"Pay attention to the world." -- Susan Sontag
 

White Iris Mysteries (2 of 2)

From “White Flags” in Garden Bulbs for the South by Scott Ogden:

“The first perennial irises to bloom in spring are several antique bearded types of dwarfish stature…. The ‘beards’ of these species are formed by long rows of feathery stamens, which mark the centers of the three outer petals, or falls. The inner petals, or standards, curve upward and inward to create the familiar fleur-de-lis seen as a motif in historic art and architecture….

“The most familiar of the historic irises in the South is the old white flag,
Iris albicans. The Latin epithet, which translates as ‘off-white,’ was given to plants found growing in Spain during the mid-1800s. Although these irises are now common waifs in many warm countries, their original homeland appears to be on the Arabian Peninsula. Tradition holds that the Moors carried this iris wherever they traveled in conquest, planting the flowers as memorials on the graves of fallen Muslim soldiers….

“When Spanish colonists came to Florida and Mexico, they brought this Mediterranean flower with them and continued the tradition of planting them in cemeteries. These are now the most common irises in the South.

“The leaden flowers and gray, sword-shaped leaves of
Iris albicans line paths and fill graveyards and vacant fields in March. They are often accompanied by early blue flags, thought to be variants of the same species: on some occasions a blue flower may be seen sporting from the side of an old clump of white I. albicans….

“For as long as
Iris albicans has been in gardens, it has suffered confusion with a near relation, the pale white I. florentina (Florentine iris). This famous plant is the preferred source of orris, a fixative used in the perfume industry…. This iris is still raised for this purpose in Tuscany….

“The Florentine iris differs from
Iris albicans in its taller, more open spikes of bloom. These carry papery bracts that often dry and turn brown by the time the flowers open. Although the blossoms are larger than those of I. albicans, they open sparsely and are less effective in the garden….

“Early garden writers described
Iris florentina as a natural species, but botanists now regard it as an ancient hybrid. Like I. albicans, it has a blue variant. Although less common and prolific in Southern gardens than the early flags, I. florentina tolerates the climate better than many modern bearded irises. It appears occasionally in old gardens and may be seen blooming in April, several weeks after I. albicans finishes for the season.”


Hello!

This is the second of two posts with photographs of white irises that I took at Oakland Cemetery earlier this year. The first post is White Iris Mysteries (1 of 2), where I dug into how the names of white irises like these have evolved, from their historically early designation as Iris florentina through many intervening variations to the widely accepted name Iris albicans, then back to Iris florentina again. You might wonder why anyone would even do that research — I know I wondered! But as the picture became clearer, I realized I had unexpectedly come across an event that is rare for someone who is not a scientist, nor a naturalist, nor formally trained as a botanist to encounter: the reclassification of a plant species that was in progress, one not yet universally accepted by experts in the field.

While I’ve often encountered historically varying plant names and written about them here, the context was typically associated with past events: a plant got named decades or centuries ago based on its visual or environmental characteristics or its cultural significance, then got renamed subsequently as more information became available through additional exploration, discovery, and scientific analysis — all stemming from the way knowledge advances in concentric circles or connected spirals rather than in a strictly linear fashion.

For my purposes here, identifying a plant and researching its name changes provided a way to develop a partial and condensed story suitable for writing about on a blog — as opposed, say, to the entire chapters in botany books that might be devoted to seminal events where nomenclature changes occurred. The identification served me as an anchor for a story, that anchor pointed toward other names and other threads I could explore, and I’d pick a few of those threads to pursue and write about them here.

What we have with Iris florentina is a little different than that: the kind of anchor I’m used to launching my research from has been replaced by a contemporary rather than historical event, and it’s just unfolded recently. Its recency is reflected in the excerpt I included at the top of this post — which shows that when Scott Ogden published his book Garden Bulbs for the South in 2007, the plant commonly observed as a White Flag or Cemetery Iris in the southeast could have been either Iris florentina or Iris albicans.

The author goes into a lot of detail (part of which I excerpted last year to support my original identification) about what allegedly separates the two species, encompassing historical understanding of their visual and structural differences — which are now believed to reflect variations based on the plants’ propagation under different growing or overall environmental conditions. That section of his book would have to be rewritten now to accommodate how Kew Plants of the World Online has collapsed the two species into one by treating Iris albicans as a synonym of Iris florentina rather than a separate species. But that part of the story can’t yet be fully told: what I uncovered in the first post establishes a marker reflecting the recent reclassification, something I plan to take another look at when — as is likely — I photograph these white irises again in 2027 and can assess how widely accepted Kew’s reclassification has been, or if the debate “rages on.”

Stay tuned!

Thanks for reading and taking a look!










White Iris Mysteries (1 of 2)

From “Iris florentina” in Classic Irises and the Men and Women Who Created Them by Clarence Mahan:

“One iris was an important economic commodity in centuries past: Iris florentina. The story of Iris florentina is fascinating and complex. The complexity of the history of Iris florentina stems both from the existence of a widely distributed imposter and from taxonomic reclassification.

“The authority of taxonomists is an awesome power for advancing our knowledge of the physical world. But taxonomists are not immune from errors of fact or judgment. This is exemplified by the history of
Iris florentina. The history of Iris florentina is also evidence of the wisdom of the illustrious 15th-century Florentine architect Leon Battista Alberti who observed that ‘nothing overshadows truth so much as authority’….

“During the Middle Ages the city of Florence became famous for three products: gold coins, fine silks, and orris root. The Florentines, who seldom missed an economic opportunity, were known to sell the finest quality orris root. It was made from white irises grown on the hillsides of Tuscany. These white irises owed their fame and their name to the city of Florence….

Linnaeus described and named the white bearded iris in 1759. He gave it the name
Iris florentina, which is what herbalists had been calling it for at least two-hundred years.

Pierre Joseph Redoute painted the first detailed and botanically accurate picture of
Iris florentina. Redoute’s painting was reproduced in Les Liliacees, often considered the finest set of botanical prints ever produced, in 1802….”

From “Iridaceae: Iris albicans Lange” in  P. J. Redoute Lilies and Related Flowers by Brian Mathew:

“It is unfortunate that the plant illustrated so beautifully by Redoute was not the same plant as the Florentine Iris, from the rhizome of which the perfume and medicinal agent known as orrisroot was obtained. The plate actually depicts an Arabian species, which was later described by J.M.C. Lange as Iris albicans. The true Florentine Iris is the more well known of the two and is also white-flowered, but is almost certainly nothing more than a colour form of the common Iris germanica and not a distinct species….”

From “White Pigeons” by Laura Maner Sams Sanders in The Yearbook of Contemporary Poetry 1936, edited by Margaret Nelson:

Today I saw white pigeons fly
O’er a snowy dogwood tree.
The background was a slaty sky,
With white clouds, foaming mistily.

White, densely foliaged Cherokees
Were blooming on a near-by fence.
Among them supped the honey bees,
Enjoying their fresh fragrance.

White irises on cool green stems
Were gleaming in the shady light.
Each flower held clear, dewy gems.
A symphony in green and white.

O’er this space of white and green
Six pigeons chose to wing their way.
As if to help complete the scene,
And add more beauty to the day.


Hello!

This is the first of two posts with photographs of white irises that I took at Oakland Cemetery earlier this year. Oakland’s white irises are among the first irises to appear in March or as early as February, continuing to bloom for six to eight weeks, with a few exuberant ones making an appearance well into the summer if their growing conditions permit. The poem I included above describes one of their key visual characteristics — white gleaming even in shady light — and they tend to be visible from great distances because of that glow and their presence on a landscape not yet quite filled with spring color. The poem also highlights the color white’s appearance in other parts of the scene it describes, including the blooms of a Cherokee Rose — a plant I photographed at Oakland around the same time (see Rosa laevigata, the Cherokee Rose (1 of 2)).

I wrote about these white irises last year as part of a series of posts (see Natureโ€™s Palette: Exploring Iris Colors, Their Culture, and Their History (6 of 10)) and identified them there as Iris albicans. While that identification is still not inaccurate (!!), it doesn’t reflect the intricate history of this plant’s names, something that became apparent to me when I tried to follow a link I’d included to a Wikipedia page about Iris albicans. The linked page — originally “https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Iris_albicans” — no longer exists, and Wikipedia instead redirects automatically to its Iris florentina page instead.

Now, while it’s true that my approach to this blog has evolved into an informal “take pictures and teach yourself botany” methodology, it struck me as unlikely that I wouldn’t have noticed that an Iris albicans Wikipedia search took me to a plant with a different name entirely. By digging around in the Internet Archive’s Wayback Machine, I found a snapshot of the article I’d originally linked to dated October 2025, shown here…

… where you can see a note that says “It has been suggested that this article be merged into Iris florentina” near the top of the page. As good news to this amateur botanist, the snapshot of an October 2025 Iris albicans page meant that when I had previously linked to it — in June 2025 — it did indeed exist on Wikipedia. Nevertheless, this recent and very deliberate name change struck me as an emerging mystery that I needed to dig into.

As I’ve mentioned here many times, I use PlantNet to try to identify plants I photograph at Oakland, then use other resources to support PlantNet’s suggestions. PlantNet anchors its identification intelligence around various floras — roughly, geographic regions aligned with the body of native plants typically found there — so I uploaded four of these white iris photos to see what PlantNet had to say about them, using the Southeastern U.S. Flora (because that’s the region where I photographed the plants).

As you can see from this screenshot, PlantNet only identifies these white irises by their genus name Iris — something that happens mainly because they’re not native flora in my southeastern corner of the United States. This isn’t too unusual, and it’s often true for plants I find specifically at Oakland where — reflecting its Victorian history — the plant residents include a wide variety of non-native species whose ancestors would have been imported in the nineteenth century when gardens and garden cemeteries like this were being established. And in this case, PlantNet provides a useful message explaining that “A similar-looking species has been detected in another flora” with a handy button to click to identify the same images in World Flora encompassing the whole natural world.

Based on what I thought I knew about these irises, I would have expected PlantNet’s World Flora to tell me they were Iris albicans, as I identified them in 2025, but their identity comes up as Iris florentina instead:

So now I have two data points sending me away from Iris albicans toward Iris florentina; or, in the words of Rabbit from Pooh’s Heffalump Movie: “What we have here is a mystery of the most mysterious kind.”

Resolving (or merely understanding) the mystery took me back to the fifteenth century, where — as the first quote at the top of this post explains — the original plant name Iris florentina derives from the connections between the plant’s native presence around Florence and the commercial development of orris root for medicinal use in Italy. The blending of botanical and economic disciplines often lends weight to the cultural significance of plant families and species, and Iris florentina fits that model: the plant became widely studied and appeared in art and literature, such as in the Portinari Altarpiece painting from the 1470s where it carries significant religious symbolism. By the 1800s when botanical artist P. J. Redoute famously attributed a white iris drawing as Iris florentina in the first volume of his Les liliacees series (you can see the drawing here), the name was well entrenched for similar-looking white irises (in part from Redoute’s influence as an illustrator), even as botanists began to suggest other potential names and species differentiations for various observed white irises.

That helps explain why the definitive-sounding cliffhanger at the end of the Mahan excerpt above can be contradicted by the second excerpt from Brian Mathew’s book P. J. Redoute Lilies and Related Flowers, where Mathew stakes a different claim: that Redoute’s Iris florentina is actually a drawing of Iris albicansIris albicans being one of several names proposed for these white irises in the decades after Redoute published his Iris florentina drawing. But with discussion over whether these irises should be called Iris florentina, Iris albicans, or grouped with Iris germanica spanning both the nineteenth and twentieth centuries, Mathew’s claim isn’t the last word either — a conclusion we can safely derive from my discovery of the recent Wikipedia article switch-up and unexpected PlantNet results.

Both the Wikipedia article and PlantNet’s floras use Kew’s Plants of the World Online for plant scientific names and plant family relationships (or taxonomies), and Kew now treats the name Iris albicans as a synonym for Iris florentina rather than as a separate species…

… supporting that conclusion with research produced as recently as 2024. So we have, in effect, returned irises of a particular species to their earlier European names and collapsed two species of irises into one — which means that the cultural, botanical, and historical threads of Iris florentina and Iris albicans are now intertwined.

Thanks for reading and taking a look!













Daffodils: A Gathering (4 of 4)

From “Scents and Sensibilities” in Daffodil: Biography of a Flower by Helen O’Neill:

Narcissus poeticus is an antique daffodil with an otherworldly beauty. It blooms late in spring, is believed by some to be the variety alluded to in ancient Greek legend, and displays a simple halo of pure white arching petals and a startlingly yellow scarlet-rimmed crown. My mother, like so many others, thinks of the Narcissus poeticus var. recurvus variety that grows in her garden as โ€˜Pheasantโ€™s Eyeโ€™, and while poeticus may not be the daffodil that so inspired William Wordsworth it is imbued with a strange lyrical power.

Sir Bernard Burke, the nineteenth-century genealogist who created
Burkeโ€™s Peerage, realised this while investigating the enigma of the fallen house of Finderne for his 1860 book A Second Series of Vicissitudes of Families. Once a rich and powerful Derbyshire clan, the Findernes mysteriously vanished in the mists of the fifteenth century. The village, Finderne (now spelled โ€˜Findernโ€™) still exists but when Burke explored it he could find no trace of the Finderne dynasty, so he accosted an elderly local for information.

“โ€˜Findernes,โ€™ repeated the old man, โ€˜We have no Findernes here but we have something that once belonged to them.โ€™ He led Burke to a field containing traces of ancient ruins, and pointed to a bank of wild blooms. โ€˜They are the Findernesโ€™ flowers, brought by Sir Geoffrey from the Holy Land,โ€™ said the villager of the aristocratโ€™s campaign in the Crusades around eight centuries earlier, โ€˜and do what we will, they will never die.โ€™

“These flowers are believed to have been
Narcissus poeticus and their presence deeply affected the author. โ€˜For more than three hundred years the Findernes had been extinct, the mansion they dwelt in had crumbled into dust, the brass and marble intended to perpetuate the name had passed away,โ€™ Burke wrote.

“โ€˜A tiny flower had for ages preserved a name and a memory which the elaborate works of manโ€™s hands had failed to rescue from oblivion. The moral of the incident is as beautiful as the poetry. We often talk of โ€œthe language of flowersโ€ but of the eloquence of flowers [we] never had such a striking example.โ€™”

From “Little Elegies: VI” by Rosemary Thomas in Selected Poems of Rosemary Thomas by Twayne Publishers, Inc.:

These are the flowers that we picked
a year ago:
poeticus spread perfume out
to say to you,
“Come, I will go
back to your city-room, and wake the view
of orchard beyond walls โ€”
take me with you.”

Now everywhere
narcissus wakes
beyond the view โ€”
on walls without all reckoning
a silent thing โ€”
petal-less, pitiless perfume now,
this March, this spring.


Hello!

This is the fourth of four posts exploring four daffodil varieties that I photographed at Oakland Cemetery earlier this year. The first post about Narcissus pseudonarcissus is Daffodils: A Gathering (1 of 4); the second post about Narcissus ร— incomparabilis is Daffodils: A Gathering (2 of 4); and the third post about Narcissus tazettaย is Daffodils: A Gathering (3 of 4).

In this post, I have photos of a small collection of Narcissus poeticus flowers featuring tiny white or light yellow cups or coronas, most etched with a reddish-orange edge color that — along with the shapes of their petals and the size and appearance of their leaves — helps confirm their identity. Like our previous daffodil friends, Narcissus poeticus is known by a long list of common names, including Findern Flower, Nargis, Pheasant’s Eye, Pheasant’s Eye Daffodil, Pheasant’s Eye Narcissus, Pinkster Lily, Poet’s Daffodil, and Poet’s Narcissus. Each of these has its own historical threads, but the one I found most interesting — in part because I hadn’t heard of it before — is Findern Flower. The village of Findern (originally Finderne or Fynderne) and the Findern Flower are partially described by Helen O’Neill in the excerpt at the top of the post, where O’Neill relies on genealogy research published by Sir Bernard Burke in A Second Series of Vicissitudes of Families in 1860 to recount the story or legend of the connections between a fifteenth-century family, their village, architecture and a landscape, and a flower.

Since a scanned version of that book was available on the Internet Archive, it was especially fun to confirm the details of O’Neill’s version of the story and read the original quotations contained in Burke’s description of his encounters at the village. While Burke doesn’t name or describe the flower, the connection to the mysteriously disappeared Finderne family and the town bearing their name appears to be intact: search the internet for Findern flower and you’ll find images clearly associating Narcissus poeticus with that name and history. And the Wikipedia article for the Findern village shows an image of the flower that certainly does appear to be N. poeticus, though a double form demonstrating the diminished corona and interleaved flower petals we discussed when I posted photos of white double Tazetta daffodils from Oakland.

Thanks for reading and taking a look!