Thunberg left Ceylon for Amsterdam, passing by at the Cape and staying there for two weeks. He finally arrived at Amsterdam in October 1778.
Still on his way home, he made a short trip to London and met two other legends, Sir Joseph Banks and Johann Reinhold Forster. He finally made it home to Sweden in March 1779 and was informed of the death of Linnæus, one year earlier.
Thunberg had been gone almost a decade. One must wonder what it must have been like for Thunberg, no longer a young man, to be come back "home."[23]
Incidentally, Thunberg wrote about his time in Japan when he returned to Sweden. Thunberg's 'Travels' appeared in English in 1795 but was never reprinted... until 2005 when RoutledgeCurzon put out Japan Extolled and Decried: Carl Peter Thunberg's Travels in Japan 1775-1776... which I've just discovered is still available![24]
Of course one of the (many) surprises waiting for Thunberg when he arrived home was the news that his late friend and teacher, Linnæus, had named a Genus of plants in his honor. Thunbergia:[25] a genus of robust flowering vines native to Africa and Asia. No doubt Linnæus thought of his hardy traveling student in far away lands when he named this wandering vine! It's a nice thought.
The only reason I even know about Thunbergia is because I happened upon some seeds for "Black Eyed Susan Vine" a few weeks ago,
February 23rd, 2007
I know, they are Martha Stewart Seeds... from Kmart (which is the best place I've found to buy clay pots). This purchase was a total impulse buy. What hooked me was the FLAGRANT mislabeling. These are obviously Thunbergia alata "alba". Black-Eyed Susan with a white flower. They are labeled "White-Eyed Susan" (which is total crap and makes no sense at all) apparently to differentiate the "alba" variety from the standard yellow-flowered variety: Thunbergia alata. I was fascinated by the marketing decision to invent a common name. That's chutzpah! I like it! Incidentally, "alata" means "winged."
Apparently these seeds start well indoors and flower when it is cool (spring and fall)... perfect! I planted the seeds a few weeks ago and these girls took off like wild fire!
Thunbergia alata "alba" February 28th, 2007.
I couldn't be happier! I put them in hanging baskets and my plan is to create hanging vines of flowers. We'll see.
Thunbergia alata "alba" April 10th, 2007.
But these little innocuous seedlings are perfect examples of why I love the language of the dirt. Twenty days ago I knew very little of Carl Peter Thunberg or either of the Olaf Rudbecks. Linnæus was my focus. But by sowing a little seed, I was taken on a journey from the Black-Eyed Susan of Linnæus' teachers (Rudbeckia hirta) to the completely unrelated Black-Eyed Susan of Linnæus' student (Thunbergia alata).
These plants are, to me are the most delightful time machines and libraries. Will the delights of the garden ever end? I think not. And I am thankful for the joys in my life! They are many.
Downloads
There is a FANTASTIC article by Richard C. Rudolph in the summer 1974 edition of Monumenta Nipponica (a great peer-reviewed journal). The article is entitled "Thunberg in Japan and His Flora Japonica in Japanese." Wow. It is available as a downloadable PDF from the marvelous people at JSTOR. Feels like 20 or 30 pages. I don't feel like counting them. You can get it here but it will cost $12US. (I thought about posting the PDF it but seemed wrong. It is well worth the $12 in my opinion.)
Books (in no particular order)
Japan Extolled and Decried: Carl Peter Thunberg's Travels in Japan 1775-1776 by C.P. Thunberg
The Naming of Names by Anna Pavord
Man o' War: A Legend Like Lightning by Dorothy Ours
The Legacy of Solomon Asch: Essays in Cognition and Social Psychology by ROCK
Our Knowledge of the External World by Bertrand Russel
The Autobiography of Bertrand Russel by Bertrand Russel
Impact of Science on Society by Bertrand Russel
The Art of Philosophizing and Other Essays by Bertrand Russel
A Modern History of Japan by Andrew Gordon
The World of Bede by Peter Hunter Blair
St. Ives: Painting the Warmth of the Sun by Tom Cross
The Dutch East India Company's Tea Trade With China, 1757-1781 (Tanap Monographs on the History of the Asian-European Interaction) by Yong Liu
Levitt and Dubner's Freakonomics
The Poetry of Robert Frost by Robert Frost, Edward Connery Lathem
[1] Try some general terms first... like Daisy. You'll get ALL KINDS of hits and ALL KINDS of Daisies:
Flickr photo: Soft as a Daisy
Originally Uploaded on May 11, 2006
By KevP
For example: Gerbera Daisy (my mama called 'em "Gerber"), Transvaal Daisy, African Daisy, Barberton Daisy (Gerbera jamesonii); Shasta Daisy (Leucanthemum x superbum); African Daisy, Cape Daisy (Osteospermum); Yellow Bush Daisy (Euryops pectinatusv); Paper Daisy, Everlasting Daisy (Helichrysum bracteatum); Florist's Daisy (Chrysanthemum x grandiflorum); Copper Canyon Daisy (Tagetes lemmonii); Butter Daisy, Star Daisy (Melampodium paludosum); Dahlberg Daisy (Thymophylla tenuiloba); Ox-Eye Daisy, Field Daisy, Moon Daisy (Leucanthemum vulgare); Chocolate Daisy (Berlandiera lyrata); Blackfoot Daisy, Black Foot Daisy (Melampodium leucanthum); Montauk Daisy, Nippon Daisy (Nipponanthemum nipponicum); Gloriosa Daisy, Yellow Ox-eye Daisy (Rudbeckia hirta).
"Daisy" is almost too easy, but it makes the point. Try searches like "Bluebell" or "Larkspur" or one of my personal favorites of ambiguity: "Geranium." Oh yes... I've forgotten Sage, a word sufficiently vague that it means almost nothing at all! Connotes everything. Denotes nothing. It is a defeat of language. It is, in my opinion, the human language equivalent to a squirrel's skreel. (I just made that word up I think: skreel.) It could be that I am particularly strange - a thought that gives me no comfort as I face the remainder of my days alone with my youthful and natural proclivities to non-conformity behind me [2] - but sometimes I actually laugh out loud when I come across a plant marked as simply "sage." Out loud. After all, it IS funny, no?
Flickr photo: Sage Leaf
Originally Uploaded on August 15, 2006
By aaroscap
From wikipedia: salvia:
Salvia, a genus in the mint family, Lamiaceae is one of three genera commonly referred to as Sage... This genus includes shrubs, herbaceous perennials, and annuals... Different species of sage are grown as herbs and as ornamental plants... The closely related genera Perovskia and Phlomis are also known as sage... Some species of the unrelated genus Artemisia are also referred to as sages. [ii]
If you think these botanical cases are confusing, it is even worse in zoology! [3]
The third Earl of Russell was spot on when he wrote: "Everything is vague to a degree you do not realize till you have tried to make it precise." Bertrand old boy, you said it brother! Nothing is simple. Even the Ave Maria (to which I'm listening at the moment) is a complete vagary! [4] - back to text
[2] I don't know if non-conformity is a trait of youth or not. I also don't know the corollary: if conformity is a trait of age. I only know that when I was younger it was very important to me to be different... to be a "shining star" of some type... in athletics, academics, extracurriculars, a clown, love, sex, something.
Later it was important to be a submarine sailor... a so called "elite" group... to parry (weakly) my brother's SEAL épée... and my father's Navy heroism... and a whole familial history of Naval achievement. (Of course, since then I've learned that a good rule of thumb for duty in the Navy is; the worse the job, the more "elite" it is. Ha!)
(But let me be very clear please: I have no problem with the United States Navy OR my family's (and now my) Naval tradition. None. The greatest thing I've done in my life has been to pull that blue jersey tight (I'd thought maybe it was to be my marriage... but the progression of history has saved me that typing misstep. I'm writing about MY REACTION to the Navy, not the august institution..., which is still august and the active heir to the Royal Navy's long held dominion of the seas. The seas are, of course, now the province of the United States Navy. I don't care what anyone says or writes. GO NAVY!)
Still later and still young, it became important to make more money than ANYONE my age... or ANYONE else period (a goal I did not succeed in achieving, though I cannot understand why not - like Man-O'-War and Upset at the 1919 Sanford Memorial Stakes: inexplicable failure)... again an attempt to be different / superlative. I gave it a good shot but... in the end: more failure.
Flickr photo: Man O' War Memorial
Originally Uploaded on September 15, 2006
By Brandon Cirillo
Then, in an era of ubiquitous divorce, it became important to have a great marriage... again, I'm sure this was partially a desire to be different. I can't remember how many occasions my wife and I were asked if we were a "first marriage" (we married late I guess). I do recall how proudly I announced that is was our first. Ridiculous... what an asshole I have been.
Now, at 39, I just want some peace and quiet and I'm quite content to be invisible... because ultimately, we all are. Maybe I'm just tired. But there is a great deal I do not know about life and conformity.
I do, however, recall reading something at some point about Solomon Asch's Conformity Experiments and so I know that people can be very, very peculiar. Perhaps I am utterly normal in my need to be different and in my inability to be so.
The cards used in the Asch conformity experiments.
The reference card is on the left.
The card on the right has the three comparison lines.
Wikipedia Commons photo from here
Bottom line, I don't know about conformity but I think people referring to any of a hundred varieties of plants as "Sage" is somehow equivalent to agreeing that the reference line on Asch's card is "A." But that's just me. Not that it is entirely bad... which leads me to one final thought on this... lifted directly from the wikipedia entry on two plus two make five (much easier than typing):
"In Fyodor Dostoevsky's Notes from Underground, the protagonist implicitly supports the idea of two plus two making five, spending several paragraphs considering the implications of rejecting the statement "two plus two makes four." His purpose is not ideological, however. Instead, he proposes that it is the free will to choose or reject the logical as well as the illogical that makes mankind human. He adds: "I admit that two times two makes four is an excellent thing, but if we are to give everything its due, two times two makes five is sometimes a very charming thing too.""
Charming... indeed... please call your plants whatever you like! REALLY. THAT IS THE ENTIRE POINT, NO? - back to text
[3] Take the "Blue Crab" for example:
"...the blue crab is only one of many species of crabs that can be described as blue. In the Indian River Lagoon [5] alone, there are several species of "blue crabs": the blue crab (Callinectes sapidus), the lesser blue crab (Callinectes similis [PDF File]), the red blue crab (Callinectes bocourti), the ornate blue crab (Callinectes ornatus [PDF file]), and the blue land crab (Cardisoma guanhumi)." [iii]
Flickr photo: Blue Claws from blue foot
Originally Uploaded on January 12, 2007
By blue foot
Here's another link about the "Blue Crabs."
Incidentally, the words Callinectes sapidus comes from the Greek calli = "beautiful", nectes = "swimmer", and Latin sapidus = "savory".[iv] Linnæus didn't name this one, that distinction goes to an American Marine Biologist working with the Smithsonian: Dr. Mary Jane Rathbun (1860 - 1943). Almost makes you think twice about those crab cakes... almost. But those aren't from "Blue Crab" are they? And that reminds me of my wedding in Cape May.[6] - back to text
[4] I'd don't know much about the "ave maria" prayer. It outside of my "ewhiskypalian" tradition. But I like the music. I'm just damned confused.
I'm thinking of the Franz Schubert composition and the Charles-François Gounod/ J Sebastian Bach composition. OK, OK, I know that only one of them is called Ave Maria (the Gounod/Bach), but even it isn't really... uh... called the Ave Maria... um... really... sorta. What a mess. Really.
What we have is a case of ONE guy applying words to existing music, and ANOTHER guy applying music to existing words. Different. Opposite.
There is the Gounod adaptation of the prayer, which in 1859, the Frenchman set to someone else's already written music: the German J.S. Bach's first prelude from Book I of the Well-Tempered Clavier [7], a work that first appeared almost 140 years earlier in 1722. So... we call THAT ONE the Ave Maria... even though if no one is singing it is also correctly called by Bach's title (Das wohltemperierte Clavier).
And then there's the composition which, in my experience, most people call the Ave Maria, which is not called the Ave Maria at all, it is Franz Schubert's (Austrian) Ellens dritter Gesang - Ellen's Third Song. Composed in 1825 as music for Walter Scott's [8] (Scottish) popular epic poem: The Lady of the Lake.
So... we have a Frenchman, a German, an Austrian, a Scot... and a Latin prayer. In my opinion, what is needed here is a Swede: Linnæus could have worked this out! Think I'm exaggerating at the complexity? There's more:
"The Hail Mary in Latin, as the Ave Maria, has been set to music numerous times. Among the most famous settings is the version by Charles Gounod (1859), adding melody and words to Johann Sebastian Bach's first prelude from the Well-Tempered Clavier. Antonín Dvorák's version was composed in 1877. Another setting of Ave Maria was written by Giuseppe Verdi for his 1887 opera Otello. Russian composer César Cui, who was raised Roman Catholic, set the text at least three times: as the "Ave Maria," op. 34, for 1 or 2 women's voices with piano or harmonium (1886), and as part of two of his operas: Le Flibustier (premiered 1894) and Mateo Falcone (1907). In Slavonic, the text was also a popular subject for setting to music by Eastern European composers. These include Rachmaninov, Stravinsky, Bortniansky and several others." [v]
Anyway... I have NO IDEA which one is playing now. I can't keep it straight. But it sounds nice. - back to text
[5] The Indian River Lagoon is a fascination. It is really a series of lagoons and inlets and forms part of the Intracoastal Waterway in Florida.
"Primarily due to its unique location at the boundary between the temperate and subtropical zones, east central Florida's Indian River Lagoon (IRL) system is perhaps the most biologically diverse estuarine system in the continental United States, supporting more than 3,000 species of animals and plants. In 1990, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency designated the IRL as an "estuary of national significance" which initiated both local and national efforts to better protect the biodiversity of this rich ecosystem." [vi]
[6] OK... maybe I should get into this some other time and place... this is getting ridiculous... this is the FIRST PARAGRAPH for cryin' out loud! I'll leave it like this: Crab Cakes - they taste very good at the Hotel Chalfont in Cape May, where I was married... different... I've never had the like before or since. - back to text
[7] Wikipedia has a very informative and CONCISE bit on "the well tempered clavier" It is a good little read if you are so inclined. - back to text
[8]I was recently in New Orleans and visited an antique bookstore where there was a circa 1919 50 Volume Walter Scott collection (leather bound) on sale for about four thousand dollars. Please... I'm not discounting the value of $4000 OR suggesting ANYTHING. I didn't have an extra four large to spend on books... but I almost did it anyway. I have no business doing such things (you can see my crappy house from this blog), but that doesn't change what is IMPORTANT. I would have charged it or something. Wire transfer. Business Check. Something. But I didn't do it because I have no legacy... there is no one to value these things after I buy them... and for ME the paperback reprints are fine. I thought of my one and only "garage sale" - A LIBRARY ANNIHILATION - and I realized that buying these books would have been a case of taking a treasure into BAD HANDS from GOOD HANDS. (And THIS realization touches everything.)
But I came VERY close to doing it. Our lives have to be about SOMETHING, right? And even a pebble in a river leaves a hundred rings... maybe I could leave some books? But these books can't be handled... and books which can't be handled are simply of no use to me... and so won't work.
Anyway... Walter Scott: now there's a guy... back to text
[9] I think maybe we are all born "leafs" because we are all connected at the beginning to what came before.
And there are so many of us. So many. And we toil with such intensity... at something (though I'm not entirely certain what).
I cannot keep my mind from wandering to Whitman and his Leaves of Grass.
Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?
I also say it is good to fall—battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won.
I have found this to be true. My greatest defeats were on my boldest days, as were my greatest accomplishments.
Even the simplest application of Alfred Marshall's universally accepted laws (Principles of Economics - 1890), show that our numbers decrease our value.[10] After all, the value of a thing is directly proportional to the quantity available. The marketplace is flooded with leaves and we are all, perhaps, diminished. It feels that way. I've been on the shelf a long time. Market forces are at work.
The falling leaves...
My point is that I don't think we are born "branches." I think we do not become "branches" until we connect to something, somehow, that will continue after... not just a child (but certainly a child, well-raised and productive). In my case I'd hoped to father a large family and be a branch in that manner, but such a thing was not written into the musical score of my youth and so I'll find another way... or I won't. It doesn't actually matter. And I don't think everyone does find a way. Some of us, I think, are just leafs.
Not that this is a bad thing. I've no judgment mind you. Some leaves are magnificent spectacles. And then, spent, they fall away and eventually disappear. In fact, maybe the most spectacular leaves are so. Robert Frost comes to mind (like a good friend, he never strays too far): Nothing Gold Can Stay.
Early Version (there are several):
Nature's first green is gold,
Her hardest hue to hold.
Her early leafs a flower;
But only so an hour.
Then leaf subsides to leaf.
So Eden sank to grief,
So dawn goes down to day.
Nothing gold can stay.
It's first leaf a flower; but only so an hour. Yes...
Alfred R. Ferguson has written a very interesting analysis of the poem, available at the University of Illinois Champaign- Urbana's Modern American Poetry site.[11]
I always associated Alfred Ferguson with one of John Baus' (Blog Meridian) favorite guys: Ralph Waldo Emerson. There is no real reason for this association except that what I have on old Waldo invariably has the Ferguson name on it somewhere. I'm not an Emerson scholar (as Baus apparently is, among other things), I just think of Emerson every time I walk into my garden and find it laughing at me, in bloom:
From Emerson's Hamatreya
Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys
Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs;
Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet
Clear of the grave.
I know this seems kind of "down" - "the grave" and all - but it isn't. It's not up OR down. It is just true. That's all. I've written more about this before: Ecclesiastes and my Marigolds. And it is fine.
Anyway, Ferguson obviously knew a thing or three about Bobby Frost. But I'm WAY off track. The point I mean to make is that like most artists I've had the pleasure to know, Dave Claire has always been connected, he's always been a branch. He's just a different kind of branch now.
And this thought brings me back to the garden and the branching I see there. "[R]arely does the main shoot or a side shoot end with a single, terminally placed flower. More common are flowers that are grouped together in units..." [ix]
This is easier for me. Instead of leaves, I'll think of inflorescences. Some are determinate (like mine). Some are indeterminate (like Dave's). Corymbs. Racemes. Umbels. Nice, huh?
And who says there is no philosophy in Plant Morphology?
"I CELEBRATE myself;
And what I assume you shall assume;
For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you."
Whitman, Leaves of Grass
[10] Alfred Marshall didn't invent the phrase "Supply and Demand." And neither did Adam Smith.
"The phrase "supply and demand" was first used by James Denham-Steuart in his Inquiry into the Principles of Political Economy, published in 1767. Adam Smith used the phrase in his 1776 book The Wealth of Nations, and David Ricardo titled one chapter of his 1817 work Principles of Political Economy and Taxation "On the Influence of Demand and Supply on Price"." [vii]
I think of Marshall because he was one the first (at the least the first I know of) to approach economics as a study of how we think and act... which is how I view economics... which is how EVERYONE should view economics after a quick read of Levitt and Dubner's Freakonomics. To my way of thinking, Freakonomics is just an extension of what Marshall started.)
"Although [Marshall's] economics was advertised as extensions and refinements of the work of Adam Smith, David Ricardo, Thomas Robert Malthus and John Stuart Mill, he extended economics away from its classical focus on the market economy and instead popularized it as a study of human behavior." [viii]
Now... Robert Malthus... Population Economics... there's some frightening math. But I can't bear to think about it just now and so, like an Ostrich, I won't. - back to text
[11] ...Though it seems to have been originally published from "Frost and the Paradox of the Fortunate Fall." Frost: Centennial Essays. Copyright © 1973 by University Press of Mississippi. - back to text
[12] I think portraits are interesting and I like to stare at them, wondering about the people on the canvas and the people in the room beyond the canvas. It is usually better if I know almost nothing about the subject. This allows me to invent my own context.
This is precisely why I cannot view some of the "great" Victorian nude paintings for any length of time... they always make me very uncomfortable... Not the nudity (I am a big fan of female nudity), but the whole staged thing. I'm thinking of things like John Reinhard Weguelin's The Bath.
The woman is, of course, very beautiful. Look at her! She's lovely! And the idea of the bath is interesting. We all bathe (or should). It's a nice situation. And I suppose this is executed quite well.
But then I think back and suspect that this was painted at some place like the artist's enclave at St. Ives, Cornwall... and I know that can't be a warm place with the breeze blowing.
And then I begin imagining dialogue between the artist and the model... like this:
MODEL: "Wha' about h'it Gov'ner? It's taters in 'ere! Might I slip into a billy?" [13]
PAINTER: "Oh no my dear! Arms up now! Higher please! I'm paying you two whole pence a day. And oh yes, please don't forget to remind me to feed the hounds."
And that just ruins it.
Give the lady a chair and sweater for chrissake! And light a fire!
So... I'm looking at this lovely image of a beautiful woman about to splash water on herself. This ought to be a good thing. I'm normally a big fan of women splashing things on their naked selves. But, I look at the painting and all the good thoughts go out the window.
No good.
I donno... seems like (from what I remember)... nakedness is easier than all this hoo-ha.
But... uh... that isn't really my point.
hmmnn
Portraits.... right.
This is something I've been thinking about for quite a while now. What I like about portraiture is the "character" it reveals. I've gone on before about John Singer Sargent, (Portrait of a House, Going to the Dogs) the most successful portrait painter of his era, who once said:
"A portrait is a painting with something a little wrong with the mouth."
But this pre-supposes that one can even SEE the mouth!
And there it is...
Have any of you noticed a trend among some of the blog portraits/self portraits out there today? Some very strange things are happening. Very peculiar behavior. I refer to the style and manner of many of the blog author-images out there.
They amuse me to no end.
I've done a little informal and unscientific survey and analysis of the blogs on my sidebar. I've been thinking about this awhile and started this little dataset some time ago. In fact, I've been thinking about this since I started this blog and had to pick a portrait of myself... or not. And then, as blogs lead to blogs, I continually encounter new portraits... and wonder... not just about the portraits, but about our society and what is happening to us.
I've been chewing on this for months now and so the sidebar (which changes) is probably not consistent with my data. But I don't care, it's fine.
I divided all the portraits I've seen into four categories:
Christine at My Plate or Yours
QUESTION: What would you wear for camouflage if you were hiding in a gingerbread house?
ANSWER: Cinnamon, dusted all over my skin and hair, and nothing else.
See what I mean? Coquette.
Black Swamp Girl at A Study in Contrasts
Melissa from Variety of Fine Pickles
Many of these categories overlap a bit. For example, John Baus' Blog Meridian. Apparently, the image of the Middle Ages scholar (I always think of the Venerable Bede for some reason) is actually John... in costume. You MUST go look. He's a teacher. And apparently he's a very good one. But I don't know what to call this kind of image. A Mask? A Theme? A Coquette?
In my opinion, most of "thought" is the organization of ideas. As you can see, my idea-organization is screwed. (QED, I am an idiot.)
There are other overlapping examples. Many are very clever. (I won't mention which one's I find particularly clever as these people know who they are.)
And of course, my assignments are completely subjective and perhaps even arbitrary.
My purpose is not to judge or criticize. I'm merely thinking about portraits.
Blog Portraits
| Blog |
None |
Overt |
Coquette |
Mask |
Theme |
X |
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X |
X |
X |
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X |
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X |
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X |
X |
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X |
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X |
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X |
X |
X |
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X |
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X |
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|
Blog |
None |
Overt |
Coquette |
Mask |
Theme |
x |
x |
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x |
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x |
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x |
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x |
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x |
x |
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x |
x |
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x |
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x |
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x |
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x |
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x |
x |
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x |
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|
Blog |
None |
Overt |
Coquette |
Mask |
Theme |
x |
x |
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x |
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x |
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x |
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x |
x |
x |
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x |
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x |
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x |
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x |
x |
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x |
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| Traveler's Lunchbox | x |
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| Whoreticulture | x |
x |
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|
Blog |
None |
Overt |
Coquette |
Mask |
Theme |
| TOTALS (40) | 10 |
19 |
7 |
10 |
12 |
--SOME ANALYSIS--
OK... of the 40 blogs surveyed, just less than half posted "overt" images whereas exactly half were either masked or image-less. About a quarter of the blogs did some kind of "theme thing." Seven did some kind of coquettish thing. *And exactly one is of a guy in a yellow shirt, in a yellow and white room with a perfectly matching yellow banana on his face and head (it is a food blog and so I'm considering this a "theme" and not a "coquette" ).
I offer no conclusions other than one (even though I have MANY thoughts): I think that many of us aren't particularly crazy about the way we actually look... and if not that per se, then certainly uncomfortable. Billions of leaves. Most look almost alike, virtually alike. And yet, many are nervous (me too maybe). I wonder if the flowers in a garden are anxious about their looks? (Actually I don't wonder.)
What a peculiar state of affairs.
But the truth is that many of these blog images are not portraits at all. They are avatars of course, which are not the same.
"In Hindu philosophy, an avatar, avatara or avataram (Sanskrit: avatāra), most commonly refers to the incarnation (bodily manifestation) of a higher being (deva), or the Supreme Being (God) onto planet Earth. The Sanskrit word avatāra- literally means "descent" (avatarati) and usually implies a deliberate descent into lower realms of existence for special purposes." [x]
Incarnations. That's about right. Our blog images are incarnations of ourselves. And in most cases they are descents. While the blogs I read are artful and wonderful, they are also obviously small parts of big lives. In my case however, there is probably an element of ascent. My life has become very small.
(I have to wonder about the Avatar of a BACK though.)
I think the portrait of Thunberg is almost an avatar too. Just look at the guy... that portrait has "Supreme Being" written all over it. - back to text
[13] Nice huh? I found this online cockney translator and promptly tried to memorize it... wasting several hours of my life that I'll never get back. "Taters" means "cold." It is "cockney rhyming slang" and short for "taters in the mould." "Billy" means "Coat." Billy Goat. Coat. I find this sort of thing to be quite "Easter Bunny" ("Funny") - back to text
[14] The following is from an NCBI PubMed source here: ""De venis resorbentibus" is an article on the lumph duct written in Latin under the guidance of Professer Linne [Linnæus]" - back to text
[15] Many of these letters are archived at the University of Chicago (believe it or not). I phoned the library and have been told that I am welcome to view the letters (which is great) but I need to learn a bit more before I do. Specifically, the letters aren't in English. I need to go with someone who can tell me what I'm seeing. I'll find a way. - back to text
[16] Sound familiar? This has definite shades of Aubrey and Maturin from my beloved Master & Commander series by Patrick O'Brian. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed these books. So much. - back to text
[17] From Rudulph's "Thunberg in Japan" - Richard Rudulph says it better than I ever will:
"Growing apprehension over the spread of the foreign religion and an increasing suspicion of all foreigners eventually resulted in the closing of the country [Japan]. A number of Japanese officials and wealthy merchants were interested, however, not only in the profit but also in the technical and scientific knowledge that could be gained from the West, and for this reason advocated a limited relationship with the foreigners. They decided that they could best realize these aims through the facilities of the East Indies Company of the Protestant Dutch, who did not bring missionaries with them."[xxxvi]
[18] The Dutch "fired about 425 rounds in the space of 15 days, without great result, and two Dutch lookouts were shot by the rebels. The [Dutch] ship withdrew at the request of the Japanese, following contemptuous messages sent by the rebels to the besieging troops:
"Are there no longer courageous soldiers in the realm to do combat with us, and weren't they ashamed to have called in the assistance of foreigners against our small contingent?" [xxxvii]
[19] The grand farce of American Riverboat Casinos comes to mind. No matter what one feels about casinos or gambling, the current state of affairs is a societal hallucination... it's an acid trip. In many places gambling is illegal, unless it is on a boat (which blows my mind). One presumes that the idea was originally so that the boat could go somewhere else. This is, of course, not the case at all. Nowadays, many riverboat casinos are permanently moored barges. Some are structures built on stilts over water - as though being "over water" is the same thing as being a boat... as though being a boat has anything to do with anything. The next time the topic of riverboat gambling comes up, think of the Dejima in Nagasaki Bay. To my way of thinking, they are the same hallucination. - back to text
[20] But I believe Thunberg had some backers for this sort of thing... and this might explain why he kept some meticulous note of the costs. Again, Richard Rudulph says it so well:
"Various Hollanders had long been interested in the flora of Japan and wished to import living plants in order to propagate them in Holland. Thunberg's knowledge of botany had impressed a number of such people, and as a result three wealthy residents of Amsterdam, van der Poll, van der Deutz and ten Hoven, proposed to pay his expenses to Japan in order to collect whatever species of new plants might be available and to bring them back to Holland." [xxxviii]
[21] There are several epithets which indicate "from Japan."
japonica, japonicum, japonicus
There may be more. Thunberg used the first: japonica. (But this is not to say that any or all species with a japonica epithet were named by Thunberg.)
Also, it turns out that Thunberg was mistaken a good bit of the time in his efforts, but aren't we all.
"Many of the plants, which he gave the epithet "japonica" were actually Chinese plants, imported in Japan. And many plants, he described as living in the wild, were actually garden plants."[xxxix]
[22] Do a search for Katsuragawa Hosshu. Go ahead. You'll see that EVERY SINGLE RESULT yields the following: "Katsuragawa Hosshu, a notorious rake." But nowhere can any information be found on HOW or WHY the guy was a "notorious rake." This kind of thing drives me crazy. Someone wrote it once and everyone else has copied it. Blindly.
And what the hell does NOTORIOUS RAKE mean? Is it a good thing? You know, like a bad thing that is really good.
I don't think one should be allowed to call another something like "Notorious Rake" without explaining it. No doubt it was explained somewhere. But I can't find it. This is asinine.
The only solid thing I can find on Katsuragawa is from the Monumenta Nipponica:
"Katsuragawa Hosshu was one of the leading scientists of his time and one of several who cooperated on the translation and summary of a Dutch version of the Tabulae Anatomicæ by Johan Adam Kulmus which gave Japan its first truly scientific anatomy, the Kaitai Shinsho, published in 1774. (Before Thunberg arrived.) He (Katsuragawa) also played a part in the introduction of the microscope, and in 1802 he demonstrated the wonders of this instrument to a prominent Japanese official." [xxxx]
[23] There no "going back home"... ever. Once you leave your home, it is gone forever and there is no sense in searching for it. The best thing to do is make a new one, if you can.
[24] I should buy this book. But it's $145. This in and of itself is not prohibitive... but hell... I have a 20 or 25 unread books on my nightstand now. Damn... I'll never finish all the books I want to read. This is not a happy thought! I have to believe I'll get to it eventually. - back to text
[25] Perhaps interestingly, the wikipedia entry for "Thunbergia" attributes the Genus name to the Swedish scientist Anders Jahan Retziu. This is an error. - back to text
[vi] On the Smithsonian Marine Station at Fort Pierce site, there is a great bit allocated to the IRL... there is even a species inventory online. You gotta love the internet, no? - back to text
[xi] from The Botany Section - Museum of Evolution Uppsala - here - back to text
[xii] From Uppsala University Bios here - back to text
[xiii] From Uppsala University Bios here - back to text
[xiv] From Wikipedia: Thunberg - back to text
[xv] From Wikipedia: Thunberg ALSO from The Botany Section - Museum of Evolution Uppsala - here - back to text
[xvi] From Wikipedia: Thunberg - back to text
[xvii] (see Karsten in J. of South African Bot. 5: 1-27, 87-191, 1939) - from The Botany Section - Museum of Evolution Uppsala - here - back to text
[xx] From Wikipedia: Thunberg - back to text
[xxi] From Wikipedia: Thunberg - back to text
[xxii] From Amazon Review of Japan Extolled and Decried: Carl Peter Thunberg's Travels in Japan 1775-1776 - back to text
[xxiii] from Wikipedia: dejima - back to text
[xxiv] from Wikipedia: dejima - back to text
[xxv] from Wikipedia: dejima - back to text
[xxvi] from Wikipedia: dejima - back to text
[xxvii] from "Thunberg in Japan and His Flora Japonica in Japanese" by Richard C. Rudolph in the Monumenta Nipponica, Vol. 29, No. 2 (Summer, 1974), pp. 164 - back to text
[xxviii] from "Thunberg in Japan and His Flora Japonica in Japanese" by Richard C. Rudolph in the Monumenta Nipponica, Vol. 29, No. 2 (Summer, 1974), pp. 165 - back to text
[xxix] from Wikipedia: dejima - back to text
[xxx] from Wikipedia: dejima - back to text
[xxxi] from "Thunberg in Japan and His Flora Japonica in Japanese" by Richard C. Rudolph in the Monumenta Nipponica, Vol. 29, No. 2 (Summer, 1974), pp. 166 - back to text
[xxxiii] From Amazon Review of Japan Extolled and Decried: Carl Peter Thunberg's Travels in Japan 1775-1776 - back to text
[xxxvi] "Thunberg in Japan and His Flora Japonica in Japanese" by Richard C. Rudolph in the Monumenta Nipponica, Vol. 29, No. 2 (Summer, 1974), pp. 164-165 - back to text
[xxxviii] "Thunberg in Japan and His Flora Japonica in Japanese" by Richard C. Rudolph in the Monumenta Nipponica, Vol. 29, No. 2 (Summer, 1974), pp. 164 - back to text
[xxxx] From "Thunberg in Japan and His Flora Japonica in Japanese." by Richard C. Rudolph in the Monumenta Nipponica, Vol. 29, No. 2 (Summer, 1974), pp. 168 - back to text
I guess everyone is speechless. So am I. Or maybe we're waiting until we have read the whole piece. It could be weeks. You are very unusual - in a good way.
Guess I'm not so speechless after all.
Posted by: anna maria | April 11, 2007 at 07:48 PM
uh . . .
Posted by: Rick Anderson | April 11, 2007 at 09:29 PM
Thank you Anna Maria,
I think maybe I over did it. But I got lost in this and didn't even bother to look for a way out. Up looking at these roughly 11k words again, it was folly and inconsideration to expect people to muscle through it.
It's cold here and I type next to fireplace. maybe that's it. Thank's again.
Posted by: The County Clerk | April 13, 2007 at 06:40 AM
"Muscle through it" isn't quite what happened... it was more like trying to travel through a vine-covered pergola while the vines grow faster than one can walk.
I've grown Thunbergia, the Black eyed Susan vine off and on for decades, without knowing anything about the man. As I read your interesting tale, vaguely remembered visuals from the ancient mini-series Shogun played in my mind, and I took a few sidetrips, myself. I was pleased to find out that Thunberg's Sir Joseph Banks was the spouse of the woman for whom my Lady Banks rose was named.
One more thing, Hank: for a woman who is technically old enough to be your mother, it was quite a kick to be called a Masked Coquette with a Theme.
Annie at the Transplantable Rose
Posted by: Annie in Austin | April 13, 2007 at 08:16 AM