Why Nature Speaks Latin
And why we should consider trying it more often too.
"In Georgia, it's called 'possum grape.' In France, it's 'vigne sauvage.' But no matter where you are, Vitis aestivalis is always Vitis aestivalis."
"It’s easy to confuse a ‘green frog’ with a ‘frog that’s green.’ But say Lithobates clamitans, and you’re pointing to a very specific croaker."
"Calling it a 'snapping turtle' tells you what it does. Calling it Chelydra serpentina tells you it’s a snake-like, armored swimmer—a creature as old as time itself."
Thinking about scientific names.
This summer when I was in naturalist classes at Smithgall Woods State Park, one of our speakers mentioned a scientific name for a species, then added quietly under her breath:
“I know, people hate the scientific names.”
She went on with her talk about opossums (Didelphidae), but her remark got me to thinking about trying to use scientific names more often. And to learn the backstory of what they are about.
Scientific names can seem intimidating. They’re long, in Latin, and they look like something you need a PhD to pronounce. But here’s the thing: knowing (or at least appreciating) these names is helpful.
Having an idea about scientific names is a good idea if you are going to be a community scientist or are trying move beyond basic knowledge in the natural world.
Think of scientific names as the labels on a filing cabinet, or on a spreadsheet. Just like The Everyday Scientist helps you sort through community science projects,1 scientific names help scientists (and everyone) keep track of the billions of species on this planet. It’s a universal language—no matter where you are, the scientific name stays the same.
For example, I recently wrote about a huge turtle I saw out in my favorite park. Here, we call them snapping turtles, but in other countries they have different names. But if we all say Chelydra serpentina, we know exactly which creature we’re talking about: that tough, prehistoric-looking turtle with a snake-like neck. I saw it in action.
Scientific names also tell stories. They often describe what a species looks like, where it lives, or how it behaves. Fred and I went foraging with the Mushroom Club of Georgia this summer and had a blow-out of a time seeing all the ‘rooms everyone discovered out in the woods. It had just rained in the days before our event, perfect conditions for fungi growth, and in a few hours our group discovered dozens and dozens of edible and non edible mushrooms for us to examine.
One of Fred’s favorite’s was the Old Man of the Woods. Its scientific name is Strobilomyces floccopus. "Strobilomyces" means “cone-shaped fungus,” and "floccopus" means “woolly foot”—a perfect description of this shaggy, cone-like mushroom especially when you uncover a cluster of them. Once you know the name, it’s hard to forget it! Also, it’s a tempting nickname for people you may happen to know, but I’m trying to resist.
Sometimes, scientific names are named after people or places. There’s even a fish called Etheostoma obama, named in honor President Obama.
You don’t have to master every name, but I find that trying them out once in a while is like learning a few words in a new language. The next time you spot a moth or mushroom, give its scientific name a try. I often attempt to at least pronounce the Latin names out loud a few times and write the words down in my notebook. Maybe, but I’m not sure, I’m promoting a mind-body connection?
Why all the Latin?
Scientific names are in Latin because it functions as a universal language that doesn’t evolve. This way, Acer rubrum means “red maple” to everyone, everywhere.
The tradition of using Latin names started with 18th-century botanist Carl Linnaeus, who standardized species naming for consistency. It stuck—and now, this “dead” language keeps things precise in our living world.
Thanks, appreciate the clicks.
This month marks the end of two years on my community science journey—two years of both doing the projects and writing about them. I’m so grateful for every click, every moment you’ve spent pondering a photo I’ve shared, and every comment or share. Your engagement has been like sunlight to this growing project, and I plan to keep up a good pace in 2025 too.
As you may recall, I’m a graduate student in the writing program at Kennesaw State University. It’s time for my final project—my capstone—a chance to gather up the threads of these experiences and weave them into a reflective piece on the connections and learning this journey has brought me.
You’ll hear more about all of that soon, because I plan to share some of those threads with you along the way. Stay tuned!
Tell Mackenzie I like the bird!
The only one I know is the Latin name for yaupon holly--Ilex vomitoria. It was used to make tea during purifying rituals. Drinking the tea in large amounts induced purging.