Lion's Ear

Family: Lamiaceae, sometimes called Labiatae (Mint family)
Genus: Leonotis
Species: leonurus

I think it’s safe to say we all agree that plants are amazing in their seemingly infinite variety. Many of us find their flowers and foliage fascinating. We like to contrast their growth habits and hardiness, learn how they’re pollinated and the ways we can propagate them. Some of us—okay, a few of us—enjoy learning about how they came to be identified by particular botanical names and where they fall among the hierarchical categories in the plant kingdom.

I can hear the groans now. Cheryll is going to write about Linnaeus again, and binomial nomenclature, and try to trick us into caring about obscure terms in Latin and Greek!

Well, not exactly. Proper names are important—one person’s “daisy” is another person’s “aster.” Garden centers and catalogs typically organize their stock by botanical names; books to guide you in their care do the same. Proper labels are important, too. Anyone who’s bought a seedling labeled Arabis and found it was Aubrieta instead, once it was planted and growing, can attest to that. A “white” petunia turns out to be hot pink and screams at the marigolds. A small Rudbeckia is tagged as an Echinacea purpurea. I won’t even mention the possibilities of confusing Sedum, Echeveria, and Sempervivum.

When a commercial grower produces hundreds of thousands of starts every year, it’s understandable that from time to time a tagger will sneeze and scatter the labels. It’s hard to make things right after that, since all baby petunias tend to look alike. Growers choose taggers who aren’t sneeze-prone and hope for the best—they do more than that, actually, and generally their systems work very well. But sometimes the problem is more, shall we say, academic. Every few years an international body of scientists convenes to review and update the nomenclature for all plants, including those newly discovered or recently developed. The sheer number of names and categories they examine is nothing to sneeze at. They don’t always agree about either the names or the conventions used to express them. In addition to these disagreements—although they’re ostensibly overcome in the conference proceedings—getting word out about changes to the nursery trade and updating reference books can be quite a challenge. So it’s good to be prepared for a little uncertainty where plant names are concerned.

You’ll not be surprised, then, when I tell you that some confusion exists in regard to this month’s featured plant. In most reference works, leonurus is listed only as the name of one species of the genus Leonotis, and describes a robust shrub native to South Africa. Other, equally distinguished sources list Leonurus as a genus unto itself, with no more than four species, all native to a region that spans from the Mediterranean to central Asia. So just to be clear, the plant commonly known as lion’s ear—and sometimes as lion’s tail!—is Leonotis leonurus.

It is an interesting, mid-sized perennial shrub with either white or orange flowers grouped dramatically along upright stems. With its exotic good looks, it can hold its own with the likes of sea holly—particularly the Eryngium giganteum known as Miss Willmott’s Ghost—and globe thistle—the common name given to several species and named varieties of the genus Echinops. The good news is, birds and butterflies and bees and hummingbirds love L. leonurus, and it makes quite a statement in the garden with a minimum of care. The bad news is, the idea that it will flourish in your own garden may be just wishful thinking. It doesn’t much care for freezing temperatures and is officially hardy only to Sunset zone 8. But you can take a look at lion’s ear, and buy seeds to grow it, at VanDusen Botanical Gardens in Vancouver. If you want to try your luck with it, put your plant in a sheltered location and cover its base with a deep layer of insulating mulch every fall. Be prepared for it to die back to ground level and hope the roots survive. Or you can grow it in a big container that you plan to move indoors for the winter.

Why would I feature a plant that might not survive here? Because it’s an interesting specimen. Biodiversity is key to our well-being, and it’s important to know what’s out there. Because its extracts have shown great potential in medical research, after centuries of folk use, particularly as an effective anticonvulsant. Because it supports and gives shelter to a variety of living creatures. And—you guessed it—because of its name. My June 2004 plant selection just had to have something to do with “Leon.” My son graduates from high school this month and takes his first big step out of the garden where he’s grown. So I want to salute him and all the other graduates who are busily celebrating this very important rite of passage and academic achievement. Way to go, members of the class of 2004!