Plant names are often whimsical, their origins obscure. Kiss
me over the Garden Gate. Forget me not. Hollyhock. Who came up with these
names, and why?
Love in a Puff is a more literal description, or so it seems
at first. A wonder of geometry, each bilaterally symmetrical (or nearly so) leaf
sports a triplet of three-part leaflets. Each flowering stem produces a pair of
tendrils, from which spring three branchlets, each with three tiny buds. The
buds burst into petite white blooms, each one becoming a puffy three-sided
balloon. Hence the “Puff” in Love in a Puff. The trinities do not end there,
for inside of each Puff are three partitions, and clinging to the three-wall
joints are three round, black seeds. Inscribed on each seed is a perfect ivory “heart”
(known in math circles as a cardioid, albeit slightly modified), hence the
Love.
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| Cardiospermum halicacabum seeds |
Love, or at least the cardioid shape, is everywhere in my garden. Redbud leaves and wood sorrel, moonflower and salvia, katsura,
violets, hosta all have heart-shaped leaves. Almost always, they unfold
gracefully from a center seam, each side the mirror image of the other. Sometimes,
they fold up at night. But the hearts that hide in puffs have no center seam,
and they expand, rather than unfold. Are they scars, enlarging from the center point
of attachment? How they came to be so reliably heart-shaped rather than
sensibly circular is a mystery.
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| 'Forest Pansy" redbud leaf. Note the folded young leaves. |
We, like almost all animals and most leaves, are bilaterally
symmetrical, at least on the outside. Scientists attribute symmetry in animals
to the fact that, if we are to propel ourselves in an efficient fashion, the
mirror image model makes the most practical sense. Right foot, left foot, we
walk, arms swinging in opposing directions. On the inside, asymmetrical design
has taken over some core functions. Intestinal tubes fold and roll, pushing
other organs off pattern. The heart itself is neither “heart”-shaped nor is it
symmetrical. It’s more like a screw.
Which begs the question: how did we come to associate the
modified cardioid—comma facing comma—with love in the first place? It took a
few centuries, as it turns out. The long story involves ivy leaves, playing
cards, and religious icons. Eventually Hallmark came along and sealed the deal. (see below for a more complete explanation)
Outside of the animal kingdom exist types of symmetry other
than the bilateral that shapes our preferences and our design sensibilities. The
rotational symmetry of flowers (and the three-sided Puff), the spirals of
nautilus shells and sunflower heads, and the six-sided symmetry of crystals
follow rules of their own. Rooted organisms have no need for economical
locomotion. Floaters have other options. The mathematics of the multiple
spirals of pinecones that run both clockwise and counterclockwise have been
figured out, named, and categorized, but that does little to diminish the
mysteries.
We have always taken our cues from nature. Sacred trinities
and technologies draw from its wealth. The hexagonal combs of the honeybee
inform aeronautic materials. The famous Guggenheim Museum borrows from the
nautilus. The bilateral symmetry of skeletal frames infuses the arts, the
automobile, the Taj Mahal, the Brooklyn Bridge.
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| Seeds still attached, at the heart, to the inner walls of the puff |
The perfect Puff—light as air yet strong, geometrically intriguing, poetically beautiful—is as elegant a structure as exists anywhere. Its three-walled pod, the climax of a series of threes, inflates, seemingly magically, when our heads are turned. So it is fitting that it’s name bursts with enigmatic romance. A source of inspiration, to be sure.
