Flora Wonder Blog

Magnolia kobus var. stellata 'Jane Platt'

Last winter we grafted the lovely Magnolia kobus var. stellata 'Jane Platt', and thankfully not too many as I noticed this morning that someone – named “me-no” – got confused and cut the scions off from the Magnolia kobus rootstock. The rubber bands were still covering the graft unions, and I admit that without removing them it is hard to tell a scion apart from the rootstock. So all our effort was for nothing, with no future 'Jane Platt' to sell. And have we ever been similarly confused prior to today? Of course we have, and you can be sure that I charge too much for some plants to make up for our futile moments.

Saya preparing Acer palmatum 'Mikazuki'

But moving on, we are in the thick of our grafting season for Japanese maples, with old-man Buchholz cutting every scion. Bending and stretching for scions can be tiresome, especially in the heat and in muggy greenhouses, but in our type of nursery with a-little-of-this and a-little-of-that, it's not a job that I can safely delegate to others. I do receive help from my daughter, usually in the evening, with scion preparation, i.e. cutting off the leaves, and the little dickens is just about as fast as I am. The ping-pong table in the garage serves as an excellent work surface. Saya would do it without pay as she enjoys the bonding experience, but I give her $5 per hour and I am pleased that she is developing a work ethic, for I have always believed that money indeed does buy happiness.

Acer palmatum 'Celebration'

It is fun to collect scions from new selections such as Acer palmatum 'Celebration', and it is possibly one of our best discoveries ever, with a bright red-purple leaf that stays more vibrant than its parent, 'Purple Ghost'. This originated from a group of seedlings that were germinated in 2007, and it has always stood-out from its brethren from the same crop. The original is planted at Flora Farm in the Northland section where other seedlings are being trialed.

Acer palmatum 'Strawberry Spring'

Guy Maillot, a maple expert from France, visited my trial field last spring and immediately spotted 'Celebration', and he liked it immensely. Another of his favorites was Acer palmatum 'Strawberry Spring' which resulted as a seedling from 'Amber Ghost', but it remains to be seen how it will do in production. This summer is the first year it has been propagated, but it has yet to be “introduced,” and if and when I do, Mr. Maillot will be the first to receive it.

Acer palmatum 'Kamagata'

Acer palmatum 'Kamagata' in autumn

I must repeat again that a cultivar produced by grafting does not always appear exactly the same as the original seedling, and how could it with “borrowed” green rootstock pushing it? Keep in mind that most cultivars (of Japanese maples) are actually the freaks of nature, selected because they look atypical, and that is what attracts collectors afflicted with what is known as “Maple Fever.” For example, consider Acer palmatum 'Kamagata', selected by the late maple author and grower J.D. Vertrees. He described it as a “very delicate appearing dwarf,” but he was observing the original with its relatively feeble roots, which of course are unable to push much top growth. Vertrees didn't live long enough to see the monster that developed from the scions which he sent to me in 1982. I suppose that this borrowed-root phenomena is difficult for the novice to grasp, either that or I do a poor job of explaining.

Acer shirasawanum 'Purple Thunder'

Another new cultivar is Acer shirasawanum 'Purple Thunder' which features deep-purple lobes. It is possibly a hybrid with palmatum, and originated from seed germinated about 2007. That its seed rises above the foliage is why I give it the shirasawanum designation – palmatum dangles beneath – and if I was truly certain that it is a hybrid, which I am not, then its name would be Acer x 'Purple Thunder'. Such detail is perhaps confusing (or boring), but it matters as the shirasawanum species has proven to be more winter-hardy, even when the cultivars are grafted onto palmatum rootstock. 'Purple Thunder' may or may not ever be introduced, but it must initially be propagated before the nurseryman can make that call. Believe me, I squander a lot of company dollars in the process of introducing a worthy cultivar, and the bottom-line – since I patent nothing – is probably a loss. On the other hand my business is thriving while the neighbor's large nursery went bankrupt. Its owner was smarter than me, or at least he was sure of it, with the majority of his plants being branded/patented, but now the bank has to try to unload his failure.

Acer palmatum 'Bloodgood'

Acer palmatum 'Fireglow'

Acer palmatum 'O sakazuki'

Every year I consider what to propagate, for I must produce more than “new” plants, except all of them were new plants at one point. The old tried-and-true cultivars still sell, such as Acer palmatum 'Bloodgood'. Due to either stupidity or sleaze, or both, 'Bloodgood', 'Fireglow', 'O sakazuki' and others have been “watered down,” so to speak, and you might be propagating something that is not the true cultivar. A company from New Zealand was notorious for almost-but-not-quite trees that were shipped into America and Europe by the thousands. They knowingly continued, because after all they still had the next crop in their fields, and their “almost” stock trees were the only source of future crops. Interesting that this company and an off-shoot firm both went bankrupt, but the off-shoot has started up again. It's like the real world pushing a large beach ball under the water only to have it pop back up again. I know it's not really important to the vast majority of home owners buying a maple for their yard, but it matters to me, not that I want to come across as a maple policeman.

Acer palmatum 'Inaba shidare'

A couple of customers have inquired, “What's with the labels that say 'Bloodgood Original'?” It's just our code name for one of the first, or the first, 'Bloodgood' in America, and Buchholz Nursery received scions from thattree. In the Vertrees Japanese Maples (first edition), the author hopes that “this cultivar is kept “pure”, for it has very good qualities not found in other red-leafed cultivars. It is suggested (Carville) that this was a selection from A. palmatum atropurpureum seedlings by the Bloodgood Nursery, Long Island, New York. Vrugtman suggests that this cultivar had its origin in Boskoop, Holland, and was propagated by Ebbinge & van Groos (nursery discontinued). It was subsequently exported to the United States where it was named and the propagation expanded.” I supposed that 'Bloodgood' is the most widely grown of any Japanese maple cultivar, and it is remarkable that we're not even sure about its origin. In the 1970's I worked for a large Oregon wholesale nursery that wanted to grow huge quantities of 'Bloodgood', and the only source for such numbers was Holland. Of course the Dutch have been known to cheat too, as they couldn't fill an entire order of 'Inaba shidare', so they substituted with 'Select Red' without mention. My little place in history is that I was the one who detected one label left in the order as 'Select Red', to which the Dutch exporter explained that they were the same, blah blah blah. I have the two planted side-by-side, now 30 years old, and they are absolutely not the same. In any case, neither are being propagated at Buchholz Nursery this year, but maybe I should be the world's maple policeman.

Acer palmatum 'Killarney'

Sometimes I find myself propagating cultivars that are really not in high demand, primarily because I feel an obligation to “keep a few around.” Why I think that I “owe it to horticulture,” and that I seem to possess a “Noah's Ark” mentality speaks to my inadequacy as a bottom-line businessman. But c'mon, each of these “marginal” cultivars has a unique charm or attraction, and sometimes exceedingly so. Acer palmatum 'Killarney' is one-such, and I didn't ever appreciate it appropriately until the day I saw it in autumn at one of my customer's retail nursery. It was peachy-keen at the time and I recalled that happy day when I cut 100 scions this past week. I love the experience that I can make a living by growing trees that I like, but of course the reality is that not all of the ultimate retail customers are moved by my sense of pleasure, or that the trees are appearing the same way as the day when I was so enchanted. I first saw 'Killarney' in England – at Wisley I think – and it was clearly a non-event there – in mid-October. The key to my success with it is that I grow a very modest amount, for it is far better to be sold out than to have too many. I assume that the cultivar was selected in Killarney, Ireland, but I can't find anybody to confirm that. Hopefully a reader will set the record straight.

Acer palmatum 'O sakazuki'

We grafted a few Acer palmatum 'O sakazuki' last week – the true cultivar, not the New Zealand imposter – in spite of the fact that it is not in much demand anymore. No one can question its fantastic, dependable crimson fall color, but otherwise its green spring and summer leaves apparently do not inspire purchase at the local retail garden center. That is a shame since the large green broadly-ovate leaves (with a “cupped” appearance – hence the translated name of “leaf like a sake cup”) are attractive in their own way, even without the famous autumn color. 'O sakazuki's' fall color has been compared to the “burning bush shrub” – Euonymus alatus – a plant from China, Japan and Korea with no redeeming value except for its incredible fall color. 'O sakazuki' is a vigorous cultivar which forms a well-shaped tree without much of the nurseryman's intervention, and I would certainly grow thousands of them if the market allowed, but obviously I don't control any of that.

Acer palmatum 'Mikawa yatsubusa'

There are a dozen or so maples that are in high demand and we sell out every year, so there is the temptation to grow scads more and swim in the profit. But I have seen such plants taper off from strong sales, and in some instances that occurs after only a year or two. Acer palmatum 'Mikawa yatsubusa' is certainly the exception, as I have never had enough for over 30 years. Our old champion tree is perfectly sited along the road from the parking area to the office, so that every visitor must walk past it. This cultivar originated in Japan, yet Masayoshi Yano, the famous maple author and collector, has never seen one larger. According to Vertrees 'Mikawa yatsubusa' means “a small cluster of three rivers,” but an English source says that the “tree's leaves have (up to) 8 leaflets each, and it traditionally comes from a region of Shizuoka prefecture.* 'Mikawa' is the name of a region in Shizuoka prefecture. 'Yatsu' is an old fashioned way of counting 8. 'Busa' (fusa) means a 'tuft' like shape.” My Japanese wife sighed when I asked her the meaning, reminding me that I have asked three or four times before. She agrees with the “busa” part, and supposes that the “Mikawa” part refers to a place name. According to Norm Jacobs at Arbutus Garden in Oregon the Japanese name means “shingles on a roof,” and they certainly have the appearance of such with leaves overlapping each other. If you check out arbutusgarden.comNorm describes 'Mikawa yatsubusa' as “wider than tall,” and it grows to 6' tall by 8' wide. In his accompanying photo, however, he is standing next to my specimen which is 12' tall by 16' wide...and still growing.

Mt Fuji (source)

Shizuoka prefecture

*Shizuoka is located in southern Honshu, Japan's largest island, which is also home to Mt. Fuji, Japan's iconic and tallest peak at 3,776m (12,388' and 5 27/64”). I remember travelling by fast-train from Tokyo west to Nara, and we passed remarkably close to Fujisan with the north side clad in ice cream-cone-like snow, but the south side was bare gray rock.

Acer palmatum 'Lemon Lime Lace'

We easily sell out of Acer palmatum 'Lemon Lime Lace', a cultivar which I was initially unimpressed with. I thought the name was kind of corny, but it does describe the foliage color. Its paleness first struck me as a plant that needed some fertilizer, but now I can see how it would add a glow in the garden if sited with a darker backdrop. Vertrees/Gregory say, “The leaves emerge with a very light lemon yellow, becoming lime green in summer, creating a lovely two tone effect from early summer onward. The fall color is orange.” My plants never do darken in summer, and in fall they turn to straw yellow. So, yellow fall color or orange, which? The answer can be: both. Maple fall color can range depending upon the age of the tree, its soil and climate, and I've even seen cultivars vary in color from year to year on the same tree. This delicate-looking dissectum was named by Del Loukes of Oregon.

Acer palmatum 'Summer Gold'

Acer palmatum 'Orange Dream'

Also hot these days is Acer palmatum 'Summer Gold', an upright tree introduced by the Gilardelli Nursery of Italy, the company that also introduced A. p . 'Fireglow', 'Orange Dream' and others. 'Summer Gold's' best feature is that it can grow in full sun in many climates, including Oregon. Many golden maples can be greenish when grown in shade, but 'Summer Gold' stays quite yellow, as evidenced by the photo above, taken in summer in a shaded greenhouse. One of the things that I appreciate about the Italian introducer is that he gives their new maples catchy English names, so they make my job easier to sell them, but the odd thing is that he doesn't speak English.

Sweet Saya and I will be preparing scions again this evening, with a couple hundred each of 'Manyo no sato', 'Spring Delight', 'Mikazuki', but only 25 'Aoyagi gawa' because not many know what it looks like. I give thanks to Saya and to all of my employees, to my customers, and to Flora for her generosity.

"Yeah, we'll get to the cleanup later."

I've griped a number of times in the Flora Wonder Blog about our brutally hot summer, and as of today we will set a record for the number of days in the year where temperatures soared to 90 degrees and above. I don't know if there is any connection, but a couple of old specimens in our Blue Forest were edited by the mortal fates, even though they have been through many hot summers before.

Pinus cembra 'Glauca'

The oldest tree to perish was an anchor in the scape, a 50 year old Pinus cembra 'Glauca' that had been rescued from a stock row at the Dutchman's nursery where I used to work. “Rescued” in the sense that this nurseryman let his plants grow together instead of cutting down every-other tree, or better yet, by harvesting from the row and increasing sales. I asked him about it, but his response was that “the trees have already paid for themselves many times over (for scionwood).” Maybe so, but what's wrong with them paying even more? It seemed like careless management to me, especially since he had an East-Coast market for them. In any case our Oregon Association of Nurseries enshrined him into their Hall of Fame, an honor that I'll never sniff, nor would I serve if elected. The Dutchman's son had an enormous round head with blonde hair, and he was fond of saying, “If you're not Dutch, you're not much.” I learned a lot at this nursery...about what not to do. Back to the dead pine, it began to look “off” in May, then progressively worse until my edict for removal at the end of July. So long, farewell, thanks for the memories. The good news is that I still have two more of the Dutchman's pines in another location, and they both look fine.

Abies cilicica

Even more disheartening was the loss of an Abies cilicica which was about 33 years old, and it went from fine to dead in about a week. Abies are like that – I've seen it before – and it's a reminder that the genus is not native to our Willamette Valley of western Oregon. According to Rushforth in Conifers, “Cilician fir is rare in cultivation;” so rare that it is now extinct at Buchholz Nursery. The species* is native to the Taurus Mountains of southern Turkey, and to northwest Syria and Lebanon, where there's probably an ISIS zealot behind every tree. The foliage has a “refined” look to me, with thin green needles with silvery undersides, and the cones are the longest of the genus. My start came as scionwood from the Otto Solburger conifer collection, located just ½ hour from my nursery. Mr. S. was a Christmas tree grower, but he also amassed a world-class tree collection, and corresponded with East Coast and European plantsmen. He passed away before I could meet him, but his wife was delighted that a youngster – for I was then – took so much interest in her husband's trees.

Abies nebrodensis

*At first I assumed that Abies cilicica was native to Sicily, but the only Abies species there is nebrodensis, native to the mountains in the north. There are only a scant few left due to deforestation, but a conservation effort is underway to save them and to replant new seedlings.

Abies religiosa

Monarch Butterflies (Danaus plexippus)

Solburger's son was a logger, an authentic redneck with foot-wide suspenders and dirty pants that didn't go completely to his boots. He didn't know much about his father's trees, and probably would have preferred them sawed and loaded onto the back of his log truck. One day his parked truck was filled with Douglas fir logs, and while he was eating lunch the brakes failed and the back of the truck smashed into an Abies religiosa, sending it to fir-heaven. Fortunately its progeny lives on, for I harvested scionwood the same day as with Abies cilicica, and a specimen resides along the main road into our nursery. It is known as the “Sacred fir” as its branches are used in religious festivals and it is native to the mountains of central Mexico at an elevation between 6,900-13,500'. Abies religiosa is also the preferred species for the monarch butterfly (Danaus plexippus) to reside, but unfortunately the forests are being thinned for capitalistic gain at the risk to the butterfly habitat. I was in Mexico in 2000 with my “Grandfather,” and we set off early for the largest congregation of monarchs. The higher one gets, the colder is the morning air, and the ground was covered with frost. We walked the path to ground zero, but the creatures were huddled in globs, thousands and thousands of them, but they were too cold to fly. Too bad for us early birds, but by the time we were ready to leave they were beginning to flit through the firs.

Abies pindrow

Solburger's son was at it again when he saw fit to thin out some trees in father's conifer patch. A Picea abies (Norway spruce) was vying for room with an Abies pindrow (West Himalayan fir), and the latter was removed because the son deemed the spruce as the more beautiful of the two. Ouch!, because A. pindrow is rare in collection, and the felled tree was probably the largest of its kind in Oregon, if not in the United States. Once again Buchholz to the rescue, and my first graft was planted in the Conifer Field at the east end of my property. It perished about 15 years ago when we had constant rain one winter and spring, and to this day I describe it as having drowned. Abies pindrow was in production at Buchholz Nursery at the time, so the grandchildren of Solburger's tree – five of them – grace the Flora Wonder Arboretum, planted on a hillside with sharp drainage, and this year they are set heavily with cones. Rushforth again, claims that A. pindrow “is found in the western Himalayas from west Nepal through to Afghanistan and forms forests at between 2,000-3,000 m.” And later that “The best specimens tend to be in the cooler and wetter parts of Britain, and it is unsatisfactory in the south-east.” I'm not qualified to comment on the British range of A. pindrow, but I find it odd that my first tree drowned, if indeed they prefer “wetter” conditions.

Pinus roxburghii

In Rushforth's Conifers he claims that Pinus roxburghii, a Himalayan tree native from northwest Pakistan to Bhutan is hardy to only Zone 9. I took him to task for that comment in a previous Flora Wonder Blog, for my specimen had withstoodtemperatures to near zero degrees F, albeit grafted onto a more hardy Pinus sylvestris rootstock, and should perhaps be “re-zoned” to a zone 7 or 8. Well, had withstoodended last winter when the temperature delved to only 12 degrees, but it arrived in early November. Plants suffered and some died, and my rox also bit the dust. This experience prompts the old Buchholz adage that, “It's not how cold you get, but rather how you get cold.” The species name honors William Roxburgh (1751-1815), a Scottish surgeon and botanist who was based in Calcutta, and who worked for the East India Company. I became enamored with Roxburgh's pine while on a trek in northern India where I could see it in the wild, and I was most impressed with its plated bark which resembled our West Coast Pinus ponderosa.

Picea abies 'Little Gem' BA (Before Accident)

Picea abies 'Little Gem' AA (After Accident)

A pair of miniature spruces also faced the axe of death this month. A pair of Picea abies 'Little Gem' were slightly over 40 years old, and they had grown into each other and resembled a pair of green breasts. Sadly a delivery man tried to turn his vehicle around in a tight area and backed into one, another reason my daughters will never be allowed to marry truck drivers. I've walked past the damaged tree hundreds of times, and finally grew sick enough to issue orders for its removal. So that will leave me with just one 'Little Gem', right? Well no, because where the other plant grows into the smashed tree there would be a large dead area, so out with them both. And whom do I bill for damages since I never witnessed the incident? What are two 40-year-old spruce trees worth, a hundred dollars, a thousand dollars or more? They are irreplaceable, especially since I don't have 40 more years for new ones to grow.

Picea abies 'Little Gem'

'Little Gem' is an example of a conifer cultivar that "increases" in size after 40 years. Well of course it increases because it grows. But I'm not talking about that; I mean that when you propagate you seek out the largest shoots, which are still only a half inch long. Then when you eventually propagate from the new plant, you seek out its best cuttings...over and over until 'Little Gem' becomes a larger cultivar than the original. Also, if you propagate by grafting, new shoots might grow two inches long, and the rooting process is made much easier. I once sold a 'Little Gem' that was grafted onto Picea abies at 2 feet high, and it had grown 5' tall by 5' wide in 20 years. At some point you have to ask, "is this forced 'Little Gem' really a little gem?"

Sciadopitys verticillata 'Winter Green'

I had four Sciadopitys verticillata 'Winter Green' that were harvested from the Blue Forest and put into large cedar boxes. These specimens were about 18' tall, and since one doesn't hardly ever come across a 'Winter Green' so large I put a relatively high price on them -- $2,000 each. One customer dared to negotiate with me, that he would take all four for $2,000, to which I responded that they are priced at $2,000 each, and tomorrow they would increase to $2,500 each. So he walked away from the table. Last year I sold one, then this year I had customers for the remaining three. But not so fast my friend, because last month a sizeable portion on one revealed that it was dead, and to cut that out would leave me with just half a 'Winter Green', and a scrappy half at that. We dumped it entirely, but at least we were able to salvage the box. This was the first time in my career that I lost a Sciadopitys, or at least ones that were more than a couple of years old. I know some nurserymen who would spend time and energy trying to figure out the cause of death, an autopsy so to speak, but not me. Just quickly get it out of my sight.

Oxalis corniculata

Oxalis stricta

Sometimes I'll haul a plant out of the greenhouse for the dump because it is infested with Oxalis. Frequently someone will carry it back in because they don't understand why I would throw away a good tree. True, the tree is ok, but I certainly can't sell it when the pot is full of a weed that you cannot simply pull out. I've been battling Oxalis corniculata for years, and more recently Oxalis stricta as well. Both thrive in the nursery environment, and these perennials can spread by seed, rhizomes or stolons. If the weed has gotten into a plant of great value, we try to find time to bareroot it in the winter; however you don't always get all of the weed roots out, and they will thrive until you try again the following winter. In all I don't have to throw too many plants away, but we spend a lot of effort to catch the problem when it is small. Oxalisis derived from oxus, Greek for "sour" because of the sour taste of the leaves.

Cornus alternifolia 'Moonlight'

Rubus armeniacus

Hate it when that happens

Another casualty at the nursery is caused by birds eating blackberries, sitting atop my specimens and then shitting the seeds close to the trunk. The first year the blackberry shoot might go undetected, but by the second year it can grow up to eight feet tall, and spraying with a strong herbicide would damage the tree. Once again I cannot scalp off the blackberry and sell the tree, for that would result in all of my customers leaving me. My original plant of Cornus alternifolia 'Moonlight'– discovered at Buchholz Nursery – met the chainsaw on account of a blackberry moving in. The mooch is botanically known as Rubus armeniacus, which was intentionally introduced to America as a food crop in the 1800's. It escaped cultivation obviously, and I have it in my woods above the nursery and also at Flora Farm. There is some redeeming value to the noxious weed, however, and that comes in the form of my wife's blackberry cobbler.

I'm pleased and honored that Flora has blessed me abundantly, although we don't have a perfectrelationship. I think she bedevils me at times as a strategy to keep me humble, so that I won't be telling her what to do. Goodbye to all of my lost plants, for I must swallow my medicine.

I have lots of old horticultural books in my basement library, and from time to time I'll bring one up to re-read, or at least to peruse. It was at 2 o'clock in the morning when my daughter came into the bedroom, in agony due to growth pains. She whimpered as my wife massaged her legs, and I could tell that my time in bed was over, so I opened The Pinetum by George Gordon in the wee hours. The title page promised “A synopsis of all of the coniferous plants at present known.” It was published in 1858 in London, and includes “one hundred new kinds.”

Gordon dedicates his work to “The Most Noble Algernon*, Duke of Northumberland,” who perhaps financed the endeavor just to see his name in print. But I speculate. Gordon makes sure that the reader is aware that Algernon is “A great admirer of hardy trees, the cultivation of which in England has been much influenced by the many fine specimens in his Grace's park and pleasure grounds.” Gordon defines himself to the Duke as “his obedient and humble servant.” It would be vain of me to suggest that Seth and my other employees refer to me as such, as they actually consider me to be lucky that they show up at all.

*Admiral Algernon Percy (1792-1865) was the 4^th Duke of Northumberland. He entered the Royal Navy at age 13 and served in the Napoleonic Wars, and in 1853 he was made a Knight of the Garter, a dynastic order with the motto of “Shame on him who thinks evil of it.” One legend has it that the Countess of Salisbury was dancing at a court ball when her garter slipped from her leg. While others laughed, the king picked it up and returned it to her – a most chivalrous act – hence the motto.

Sequoiadendron giganteum

David Douglas

In Gordon's introduction he gives credit where it is due, informing his readers that “the most gigantic specimens (of conifer) exist in California, and on the North West Coast, “where the dimensions of some appear almost fabulous.” He cites the example of the newly-discovered Wellingtonia Lindley, the “Mammoth Tree.” Synonyms of Wellingtonia include Sequoia gigantea Endlicher, Washingtonia gigantea of the Americans, Americanus giganteus, Hort Amer and Taxodii sp. Douglas. I'm glad that Americanus didn't stick, and even though I always cheer for America in the Olympics, the thought that the largest tree on earth could be named for an Italian sailor who never set foot on North America seems preposterous. But what's with Taxodii sp. Douglas? Who is this Douglas? The mind leaps to David Douglas (1799-18340, the renowned Scottish plantsman who worked in the Pacific Northwest and California. But he never saw the “Giant Sequoia,” the “Mammoth Tree,” for he died years before they were discovered.

Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Greenpeace'

In 1833 the explorer J.K. Leonard mentioned in his diary of an encounter with “big trees,” but nothing was publicized, and later in 1850 John Wooster supposedly carved his initials in the bark of a tree in the Calaveras grove, but again this received no publicity. Finally in 1853 Augustus T. Dowd, a hunter chasing a bear, stumbled upon the giant redwoods, but nobody back at camp would believe him...at first. William Lobb, working in California for the English Veitch Nursery, heard about the new discovery and dashed immediately to collect seed, and he left for home in 1853 without notifying any American botanists. They were outraged that the world's largest tree would be named after an English war hero who had never even seen the tree, but then the Frenchman Joseph Decaisne published the name in 1854 of Sequoia gigantea– which stuck for years. Of course local Indian tribes had known of the trees for centuries, and they referred to them as Wawona, which imitates the sound of the northern spotted owl, their guardian of the forest.

Ginkgo biloba 'Autumn Gold'

Ginkgo biloba

Previously I mentioned the Countess of Salisbury, but she had nothing to do with the English botanist James Edward Smith who referred to the Ginkgo as Salisburia adiantifolia, the “Maidenhair Tree.” Smith was honoring R.A. Salisbury, F.R.S.*, an eminent English botanist, though George Gordon acknowledges in The Pinetum that a synonym of Salisburia is Ginkgo biloba, Linnaeus. He also mentions Professor Bunge – of Pinus bungeana fame – “who accompanied the Russian Mission to Pekin [sic] and states that he saw an immense Ginkgo with a trunk nearly 40' in circumference, and of prodigious height, but still in perfect vigor.” Gordon also lists “varieties” of Ginkgo, with laciniata, Carriere, macrophylla, Reynier and variegata, Carriere. I have seen Ginkgo in the wild – dead ones – when I visited the Ginkgo Petrified Forest State Park in eastern Washington along the Columbia River. Petrified Ginkgo wood was discovered in the 1930's, along with the remains of Nyssa, Sequoia, Pseudotsuga, Picea, Magnolia, Acer, Hamamelis and more.

*F.R.S. stands for “False Ring Syndrome,” as in when a person thinks his cell phone is ringing but it isn't; or more likely, in Salisbury's case, a Friend of the Royal Society.

Sciadopitys verticillata

Gordon continues with a review of Sciadopitys, the Japanese “Umbrella Pine,” which of course is not a true pine. He says that the name is derived from skidos for “shade” and pitys for “pine,” but today the Greek etymology suggests sciado for “shadow” and pitysfor “pine.” He describes it as “A large shrub or small tree, found on the mountains in Japan, but even there very rare,” and later “The Chinese call it 'Kin-Sung' and the Japanese 'Koja-Maki', and plant it in their gardens and around their Sacred Temples, but it is by no means plentiful or abundant in Japan, where, according to Dr. Siebold [Phillip von Siebold, who first described it], there are several varieties.” Keep in mind that a “variety” is what we would today call a “cultivar,” or cultivated variant. There exists a large specimen at Junguji Temple in Kyoto Prefecture that measured 27 m tall (88.5') with a girth of 4.1 m (13.5') in 2000, and records show that it has been worshipped locally since 1310. The largest Umbrella pine I have ever seen is surprisingly in my home town of Forest Grove, Oregon, and it is located only three blocks from where I grew up. Of course it meant nothing to me as a youth, but later I was told about it by the late Dr. Bump who had two progeny, good-sized, in his yard.

Taxodium mucronatum

Gordon describes Taxodium distichum Mexicanum, Gordon, and this Gordon is himself. Anyway, synonyms exist as Taxodium pinnatum, Hort, virens, Knight, Montezumae, Dunal and mucronatum, Hort, with the last in acceptance today. It is commonly known as the “Montezuma cypress,” and it is native to Mexico, the Rio Grande Valley in southern Texas, and even into Guatemala. Ahuehuete is the Spanish-Nahuatl word for the species, but the enormous specimen above is known as “El Arbol del Tule” in Santa Maria del Tule in Oaxaca, Mexico, with a circumference today of 137.8 feet. In Gordon's time "a mucronatum at Chapultepec measured 99 feet in circumference." Today it is only 37.7 feet. Read that again. Gordon's tree is either shrinking, or the imagination was quite expansive at the time of publication in 1858. In any case, the Tule tree is the most stout of any tree in the world, and is supposed to be at least 2,000 years old. Its existence was chronicled by the Aztecs and the Spanish that founded the city of Oaxaca, and as you would suppose, this tree was considered sacred, and according to Mixtec myth the people originated from the cypress tree. Today it is Mexico's national tree.*

*Apparently DNA tests confirm that it is indeed one tree, but it could be comprised of multiple trunks from one tree.

Pinus echinata cones

I was curious about Gordon's listing of Pinus mitis, Michaux, for I had never encountered such a species. The puzzle was solved when I considered Gordon's synonyms: Pinus variabilis, Pursh, lutea Loddiges, Roylei, Lindley, intermedia, Fischer and echinata, Miller. Ah, echinata! For some reason unknown to me, the mitisspecific name was eventually changed to echinata. Mitisis a Latin word meaning mild, meek, gentle, placid or soothing,while echinata means prickly, referring to the cones. I have two P. echinata planted in our waterfall section, now about 34 years old. They were purchased as rooted cuttings (!) from the now-defunct Mitsch Nursery of Oregon, a wonderful company for me when my nursery was in its infancy. As I gaze at my trees, they don't strike me as mild, meek etc. at all, unless the rather thin green needles struck the namer (Miller) of the species as harmless. And now, at about 40 feet tall, I would describe them as scrappy, but at least the open canopy allows for perfect shade beneath. As for the cones, I wouldn't describe them as "prickly," but rather the opposite; and I don't know what the English botanist, Philip Miller (1691-1771), had in mind when he named the species. Miller was the chief gardener at the Chelsea Physic Garden, and he penned The Gardener's Dictionary, and my copy (published in the 1700's) is the oldest book in my library.

Pinus sabiniana

Pinus coulteri

Gordon's "Pinus macrocarpa, Lindley, Dr. Coulter's pine" initially puzzled me, for he lists synonyms of Pinus coulteri, Don, Pinus sabiniana macrocarpa, Hort and Pinus Sabina Coulteri, Loudon. In today's world we have Pinus sabiniana and Pinus coulteri, both with huge cones, both from California, but two very different-looking trees, so which species is Gordon describing? He reports that "Leaves, in threes, stout, and rather stiff, from ten to twelve inches long...," I was certain that the mysterious species was coulteri. But in the same sentence he calls the needles "of a glaucous grey color," which would be Pinus sabiniana, for I would describe coulteri as less glaucous. Confused? What settled the matter was the pine's native range, with Gordon's "found on the mountains of Santa Lucia...within sight of the sea, at an elevation of from 3,000 to 4,000 feet." I've been there – it is also home to the "Bristlecone fir," Abies bracteata – so now I know he was describing Pinus coulteri.

Pinus ponderosa

Hey, I hope you are having as much fun trying to decipher Gordon's trees as I am. I know that "Pinus ponderosa, Douglas, the Heavy-wooded Pine," is indeed the species that David Douglas introduced into England in 1826. I don't know if Douglas ever lifted a ponderosa log – he never worked in a sawmill – and I always assumed that he named the species for its magnificent size. Ponderosa is from Latin pondermeaning "weight," then later to "weigh" or "reflect on" and finally to Old French "to appraise" or "judge the worth of." Gordon says that ponderosa "is found abundantly on the North-west coast of America, and in California, particularly on the banks of the Flathead and Spoken [sic] Rivers, and the Kettle Falls of the Columbia..." That account is confusing for a number of reasons. First, P. ponderosa is not native to the North-west coast, but rather inland in the drier regions. Also, the Spokane River is in Idaho and Washington state, not California, and Kettle Falls is/was* in Washington state near the Canadian border. One must forgive Gordon for any errors about America's geography since he never set foot in America, and most of his information in the book was from examining his Grace's trees or the herbarium, or from second-hand reports.

Kettle Falls (from www.northwestmuseum.org)

*Alas, Kettle Falls – also sacred to the Native Americans – was drowned with the building of the Grand Coulee Dam, and now resides 90 feet underwater in the created Lake Roosevelt.

Pseudotsuga menziesii

Abies douglasii

Many conifers were once classified as Pinus, including Pseudotsuga, and I have an antique drawing of one from 1855, just after the name had been changed to Abies. In Gordon's work, he called it Abies Douglasii, Lindley, with synonyms of Abies Californica, Don, Picea Douglasii, Link, Pinus Douglasii, Sabine, Pinus taxifolia, Lambert and Tsuga Douglasi (with one i), Carriere. He refers to specimens from Mexico to be Abies Douglasii taxifolia, Loudon, and calls it a "very distinct variety with much longer leaves..." The Mexican version is now known as Pseudotsuga lindleyana and it extends as far south as Oaxaca. It receives special protection due to decline from inbreeding depression, the reduced biological fitness in a given population caused by the breeding of related individuals. The Pseudotsuga at my nursery are P. menziesii var. menziesii, and I have bragged about the two monsters at my home in previous blogs. I don't think I've mentioned a remarkable sight that occurs on frosty mornings, when two shadows from the winter sun are cast about three football fields long. The shadows don't thaw, but the rest of the field does.

Please don't think that I am being mean-spirited to pick apart The Pinetum for its errors, but I get a special kick out of his Picea bracteata, now classified as an Abies. Gordon claims that it was discovered by Douglas – rong, as Douglas never ever saw it – but also that it is native along the Columbia River as well as on "the sea range of Santa Lucia in Upper California." Actually I would call it central California, as they occur about four/seventh's of the way south of the Oregon border, but certainly never along the Columbia River.

Abies bracteata

Abies bracteata 'Corbin'

I used to subscribe to American Forests, and was intrigued in the spring 2004 issue (for $3.00) of the National Register of Big Trees. I learned facts about the "champion" trees, such as Persea americana's (Avocado tree) 185" circumference, 72' height and 59' spread. The champion Acer macrophyllum – now dead – was 419" in circumference, 101' in height and a spread of 90'. In the same issue was a story entitled Empty Thrones, where 94 species were without a champion, and we readers were encouraged to set out and find them. Surprisingly there was no champion for Abies bracteata, but absolutely bizarre was that it was listed as native to California, Idaho, Oregon and Colorado. I sent a letter to the editor about the error, but received no response, nor was there a correction in the next issue. I wrote again, and referred to my previous letter, but still no response. The error continued in the spring 2006 issue, and in disgust I dropped my subscription. The late van Hoey Smith from the Arboretum Trompenburg in Rotterdam considered any collection of trees without correct identification as "invalid."American Forests, then, was also invalid.

2/17/06

"Write us!," you say in American Forests forum.

Well, I did write to you about factual contents from a past issue. I was disappointed to receive no response. What's up? A copy of that letter is enclosed.

11/28/05

I am a wholesale nurseryman. Among the trees I grow is the "Bristlecone fir," Abies bracteata. I noticed in your spring 2004 issue (which lists the national register of big trees) that Abies bracteata is a species in search of a champion. And you list its range as being Colorado, Idaho, Oregon and California. All modern reference books list it as only coming from the Santa Lucia Mountains of California, where I have observed it in the wild.

Does it really also come from these other states, or is that a mistake? If so, where in these states?

If it is a mistake, then an interesting one. I have a copy of a conifer book by the Englishman, Gordon: The Pinetum, published in 1858. He describes Abies bracteata as "first discovered by Douglas, on the mountains of the Columbia River, and afterwards by Dr. Coulter and Hartweg, on the sea range of Santa Lucia..." I always assumed the Oregon reference was an old mistake for another species; but maybe not.

Any information would be appreciated.

Regards,

Talon Buchholz

A 2^nd edition to The Pinetum was published in 1875 but I have not seen it. I think it would be interesting to compare it with the original, to see if corrections were made, and if additional information was provided. By the way, some of you would find my library to be fascinating, and any valid individual is invited to visit, with priority going to attractive, witty females. But you can't borrow anything; I've learned that rule the hard way.

Pinus torreyana

I ditched the nursery for a couple of days as my wife and children have developed a penchant for vacationing in San Diego, especially for swimming in the ocean. I intended to write the blog while there, but beer and margaritas got in the way. The flora was sparse, with palm trees and gardenias, but there was a nice stand of Pinus torreyana at the aquarium.

The scenery at Pacific Beach

Oops, caught!

San Diego must be the bikini capital of America, speaking of sparse, and my wife finally asked, "Why do you pretend that you're not looking, when you obviously are?" I'll confess that nothing of lasting value came from the four day – all I could afford – trip, except the memories of my happy children riding the waves on their boogie boards.

Saya loves her hotel bed

Harumi, always dancing

On the boardwalk

Goodbye Sun Diego

Next week, hopefully, a plant blog...

The Flora Wonder Blog started in the fall of 2011, so there has been about 200 of them. Thousands of you are at the receiving end of our blog notice, but I can't guarantee that you all click it on, and even in some cases potential readers have requested for us to take them off altogether. To that, we have joked in the office that "No, we won't take you off – it's for your own good," or that, "Sorry we don't have the technology to take you off." But ultimately we do take the ungrateful bastards off, and I torture them no further.

The weekly blog originated from a report on a fantastic trip in 2011 to Holland and Belgium where we (The Maple Society) toured arboreta and nurseries by day and drank beer at night. I cannot think of a better combination, unless you were to throw in dancing girls as well. Today I'll stick with what I saw in Belgium, for I have added some of those trees to my own Flora Wonder Arboretum.

Sorbus alnifolia at Wespelaar

Sorbus alnifolia

My first encounter with Sorbus alnifolia was at the Arboretum Wespelaar. I was so taken with the cute pink-red berries and butter yellow autumn foliage that I planted a small grove in my collection. Commonly known as the "alder-leaf rowan," the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs states that fall color is "rich scarlet and orange." I don't remember what color my trees were last year, and they have yet to change from green at this time, but I'll be watching carefully and can report in a future blog. I don't know the origin of the Wespelaar specimen, but the alnifolia species is native to China, Taiwan, Korea and Japan, and it is hardy to a shivery -30 degrees. The fruits are small, but the Wespelaar tree was seemingly crammed with thousands of berries to the delight of the Belgium birds.

Franklinia alatamaha

Neoshirakia japonica

Another small tree which I had never encountered before was Sapium japonica (or um), but I have been unable to acquire one. In any case, the genus has been renamed to Neoshirakia japonica, a monotypic genus in the Euphorbiaceae family. Its autumn color is a rich mahogany, reminding me of my specimen of Franklinia alatamaha. It was first described in 1954 with the name Shirakiabut the genus was later divided into genera of Neoshirakia, Shirakiopsis and Triadica. The generic name change was due to research by Hans Joachim Esser who concluded that Siebold, Zuccarini had published the name as Shirakia before Sapium was used, and of course precedence goes to the former. Whatever, the "Japanese tallow tree" is only hardy to USDA zone 8, so if I did have one, I would have to house it in a container in my Greenhouse 20 – the hot house – where I keep multitudes of other non-hardy plants. On the other hand, I have read that the Holden Arboretum in Ohio has a tree from seed collected in Korea that has survived in its Zone 5b winters. The Morris Arboretum in Pennsylvania planned to remove their plants because they were producing lots of seed and they were worried about potential invasiveness. Personally I wouldn't worry because nothing jumps away from GH20, and I could enjoy the plant selfishly in my own solitude. The Chinese name for the species is bai mu wu jiu, and though I don't know the translation, the local name certainly has a credible mojo, so say bai mu wu jiu to yourself again. By the way, the common name of "tallow tree" is due to the popcorn-shaped seeds with a waxy coating that is used for soap, candles etc. This "oil" (stillingia) yields a drying property according to The Handbook of Soap Manufacture by H.A. Appleton and W.H. Simmons, and I thank both of them for increasing my knowledge of Neoshirakia japonica.

Carpinus betulus 'Columnaris Nana' at Wespelaar

Carpinus betulus 'Columnaris Nana' in May

The largest Carpinus betulus 'Columnaris Nana' that I have ever seen was at Arboretum Wespelaar, but from observation in my own collection I will achieve that size – about 12' tall – in another eight years. Hillier, again, lists the cultivar as simply 'Columnaris' and says that it is a "small columnar tree of dense, compact growth, conical when young," and that it was "introduced in about 1891," so there must be a specimen far more massive in Europe...and probably not the original seedling, but rather a propagule grafted onto the more vigorous Carpinus betulus seedling rootstock. You know, I sell a lot of this dwarf "common hornbeam" but I can't really claim that with pride, since the delicious fresh-spring foliage is followed by a dull-green by August, as it acquires a spent look with the onset of summer heat. Does anyone know where the largest 'Columnaris Nana' is located – in Europe I assume? – for I would probably schedule a spring trip to see it.

Quercus x hispanica 'Luscombeana'

Quercus suber

I had a devil of a time in Belgium, for my digital camera went caput when the memory card shit-jammed into its position and rendered my camera useless when on-site at the Arboretum Kalmthout. Philippe de Spoelberch came to my rescue, and the elegant beer-magnate let me borrow his mini Leica for the rest of the trip. But before my camera conked I was able to photograph the fantastic trunk of Quercus x hispanica 'Luscombeana', the hybrid which is described by Hillier as a "large, ornamental tree raised by Mr. Luscomb in his nursery Exeter about 1762." This variable hybrid – between the "Cork oak" (suber) and the "Turkish oak" (cerris) – actually exists in the wild in southern Europe. Of course the main attraction is the gray fissured bark, and even though Q. suber is listed as only hardy to USDA zone 8, fine examples exist in USDA zone 7 in Portland, Oregon; but the most impressive specimens that I have ever seen occur at the San Diego Botanic Garden in southern California. The suber species is somewhat evergreen, which might be fine for southern Europe, but "somewhat evergreen" is not always a good attribute in the Oregon climate, as you wait six months for the old tired leaves to fall off and be replaced with fresh new foliage. The bark of Q. suber remains the favorite for vinters* in Oregon, and I suppose for the rest of the world as well. The screw-off wine caps are deemed tacky and cheap – only suitable for bums and college students – even though they have no effect on the wine.

*Vinter is from Old French vinetier, and that from Medieval Latin vinetarius for a "wine dealer." A vinetum is a "vineyard," from vinum for "wine."

Hamamelis intermedia 'Diane'

Hamamelis intermedia 'Orange Peel'

Hamamelis 'Strawberries & Cream'

Possibly the most exciting place to visit in Europe in February-March is the Arboretum Kalmthout, and they even have a festival to celebrate the flowering "witch hazels." My only visit was in October and the Hamamelis all looked alike without their blooms, all sprawling horizontally with twigs festooned with lichen, but I hope to return one day in late winter to see the "Queens" of the DeBelder garden. I have grown some of their introductions, like 'Diane', 'Jelena' and 'Orange Peel', but the one I favor these days is 'Strawberries and Cream', so much that I planted one at the entrance to my long home-driveway. On sunny afternoons I pause in my car and stare at the flowers, for they are especially bejeweled with the late sun as backlight.

Abies koreana 'Silberlocke' at Kalmthout

The largest Abies koreana 'Silberlocke' that I have ever seen occupies a bed at Kalmthout, and it must be one of the earlier releases from the German plantsman, Gunther Horstmann. I have been to the Horstmann nursery twice, but I don't recall seeing a large 'Silberlocke'. The cultivar 'Ice Breaker' originated as a witch's broom mutation on 'Silberlocke', also found in Germany, and I would humbly suggest that Kalmthout procures one to plant near the 'Silberlocke', if for no other reason than to enlighten the garden's visitors, perhaps with a sign explaining the origin of the cultivars.

Betula papyrifera

Alces americanus

I stopped at Kalmthout's Betula papyrifera to absorb the beauty of its trunk. The species is not rare as it occurs in North America from the Pacific to the Atlantic coasts, and it is the provincial tree of Saskatchewan and the state tree of New Hampshire. Amazingly it can be found in Greenland, for it is hardy to -40 degrees F, and I learned that the species is also native to the Appalachians during my visit a year ago. I feel remiss that I never planted one in my arboretum, for I certainly have the room, and I would naturally plant it in the Betula section of my Upper Gardens where it could mingle with the other birches. Papyrifera is commonly known as the "canoe birch," and Native Americans – the Wabanaki tribe – were known to use it to construct their canoes, while the Anishinaabe peoples made birch bark boxes called wiigwaasi-makak. Beside the human uses moose – Alces americanus – eat the birch's leaves and twigs, and in fact the word moose is an Algonquin term for "twig eater."

Glyptostrobus pensilis

A young sapling of Glyptostrobus pencilis glittered in the sunlight. According to the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs, this monotypic genus from China is "an extremely rare, deciduous conifer, making a large bush or small tree." It may be rare in cultivation, but really not so rare in southeastern China and Vietnam, and it has been much planted along streams and rivers to stabilize the banks. Further sketchy information comes from Rushforth in Conifers who states, "To thrive it must have a very damp site..." and "dry sites will lead to almost inevitable death..." However my specimen – on its own roots – at the nursery receives normal garden watering and I suspect, like with the closely-related Taxodium genus, both conifers can withstand regular watering on dry sites as well as growing in standing water. Hillier's 8^th edition says that "this remarkable species [Glyptostrobus] has grown in the Sir Harrold Hillier Garden without protection for many years but has achieved a height of only 3 meters." Maybe Hillier has a dwarf form, for my specimen has soared to 40' tall in less than 30 years. More baloney from Rushforth when he ascribes Glyptostrobus's hardiness to only zone 8, as my tree has withstood temperatures to 0 degrees F. One hint to the plantsman who wants to plant a "Chinese swamp cypress" near water is to find one propagated onto Taxodium distichum rootstock, for it will then produce "knees" or pneumatophores which are the fascinating "breathing knobs."

Taxodium distichum var. imbricatum

Bouchout Castle

Maximilian of Austria

Charlotte of Belgium

And speaking of knees, a specimen of Taxodium distichum var. imbricatum was growing near the pond at the National Botanic Garden of Belgium, located in Meise, just outside of Brussels. But then there was a castle in the water also. The Bouchout Castle was built in the 12^thcentury and its tower was erected by Daniel van Bouchout. Originally the area was swampy, with the dry areas containing beech trees, and thus it was called Boc-holt. The Dutch word for "book" is boek or beuk, while the German name is buch, hence my name Buchholz refers to "bookwood" or "beechwood," so I feel a special affinity for this place. Much later, in 1879, the castle was bought by Charlotte of Belgium, a beauty who was nailed by Maximilian of Austria, and both of them were encouraged by Napoleon III to move to Mexico to become the Emperor and Empress of Mexico. That title lasted only a few years, with Max being executed by Mexican nationals and with Charlotte retreating back to her beloved castle. Unfortunately she developed some type of dementia and was known to laugh, weep, hold monologues and talk incoherently. I have been accused of the same, but imagine my surprise when I caught a glimpse of a slender woman passing through Bouchart's turret window...

Talon's friends

Populus wilsonii

The October sun was retreating in the National Botanic Garden of Belgium when I paused to say farewell to a few newly-acquired friends. When only a few minutes from boarding the bus back to our hotel I spotted a fantastic leaf of Populus wilsonii, a tree introduced in 1907 by E.H. Wilson from China. I have never seen this species growing elsewhere, in fact I never even knew that it existed, but sadly I have searched in vain for four years to acquire one. That is the problem with visiting botanic gardens – you come away lusting for interesting new species, but good luck trying to find them.

Cornus hongkongensis

Cornus tonkinensis

Encephalartos horridus

Crinum asiaticum

Ghent mushrooms

After the Maple Society trip officially ended, I made my way to Ghent with comrade Phil Turrell, and we spent a couple of hours at the Ghent Botanical Garden. It was relatively small, but absolutely worth the time as it was filled with species that I had never seen before. Growing outside in the mild climate was Cornus hongkongensis (from SE China) and Cornus tonkinensis (from Vietnam), both evergreens. Encephalartos horridus was armed with vicious spikes, and it is commonly known as the "Blue Cape Cycad" from South Africa. The flowers of Crinum asiaticum were fading, but I loved the structural foliage; and nearby was a group of mushrooms that I supposed would be fatal if added to a salad. Any mycologist out there who can identify the smelly purple fungi?

University of Ghent Conservatory

Peireskia aculeata

Philodendron 'Lynette'

Podocarpus macrophyllus

Theobroma cacao

Salvinia auriculata

Inside the humid University of Ghent's conservatory was a smorgasbord of foliage, such as Peireskia aculeata, Philodendron 'Lynette', Podocarpus macrophyllus, and in the conservatory's pond was a bizarre creature named Salvinia auriculata. Also fascinating were "edible" plants such as Theobroma cacao (coffee), vanilla and chocolate.

Ghent Altarpiece

The primary reason to visit Ghent had nothing to do with plants, but rather to see the Ghent Altarpiece, The Adoration of the Mystic Lamb by Jan van Eyck (1390-1441) which was located in the St. Bavo Cathedral. The immense triptych measures about 16 feet long and 10 feet wide, with biblical people including Adam and Eve holding their fig leaves. My eyes wandered from panel to panel, to the multitudes, to the horses, to the sacrificial lamb (Christ), and inevitably, back to Eve. Napoleon coveted the Altarpiece, while the Germans came for it in WWI and again in WWII, but fortunately Hitler failed and it was discovered hiding in a cave with other art treasures. Thank goodness.

Goodbye to Belgium*, to its beer, to the plants and to the art.

*From a land that was inhabited – before the Roman invasion in 100 BC – by the Belgae, a mix of Celtic and Germanic peoples.

Leaves. Leaf– from Old English, related to Dutch loof and German laub– is typically an organ of a vascular plant and is the lateral appendage of the stem. Foliage– from Latin folium– refers to leaves collectively. My existence has been filled with myriad* millions of leaves, and probably every cell in my brain is stuffed with leaf encounters – memories, my autobiography so to speak. I was born with a special relationship with leaves – it's not a skillat all, it's just the way it is – or how else would you explain my forte for finding four-leaf clovers, possibly more than anyone else on earth? More accurately, I don't find them, they findme; they sing out: "here I am, here I am," which delights my children and is the principal reason why my happy wife fell for me.

*Myriad, from Greek myrias, is technically the number for 10,000, but today it can be translated as a hell-of-a-lot or a shitload.

Ouch!

I tease my second child Laura, now thirty, married and successfully employed, that perhaps someday she would like to take over the reins of Buchholz Nursery, to keep the viable enterprise in the family. But she replies, "Ya know Pops, I'm just not into leaves the way you are." Being into leaves can become a hellish responsibility, as in trying to keep them all green with this year's brutal summer heat. We failed in some cases, with green turning to brown...then to a crisp-blonde, a situation that will not be redeemed with any autumn "color." The American Maple Society will visit the nursery on October 30, and I wonder if any leaves will still be on the trees at that time.

Woodwardia unigemmata

We have planted a new garden this summer in what was formally the basketball court, and the location was selected for ferns, dwarf Rhododendrons, Epimediums and the like, all happy under 50% shade cloth. Today my favorite of the hundred or so plants is Woodwardia unigemmata, as the new growth is mahogany-red and glossy. The species is from mountain forests of China, Japan and the Himalayas, with the limitation that it is hardy to only 14 degrees F according to The Plant Lovers Guide To Ferns by Richie Steffen and Sue Olsen. Sue's previous book, The Encyclopedia of Garden Ferns, single-handedly turned me into a Fool For Ferns, but it is puzzling that it took me so long. The Woodwardia genus resides in the Blechnaceae family, and was named for the British botanist Thomas Woodward by another botanist, Sir James Edward Smith. The species name unigemmata*is due to the single – usually – bulbil which forms at the tip of the frond, from which one can propagate a new plant.

*Gemma is Latin for a "bud" or "jewel," hence gemstone."

Schefflera delavayi from Far Reach Farm

Schefflera delavayi

Schefflera macrophylla at the Rhododendron Species Foundation

Another leaf that caught my eye this past spring was the highly-indented Schefflera delavayi grown by Far Reaches Farm in Washington state. My plants of the species, grown from seed, occasionally show some indentation, but never like theirs. S. delavayi was introduced from China by Edward Needham in the early 1990's, and of course the specific name honors Pere Armand David, the French missionary who toiled for years in China. The genus was named for Johan von Scheffler (born in 1739), a Polish physician and botanist, and it is in the Araliaceae family. S. macrophylla is a species with enormous leaves, but unfortunately it is not as hardy as delavayi. The photos of S. macrophylla above were taken in the conservatory at the Rhododendron Species Foundation, and I noticed this past spring that they had severely reduced their tree because it had grown to the top of the structure, and probably every three or four years they'll have to whack it back again.

Magnolia macrophylla

Magnolia macrophylla leaf underside

Magnolia macrophylla ssp. ashei

I cannot mention leaves without bringing attention to Magnolia macrophylla, since the tropical-looking appendages are magnificent in size, especially attractive in autumn when the leaf undersides reveal distinguished veins. My daughter takes the leaves to school in October – about 25 of them – and distributes the foliage to her classmates. Naturally the female teachers become obsequious over the leaves, or rather over the special father who supplies them. Alas, the school boys fight, swat and tear their leaves to shreds, but the girls admire and protect theirs. I know that I'm placing the kids into stereotypes, but it happens every year. Hillier calls M. macrophylla "awe-inspiring," and I can't imagine him ruining a leaf. My tree is planted at the base of a hill, down by the creek, which was intentional to keep the wind from damaging the foliage. It has a companion, smaller in all respects, M. macrophylla ssp. ashei, and if you get them mixed up, wait until flowering, for ashei will have the outer 3 tepals blotched with purple. Hillier again, "It is strange that a plant [of ssp. ashei] of this quality, growing in a country enjoying western civilisation [sic] was not recorded in cultivation until 1933."

Victoria amazonica leaf underside

Victoria amazonica

Guyana President Coat of Arms

Guyana Coat of Arms

Queen Victoria

John Lindley

Victoria amazonica is a genus in the Nymphaeaceae family, and the family name is derived from Greek nymphaia which meant "waterlily," inspired by the nymphs of Greek mythology. The non-hardy Victoria is native to the shallow waters of the Amazon River, and in fact it is on the Guyanese coat of arms as it is their national flower. The leaves of this largest of all waterlily can grow to 10' in diameter, and photographers love to place a toddler on one to illustrate how amazing is our plant world. Flowers – pollinated by beetles – are white the first night they are open, then pink the second, and they can grow to 18" in diameter. The flowers, that is, not the beetles. John Lindley 1799-1865 was the English botanist to first describe Victoria, and presumably that made a great impression on the newly ascended British Queen and Empress of India.

As legend has it, a beautiful Amazonian Indian girl refused to marry, preferring instead the Warrior of the Moon. One night she saw a reflection of the moon on a lake and was convinced that he had descended to earth to bathe, and sadly she fell for the illusion and drowned. The Moon Warrior grieved for the girl who gave up her life to be with him, so he transformed her to the plant which blooms at night. Legend continues that the Victoria only flowers during a full moon and when the sky is cloudless, and that allows her to see her true love, the Warrior of the Moon. Ahh.

Gunnera species at Holehird

Johann Ernst Gunnerus

I don't know for certain the species of the Gunnera (above), but the photo was taken at Holehird in the Lake District in England. The photo of my "grandfather" acting goofy was taken at Harlow Carr, also in England, and again there was no species identification. The genus contains about 40 species, with perhaps manicata, from southeastern Brazil, growing the largest, to nearly 11' in width. These "Giant Rhubarb" leaves are supported by large succulent stalks which are botanically considered petioles. The tiniest of the Gunneras is albocarpafrom New Zealand with leaves less than an inch long; and from southern South America, G. magellanica features leaves 2-4” wide on stalks 3-6” long. The genus was named after the Norwegian botanist Johann Ernst Gunnerus (1718-1773) who was also the Bishop of Nidaros, and interestingly the Holy One was born in Christiania, Norway. Gunnerus corresponded with Linnaeus, and even further from botany, he was the first to suggest that the Northern Lights were caused by the sun, and that there must be auroras around the moon, Venus and Mercury. Polymaths such as Gunnerus remind me that I am exceptionally shallow in comparison, but thankfully I am better looking.

Plant and leaf examples of Ginkgo biloba 'Munchkin'

I love Ginkgo biloba, and I grow the smallest-leaved form imaginable, G. b. 'Munchkin'. But maybe I should defer to its discoverer, Crispin Silva of Oregon, who originally named it 'Chris (or Chris's) Dwarf' after his son. Apparently Silva's former nursery employer got ahold of the selection and renamed it 'Munchkin', and while that is a catchy name, it was a rather arrogant thing to do. But since it is now firmly known in the trade as 'Munchkin', that is the name I use since I'm not on a mission to right the world's wrongs. In any case the leaves on my oldest plant vary in size as photographed above, and they turn butter yellow in fall just like a regular Ginkgo. At my home I have planted 'Munchkin' next to an Ilex serrata 'Koshobai'; the point is to demonstrate that the Ilex with the tiniest of berries pairs well with the Ginkgo with the diminutive leaves, as if both took an anti-growth pill.

Acer palmatum 'Saiho'

Also notable for its tiny leaves is Acer palmatum 'Saiho'. Are they smaller than Acer palmatum 'Hanami nishiki' or Acer palmatum 'Beni hime'? About the same I suppose, but Saiho is very pretty in spring with yellow leaves tipped in reddish-brown. By summer the foliage evolves to yellow-green, and it is always a bright ball in the landscape. In fall the foliage can range from yellow to orange to red, and the bush is ablaze even though the leaves are tiny.

Begonia 'Fireworks'

Begonia 'Escargot'

I keep a fun plant around in a wood box in GH20, Begonia 'Escargot', and I've had it for over ten years. We used to propagate it by leaf cuttings, where a piece of the leaf placed on damp soil will magically form roots. These plants sold well – and why wouldn't they? – until I discovered that the damn thing was patented and propagation was not allowed. One of my customers was called out about it, but he didn't “remember” where he got his 'Escargot', and neither of us was fined or imprisoned but I did discontinue production. 'Escargot' is a “Rex” begonia which means it is a member of the Rex (or King) Cultorum group, and the cultivars which are marketed – as annuals primarily – feature wild coloration. The Begonia genus was named for Michel Begon (1638-1710), a French botanist who discovered the plant on the Island of Santo Domingo (Dominican Republic) and introduced it to Europe. Escargotis a French word, somehow derived from Vulgar Latin coculium, and means “edible snail,” and the slitherers are native to French wine areas like Burgundy where they feed on grape leaves.

Helwingia chinensis male and female forms

Helwingia chinensis is an interesting shrub, for it features its flowers on the upper surface of its leaves, botanically known as epiphyllous. Most of the visitors to the nursery don't know anything about Helwingia and are unimpressed...until I point out the position of its flowers. Helwingia is the only genus in the Helwingiaceae family and it is native to eastern Asia and the Himalayas. The name honors Georg Andreas Helwing, a German pastor who was an expert on his native flora, although the good reverend never set foot in Asia or ever saw a plant of Helwingia. The genus was introduced into Europe from Japan by Philipp von Siebold in 1830, long after Helwing had died. Helwingia will root from softwood cuttings in summer under mist, and we grow the male Broad-Leaved-Form and the female Narrow-Leaved-Form. These “forms” were acquired by Dan Hinkley of the former Heronswood Nursery from the late J.C. Raulston, and I suppose the narrow female clone is the one I prefer as I am a fan of the skinny.

Eucalyptus haemastoma

Eucalyptus deglupta

Eucalyptus ficifolia

There are some plant leaves that I don't particularly care for, like Eucalyptus, so I don't have them in the collection even though I admire their trunks. Where hardy, most arboreta contain the genus, and they are perfectly sited...anywhere but in my garden. The E. haemastoma (photo above) glowed in the spring light at the Santa Cruz Botanic Garden in California. This species is native to coastal hills near Sydney, Australia. E. deglupta was photographed in Los Angeles, and it is the only species found naturally in the Northern Hemisphere – in New Guinea, Seram, Sulawesi and Mindanao in the Philippine Archipelago. Not surprisingly it is commonly known as the Rainbow Eucalyptus. E. ficifolia was named because its leaf supposedly resembles that of a fig, although it doesn't look like any fig that I have seen. After this blog you can visit the photo library on our website to see more Eucalyptus species. The genus name is derived from Greek Kaluptein– “to cover” – because the unopened flower is well (eu) covered (kaluptos).

I don't care for bamboo leaves either, but my children's pet Panda sure likes to eat them. I enjoyed a recent punctuation book, Eats, Shoots and Leaves, by Lynne Truss. We are asked to consider her joke that a panda walks into a cafe, orders a sandwich, eats it, then draws a gun and fires two shots in the air. She also says “The rule is: don't use commas like a stupid person. I mean it.”

Good bye, it is time that I leafyou.

Some things at your local grocery are not for sale, such as the bins that hold the apples and the knives the butcher uses. But of course 99% is for sale, and they don't care if you buy just one bottle of ketchup or all thirty of them. Some customers who visit Buchholz Nursery have the mind-set that every plant we have must be for sale, to them. If they see a row of fifty plants, then certainly we can spare at least ten for them. But maybe all fifty are sold and we're waiting until spring to ship. Or maybe I need to save some as stock plants. Or maybe I bought high-priced lining-out plants, so there would be no profit for a couple of years. Or maybe I just don't like you.

Wollemia nobilis

Wollemia nobilis male cone

Wollemia nobilis female cone

It is often enjoyable to own a nursery where I can surround myself with any type of plant that I want, whether I intend to sell it or not. GH20 contains many such, for example Wollemia nobilis, and at some point it will hit the top of the greenhouse. Then I'll either sell it or get the ladder out annually to prune the top. I paid $100 to acquire it – way too much for a one-gallon pot – but with the understanding that most of the money would go to Wollemi conservation efforts. The National Geographic Society promoted the affair, and my tree is identified as '05580', perhaps suggesting that 5,579 other Americans own one too. Would I sell it for $1,000, say? Of course I would, for I am an avid capitalist who has been poor before.

Wollemia polar caps

Wollemia nobilis new growth

The genus received its name because the small grove was found (1994) in the Wollemi Wilderness, a short distance northwest of Sydney and due west of Mudgee, Australia. Wollemi is an Aboriginal word meaning “look around you, keep your eyes open and watch out.” The specific name nobilis is due to the discoverer, David Nobel, and it's a good thing that David's last name wasn't Kadiddlehopper. Wollemia is not a particularly beautiful tree, looking like close relatives in the Araucariaceae family, but it does feature some interesting characteristics: such as bark resembling bubbling chocolate and white resin at the shoot tips (called “polar caps”). Furthermore, the bright-green new growth contrasts nicely with the older dark-green foliage. Some have dubbed Wollemi as the “botanical find of the century” – sorry Metasequoia, I guess – and all the more amazing that the locale is only a short distance from a city of 4 million people. It's apparent that 4 million Sydnians were not “looking around” with “open eyes” and “watching out.”

Acer palmatum 'Fairy Hair'

I have another way to “make” a tree not for sale, and that's by putting a ridiculous price on it. I did that for the largest Acer palmatum 'Fairy Hair' in the world, and more than one potential buyer sighed at my price of $10,000 and declined. I keep this (one of two) original grafts in GH20 and I think it is about 28 years old. It hogs the middle and is a nuisance in many ways, and I have even considered planting it out in the garden. Imagine my surprise when a New Yorker apparently didn't balk at my high price, and next spring it will be making its way east. I'm not at all smug about the deal, especially since I have seven months to go and anything can happen in the meantime. The tree is expensive, but then that is relative, or at least that's what my Uncle Einstein used to say. The original seedling of 'Fairy Hair' was much smaller because it persevered on its own wimpy roots, and I sold it to an ex-hockey player from New Jersey of all people, because he had a nice maple collection and I could tell that he would really appreciate it. The original was never for sale either, by the way, but I'm happy that it has a nice home.

Stewartia monadelpha 'Pendula'

Another plant that I don't want to sell is Stewartia monadelpha 'Pendula', my oldest which I got from Japan about fourteen years ago. Currently it is in a container in front of GH1 by the main road, and everyone who visits the nursery must walk past it. I guess I'm showing off to have it there, but it would kill me if a knucklehead delivery man was to smash into it. It would kill him too. I assume the cultivar comes from Japan, and surely it must have a Japanese name, which I would prefer over 'Pendula'. Maybe my Japanese gifter was just trying to be helpful by describing the weeping habit, but I'm sure an appropriate Japanese name would be more poetic. Besides, a Latin name is invalid these days (since the 1950's). Pendula is from Latin pendere, meaning “hanging” in Old French, and believe me, I know about pendants as my 12-year-old daughter loves jewelry. Maybe I should keep the weeping Stewartia in the middle of her room to straighten her out.

Stewartia pseudocamellia

Another Stewartia that is (sort of) not for sale is S. pseudocamellia that is over fifty years old. It is priced at $24,000, although I really don't expect anyone to fall that far in love with it. The reason why I am so attached to it is 1) because it came from my “grandfather's” garden and 2) its unusual single-straight trunk begins branching at 18'. We call it the giraffe tree. It is currently in a huge cedar box because I can't find the perfect garden spot for it, and also I fear that by messing with it there's a chance it would die. As regular blog readers know I worry a lot.

Pseudopanax crassifolius

Moa bird, Megalapteryx didinus

Maori Chief

Years ago I collected a Pseudopanax crassifolius and it's now reaching the top of GH20. Commonly known as “Lancewood,” the crassifolius species comes from New Zealand. To the native Maori people it is known as Horoeka, but I don't know what that word signifies. What is interesting about the foliage in the photos above is that they are of the juvenile form which lasts 15 to 20 years. As the tree matures the leaves change to a shorter, more oval shape; in other words, not as interesting.* One theory as to the development of two kinds of leaves is that it was initially protecting itself against browsing by the moa, a giant bird that roamed New Zealand in prehistoric times. I don't know whether or not that is true but it makes for a good story. Further theory is that the common name lancewood is derived from the small lances apparent when the wood is split. Another possibility is that the early Maori used the young stems to spear wood pigeons which feed on the purplish-black berries, so in either theory it was notnamed for the appearance of the leaves. A practical feature with the early European settlers was using the leaves as bootlaces, while my daughter uses them cosmetically as fake fingernails.

*Botanically, having very distinct juvenile and adult forms is known as heteroblasty.

Pleione 'Versailles'

Pleione speciosa

Pleione 'Ridgeway'

Pleione 'Alishan'

GH20 also houses a collection of Pleione cultivars, some of which I have been growing for twenty years, but to date I've never sold even one. They are fun to have and I have even grown them outdoors; they survive our winters, but eventually the squirrels find and devour the bulbs. We never seem to devote the time to propagate Pleiones, but maybe that's good, for who knows if I could sell them. There are various theories as to the origin of the name Pleione, which is derived from Greek. The name of the Pleione star can mean “to sail,” and may refer to her mythical status as an Oceanid nymph. Another meaning could be “more,” “full” or “plenty.” Lastly, it might mean “doves,” due to Zeus turning nearby stars (the Pleiades cluster) into a flock of doves as they were pursued by Orion, the great huntsman, across the heavens. The star is no dove, however, as it is 190 times more luminous than our Sun. Pleione is also a Greek girl's name meaning “Goddess with many daughters.” It is commonly called the “window-sill orchid” because in Britain – and in my house too – they are brought inside in late February, and the warmth of the house will produce an early feast of flowers by March.

Manihot esculenta 'Variegata'

My first encounter with Manihot was at the Sarah P. Duke Gardens a couple of years ago. The place was rife with M. esculenta 'Variegata', and I stared at the first specimen I saw – without a label – for a long time trying to figure it out. I'm not sure where I would place one in my garden, so I'd probably keep it in a container. I asked a tall good-looking female gardener with sweat on her brow what the plant was, and she replied “Manihot.” “Excuse me?” “Manihot, you know, like in tapioca.” No I didn't know. She wiped her brow with her sleeve and went back to her hard work. I still don't have this plant, but if I ever get one it will remind me of her every time I see it, fondly so.

Manihot grahamii

Later in the Duke garden I stumbled into another species of Manihot, grahamii, and I liked it immensely, especially since it is hardy to Zone 7. I ordered one from Plant Delights Nursery in North Carolina and later this fall I will plant it in the Display Garden; so no, it's absolutely not for sale. I can expect it to die back to the ground each winter, but it is said (Plant Delights) that it will “quickly resprout and reach 8-10' by the end of the season.” In one photo above, you can see the autumn leaves turning to yellow. M. grahamii is in the Euphorbiaceae family and it is native to Brazil, Argentina, Paraguay and Uruguay, so indeed it is a “hardy tropical.” I look forward to its flowers which are pale yellow with purple markings, but my one plant has yet to bloom.

Berberis temolaica

Frank Kingdon Ward

Another plant that I won't sell is Berberis temolaica. I once had a good-sized specimen in the garden, but it was in the wrong place so I dug it out and sold it. After a few years I saw it listed in Gossler Farm Nursery, and I ordered a couple. They are still in the greenhouse which explains why the foliage (above) is greenish, but in full sun the leaves will be bluish-gray, and that is “a delightful blend of colour with its pale-yellow flowers” (G.S. Thomas). Temolaica was discovered in Tibet in 1924 by Frank Kingdon Ward and was initially distributed under the name B. mekongensis, and that name is still considered valid by Kew. My 1976 edition of Krussmann's Manual of Cultivated Trees and Shrubs lists both species, with mekongensiscoming from Yunnan, and temolaica from southeast Tibet. Somewhere along the way the Kew botanist Leslie Ahrendt (1903-1969) decided on temolaica, but I don't know why. Do the botanists at Kew ever talk to each other if they say mekongensis is valid? In 1961 Ahrendt wrote in the Journal of the Linnean Society, “The time is fast coming when gardens of any pretentions to beauty will be judged by their collections of Berberia, for there is not any other class of evergreen shrub which affords so many points for interesting observation.” Ok Ms. Ahrendt, but I'll bet that she never worked at a nursery and had to make Berberis's thorny cuttings.

Acer saccharum 'Monumentale'

I have been asked a number of times if my oldest Acer saccharum 'Monumentale' along the main road into the nursery is for sale, and the answer is always “no.” Upon re-consideration, “Make me an offer.” There are a number of upright columnar “sugar maples,” and I think the nomenclature is sketchy. Hillier equates 'Newton Sentry' with 'Columnare' and 'Temple's Upright' with 'Monumentale', while Krussmann claims that 'Newton Sentry'/'Columnare' was introduced in 1885 by F.L. Templeof Shady Hill Nurseries in Massachusetts. Did old Temple select more than one pillarous seedling? Michael Dathe of Newton, MA sets the record straight in Arnoldia (summer, 1983), “Two years after introducing the 'Newton Sentry', found near the Newton Cemetery, Temple also introduced another upright maple, which he called Acer saccharinum [sic] monumentale.” Dathe continues, “For all Temple's hope for his new introduction, 'Newton Sentry' has never become a popular landscape plant. The usual design limitation of columnar trees and its own sticklike appearance in winter for the first 25 years are possible reasons for its lack of popularity.” I disagree with that completely for they are very easy to sell, and the only thing I find difficult is our propagation efforts which are very dismal.

Sciadopitys verticillata 'Mr. Happy'

Another not-for-sale tree that I'll mention is Sciadopitys verticillata 'Mr. Happy', once a normal green rooted cutting from S. v. 'Winter Green' that later developed variegated portions. Everybody wanted to buy it, and of course they did. I resolved the issue by removing the tree from its cedar box and planted it along my long driveway at home. It struggled for the first two years and got beat up by the winter winds, but finally it is taking hold. Propagules from the original are in hot demand, but the rootstock is expensive to buy and our own rooting seems to have taken a dive in recent years. One must select the perfect scion when grafting; if too yellow the result will be a tree that burns, and if completely green you'll have a regular Sciadopitys. From the photos above you can see the shoots that I prefer.

Acer palmatum 'Mikawa yatsubusa'

Some of my plants will outlive me but some won't. In a sense we are just borrowing them for a while. The largest Acer palmatum 'Mikawa yatsubusa' (in the world?) is growing in our 'Short Road' section, and visitors have asked if I would consider selling it, and at what price? My answer is always the same, that it is indeed for sale, but you have to buy the whole nursery to get it. Yes, the nursery is always for sale.

“You often talk about that Talon, but could you so easily leave me?”

"Yes."

I used to be a peddler of birches, back when Betula jacquemontii, now Betula utilis var. jacquemontii, was popular. There's not much of a market for them now, either that or someone else is producing them for a cheaper price. The Betula genus contains about 35 species and I have been fortunate to see many in the wild. My Flora Farm location has a section named FFBetulawith about 20 different specimens scattered with other interesting plants, none of them with the necessary space to give them their full due.

Betula utilis at 15,000' elevation

Buchholz with Betula utilis at 10,000'

B. utilis, or the useful birch, is a variable species native to the Himalayas, with some stands exceedingly handsome at the lower elevations...to scrappy shrubs at the timberline. The photo above is from northern India at about 10,000' elevation, and it shows old man Buchholz when he was in his prime. The bark on B. utilis was used in ancient times for writing Sanskrit scriptures and texts, and I even mailed a bark postcard to myself from Srinagar, Kashmir with the message, "Congratulations, you made it home." I waited in line at the post office for a half hour to get my stamp, but it took only eight days to make it (intact) to America, and that feat impressed me. The utilis species was first collected by Nathaniel Wallich in Nepal in 1820, and was described by David Don in 1825. Don was a Scottish botanist who described a number of conifers, and he also named the orchid genus Pleione.

Betula calcicola

Narcissus

The rarely seen B. calcicola is a shrub that I collected in northwest Yunnan over 20 years ago, and my dense tree is about 10' tall now. It roots easily from softwood cuttings under mist in summer, but since nobody knows it sales are timid. At one point it was named B. forrestii var. calcicola, indicating that George Forrest – who collected in the area – might have found it, but according to Hillier it was introduced by Roy Lancaster in 1986. In any case it is a pretty bush with small rich-green leaves with prominent veins. The specific name is from Latin calcareus meaning "lime" and cola meaning "dweller" or "inhabitant," and there are other plants with the same specific name such as Cycas and Narcissus. Wandering further, narcissus is from Greek narkissos, and that from narke for "numbness," and it shares the same root as narcotic.

Betula utilis 'Yunnan'

...but back to birches. In the same general area as B. calcicola I found a B. utilis – I guess that's what it was – with an amazing coppery trunk. It was never an official cultivar but I called it 'Yunnan' and propagated it by grafting onto Betula pendula. It grew to an immense size, but the only part that looked good was the trunk. Feeling that it was a liability to the overall appearance of the garden, I issued orders for its removal. We edit trees from time to time because they nag my brain and I eventually take action. My employees must wonder what gets into me, but to my mind we receive addition by subtraction, just as with terminating poor employees or customers. We cut 'Yunnan' down without grafting any to keep on the "ark," and now I kind of regret my decision, especially since I now have a Betula section. But thanks for the memories.

Betula lenta var. uber

I had never seen B. uber before my trip to North Carolina two years ago, and the specimen above was photographed in the North Carolina State Arboretum. Hillier suggests that B. lenta, the "Cherry birch" is the specific name, with var. uber commonly known as the "Virginia roundleaf birch." To quote from The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs, "Although described in 1918 this [uber] form was not refound until as recently as 1974, as a small population of only 17 trees. Differs from the species in its smaller stature..." The specimen at the arboretum had a gigantic stature, assuming that the label was correct. I don't know how uber received its name. In German it means "over," but Latin ubertasis the word for "fertile," which I take to mean that it is loaded with seed, so then one wonders why the wild population contains only 17 trees?

Betula albosinensis var. septentrionalis

Felled tree at Rhododendron Species Garden

Betula albosinensis can be a beautiful species, but with no two trunks colored the same. Scions of the tree photographed above came from the late Dr. Corbin garden, but his specimen had different colors than my own, and I wondered if my use of B. pendula rootstock had any influence. The photo of the albosinensis that was taken at the Rhododendron Species Garden in Washington state was actually a portion of a tree they had cut down. It was lying ornamentally along the path, perhaps their gesture to impress me, but I wonder why it was executed. You'll occasionally find a B. albosinensis var. septentrionalis, with this group indicating that it comes from the northernmost portion of its Chinese range. Septentriolis the word describing the constellation which contains the "Big Dipper" (or "Plough") which dominates the sky of the north. Not that Australia contains any birches, but the word australis is derived from Latin meaning "southern," and dates to 2^nd-century legends of an "unknown southern land," AKA terra australis incognita.

Betula austrosinensis

Again, back to birches. Let's go to B. austrosinensis, endemic to southern China in forests from 2-6 thousand feet in elevation. The photo above was taken...where?, at Far Reaches Farm? – you know, the folks who actually do reach quite far for new and interesting plants. I don't remember; maybe from somewhere else, and actually I know very little about the species except I like the reddish new growth which reminds me of the multitude of non-hardy Chinese Acer species. I don't even know if austrosinensis is hardy in Oregon since it also resides in Vietnam, a country that I was fortunate to have not visited in the late 1960's. Instead of administering napalm to innocents, I was destined to become a grower of plants and raise five wonderful children.

Betula x borggreveana

Let's face it, a few birches display some canopy charm, such as with B. pendula, but for the most part they are admired for their trunks. B. borggreveana is a trunk-birch with very little else going for it. It originated in cultivation in Germany as a hybrid between B. papyrifera and B. pumila, for it seems that all of the Betula species are willing to jump into bed with each other. Actually I should name it: Betula x borggreveana as it is a cross. Bernard Borggreve was a German professor of botany at the Institute for Forest Botany in Hannoversch-Münden. When the (somewhat crabby) Borggreve's courses in botany were to be delegated to a private lecturer, he quit and wrote, "Starting with the coming semester and probably for the rest of my life I would be reduced to the lost position of a zoologist in which I see for the future only a thoroughfare post for young lecturers or a refuge for the unaccepted." Yikes, what a shame to name this hybrid birch after such a woeful German botanist, and I'm sorry to bring the whole thing up. Really, it is not a remarkable birch, one of those species of BIO plants – Botanical Interest Only – with which I occasionally indulge.

Betula apoiensis 'Mount Apoi'

B. apoiensis 'Mount Apoi' has finally touched canopies with Davidia involucrata 'Platt's Variegated' and I don't know what to do. Cut down the birch or cut down the dove tree, or do nothing and let them ruin each other? I love them equally so Talon's choice might be made after drinking a couple of beers. 'Mount Apoi' is listed by the Hillier 2014 edition as species apoiensiswhen I've understood for many years that it was B. ermanii 'Mount Apoi', but I'm sure it's wise to defer to England when it comes to plant classification. An older Hillier edition doesn't list apoiensis at all, but does mention B. ermanii subcordata. The new edition does not list subcordata. Confused? Maybe TMI (too much information) as my children say. Anyway, Hiller says the two species are closely related. Mount Apoi is in Hokkaido, Japan's northernmost island. It only rises to 2,658 (810 meters), but still contains alpine plants, and in 2015 it was designated a UNESCO Global Geopark. The area is also known for Periotites, the plutonic* rock in the upper part of the mantle. Back to the birch, as with B. utilis, Betula apoiensis is a variable species, meaning that seed should be collected from a particularly nice form; but in the case at Buchholz Nursery 'Mount Apoi' has already been selected, so we used to propagate that superb clone by grafting onto B. pendula.

*Plutonic rocks have solidified from a melt at great depth, as Pluto was the Roman god of the underworld.

Betula ermanii

Betula ermanii 'Grayswood Hill'

I'll devote a few words to B. ermanii now, for I had a nice specimen along the main road into the nursery, but it too was a victim of my overplanted garden. The photo of 'Grayswood Hill' was taken in England, at Wisley I think. Hillier says it was selected for its excellent white bark. I see a good deal of orange in the photo, and my seedling tree did also. The ermanii species is native to the northeast Asian countries of China, Korea, Japan and the Russian Far East, and in Oregon it is a fast-growing species with a graceful canopy. One of the highlights of fall, I recall, was the beautiful golden heart-shaped leaves, and the clear color rivaled those of the Ginkgoes. It was also one of the first of my deciduous trees to leaf out in spring. A great tree – maybe I should get one again.

Betula costata

Also from northeast Asia resides B. costata, a large tree that can reach 100', and usually with a straight trunk. The trunk features cream-white bark with orange-brown markings and exfoliates fantastically. A common name is "Golden birch" because of the outstanding golden fall color. This species has been considered B. ermanii var. costata before, but these days it has been given the higher rank thanks to botanist Ernst von Trautvetter (1809-1889). I wonder if hybrids exist in the wild which may cause a kerfuffle with botanists. In any case the name costata does not mean that it comes from the "coast," but rather from Latin meaning "ribbed" due to the prominent veins on the leaf. Hillier does not recommend it for Britain because it leafs out early and can be damaged by a late frost, but in my experience it can survive the damage as it matures.

Betula pendula

Betula pendula golden seedling

B. pendula, from Europe, is commonly grown in America. I love and hate the species – sometimes the trunk is interesting, yellow and orange leaves can persist until December, and the graceful outline of the tree can present a nice show in winter. But, the damn thing can grow to a huge size, in summer it can be infested with aphids and you certainly don't want one near a septic system. The first thing I did when I bought the nursery property was to cut one down that met the above criteria. Then when I bought the Flora Farm property, I cut one down there too. So if B. pendula is sited wisely I don't have a problem with it. In the early years we had a chance seedling come up in the greenhouse with a delicious golden color. I raised it indoors and everyone admired it, and I eventually propagated a few. These were planted out – in the real world – but by August they were so scorched that I cut them all down. So, another reason why I hate the species.

Betula pendula 'Trost's Dwarf'

A B. pendula cultivar that I do admire is 'Trost Dwarf', selected at Southern Oregon Nursery by Dieter Trost. It features finely cut leaves on thin arching branches, and is particularly attractive in May. My oldest specimen is about 25 years old, 8' tall by 10' wide, and was planted too close to the path. I'm not going to cut it down – for once – but I will have to keep it pruned back. Its trunk is sturdy, and of a white-gray color but not at all attractive. In the old days when we took custom graft orders, one year we raised 800 plants, a number that seems preposterous now. We discontinued propagation because 'Trost Dwarf' would defoliate by July in the Mid and East Coast climates. Anyway today my oldest tree is my only tree.

Betula nigra 'Fox Valley'

Betula nigra 'Shiloh Splash'

B. nigra, the "River Birch," is notable for its exfoliating orange and brown bark. It is native to the eastern half of America, often growing in damp areas or along rivers. It is a fast-growing species and one of the most disease-free of the birches. My two specimens are planted down by the creek at the edge of the dark woods, so they are tilting northerly reaching for the light. Actually these two are supposedly a more dwarf form named 'Fox Valley', but they are nearly 30' in only 20 years. Native Americans used to boil the sap as a sweetener and eat the inner bark as a survival food, and maybe the sweetener was poured over the bark to make it somewhat palatable. A showy cultivar is 'Shiloh Splash' which has white/green variegated leaves that can take full sun. Occasionally a solid green branch will develop that should be removed. We prune 'Shiloh Splash'– usually in half each year – to keep it compact and more colorful. It is ten to twelve years old and its bark now exfoliates, making it an attractive winter tree. Another interesting cultivar is 'Summer Cascade' which weeps; I was given one once but I honestly don't know where it is... so perhaps it died.

A Robert Frost poem called Birches ends with the line, "One could do worse than be a swinger of birches." Back when I grew birches to sell I said, "One could do worse than be a seller of birches." To sell or not to sell:

Robert Frost

"Two roads diverged in a yellow wood...

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference."

For those who don't know the Birches poem, I will leave it with you. If you do know it read it again for you have changed.

When I see birches bend to left and right

Across the lines of straighter darker trees,

I like to think some boy's been swinging them.

But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay

As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them

Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning

After a rain. They click upon themselves

As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored

As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.

Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells

Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust—

Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away

You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.

They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,

And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed

So low for long, they never right themselves:

You may see their trunks arching in the woods

Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground

Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair

Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.

But I was going to say when Truth broke in

With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm

I should prefer to have some boy bend them

As he went out and in to fetch the cows—

Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,

Whose only play was what he found himself,

Summer or winter, and could play alone.

One by one he subdued his father's trees

By riding them down over and over again

Until he took the stiffness out of them,

And not one but hung limp, not one was left

For him to conquer. He learned all there was

To learn about not launching out too soon

And so not carrying the tree away

Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise

To the top branches, climbing carefully

With the same pains you use to fill a cup

Up to the brim, and even above the brim.

Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,

Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.

So was I once myself a swinger of birches.

And so I dream of going back to be.

It's when I'm weary of considerations,

And life is too much like a pathless wood

Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs

Broken across it, and one eye is weeping

From a twig's having lashed across it open.

I'd like to get away from earth awhile

And then come back to it and begin over.

May no fate willfully misunderstand me

And half grant what I wish and snatch me away

Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:

I don't know where it's likely to go better.

I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,

And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk

Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,

But dipped its top and set me down again.

That would be good both going and coming back.

One could do worse than be a swinger of birches.

I re-entered the nursery just as Eric Gossler was leaving with his order for Gossler Farms Nursery. He tossed me his 2015-2016 retail catalog and I didn't have to pay $2.00 like it says on the cover. I shoved everything to the side on my desk and sat down. The first two pages contain the introduction, a folksy recap of their past year, and it is signed by Eric, Roger and mother Marj Gossler, the latter with impeccable cursive. Then follows 35 pages of offerings. I read the descriptions of everything, even some that are my own introductions, because I'm interested in their take on them.

Acer palmatum 'Geisha Gone Wild'

I read that Acer palmatum 'Geisha Gone Wild'"Has rich pink variegated leaves. Especially in spring the leaves are a bright color. In summer the color is lighter, more subdued but still striking."

Acer palmatum 'Japanese Princess'

For Acer palmatum 'Japanese Princess, "Discovered by Talon Buchholz. This addition to his other beautiful maples is a smaller version of A. 'Mikawa yatsubusa' (the plant and leaves are smaller). The new growth is a startling pinkish, later changing to light green. In fall the foliage turns to brilliant orange. Makes a great container plant for the patio." And so on...

Cercidiphyllum japonicum 'Boyd's Dwarf'

Not wanting to come across as braggadocious, I'll discuss other plants in the Gossler catalog, plants that I had nothing to do with their introduction. And by the way it is Roger who provides the catalog descriptions for he is the plant geek of the company. Consider Cercidiphyllum 'Boyd's Dwarf' which is a japonicum species. "We got our plant from Jim Fox in a 2 gal 5-6 years ago and it is about 6' tall. The small leaves cover this bushy shrub. In fall, the color will turn soft yellow." I don't really know this Jim Fox guy, except that he is the author of How to Buy the Right Plants, Tools, and Garden Supplies. He addresses such topics as, "Are you confused by all the choices when you visit a nursery? Do you get sticker shock when you see how much that nice little shade tree costs? Let Jim Fox, a nursery professional with over twenty years of experience, show you blah blah blah..." And, I don't know who Boyd is/was; perhaps he was involved with this European selection. Thank you Roger to give one to me, but I can already see that it will not be a "dwarf," not at all. Esveld Company in Holland says that it will grow to 4 meters in 10 years and I suspect half-again more at Buchholz Nursery. But I am happy to have it and I'll give it adequate room when planting out. As you can see from the photo above, my tree is not "soft-yellow" in autumn, but rather a peachy pink.

Cercidiphyllum japonicum 'Morioka Weeping'

Shortly after 'Boyd's Dwarf', Gossler lists Cercidiphyllum japonicum 'Pendula' (Marioka Weeping): "Our original tree is 40' x 15'. There are several vertical leaders with all the rest of the growth cascading. Looks like a large fountain. One of the glories of our garden." Indeed it is a glory to behold, but get out your tape measure, Roger, for the behemoth in your garden is nearly as wide as tall. Also it should be spelled with an "o," as in Morioka, the name of the city in Japan with a population of over 300,000 souls. Its origin is said to be a tree in the grounds of a monastery in or near the city, and sign me up for a trip to see the original! Hillier reports that "Incredibly, this tree itself originated as a sucker in 1824 from the stump of a previous large tree." I was once given a 'Morioka Weeping' that was propagated by tissue culture, but it never did weep. I would suggest that if you have nothing better to do than read this blog, you should soon plan an excursion to Gossler's to see their impressive specimen and buy one if your garden has the space for it. Then stand next to it in autumn and smell the fallen leaves as they give off a burnt-sugar fragrance.

Camellia x williamsii 'Water Lily'

Buchholz Nursery had never contained a Camellia for over thirty years, until I saw a Camellia x williamsii 'Water Lily'– fell in love with the flowers – and Roger shoved one into my car. My initial aversion was due to youthful encounters with the boring red-flowering specimens planted in front of my parent's house with leaves that harbored a crappy black soot – aphid shit, or what?, I never knew. 'Water Lily' is beyond "lovely" or "pristine," it is down-right sexy. Roger says, "Is an upright growing camellia with deep pink flowers. The individual flowers are different than any other camellia we've seen. The center petals hold together so we don't see the stamens. The cup-shaped semi-double petals make an interesting looking flower."

Camellia 'Black Opal'

Camellia japonica 'Kujaku tsubaki'

After falling for 'Water Lily', I later encountered Camellia 'Black Opal' and 'Kujaku tsubaki', and both of them found their way into my collection thanks to Roger. This evangelist of plants has certainly stirred up a lot of commotion in my life, and his "garden coaching" service has aided other erstwhile gardeners in improving their 'scapes. Anyway, Roger is a true guru of plants, or how else would you explain grumpy ol' Buchholz finally falling for Camellias?

Choisya x dewitteana 'Gold Fingers'

...further into the catalog we come to Choisya x dewitteana 'Gold Fingers', a plant I don't have, but one which is exuberantly growing in my "grandfather's" garden. Roger says about 'Gold Fingers' that, "This hybrid of C. 'Aztec Pearl' and C. 'Sundance' has narrow foliage that is bright yellow all year. The flowers are orange scented in the spring." I remember first discovering 'Sundance' at the originator's Liss Forest Nursery in southern England in 2002 (or there-abouts), but I think I prefer 'Gold Fingers'. The remarkable thing is that it can be grown in full sun without any scorch, and this has been a record-breaking brutally hot summer.

Cornus kousa 'Mandarin Jewel'

Gossler offers Cornus kousa 'Mandarin Jewel' and says "This plant was named for its mandarin orange fruit in the fall. The green foliage makes a pretty background for the white bracts in June. In fall, the foliage turns lovely yellow-orange-red." The orange fruits are now appearing on my trees, and with nearby Cornus kousa 'Big Apple' I just might make a fruit salad. You really can ingest the fruits – I have – but you have to pick them at the right time just like with wine grapes. Too old, too young = not so good; you learn what's just the right time. Soon I will present to my busy wife yet another project: kousa jam. The word mandarinarose in the late 16^th century and referred to a Chinese official, and that was derived from Hindi mantrifor "counselor." Citrus nobilis is the tangerine or mandarin orange or satsuma that originated in southwestern China or northeastern India, and maybe I'll throw them into the salad as well.

Cunninghamia lanceolata 'Glauca'

Cunninghamia lanceolata 'Glauca Prostrata'

I was surprised to see Cunninghamia lanceolata 'Glauca' in their catalog – a tree I used to raise – and I wonder who is supplying them. 'Glauca' can be produced via hardwood cuttings in winter, but we gave up on it because the propagules would grow branch-like and it took forever to form a strong leader. I imagine the "China fir" species is hardy to USDA zone 6, but after a harsh winter the older needles would brown and persist forever, so it would take two or three happy years of new growth to cover the bad. I'm notsaying that you should steer away from Cunninghamia, but rather that it is dubiously profitable for the grower. I once saw a sprawling specimen at Arrowhead Alpines in Michigan, and maybe its survival was due to the fact that it was buried under snow each winter; I was given a start of their "prostrate"'Glauca' form, but it immediately assumed a leader in Oregon. Roger describes 'Glauca' as "the blue Chinese fir. This 30' tree has fairly broad needles that are pretty blue. The plant has a graceful arching form. We haven't seen any plants available for several years, so pick one up if you have a chance." The Cunninghamia conifer is considered a member of the Cupressaceae family and is native to China, Taiwan, Vietnam and Laos and its name honors Dr. James Cunningham, a British doctor who introduced the species into cultivation in 1702.

Gardenia jasminoides 'Kleim's Hardy'

If you're looking for a hardy Gardenia – well, at least hardy to 0 degrees F – Roger would love to sell you 'Kleim's Hardy', a selection from Don Kleim from the Henderson Experimental Garden in Clovis, California. Roger says "This gardenia has single, white flowers sporadically during summer. The flowers have a wonderful scent."'Kleim's Hardy' is the jasminoidesspecies from southern China and Japan, and is commonly known as the "common gardenia" or the "cape jasmine." The genus name honors Dr. Alexander Garden (1730-1791), a Scottish physician, botanist and zoologist who resided for many years in Charleston, South Carolina. When Garden discovered Linnaean classification, he happily sent specimens to Linnaeus in Sweden, and birds, fish, reptiles, insects etc. to others in Europe. The poor doctor was somewhat lonely in America, writing that "there is not a living soul who knows the least iota of Natural History," and so his botanical conversations were carried on by correspondence. Interestingly, Garden never saw or had anything to do with the Gardenia genus.

Gladiolus dalenii 'Bolivian Peach'

Roger describes Gladiolus dalenii 'Bolivian Peach' as "a 2' gladiolus with gorgeous peachy-pink (light colored) flowers in August. This larger grower than G. 'Boone' is a looser form but will be hardy and beautiful. Our plants have been to 5 degrees F." Gladiolus is a South African bulb-like corm with strap-shaped foliage, and the name is Latin meaning "small sword." The specific name dalenii honors the Dutch botanist Cornelius Dalen who was director of the Rotterdam Botanic Garden. The reader can see the peachcolor above, but what does 'Bolivian Peach' have to do with Bolivia? The answer is that it was found by Plant Delights Nursery on a roadside bank near the town of Bolivia in Brunswick Co., NC, a community of 148 at the 2000 census, but down to 143 in 2010.

Ophiopogon japonicus 'Nana'

Ophiopogon japonicus 'Nana' is a cheerful little plant, and Gossler says, "This tiny Ophiopogon only gets 2-3" tall. This plant makes a nice in filler between rocks or small plants. This cute little plant can also make a tiny container plant. Flowers are white 2-3" tall." Hardy to -20 degrees F, the dwarf mondo grass can also be used instead of a lawn and would never need mowing. In Japan it is known as ryu no hige, or "dragon's beard," not that I've ever imagined a dragon with a beard.* Surprisingly Ophiopogon is in the Asparagus family, Asparagaceae, and it is occasionally sold as a decorative plant for use in an aquarium where it will live for a couple of months before dying. In China the mondo's tuber, known as mai men dong, is the herb of choice to treat yin deficiency. The medicine enters the heart, lungs and stomach and supplies nourishment to these organs. It would probably be very useful for me as it also quiets irritability.

The genetic name is derived from Greek ophio for serpent or snake, and pogon is Greek for "beard," an interesting example where ancient Greece and the Orient concur.

Parthenocissus tricuspidata 'Fenway Park'

A fantastic plant is Parthenocissus tricuspidata 'Fenway Park', and Roger says, "This beautiful plant obviously comes to us from Boston. The small golden foliage makes a nice light screen on a trellis. Our plant is in full south facing sun and thrives. The new growth in spring will be larger leaves with very small leaves later in summer." I was initially impressed with the "golden Boston ivy" at Shadow Nursery in Tennessee where it covered an entire building. I had seen it before in containers at retail nurseries but never thought much of it, but Shadow's covered building did the trick. It was discovered as a sport on the normally green ivy in 1988 by Peter Del Tredici of the Arnold Arboretum. Some suggest that it was actually in Fenway Park*, but the truth is that it was found on an apartment building near Fenway Park, the home of the Boston Red Sox. The botanic name is a mouthful, but comes from Greek parthenos meaning a "virgin" and kissos meaning "ivy."Tricuspidata means "three-toothed" in reference to the leaves. Again, another Greece-Orient connection is due to the fact that the Boston ivy is actually native to China and Japan.

There is no ivy in Fenway Park. The famous Green Monster is painted every season. However, Wrigley Field in Chicago is covered with Parthenocissus.

Podocarpus macrophyllus

Podocarpus macrophyllus is listed in the Gossler catalog, and described as "A plant out of the past! This evergreen shrub was planted in black (dark) entryways in the '50's-60's, but has disappeared since. Sad, since this is a pretty conifer with deep green needles." It is hardy to only USDA zone 7, our zone in Oregon. Roger is correct that you seldom see it in Oregon, but I've seen plenty of them in California. Podocarpus macrophyllus is native to southern Japan and eastern China, and is commonly called (in the West) the "Buddhist pine," but of course it is not a true pine. In Japan it is known as "Kusamaki" or "Inumaki."

Rhododendron 'Coastal Spice'

Rodgersia 'Bronze Peacock'

Salix magnifica

Tsuga mertensiana 'Bump's Blue'

Rhododendron 'Coastal Spice', Rodgersia 'Bronze Peacock', Salix magnifica, Tsuga mertensiana 'Bump's Blue'– I could go on and on. Like I said at the beginning, 35 pages of fantastic plants, all affordably priced. Besides, the Gosslers are good people or I wouldn't be bragging about them.

P.S. I recommend that you buy The Gossler Guide to the Best Hardy Shrubs which features over 350 expert choices for your garden.

Sammy, the Wonder Dog

I read the other day that clever researchers have concluded that both dogs and cats can see in color. Sammy, our wonder dog can distinguish red from blue after all, the little dickens. Color is a great feature, especially these days with autumn foliage blazing fantastically. Color is an interesting word, except that in Britain they have Frenchified it as coloursince the Middle English times (before the 16^th century), because some words are borrowed from Anglo-Norman French. I like the extra "u" because it adds a richer texture to the seeing experience, and the same is true for flavour and savour for taste. Color or colour, whichever you use, originates from Latin colorare.

Ophiopogon planiscarpus 'Nigrescens'

Pinus thunbergii

Black is my favorite color, although many will say that black is not a color, but rather the absence of color. That is not at all true, for black is the very best complement for all other colors, such as white, grey, red, blue etc. Yep, orange too. The color-theme of our website, blog and all of our publications is black, and intentionally so. Proto-Indo-European (PIE) is the original source of our modern language, and it existed from the 3^rdor 4^th millennium BC, and back then black was bhleg. It evolved to blakkaz in Proto-Germanic and blaek in Old English, although today we have schwarz in German, noir in French, dubh in Irish and nyeusiin Swahili. An example of a black plant is Ophiopogon planiscarpus 'Nigrescens', or the "Black Mondo Grass." Pinus thunbergii is commonly called the "Japanese black pine" as mature trees develop a black trunk and main branches. The Japanese name for black is kuro, but I can't explain why the dwarf maple, Acer palmatum 'Kuro hime' received its name, unless it was done so at night.

White clouds at Flora Farm

Acer palmatum 'Shiro'

Pinus parviflora 'Shiro janome'

Abies koreana 'Ice Breaker'

Kwintos meant “white” in PIE times, then to Old English as kwit, and to just wit for the Dutch. I am a “white” man and most Americans are white people, but in the future that might not be the case. The only truly white people are albinos, and the rest of us have an off-white to reddish skin color, especially when we are embarrassed or very angry. White is an achromaticcolor, which means a color without color. Fresh snow and Polar Bears are white, often lazy clouds are white and even the Popes have worn white since 1566. Ancient Romans had two words for white, albus for a plain white and candidus for a brighter white. The Japanese (I'm told) have six different words for white depending upon brilliance or dullness, with shiro being one of them. Acer palmatum 'Shiro' has green leaves in spring, but into summer a whiteness develops. Pinus parviflora 'Shiro janome' means “white dragon,” and as you can imagine it prefers PM shade. Abies koreana 'Ice Breaker's' curved silver-white needles prefer full sun, in fact they will be dull green and less curved if grown in shade. If you visit the White Pines Forest State Park near the town of Oregon, Illinois, the pines in question are Pinus strobus, but it's actually the inner wood that puts it into the “white pine” category.

Acer palmatum 'Red Dragon'

Rhododendron 'Ever Red'

Rhododendron 'Taurus'

Ribes sanguinem 'Pulboro Scarlet'

Charlemagne

Red is an exciting color, with a mad bull charging at the bullfighter's red cape, then later leaking his own red blood...the bull's that is. Red is from Old English read, rood in Dutch, rot or ruber in German, eruthros in Greek and rudhira in Sanskrit. Again, the same old PIE language where red was known as rewd. In ancient Rome red symbolized blood and courage and the soldiers wore red tunics, while the generals wore a scarlet cloak. In the middle ages the Emperor Charlemagne painted his palace red and wore red shoes to demonstrate his authority. My Japanese wife abused herself by getting a red afro when in high school because she was the bongo player in a rock band. When her serious conservative father came home he said, “Good, now I won't worry about you having a boyfriend.” Red is found in abundance in the world of horticulture, at least among the cultivars, and with maples there's the old adage that “red outsells green.” Acer palmatum 'Red Dragon' is a nice compact laceleaf from New Zealand, and you would call its summer color maroon-red, and in autumn the foliage turns to an orange-red or a red-red. Rhododendron 'Taurus' is a fantastic plant that was bred by the late plantsman, Dr. Frank Mossman who was very generous to me with plant starts at the beginning of my career. Rhododendron 'Ever Red' was bred by the Coxes at Glendoick in Scotland. Not only does it have red flowers, but the foliage is reddish as well. Ribes sanguineum 'Pulboro Scarlet' has lush red flowers, and in fact the specific epithet sanguineum refers to the natural red flowers.

Picea pungens 'The Blues'

Rosa glauca

Ginkgo biloba 'Blue Cloud'

Blue came from Old French bleu, ultimately from a Germanic origin. “Roses are red my love, violets are blue...” Red and blue mixed together form the color violet, while blue and yellow combine to make green. In ancient Greece there was no single word for blue, but rather kyaneos for dark blue and glaucos (hence glauca) for a light blue. But kyaneos could also mean dark green, violet, black or brown, and glaucos could mean light green, gray or yellow. Japanese plant names (of color) can be confusing because they say the same word aofor both blue and green. How can they employ six different words for “white” but then utter the same word for blue and green? The sky is blue and the grass is green for heaven sakes. The Japanese can be vague, never wanting to state absolutes, and my theory is that characteristic develops because of their Buddhist upbringing. Let's face it: they beat around the bush, which can be irritating to my Germanic mind. But, the women can be quite loveable. Also lovely is the use of blue in the beguiling Girl with a Pearl Earring by Johannes Vermeer, a painting I have seen in the Maritshuis in Den Hague, The Netherlands. Anyway let's consider blue plants, and we'll start with Picea pungens 'The Blues', a great name for a great plant. It was discovered as a branch sport on a “Colorado spruce” host by Larry Stanley of Oregon 15-20 years ago, and I think it has a wonderful name. The beautiful blue branches droop elegantly, and it will grow only as tall as you stake it. The photo above, taken at Stanley's place, demonstrates that when you cease to stake the leader it will travel sideways. Rosa glauca has reddish flowers but the foliage is a pleasing gray-blue. Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Blue-isch' is a cultivar with foliage a light blue-gray but I don't have a photo of the Dutch selection; it doesn't matter as it is not that blue anyway. Recently we stirred up the world of horticulture with our introduction of Ginkgo biloba 'Blue Cloud' with its very blue leaves. Blue is a happy color and is selected by most Americans as their favorite.

Choisya x dimwitti 'Gold Fingers'

Dahlia 'Mystic Illusion'

Yellow rhymes with mellow, and why not? Yellow is a calming color as opposed to red, and I find it deliciously soothing. Sometimes it can shout, as in with members of the sunflower family, but most of the time a yellow plant adds a bright spot in the landscape. A little goes a long way – too much defeats the purpose – but on the other hand I don't even follow my own advice. Last week I bought a Choisya x 'Gold Fingers' because I saw one recently in my grandfather's garden, and it thrives beautifully in spite of our record-breaking summer heat. I recently got a Dahlia 'Mystic Illusion' from a retail source – well, it was given to me – and I admire the perennial that exudes yellow, especially since flowers glow on a plant with black foliage. In China yellow is seen as the color of happiness, harmony and wisdom. They believe there are five directions to the compass: north, south, east, west and middle, with yellow signifying the middle. China is at the middle of the world – hence Middle Kingdom – and the Emperor's palace is considered to be at the exact center of the world. The word yellow was originally gel in PIE, then to geoluin Old English. In Scotland they say yella, in German gelb and in Sweden gul. Yellow fever dates from 1748 in America as jaundice is a symptom, yellow-belly was a sailor's name for a half-cast (1867) and a Texan term for Mexican soldiers based on the color of their uniforms (1842).

C'mon now, orange is a sexy color, or at least frisky and exciting. Of course orange refers to the citrus fruit color, but the color was preceded by the fruit. It is thought that Old French borrowed from the Italian melarancio– “fruit of the orange tree” – but that was probably derived from Malayan naranna or Tamil naram via Sanskrit naragnah. In Spanish I have learned naranja means the orange fruit while anaranjado refers to the color. I favour the orange's delicious flavour, abundantly so, but it is remarkable that nothing rhymes with orange, not even one of the times. I remember a poem, but not by whom,

“Eating an orange

While making love

Makes for bizarre enj-

oyment thereof."

Poncirus trifoliata var. montrosa 'Flying Dragon'

Sorbus sargentiana

Plants with orange coloration include the fruits of Poncirus trifoliata, especially on the cultivar 'Flying Dragon'. The species trifoliata is the preferred understock – the root portion – of today's commercial orange tree crops because it is hardy to at least USDA zone 6, or minus 10 degrees F. It is native to China and Korea where it is known as the “Chinese bitter orange,” and before I knew the common name, I sampled the first fruit to develop on my first tree. Yuck! The fruits of Sorbus sargentiana are orange when ripe, and the species is native to Yunnan, China where it is known as wan xiu hua qiu, but I don't have a clue what that means. Of course the specific epithet honors the American dendrologist Charles Sprague Sargent of the Arnold Arboretum, for it was first collected by E.H. Wilson when he was plant hunting for the Arnold. More than the berries I love its lush-red new growth in spring.

Fagus sylvatica 'Dawyck Purple'

Fagus sylvatica 'Tricolor'

Callicarpa bodinieri 'Profusion'

I cannot neglect the color purple, a word that is derived from Old English purpre, that from Latin purpura, and that from Greek porphura. Originally it was named for the dye from a shellfish. Purple was the color worn by the rulers of the Byzantine Empire and the Holy Roman Empire, and later by Catholic bishops. But remember that for hundreds of years the Pope has been putting on white robes. Purple is a royal color, and in fact when Elizabeth II ascended to the throne, a purple ticket was used for the coronation. Purple is a combination of red and blue, and as such there is no wavelength of purple light, only with the individuals of the combination. There is a Purple Mountain in Jiangsu Province, China, so named because the peak is often covered with purple clouds at dawn and dusk, but then Oregon, Washington, Alaska and Colorado all have a Purple Mountain as well. Some plants with purple foliage include many cultivars such as Acers palmatum 'Bloodgood', 'Moonfire', 'Red Emperor' and 'Murasaki kiyohime', where murasaki is the Japanese word for purple. There are a number of Fagus sylvatica cultivars with purple foliage such as 'Ansorgei', 'Black Swan', 'Dawyck Purple', 'Purple Fountain', 'Purpurea Pendula' and 'Red Obelisk', while 'Tricolor' is a striking combination of red and purple. When one sees the fruits of Callicarpa bodinieri 'Profusion' in October, the temptation is to cut off a branch to bring it into the house.

Acer palmatum 'Spring Delight'

Colobanthus quitensis

Ginkgo biloba

Giuseppe Verdi

I'll finish our romp with colors with green as a good portion of our planet is covered with it. Ghreis the word in PIE that meant "grow." Later ghre evolved to graenn in Old Norse, grown in Dutch and grene in Old English. Everybody loves green, especially in spring, and we all know that Tennessee is the "greenest state in the land of the free." Obviously the largest contributor to green in Tennessee is chlorophyll, the chemical by which plants photosynthesize and convert sunlight into chemical energy. Oregon is pretty green too. The color in America is associated with spring, nature and youth, but also with envy. In China green is the symbol of fertility. The Italian opera composer Giuseppe Verdi's name would translate as "Joe Green," and Giuseppe is the most common of all Italian names. There are thousands of plants I have grown that are green, and I never tire of the color for there are a myriad of shades. Acer palmatum 'Spring Delight' is basically green, but leaves contain a pretty reddish margin. Colobanthus quitensis, one of only two flowering species from Antarctica, has a delightful green color, and there might be more of it in my nursery than anywhere else in the world outside of Antarctica. Everybody can recognize a Ginkgo leaf – my children could at age two – and what a splendid green color it is in spring; then we are treated to delicious yellow in fall. Thank god I'm not colorblind!

Green means go, as in a green light, so now the blog will end and I'll head for the refrigerator.

It can be tedious to keep the business viable, and there are times when I wish I could be relieved of my duty to care for plants, employees, customers etc. On the other hand there are many benefits to owning a nursery, such as when I go home to my country house and witness the drama of the sky. The clouds can be equally fantastic at the beginning or at the end of the day, so come float with me and explore my heavenly world.

"Come float with me Talon."

Some have suggested that I should leave out of the Flora Wonder blogs my fascination for word origins – etymology – and just stick to the plants. Well, the blog is not produced for you, you or you, and even if nobody reads it ever again I would still put it together my way. Actually, when someone tells me that they read the blogs I get kind of embarrassed and feel a little sorry for them. I write in a mental zone that has no audience, otherwise I couldn't do it, and my position contains absolutely no arrogance. So read no further if you choose, because today I'm going to lather on the etymology.

*Whence, is of Germanic origin, to Old English hyanon, then to Old English whenne, and since it literally means "from where" you never say from whence, as that would be "from from where."

Nephele

Nix

Orpheus

The noun word plant is derived from Latin planta and meant a “sprout, shoot or cutting,” while the verb plant means to “put into the ground to grow.” In German a plant is pflanz, in Irish cland, in Spanish planta, and in French plante. Chloris in Greek mythology meant “green” – hence chlorophyll. Daphneand Chloe meant “laurel” and “green shoot” respectively. Demeter is “earthmother.” Melia is an “ash tree,” Phyllus is “foliage” and Thaliameans “to blossom.” Nephele is “cloud,” nix is “night” and orpheus is “the darkness of night.”

Drevoi

Tree comes from Old English treobut the proto-Indo-European (PIE) root was deru. Keep in mind that PIE was never written down and is a reconstruction from languages that derive from the root. In Russian drevoi is “tree” or “wood, in Old Irish daur is “oak” and in Greek drys is “oak.” The Dutch use boom for “tree” and Germans use baum as they were derived from the PIE verb root bheue, “to grow.”

Cedrus atlantica 'Glauca'

Calypso bulbosa

Atlas Santiago Toural by Luis Miguel Bugallo Sánchez

Calypso

There, I feel etymologically better now, so back to plants. Cedrus atlantica is native to the Atlas Mountains of northern Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia, peaking at 4,167 m (13,665 ft.) at Mt. Toubkal. The etymology of Atlas is uncertain, but it could be from the Berber word adrar for “mountain” and then you would have the “Mountain Mountains.” The Ancient Greeks were aware of the African range, and the Roman writer Virgil later translated durus as “hard, enduring” from the Greek word meaning the same. In Greek mythology most of us are familiar with the Titan Atlas who bears the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was the father of the pretty nymph Calypso*, and nothing is cuter than the terrestrial orchid of the same name. The nymph lived on the mythical island of Ogygia where she captured Odysseus with her captivating singing and fell in love with him. While his heart longed for his wife Penelope back home he was detained for several years. Finally Calypso freed him at the bequest of the goddess Athena; but I don't know, I might have stayed. The Atlantic Ocean** is also named after Atlas, and the early Greeks believed it to be a river beginning at Gibraltar...that went around the world. Yep, around, way before Columbus sailed the Ocean Blue.

*The origin of Calypso's name means “to cover” or “hide” or “to conceal,” and you can see why.

**The Atlantic Ocean is thought to be the second youngest of the earth's five oceans. It did not exist 130 million years ago...until the drifting breakup of the super continent Pangaea. Before, all of the continents were joined, and the ocean surrounding it was called Panthalassa.

Cedrus deodara

While on the topic of cedars, it is botanically Cedrus, but there are a lot of other conifers that share the common name, the genera of Chamaecyparis, Thuja and Juniperus. Even for the “true” cedars the taxonomy remains a muddle as botanists are perhaps the most contentious of any group of scientists. I have been fortunate to see C. deodara in the wild, impressive, big gnarly monsters at 8,000 ft. in the Himalayan foothills. The specific name is derived from Sanskrit devadaruwhich means “wood of the gods.” Indeed, the word Himalayameans “abode of the gods.” The deodar is the national tree of Pakistan, but then who really cares? We have grown a large number of deodar cultivars which were selected primarily for the blueness of the foliage and also for cold tolerance – to -18 degrees F – such as 'Eisregen' (Ice Rain), 'Eiswinter' (Ice Winter) and 'Polar Winter'. It is fun to propagate deodars because of the pleasing smell of the wood, and in fact it is used for its aromatherapy properties.* In northern India people who suffer from asthma are directed to sit under a deodar early in the morning. The species grows well in most of America, and in the wild it can attain an age of 1,000 years and grow as tall as 250 ft.

*Hindu Kush sibyls (female oracles) breathe the burning smoke for divine inspiration, while insects reject the wood.

Daphne genkwa 'Hackenberry Group'

Daphne genkwa is the “lilac daphne,” a scentless shrub from China and the Himalayas, and was first discovered by the energetic plant collector, Charles Maries. He was sent by the famous English Veitch Nursery to Japan, China and Taiwan between 1877 and 1879 and discovered over 500 new species. The Chinese know it asyuan yan meaning “poisonous plant,” nevertheless it is one of the 500 most important herbs in traditional Chinese medicine. We grow the 'Hackenberry Group' which was raised by Don Hackenberry from wild collected seed which are renowned for delightful lavender-purple blossoms in late spring. In addition the shrub appears to be more compact than the type. Genkwa can “wander,” meaning that lower branches can take root in the soil, but to me that's a good thing. It is also nice that the plant blooms before the leaves appear – such a precocious garden goodie.

Sequoia sempervirens

Cupressus sempervirens 'Swane's Golden'

There are a lot of species with the name sempervirens, such as Cupressus sempervirens, Sequoia sempervirens and, and – I don't know, but a whole bunch more. It can mean “always flourishing” or “vigorous,” but with plants it means “evergreen.” Semper fidelis is a Latin phrase that means “always loyal” and is best known as the motto of the US Marine Corps. Oh – I just thought of a few more sempervirens, such as Buxus, Iberis, Lonicera, Solidago etc. The coast redwood champion is the tallest tree on earth (379 ft.), and is named “Hyperion” after the Ancient Greek term meaning “the high one.” Its location has not been revealed, to save it from people, but it has been climbed to the top by a few brave knuckleheads, and they report lightning damage has kept it from being even taller. Cupressus sempervirens grows too fast at Buchholz Nursery and it will fall apart with just a couple of inches of snow, but I have seen Oregon specimens receiving very little irrigation and they can grow up to 50 ft. tall, with only 5-6 ft. in width. They are perfect pillars. The “Mediterranean cypress” is particularly ornamental in Greece, and one particular church – well over a thousand years old – was graced by ancient specimens. We still intermittently propagate the cultivar 'Swane's Golden' which I think was originally introduced by Monrovia Nursery. It was hyped as being “dwarf,” but now they admit that it's “slow growing 15 to 20 ft. tall.” I have seen it larger than that and I wouldn't consider it “slow growing” either, as eventually the truth reveals itself. The Monrovia website indicates for blooms – “Does not flower” which is rong – it's just that the male and female inflorescences don't look like roses or petunias, but indeed it “flowers.”

Abies amabilis 'Indian Gold'

Abies amabilis 'Indian Heaven'

Pseudolarix amabilis

I like everything with the specific name amabilis. It is Latin for “lovely” and related terms include amata, amatorious, amica and amicula, with the latter meaning a “loved one” or “mistress.” Amabilisis the specific name for a number of orchids, a Calochortus, Pseudolarix and a Northwest conifer, Abies amabilis. The Abies is known as the “Pacific silver fir” and is found from sea level to about 5,000 ft. in altitude. On old specimens the trunk has a silvery color, and the two stomatal bands under the needle are silver as well. We have introduced two selections named 'Indian Gold' and 'Indian Heaven' as both were found in the Indian Heaven Wilderness in Washington state, but neither is worthy because the variegation is limited. Pseudolarix amabilis is the false larch known commonly as the “Chinese golden larch” due to its impressive autumn color. I used to grow it as a commercial crop but sales were usually slow, and I suppose that customers feared it would grow too large, then would look dead for half of the year. Its range is in a restricted area with fragmented populations and the IUCN lists it as vulnerabletrending toward endangered.* It was introduced into Europe in 1852 by Robert Fortune when the plant-hunter was actively stealing tea plants (Camellia sinensis) and tea-harvest secrets from China for the British. I love Pseudolarix and have a grand specimen in my Upper Garden at Flora Farm. Male and female strobili are present on the same tree, and maybe I will attempt to germinate seeds which are borne on the globe artichoke-appearing cones.

*Fossil records show that it was once widely present throughout the Northern Hemisphere.

Sorbus commixta

“One of the best species for autumn color” is how Hillier describes Sorbus commixta, my favorite of the “rowans.” The specific epithet means “mixed,” “mingled” or “combined,” but I don't know what that has to do with the Sorbus – perhaps something to do with the flowers, and there are other plants specifically called commixta, such as an Aloe from South Africa. The origin of the Latin name is from sorbum. The common name of “serviceberry” applies to S. aucuparia, and the name in Old English was syrfe. Rowan is from the Germanic verb raudinan which means “to redden,” in reference to the ripening red fruit. S. commixta is commonly known as the “Japanese rowan” and also can be found in the Russian Far East. Its Japanese name nana kamado means “seven stove,” because the hard wood can be burned in the stove seven times before being consumed. Arboreta in England love S. commixta, so be sure to visit in the autumn and see such cultivars as 'Embley', 'Jermyns' and 'Olympic Flame'. We used to graft it onto S. aucuparia, and when we didn't have any rootstock we would switch to Crataegus monogyna, for both genera are in the Rosaceae family.

Lindera obtusiloba

Above I have discussed trees both evergreen and deciduous. You know green already, but the word ever entered into Old English as aefrewith unknown origin. Deciduous is from Latin deciderewhich means to “fall down” or “off.” Since it's autumn I'll go with another shrub or small tree that rivals the Ginkgo for rich yellow foliage, Lindera obtusiloba. Commonly known as the “spicebush,” the broadly-lobed green leaves give off an aromatic scent. In late winter the bush is covered with bright yellow flowers which look for all the world like Cornus mas flowers. L. obtusiloba is dioecious, which means that male and female flowers are borne on separate plants. Male flowers are the larger of the two, but female plants feature shiny black berries. The species is native to China, Korea and Japan, and in China an extract of the wood and bark is applied to treat inflammations and chronic liver diseases. My oldest specimen is 15 ft. tall by 12 ft. wide after 25 years, so don't try to cram one into a tight space.

Actinidia kolomikta

I mentioned earlier that Charles Maries introduced over 500 species while he was employed by the English Veitch Nursery, and none is more fun than Actinidia kolomikta with its happily painted leaves. Maries collected it in Sapporo, Hokkaido – Japan's northernmost island – but it can also be found in Korea, China and the Russian Far East. It is a scrambling vine which likes shade, and the most impressive specimen I've ever seen was growing in the famous garden of the late Cecil Smith where it draped over a large stump. The vine is dioecious so you need a male and female for fruit; just understand that the kolomikta species bears fruit smaller than the kiwi fruits that you buy in the stores. Don't tell me that A. kolomikta wouldn't be hardy in your climate, for it can survive to -40 degrees F. If you get colder than that you should consider moving, but the poor Russians are stuck. The generic epithet comes from the Greek word atkin meaning “ray” due to the rayed stigmas of the female flowers. I don't know what kolomiktarefers to, but it certainly sounds Russian – perhaps a place name – but one thing I know is that the “k” in the name comes before the “t,” so you must focus on the spelling...just as with the “k” coming before the “g” with Ginkgo.

Forest Park

Oregon is famous for trees, but the term “old-growth” is often misunderstood. I am old-growth because I have never been harvested, but while old-growth forests used to cover much of Oregon, today less than 10% of our state's heritage forests remain. Since the definition of “old-growth” ranges from “never touched by man” to “no major changes (such as logging) for more than 100 to 150 years,” you can see that not much remains. At Portland's Hoyt Arboretum – part of Forest Park, one of the largest (5,100 acres) of all urban forests in America – the Parks Department will cut down a tree that poses a danger to visitors, joggers or drug dealers, and their safety measures always elicit a howl from local denizens, that “how dare they interfere with the old-growth trees.” Of course, the answer is...is a lawsuit. Before settlers arrived, the site was covered by Douglas fir (Pseudotsuga menziesii) forest, but was then eventually logged. Civic leaders beginning with the Reverend Thomas Lamb Eliot – love the middle name – proposed a natural preserve in the woods; and thank you, Lamb Eliot, because I walk the trails about 30 times per year with my grandfather. In 2004 a 53-year-old man was discovered living with his 12-year-old daughter in Forest Park for the previous four years, and their tarp-home was stocked with encyclopedias for “home”-schooling – and fortunately there was no evidence of any other abuse. Previously, in the 1950's I think, a leper lived in the forest, and he was sustained because of the donation from a kindly rich-woman who lived nearby who would daily deliver a plate of food.

So, what does the above paragraph have to do with “etymology” – word origins? I guess – nothing – my mind just wanders. It was just a brief account of a place where I actually do wander...a place where my grandfather and I converse and try to understand the world's problems. We never solve anything; nevertheless we entertain the situations. You could say that the origin of the persona buchholzii does not begin with, but is strongly influenced by my connection to Forest Park. I have been there almost 500 times, so you could say that the place has “begat me.” Everything comes from Something...to which I can add no more.

Last week I attended the North American branch of the International Maple Society's annual meeting held at the Oregon Garden.* We listened to speakers in the morning, then set out for visits to private gardens and wholesale nurseries. All of the gardens were humble but very interesting, and they included plants relatively new to horticulture, as well as venerable old specimens. The wholesale nurseries also featured many new (to America) plants, but the quality at the companies certainly varied, with Munn Nursery by far my favorite. Needless to say, Carl Munn is a grower of Japanese maples, and some of the sizes he peddles are enormous.

*Upon arriving at the Oregon Garden I discovered a note that my 9-year-old daughter slipped into my briefcase:

Dear part-time Papa,

I hope you will have a fun time at the Maple Society, but I still will miss you. Did I spell society right? I am crying right now but I will feel better later. Love you french toast [i.e. the most – more than french toast].

Your youngest,

Saya

You won't learn anything today because I'm sparing you from my usual verbiage, but hopefully some plant photos from the three-day event will interest you.

Deerly Missed Garden

Owner Pat Eckerdt with Abies nordmanniana 'Golden Spreader'

Polyspora longicarpa 'Full Moon'

Heptacodium miconioides

Arbutus unedo

Prunus serrula

Munn Nursery

Acer palmatum 'Seiryu'

Acer pentaphyllum

Acer truncatum 'Fire Dragon'

Acer shirasawanum var. tenuifolium

Acer palmatum 'Ogon sarasa'

Schreiner's Garden

Cyperus papyrus

Betula albosinensis

Cunninghamia lanceolata

Quercus durata

Thuja orientalis

Ricinus communis

Sebright Garden

Aesculus neglecta 'Erythroblastos'

Plumosa multilobum

Pyrossia hastata

Magnolia laevifolia

Cotinus coggygria 'Old Fashioned'

Ginkgo biloba 'Jehoshaphat'

Clerodendrum trichotomum 'Variegatum'

Brunnera 'Alexander's Great'

Cyrtomium fortunei var. clivicola

Whitman Farms Nursery

Acer buergerianum

Asimina triloba 'Sunflower'

Acer palmatum 'Germaine's Gyration'

Fraxinus excelsior 'Aurea'

Cornus nuttallii 'Colrigo Giant'

Cercidiphyllum japonicum 'Heronswood Globe'

Hamamelis vernalis 'Sandra'

Morus macroura

Oxydendrum arboreum

Oregon Garden

Acer palmatum 'Sango kaku'

Cotinus 'Grace'

Paulownia tomentosa

Fothergilla gardenii (left) and Euonymus japonicus 'Silver King' (right)

Quercus garryana (Heritage Oak)

Euonymus fortunei

Rhododendron 'Evening Glow'

Tsuga heterophylla 'Thorsen'

Dahlia 'Chilson's Pride'

Larix gmelinii 'Romberg Park'

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Torulosa Dwarf' with mutation

Although there are some nice specimens at the Oregon Garden, I won't judge the overall quality of the experience because I never want the Flora Wonder Blog to end on a negative note; but I basically copy travel writer Jan Morris' comment about Oakland, California, that "There is no there there."

"Come on, Talon, the Oregon Garden is not so bad. Remember, you once said that any garden is better than no garden."

We are well into the thick of autumn. It's foggy, it rains often – sometimes exceedingly so – but we go about our business as usual. Soon the crew will toil in our gardens, raking up leaves and pruning back the perennials. There's no slack in the work this fall, but last Saturday I squandered almost two hours to wander through the greenhouses and admire the beautiful foliage. None of us happily looks forward to winter, except ice skaters maybe, but come with me now and we'll soak in the radiance of autumn.

Stewartia monadelpha 'Pendula'

Stewartia monadelpha is commonly known as the "Tall Stewartia," but I prefer another common name, "Orange-bark Stewartia." S. monadelpha forms a small tree with green leaves and white flowers that feature stamens with violet anthers. The species is native to Japan and South Korea and it is usually an understory tree where roots are protected from hot sun. On the other hand I have a large specimen that is in full sun at the entrance to my home driveway which was gifted to me by my "grandfather," and I suppose it to be at least 40 years old. The genus was named by Linnaeus in 1753 to honor John Stuart, but an error occurred when Linnaeus was given the name of Stewart, and to this day we live with the "mistake." I received the weeping selection (above) from Japan years ago under the name of Stewartia monadelpha 'Pendula'– maybe the Japanese sender was trying to be helpful by indicating that it "weeps," but I would prefer to have the original Japanese name if it has one. I'm tempted to rename it 'Orange Flow' or 'Lava Flow', or something like that, but alas I have already sold it as 'Pendula' and I would be in violation of what I preach.

Viburnum foetidum 'Tenkai zaki'

In the same package from Japan that contained the weeping Stewartia I found two plants of Viburnum foetidum 'Tenkai zaki', and great– I thought – for who doesn't want another Viburnum in the garden? Besides, Viburnum when you can mulch them? To my surprise my plants are now blooming pure white, along with brown-red leaves and red berries, and I am happy after all to have acquired this "snowball" (schneeballartin German). I have steered clear of Viburnum for the most part because they are on the hot list for Phytophthora ramorum, or the "Sudden Oak Death," but so far the horrible disease has never showed up at my nursery. I have never seen 'Tenkai zaki' at another nursery or garden, unless I have supplied them, but I know it occurs on a few European plant lists, with the "z" inkorrectly capitalized. The generic name Viburnumis from Latin for "Wayfaring tree," except that it originally referred to V. lantana. Foetidumsimply means "stinky," which is mirizlivain Bulgarian, stinkig in German, nioi in Japanese and omkhii evgui in Mongolian. I asked my Japanese wife the meaning of "Tenkai zaki." As usual she stared at me with a helpless look, repeating the name over and over, then finally pronounced that she needed to see the characters. And as usual I groaned. So she pondered some more...and said that zaki and saki can be used interchangeably, and saki means "flower." I thought hana was "flower," and she said yes to that too. Then she revealed that Sakiko– her sister – literally means "flower-child," and I never knew that before. The foetidumspecies is semi-evergreen and is native to the Himalaya and western China. It was introduced to horticulture by E.H. Wilson in 1901, and won an Award of Merit in 1937.

Hydrangea 'Everlasting Garnet'

Hydrangea 'Everlasting Noblesse'

Hydrangea 'Everlasting Revolution'

Moving along...the Hydrangeas are changing from green to reddish. Last year at this time we received a sharp cold snap and the leaves went from green to mush, so I'm pleased with the show this year. I'm not really a Hydrangea guy – they seem better suited next to grandma's house. I bought a handful of three different cultivars, all patented with names that sound alike. I don't know what got into me, especially since I can't propagate them, but just about every one has been sold for next spring delivery so I guess I did alright. Also I put some in the garden which was probably the primary reason why I bought the starts in the first place. I find solace in the habit of other plantsmen who do the same, with those who share the same affliction. First discovered in Japan, the generic name comes from Greek hydor for "water" and angosfor a "jar" or "vessel," and I suppose that has to do with the cup-shaped flowers, or perhaps due to the hollow stems. Linnaeus had an obsession with Latin, and in that language he named it hydor "water" and angeion "vessel" or "capsule." Hydrangea shows various medical potentials, such as an anti-diabetic or an antimalarial cure, but the best use is of a beverage made from fermented leaves of H. macrophylla var. thunbergii called Amacha. The name is derived from amai for "sweet, tasty" and cha for "tea," and it is used to celebrate Buddha's birthday – on April 18^thto the Japanese – where Buddha statues are adorned with flowers and are then bathed with Amacha.

Illicium parviflorum 'Florida Sunshine'

Persea thunbergii

My one plant of Illicium parviflorum 'Florida Sunshine' is not "displaying" fall color because it has looked this yellow all summer. It originated as a seedling raised by Charles Webb and was introduced by Plant Delights Nursery in North Carolina, and that is where I got my start. The species parviflorum is native to Florida where it is commonly known as "yellow anise tree" or "swamp star anise," and the leaves and flowers give off a pleasant licorice scent, but don't eat them as they are poisonous. I. parviflorum can be found growing in areas containing the "Sweet bay," Magnolia virginiana and "Swamp bay," Persea thunbergii. I have seen the Persea only once in my life and that was at the Rhododendron Species Garden in Washington state, and the tree showed off wonderfully with its luxurious spring growth. The generic name of Illicium is derived from Latin illicio, to "entice," but I don't know if that refers to the flowers, fruit or smell.

Cornus florida 'Autumn Gold'

The late Dennis Dodge of Connecticut had a wonderful plant collection and he was very generous with me and with others. He asked me about five years ago if I would like scions of Cornus florida 'Autumn Gold'. "Aha, a golden florida, huh?" He proceeded to describe it – what a great plant it was – so I said "yes" and "thanks." I originally decided that I wouldn't grow the floridaspecies early in my career for it was susceptible to the anthracnose disease, while Cornus kousa is more resistant to it. So I amassed a collection of about 35 kousa cultivars with nary a florida at the nursery. But boy – now I'm sure glad that I said "yes" because 'Autumn Gold's' foliage color is absolutely delicious in spring, summer and fall. Hillier's latest edition does not list 'Autumn Gold' and the internet provides scant information – except that a Dutch nursery lists it – but sadly Mr. Dodge is no longer with us so I probably will never learn more. Plants are like people: you can never know them fully; and I'm frequently amused by botanists who endeavor to stuff plants into neat cubbyholes where all is supposedly known. By the way, no one is impressed with the flowers of C. florida, but rather with the four bracts that surround the true flower, and they can range from white to pink to red. One of the important features of the florida species is that it flowers about six weeks before the C. kousas, thus the flowers and bracts appear before the green foliage gets in the way, so they express themselves precociously.*

*Precocious means "exceptionally early in development" or "exhibiting mature qualities at an unusually early age."

Mukdenia rossii

x Mukgenia 'Nova Flame'

Mukdenia rossii 'Crimson Fans'

I have a 30-year-old plant of Mukdenia rossii (formerly Aceriphyllum rossii) that faithfully flowers every summer and then the leaves turn to glossy orange, red and purple in the fall and winter. And also I grow a number of Bergenia cultivars, such as 'Angel Kiss', 'Baby Doll', 'Flirt', 'Lunar Glow', 'Pink Dragonfly' and 'Sakura'. I never gave second-thought to the similarity of the two genera until I acquired an intergeneric hybrid named x Mukgenia rossii. Both are in the Saxifragaceae family, with Mukdenia the male parent and Bergenia the female. Sales have been strong for the 'Nova Flame' cultivar, but keep in mind that a hybridis not guaranteed to be better than the parents. Mukgenia is too new for me to form an opinion, but initially I prefer Mukdenia rossii 'Karasuba' ('Crimson Fans') over the 'Nova Flame'. I think I'll plant the two side-by-side, and you're all invited to come over and pass judgement.

Acer japonicum 'Green Cascade'

Acer japonicum 'Aconitifolium'

Acer japonicum 'O taki'

Acer japonicum 'Ao jutan'

All right now: I'll stop beating around the bush(es) and get to the maples, for that was my primary reason to wander into the greenhouses. The structures can range from 100' to 165' long, but by just standing at the entrance the Acer japonicums absolutely shout out – scream – with vibrant color. They really out-perform the palmatums and they provide the most regal colors of any plant in fall. Rich yellows, oranges, reds and purples throb on small wide-canopied trees, and some of my favorites are 'Oregon Fern', 'Green Cascade', 'Abby's Weeping', 'Aconitifolium' and 'O taki'. Of course others too, such as 'Ao jutan' and 'Ogura yama'– ok, all of them. The fantastic foliar presentation is the highlight for all maple enthusiasts, but surprisingly sales with japonicums are meek compared to the palmatums; and I have come to conclude that palmatums are "spring trees" while japonicums are "fall trees" and spring always outsells fall. Spring foliage is fresh, but fleeting, while fall colors are drenched with emotion, especially since the drama of winter is just around the corner.

Acer pictum 'Usu gumo'

In the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs, Acer pictum Thunb is described as "A medium sized tree with palmately 5-7 lobed leaves which usually turn bright yellow in autumn. Japan, China, Korean peninsula. Introduced 1881 by Charles Maries." For Acer mono Hillier advises us to see A. pictum subsp. pictum f. ambiguum. In DeBeaulieu's An Illustrated Guide to Maples, there is no mention of A. pictum at all, and he lists the cultivar 'Usugumo' as an Acer mono. Confused? Two different European experts who apparently don't agree, and extra odd that DeBeaulieu uses a photo of Acer pictum/mono taken at Hillier's arboretum. At Flora Farm I have a specimen labeled as Acer truncatum ssp. mono which I received from an Oregon wholesale nursery that no longer offers it. I don't have an opinion about the muddle, except for when it comes to choosing a rootstock for pictum/mono 'Usugumo'. DeBeaulieu says that you can propagate A. mono onto A. platanoides. Vertrees concurs. I tried a number of times without one single graft take, but by using truncatum or truncatum ssp. mono I experience a high rate of success. So is 'Usugumo' a cultivar of pictum or mono or something else? Hey, I know – let's ask an Asian! The Japanese author Masayoshi Yano in Book for Maples lists 'Usu gumo' (two words) as Acer pictum f. ambiguum, but I don't know if I can cram all of that on a label, so I'll continue with just Acer pictum. Yano says that 'Usu gumo' was introduced in 1882, but it remains rare in the American trade. My oldest specimen is planted in full sun and it is only 10' tall by 6' wide in 20 years.

Acer sieboldianum 'Kumoi nishiki'

Another variegated maple is Acer sieboldianum 'Kumoi nishiki', and its fall color can be yellow, orange and red, and sometimes all these colors are present. The cultivar was selected in Japan and was distributed throughout Europe by Guy Maillot of France. I've had it long enough to have 10' trees, but surprisingly it never made it into Yano's book or the Vertrees 2009 Japanese Maples. Collectors and growers are familiar with the word nishiki, for there are a lot of them – 'Oridono nishiki', 'Taimen nishiki', 'Toyama nishiki' etc. – and it usually refers to variegation, but not always. The word kumoi is not simple to understand, but kumo is "cloud," but with the "i" it's like the "cloud staying"– according to my wife – but she points out that there was a book about kumoi nishikiin the 1920's, and that there was also a crazy kumoi nishiki in Japanese kabuki theater. Japanese names are just not so simple to be sure about, even when you do have the characters.

Acer sieboldianum 'Seki no kegon'

Another A. sieboldianum cultivar, 'Seki no kegon', is also notin the Yano or Vertrees books. It is a vigorous, spreading, somewhat weeping selection that I received in a one-gallon pot only about five years ago. I sold it last spring in a 45-gallon pot and it had grown to 4' tall by 7' wide in such a short time. It wasn't for sale, but M.S. from New York had to have it in his collection, so bye bye. I don't know who named 'Seki no kegon', but maybe it reminded him of a reclining Buddha. Haruko researched the phrase, sighed and then said "it is too deep to tell." I thought that was the end of it, but she continued to explain that kegonis a Buddhist word that means something like a "pure heart," an elevated state that adherents attempt to achieve. Seki probably means "gate,""no" means "of"– so we have "gate of the pure heart." Maybe, always maybe. Poor Haruko exhausts herself trying to help out with my damn blog. We also grow A. sieboldianum 'Sode no uchi'. I don't know the meaning of that name, but I sensed that I had already imposed enough on my wife, but if a reader has the answer I would like to know. For what it's worth, the Vertrees/Gregory lists 'Sode no uchi' as a cultivar of A. sieboldianum, while Yano says that the species is tenuifolium, and I wonder what fine little details separate these two similar species. Yano reports that 'Sode no uchi' was known since 1688, long before Linnaeus and other botanists even had a system of classification.

It's interesting that many green Acer palmatum cultivars change to orange or red in the fall, while some red or purple cultivars change to yellow. Sometimes many colors are present on the same tree. Every year the fall colors can be different besides. Or a one-gallon in a pot in the greenhouse can be different from a 10 gal in another greenhouse – and maybe both different than an older specimen in the garden. Just as with Japanese name meanings, the autumn colors are not so simple to know. I think the leaves enjoy surprising us with their elusive personalities, that autumn is a fun game for them. They deserve their fun for they had to endure the brutal heat of summer, and it's easy to be gay because they don't have to freeze in winter.

Below are some cultivars showing foliage in spring, then again in fall.

Acer palmatum 'Blonde Beauty' in spring

Acer palmatum 'Blonde Beauty' in fall

Acer palmatum 'Kuro hime' in spring

Acer palmatum 'Kuro hime' in fall

Acer shirasawanum 'Plum Wine' in spring

Acer shirasawanum 'Plum Wine' in fall

Acer palmatum 'Green Tea' in spring

Acer palmatum 'Green Tea' in fall

Acer shirasawanum 'Sensu' in spring

Acer shirasawanum 'Sensu' in fall

Acer palmatum 'Green Twinkle' in spring

Acer palmatum 'Green Twinkle' in fall

Acer palmatum 'Emerald Isle' in spring

Acer palmatum 'Emerald Isle' in fall

Acer palmatum 'Koyamadani nishiki' in spring

Acer palmatum 'Koyamadani nishiki' in fall

Acer shirasawanum 'Bronze Age' in spring

Acer shirasawanum 'Bronze Age' in fall

Acer palmatum 'Yellow Threads' in spring

Acer palmatum 'Yellow Threads' in fall

Acer palmatum 'Usu midori' in spring

Acer palmatum 'Usu midori' in fall

Acer palmatum 'Strawberry Spring' in spring

Acer palmatum 'Strawberry Spring' in fall

Acer palmatum 'Dark Knight' in spring

Acer palmatum 'Dark Knight' in fall

Acer palmatum 'Jubilee' in spring

Acer palmatum 'Jubilee' in fall

Acer palmatum 'Little Sango' in spring

Acer palmatum 'Little Sango' in fall

Acer palmatum 'Geisha' in spring

Acer palmatum 'Geisha' in fall

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After I left the nursery I was treated with an interesting sky on my way home. Inside, fruit flies were hovering over the pumpkin, and I said it was time to throw it out. My wife and both daughters simultaneously groaned in disbelief. "How can you dare to throw away Sammy's pumpkin!"

In late October I apologized to the visiting Maple Society for I was sorry for the dismal color show. For the most part it was a poor year outside and it appeared that there wouldn't be much inside either. Happily I was rong. This week I am also devouring autumn color because we're near the end, and soon enough I'll be trudging through winter with boring bare sticks instead of flamboyant foliage. Besides I'm not long for this world either. My heart has beat (beated?) over two billion times – you can do the math for yourself – at roughly sixty beats per minute. I'm plenty busy at this time of year, but still I find a little time to goof off with my camera, when the world presents itself through 2" by 3" rectangles.

Acer platanoides 'Princeton Gold' in spring

Acer platanoides 'Princeton Gold' in fall

Acer platanoides 'Rezek'

For the most part I don't care for the “Norway maples,” Acer platanoides, for they grow to a huge size and are not suitable for small gardens or gardens with small spaces. I do have one Acer platanoides 'Princeton Gold' in the Upper Gardens at Flora Farm, and though I like it immensely, at 18 years of age it is crowding out other trees. I'm not sure what I will do about it, possibly nothing. Far more dwarf is A. p. 'Rezek', a seedling sent to me by the late Ed Rezek. 'Rezek' was not its intended official name, but I had to call it something. Mr. Rezek would find other crinkled-leaf seedlings, and he distributed them to his plant friends. Even if they all look similar, they are individual seedlings and no two can be exactly the same. One reasonably knowledgeable nurseryman saw the label and said, “'Rezek', 'Curly Lamppost'– same plant.” No, not same.

Acer nipponicum

Acer nipponicum is a small tree with large textured green leaves that turn to yellow in fall. It is rare in the mountains from Japan's three most southern islands, Honshu, Shikoku and Kyushu. It is also rare in collections, and one reason is that there is no suitable rootstock to graft onto, and believe me I have tried. Maple expert Peter Gregory once suggested that I try A. pseudoplatanus for understock because “it accepts everything;” maybe everything other than A. nipponicum. Even if it was readily available I'm sure that sales wouldn't be strong as there is very little diversity found in the species, and most gardeners would find the plain green tree to be quite boring. The specific name nipponicumcomes from the Japanese name nihon (nippon), where someone from Japan is known as Nihonjin. I am a foreigner, or a gaijin. Nihon literally means “the sun's origin,” so thus we have “Land of the Rising Sun.”

Acer palmatum 'Umegae' fall 2015

Acer palmatum 'Umegae' fall 2014

Acer palmatum 'Utsu semi' fall 2015

Acer palmatum 'Samidare' fall 2015

There are three Acer palmatum cultivars – 'Umegae', 'Utsu semi', 'Samidare'– that I like, apparently more than you do, because we can only sell a handful per year. According to Vertrees/Gregory in Japanese Maples, 'Umegae' has been known since 1882 and that it is a round-top bush that may reach 5 m. (16 ft.) tall. My oldest specimen is already 20 ft. tall at 25 years of age, so I imagine that it will double in size whether I am around to see it or not. You can see from the two photos above that this year's autumn color is orange, but in a prior year it was more yellow. 'Utsu semi' and 'Samidare' look alike, and I cannot tell them apart without their labels. No one gets too excited about them in summer, but in autumn you must give them their due. 'Utsu semi' means “grasshopper skin,” so apparently there are green grasshoppers in Japan. Samidare is Japanese for “early spring rain,” while another “spring rain” cultivar is A. palmatum 'Harusame'.

Acer palmatum 'Orange Dream'

Acer palmatum 'Summer Gold'

Acer palmatum 'Orange Dream' is a popular cultivar from the Italian Gilardelli Nursery which came to America in the 1990's. People ask me why it's called 'Orange Dream', shouldn't it be 'Yellow Dream'? Well, the new leaves emerge orange, but soon change to pale yellow. At least Gilardelli gives his introductions – such as 'Fireglow', 'Summer Gold' and 'Red Flash'– catchy English names. Planted in full sun in Oregon, 'Orange Dream' becomes a nightmare with sun scorch, but it will perform better in climates with more humidity. My old specimen in the Display Garden looked the worse for wear this autumn and thankfully most of the leaves are now on the ground. In the greenhouses however, the foliage is fantastic this year. Another Gilardelli introduction Acer palmatum 'Summer Gold' is similar to 'Orange Dream'– perhaps it originated as a seedling from 'Orange Dream'– and it appears to handle Oregon's brutal sun better.

Acer palmatum 'Usu midori' in spring

Acer palmatum 'Usu midori' in fall

Acer palmatum 'Koyasan'

Acer palmatum 'Usu midori' is a relatively new selection that was found and named in Tokyo in 1988. It is fun to watch the leaves evolve with the season, starting first with a pale red color, then changing to yellow with shades of light green. The yellow portions are rich and buttery, but they can burn if it gets too hot too early, therefore I grow my plants under shadecloth or in a white-poly greenhouse. The latest (2009) Vertrees/Gregory edition of Japanese Maples does not include 'Usu midori' in the main text, but does list it in the section of “cultivars not yet assessed.” Well, I've had plenty of time to assess it and I think it's great, sales are strong especially when customers see it in spring and fall. The cultivar name Usumeans “thin” and midori means “green,” not a very poetic name for sure. What is very poetic is Haruki Murakami's female character named “Midori” in his novel Norwegian Wood. In the movie she was thin and very freshly green, and every time I think of 'Usu midori' I can picture her. Another A. palmatum that I like very much is 'Koyasan', introduced by Dick van der Maat from Boskoop, The Netherlands. I'll copy directly from the book of his introductions – De Collection: “This attractive cultivar has small, glossy, bronze-green, palmate leaves which are quite distinctive. They are mainly 5-lobed with narrow ovate, deeply divided lobes with somewhat elongated tips, and relatively large, coarse, irregularly toothed margins. The newly emerging leaves are a bright bronze-red with yellow, sunken, mid-veins and are produced all summer...on and on.” The last sentence is “'Koyasan' forms a small dense mound.” At Buchholz Nursery it grows into a semi-dwarf dense pillar, and that is why I like it. I think it is far more suitable in a small garden than other supposedly-narrow cultivars like 'Red Sentinel' and 'Tsukasa Silhouette'. Like me, van der Maat names his maples with English names and in the case of Koyasan, Japanese as well. Koya means “wild” and san means “hill” or “mountain.”

Magnolia 'Pink Surprise' x 'Red Baron'

Arboretum Wespelaar

A lovely pink is the color of the autumn leaves for Magnolia 'Pink Surprise' x 'Red Baron'. My start came as seeds from the Magnolia Society, donated by the Arboretum Wespelaar in Belgium about twelve years ago. I kept one seedling and gave the others away because I don't have time or space to trial everything that germinates. My seedling has bloomed and it is nice, but I was never able to photograph it. I'm sure that I won't ever name it because there are already a million other Magnolia cultivars in commerce. Well, maybe I will as I am already grafting from the original tree; it's just that I'm not really a Magnolia guy, like I am with maples, so I don't know what else has been introduced that would be better than my tree. Check back with me in about ten years.

Hamamelis x intermedia 'Birgit'

Arboretum Kalmthout

The Hamamelis genus is bewitching in autumn, and colors can range from yellow to orange to red to purple, and sometimes all colors appear at the same time. H. x intermedia 'Birgit' is a delightful cultivar which is currently the selection with the darkest purple-red flowers of all, although the blooms are relatively small. It originated with the DeBelders at the Arboretum Kalmthout in Belgium, and claims have been made that it is fragrant. Personally I can't smell anything, so it's best that I became a nurseryman, not a perfumist. I grow many cultivars of “witch hazels,” and in Oregon they bloom from December through March, when other deciduous shrubs are at their worst. What is active at that time of year to pollinate them? Small flies and gnats.

Corylopsis spicata 'Golden Spring'

Like Hamamelis, the somewhat related Corylopsis genus also resides in the Hamamelidaceae family. Corylopsis spicata was first encountered in Japan by P. von Siebold, but Robert Fortune introduced the species to Europe in about 1860. It is a wonderful shrub and all plantsmen say it should be used more. The only cultivar we grow is 'Golden Spring', and it features golden yellow leaves not only in spring but throughout summer as well. Flowers consist of light yellow petals with purple anthers, but they are mostly lost in the beautiful foliage. Perhaps in another's garden the flowers would stand out more, but at Buchholz Nursery we grow 'Golden Spring' exclusively in the greenhouses where they receive shaded protection. It originated from the Yamaguchi Plantsman's Nursery in Japan, but was obviously renamed once it got to Europe and America. I wonder what is its Japanese name?

Lindera umbellata

Lindera obtusiloba

I used to dabble with the Lindera genus – there are about 100 species – but stopped propagating a dozen years ago due to poor sales. I like the easy-to-grow L. umbellata, so named because the yellow flowers appear in short umbels along with the leaves. It is attractive in spring and summer with its green leaves that are glaucous beneath, and then turn spectacularly yellow and orange in fall. I have only one specimen left, planted down by the pond, and its size has been reduced in the past because the narrow branches are favored by visiting beaver. I hired a trapper last summer who caught two of the nefarious rodents, and he charged $100 for each which I considered a good deal because they can ruin more than $100's worth of trees in a short time. My one specimen of Lindera obtusiloba is planted in the middle of the original Display Garden, and the beavers know better than to stray that far away from water.

Pseudolarix amabilis

Taxodium ascendens 'Nutans'

Glyptostrobus pensilis

Don't forget the conifers for autumn color. The larches are straw-yellow now, Pseudolarix is colored yellow-to-orange, the Taxodiums are burnt-orange and my one specimen of Glyptostrobus pensilis is also burnt-orange. The fantastic colors last for about three weeks, then they all go “dead” for the winter. Taxodium is a frustrating genus because it doesn't really hit its stride until July, when the foliage is certainly established, and then they begin to “die” too soon in November. A visitor saw our group planting of Taxodium distichum 'Peve Minaret' in June and he asked if they were all dying. “No, no” I said, “they just haven't leafed out yet.” And today, again they look like they are dying, with the foliage looking a gloomy brown. I have never seen them with a crisp-orange color, so maybe that cultivar is just a boring plant for fall color. Report to me if you have a different experience.

Pinus mugo 'Ophir'

Pinus mugo 'Carsten's Winter Gold'

Pinus mugo 'Golden Glow'

Pinus thunbergii 'War Bonnet'

Pinus contorta 'Chief Joseph'

There is an endless array of pines that turn from green in summer to shocking gold in the fall. It is the two-leaved species (two needles per fascicle) that do so, while the five-leaved don't change much. Pinus contorta, thunbergii, sylvestris and mugo all have cultivars that are most impressive in fall, and don't forget P. virginiana 'Wate's Golden'. The important thing is that the gold color must be sharp, and 'Wate's Golden' certainly is, but its witch's broom mutation called 'Wate's Golden Broom' is quite dull (in Oregon), so I edited it from my landscape. Shine or perish! For the P. mugo species I like 'Ophir' and 'Carsten's Winter Gold' but there are many others, and I saw one in Holland – 'Golden Glow'– that was brilliantly golden in October and was much more dense than the two others I mentioned. Umm...how to get it to my nursery? Pinus thunbergii 'War Bonnet' is a beautiful golden-green selection with long lustrous needles. Somehow I acquired it, but I don't remember from where. Probably the most golden of the sylvestris species is 'Gold Coin', a selection from R.S. Corley from the United Kingdom in the late 1970's. The most famous of all of the winter-gold pines must be Pinus contorta 'Chief Joseph'– its brilliance is unrivaled – a “lodge-pole pine” (Pinus contorta var. latifolia) that was discovered by Doug Will in the Wallowa Wilderness of eastern Oregon. Mr. Will initially thought that the bright golden apparition in the distance was some form of plastic garbage, but on approaching...discovered that it was actually a pine tree. He was able to dislodge it with an axe – which was probably illegal in a wilderness area – but thankfully it was a reward for horticulture. The only curse of 'Chief Joseph' is that most of us find it difficult to propagate.

Miscanthus sinensis

At the edge of the pond I have a huge clump of Miscanthus sinensis, and at 20 years of age the flowers rise to 12' tall. I don't fertilize or prune it, but the grass is obviously happy at the boggy edge. It is known in Japan as the “Susuki grass,” but it occurs elsewhere in eastern Asia, and in China of course. It is a genus in the Poaceae family, and received its Latin name from the Greek word for “stalk” and “flower.” Some blades are colored yellow now, but they will all turn to brown after a hard freeze. I don't mind having dead grass stalks at the pond, it makes it look more natural and wild.

I wrote this blog earlier in the week and took the photos last Saturday. And sure enough we received a soaker with strong winds a few days later. Now it's bare branches on many deciduous trees and the leaf-party is over. That's ok and now it's the conifers turn to shine.

Seth isn't here today – he's taking a long holiday to reunite with his parents in Yoncalla, Oregon. Yoncalla is not well known, but it is a little community in southern Oregon of about 1,000 souls. The men have a median income of $26,806, while the women toil for only $19,412 per year, and 18% of the population is below the poverty line. This town in Douglas County – named after the botanical explorer David Douglas – was a southern diversion off of the Oregon Trail, known as the Applegate Trail. The American Jesse Applegate (1811-1888) was a pioneer who led a large group into the area of Yoncalla, and that is where he died. Seth's middle name is Applegate – his parents chose it – but he doesn't seem to mind. Two other notable citizens of Yoncalla include Rex Applegate, a military officer and author, and Lily Carter, a porn actress.*

*Seth is famous too, at least among members of the horticultural community, and there is not a nurseryman alive who wouldn't want to employ him.

I don't apologize for this brief blogette, because the fact is that with no Seth, no mucho for the blog. Safe travel, Seth, and we'll see you on the flip side.

Happy Thanksgiving, don't gobble too much.

Acer buergerianum 'Michael Steinhardt'

Two weeks ago I reported that fall color was finished and that it was the conifers' turn to shine. Well, not so fast my friend, I was wrong again. I walked past Greenhouse 14 and saw a dangling leaf of Acer buergerianum 'Michael Steinhardt' and I was instantly mesmerized – a condition that frequently occurs when one abides with plants. The "Trident" cultivar was discovered and introduced by Don Shadow of Tennessee and he named it 'M.S.' after a customer with a garden/arboretum in New York. I photographed the golden specimen in Tennessee in May, and Shadow claims that it stays golden all spring and summer and doesnotburn. My start is still in the greenhouse where it can achieve longer growth with better propagating wood, but unfortunately it is not so gold indoors. Many maple selections are like that, where the golds are not so gold and the reds are not so red in too much shade.

Acer buergerianum

Acer davidii

Acer conspicuum 'Phoenix'

Since I was with camera I visited other greenhouses as well. The two photos of Acer buergerianum are from a batch of understock which we will graft later this winter, and it's interesting that some leaves are yellow and some are red, especially since the seed came off of the same tree. The Acer davidii photo (above left) is from rootstocks also, and we'll use them for cultivars such as Acer pectinatum 'Mozart', Acer x conspicuum 'Phoenix' and other "stripe-bark" cultivars. The two photos of A. davidii again depict one with red autumn color and the other with yellow, and I use them to make a point: namely, that if you see only one plant at only one time, you don't assuredly know its definitive autumn color...because the cultivar or species can vary. Is it planted out in the Hillier Arboretum in England, or is it in a container in a Buchholz Nursery greenhouse? Was it seen in 2014 or in 2015 – even if it's the same tree? Also, late-summer new growth can color differently from the rest of the older leaves. All of which reminds me of a potential customer – a novice with maples – who was trying to figure out which palmatum cultivars would perform the best in his area. At first he hesitated...then came out and said it: "It seems to me that you only take photographs of them when they are looking their best." Yes, I would be guilty of that. Even though I never received an order from him, I'll go on record for taking a photo of crappy brown leaves, just to prove that I'm open-minded. See below.

Acer palmatum 'Crappy Brown Leaves'

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Acer japonicum 'Mai kujaku'

Acer japonicum 'Giant Moon'

Acer japonicum 'Taki no gawa'

Colorful Acer japonicums continue to delight, and 'Aconitifolium', 'Giant Moon' and 'Taki no gawa' were still show-offs. In the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubsshort shrift is given to the species, except that japonicums are "beautifully coloured in autumn" and that they possess "softly hairy petioles," a description I had to read a few times to appreciate. For cultivars Hillier lists only 'Aconitifolium', 'Green Cascade' and 'Vitifolium', while Vertrees/Gregory in Japanese Maples list and describe twelve. The name 'Aconitifolium' has been used in the West since 1882, and it was derived from the leaf's resemblance to the genus Aconitum(monkshood). That is a terrible name, though, and it takes too long to write out. Far better is the Japanese name 'Mai kujaku', for it means "dancing peacock," and just picture leaves moving in a light breeze. I acquired my start 35 years ago as 'Aconitifolium' and I have always used that name, but since I am nearing the end of my career I think I will go with the Japanese flow and switch to 'Mai kujaku'. Besides, precedence should be given to the Japanese name fortheirplant, and screw the West. A. j. 'Giant Moon' was selected and named by Buchholz Nursery from a seedling from 'Mai kujaku' about 2003. The name was due to the unusually large leaves and the fact that the common name of A. japonicum is "full moon maple." Neither Vertrees/Gregory or Hillier mention a japonicum cultivar named 'Taki no gawa' ("river of waterfall"). Neither does Yano in Book for Maples, although he lists a palmatum (amoenum), 'Takino gawa'. I have had the japonicum version long enough to have produced and distributed over 500 "rivers of waterfall." By the way I asked my Japanese wife if the name was perhaps redundant, for one cannot have a waterfall without a river. She laughed and said, "We're Japanese, we always do things like that; maybe it just sounds better." She thinks it's funny that West tires to figure out East, but can never do so fully.

Acer micranthum

I am certainly not on a mission to convert maple enthusiasts to Acer micranthum, but if I was I would have an easy sell. Hillier calls it "Among the best maples for the smaller garden." First described by Philipp von Siebold in 1845, it was introduced to Europe in 1879. Its specific name is Latin for its common name of "small-flowered maple," or "ko mine kaede" to the Japanese. I like that the "authoritative, definitive text" (Timber Press) contains a statement in Japanese Maples, "This tree is one of my favorite snake-bark maples..." Well, who is saying that, Vertrees or Gregory? I dug out a 1^st edition and find that it was Vertrees. I know that Peter Gregory favors it too, for I stood next to one with him at Westonbirt Arboretum, and he gazed at it lovingly like he was looking at a beautiful woman. One of its charms is the dangling clusters of tiny seeds which evolve from pink to red in autumn. A good place for a picnic would be under the tree with a beautiful woman, preferably Japanese.

Acer caudatifolium 'Variegata' in fall

Acer caudatifolium 'Variegata' in spring

I don't have much experience with Acer caudatifolium from Japan and Taiwan as it is hardy to only 10 degrees above 0 F. What is a little troubling is that the species is notthe same as Acer caudatum, for the latter is native to China, Manchuria and Japan, and is therefore much more hardy. In any case I was pleased to receive a variegated form of A. caudatifolium from the Mr. Maple guys from North Carolina, but I wonder about the use of the Latin 'Variegata', if that name is nomenclaturally valid. Whether it is or is not, nevertheless my tree was vibrant, and it was certainly fun to stumble upon it in late November. The specific name is due to its sharply pointed leaves and was first described by the Japanese botanist Hayata in 1911. He was a professor at the Imperial University of Tokyo, and later the director of the Research Botanical Gardens. Hayata's first name was Bunzo, a name I use for my 9-year-old daughter when she is slow to do something – "Get with it, Bunzo."

Acer palmatum 'Geisha Gone Wild'

Speaking of Saya "Bunzo," we set out one evening to flag orders in the Flora Farm greenhouses, and she knows where just about everything is. The first to flag was Acer palmatum 'Geisha Gone Wild' in a 7-gallon pot, and she marched straight for them. She stopped in her tracks, stunned – "Woah, they're not here!""Yes they are," I said. She gathered herself when she realized that they were indeed present, but that they had changed color. 'Geisha Gone Wild' originated as a branch sport on the New Zealand introduction 'Geisha', where one certainly did "go wild." Geisha can be attractive – and we still propagate a few – but it is an unstable wimp and not very hardy. Its instability can lead to plants with 100% 'Bloodgood'– type foliage – and I watched a couple of those for three years, and never did they resume the "Geisha" form. In another case a 'Geisha' produced a robust mutation that I eventually propagated and introduced as 'Geisha Gone Wild'. The "wild" form has proven to be very hardy and shines in full sun and is one of our best field plants. Oddly the Vertrees/Gregory 4^th edition* says that 'Geisha Gone Wild' originated as a seedling of 'Geisha'– not true – and that it resembles 'Tennyo no hoshi'– huh?

*I value the Japanese Maple book, and appreciate the effort it took to produce it, however I can nit-pick over a number of errors. Even the publisher, Timber Press, is full of it when they comment, "As a result of hundreds of years of careful breeding, they [maples] take the center stage in any garden they are found." I don't think any cultivar in the book was "bred," rather they were selected as seedlings or branch mutations, and there is a big difference between that and to be "bred."

Acer palmatum 'Ueno homare'

Acer palmatum 'Koyasan'

The spectacular Acer palmatum 'Ueno homare' certainly lives up to its name, with Ueno being a popular park in Tokyo, and homare meaning "glory" or "fame." It is attractive in spring also, leafing out early – like A. p. 'Katsura'– with yellow new leaves edged in orange-red. With its elongated, pointed middle lobe it somewhat resembles Acer palmatum 'Koyasan', and what do you know – the 'Koyasan' group is growing next to the 'Ueno homares', for they look very different in spring and summer. 'Koyasan' was a Dick van der Maat introduction and I discussed it two weeks ago in Flamboyant Foliage, November 20, 2015.

Acer palmatum 'Ikandi' in November

Acer palmatum 'Ikandi' in May

Acer palmatum 'Ikandi' in July

One of the most colorfully fun of all Japanese maples is Acer palmatum 'Ikandi', a seedling which arose from an A. p. 'Alpenweiss' parent. The photo above shows the original seedling, but we are already selling larger trees which have added vigor due to their green understock. New leaves emerge pink with green veins. Later the pink turns to cream-white, while the green remains and even expands. By fall, you would never believe what the foliage looked like back in the spring, but it is interesting too. I introduced 'Ikandi' in 2012, and even I will admit that the name is kind of goofy, but our crop of 20" cedar boxes sold out the first five minutes from the release of our availability.

Acer pectinatum 'Mozart' in May

Acer pectinatum 'Mozart' in November

Acer pectinatum 'Mozart' in October

Acer pectinatum ssp. forrestii is native to Yunnan, China, and its name is derived from Latin pectinatus, or "like a comb" due to small hairs at the leaf margins. I have been in the area where it is native, and I certainly saw maples, but I was/am not sharp enough to be certain what species I was seeing. Fortunately for horticulture, Dutch nurseryman Peter Vanlaerhoven was/is sharp enough, and he raised the cultivar 'Mozart' from wild-collected seed. It is notable for its red trunk with white striations, so it is a great winter tree. Spring growth is fresh with reddish twigs and pinkish leaves. My oldest tree is holed up in a greenhouse but I am afraid to plant it out because I am not sure of its hardiness. I know Dutch nurseries and southern England nurserymen claim that it is plenty hardy. At some point I'll discontinue to contain the top to keep it inside, and 'Mozart' will have to face the real world outdoors. I don't know the reason why the selection received its name, but perhaps there are 'Beethoven' and 'Brahms' cultivars as well.

Cornus kousa 'Heart Throb'

Besides the maples, there are many other plants clinging to their colorful foliage. Cornus kousa 'Heart Throb' doesn't seem to ever want to let go of its leaves, but of course I'm talking about containers in the greenhouse. Was 'Heart Throb' named for its red flower bracts in June or for its autumn foliage, as both throb with red? In the book Dogwoods by Paul Cappiello and Don Shadow, the case is made that 'Heart Throb' is but a renaming of 'Miss Satomi' and 'Rosabella', and that was based on DNA work at the University of Tennessee. 'Heart Throb' was named and introduced by the late Jim Schmidt of Oregon, and I remember him laughing when he said, "I know what the book says, but I know that they're two different plants." I don't have any special inside information and I don't really care, but I like the 'Heart Throb' name and I liked Jim Schmidt, and I like the cultivar so much that I planted one along the driveway to my home.

Liquidambar styraciflua 'Slender Silhouette'

Liquidambar styraciflua 'Gumball'

Leaves still remain on Liquidambar styraciflua 'Slender Silhouette', an inspiring pillar that was discovered and introduced by Don Shadow of Tennessee. Autumn leaves of various colors – including green – are often present at the same time. You'll never be able to see the original tree which was growing next to a lake because someone cut it down, but I saw a huge specimen in Shadow's yard, probably one of the original propagules. I am a fan of the skinny– I like trees that grow to fifty feet or more while you can practically put your arms around them. If you planted the dwarf round L. s. 'Gumball' close to 'Slender Silhouette' you would have a living exclamation point, proof that nature can be fun.

Stewartia malacodendron

Stewartia malacodendron is a small tree from southeast USA and the species received its name from the Greek malakos for "soft" and dendron for "tree," but it is commonly known as the "silky camellia." While it has gained RHS's Award of Garden Merit it is nevertheless considered endangered in the wild. Sadly I don't have a photo of the flower because my one tree isn't old enough, but I have seen them elsewhere. To my mind malacodendron has the most beautiful flower in the genus with its soft-white camellia-like blossoms adorned with purple stamens and blue anthers. Malacodendron is a small understory tree and is considered by some Stewartia experts to be difficult to propagate and that it doesn't do particularly well in a container either. My tree is planted in full sun at Flora Farm and I cross my fingers that it will prosper. Last winter I grafted 15 shoots from it onto S. pseudocamellia and I achieved 100%...failure. I may have seen the species in North Carolina two years ago, but it didn't register with my brain because maybe it hadn't yet leafed out.

Well, I guess there is always color – or colour – at any time of the year...unless you are blind; but maybe then your color is black...or is it gray...or white or, what is it? Could somebody blind please report, I really want to know. I once picked up a blind hitch-hiker who said, "Yes, we are at my destination." How he could tell I don't really know, but I marveled that he could know.

With full disclosure here, I confess that this blog's photos were taken on November 23^rd and the text was written on November 27^th. Now, on December 4^th, we are far from those events and everything is either brown or bare. Old-man Buchholz is also entering into his December, but dear-wife Haruko suggests that I am barely into my September. I thank her for her optimism.

Betula pendula

Picea glauca 'Pendula'

Horticulture has provided us with a weeping form for nearly every species of tree. I suppose the origin of the weeping* term is due to the similarity to falling tears, but with trees it is their branches that spill downward. Most gardeners are familiar with the word pendula which can be used for a species – like Betula pendula – or a cultivar, such as Picea glauca 'Pendula', and the "hanging" connotation is from Latin pendere.

*Weep is from the Proto Indo European root wab, then eventually to Old English wepan, to "shed tears."

Styrax japonicus 'Momo shidare' / 'Marley's Pink Parasol'

In 2004 I was visiting Tokyo-area nurseries and gardens with the primary goal of finding new and interesting plants. I was shown a weeping fountain of branches that was either top-grafted or trained up to ten feet (I don't remember). I recognized it as a Styrax – probably japonicus – but it was more narrow than the forms in America such as 'Carillon', 'Crystal' and (now) 'Fragrant Fountain'. But this Styrax was adorned with bright pink flowers, and I had never seen a weeping pink before. That winter I received scions that were labeled 'Pink Pendula', and though I was happy to get them, I groaned at the illegitimate name. Presumably it would have had a Japanese name, but once again I guess the Japanese were trying to be helpful by translating for me. Since I didn't think this clone was in America yet I took the liberty to translate back into Japanese – and I know, that's usually not a good idea, but... – and so I renamed it 'Momo shidare', the Japanese version of 'Pink Pendula'. We propagated 'Momo shidare' via rooted cutting under mist in summer, and though we achieved good success we found it difficult to overwinter pots a year later where at least half would die. When grafted onto established Styrax japonicus rootstock in pots we would celebrate a 99% rate of success one winter, but then near 0% the next. After about eight years of this uncertainty I finally threw in the towel and sold all of my stock plants to an Oregon propagating nursery...to let someone else figure it out. To my surprise they renamed 'Momo shidare' to 'Marley's Pink Parasol' and patented the introduction. Now we buy starts from them (JLPN) and grow them on for sale, but today we have a kerfuffle about what should be called what, and whether or not the patent is valid. In any case it is a wonderful weeping tree.

Diospyros kaki 'Pendula'

Carl Peter Thunberg

I grow a weeping form of persimmon, Diospyros kaki 'Pendula', and it is more than just a novelty for the fruit is delicious even though small. The little orange devils were inedible – astringently bitter – a month ago, but after our 20 degree low they turned brown and unattractive, but became ever so tasty. The species name kakiis the Japanese name for the tree and fruit, and it was first described by Carl Peter Thunberg in 1780, but unbeknownst to him the species is also native to China, Burma and Nepal and was introduced from China to Japan. The Chinese had used the Diospyros for over 2,000 years and they were certain that besides food, it contained mystical powers. The word Diospyros is derived from the Greek dios and pyros meaning “divine fruit,” or more literally the “wheat of Zeus.” The word persimmon is derived from pessamin, in the Algonquin language of the eastern USA people – such as Pocahontas would have spoken – meaning a “dry fruit” in reference to their Diospyros virginiana. Most of us would not consider a persimmon to be a berry, but botanically it is.

Pyrus salicifolia 'Pendula'

Sissinghurst

Pyrus salicifolia is the willow-leaf pear, a species native to the Middle East. The silver foliage is attractive, but when the cultivar 'Pendula' gained the RHS Award of Garden Merit I think that was going too far. 'Pendula' is not suited for a small garden, but rather an estate or tree collection – such as the Flora Wonder Arboretum – where it has plenty of room to spread. My 15-year-old tree is about 12 feet tall by 10 feet wide, and I have seen some over twice that size. It flowers heavily in spring, and of course the blossoms are pretty, but they must compete with the glittery foliage and from a distance it looks like a big silver haystack. The genus name Pyrusis from Latin pirus for “pear tree,” while the word pearoriginated from Latin pira, and that from the Semitic name for “fruit,” and that from the verb pra meaning “to beget, multiply, bear fruit.” Perryis an alcoholic beverage made from fermented pear juice, but I have never consumed it. Besides, the fruits on P.s. 'Pendula' are only an inch long, sparsely produced and basically inedible, so you would need another species of pear to produce a decent drink. The most impressive specimen of P.s. 'Pendula' I have seen was at Sissinghurst in England, the home and garden of Vita Sackville-West and Harold Nicholson, and it was in their “white” garden. These “lates” had acquired 'Pendula' a long time ago, but then the cultivar originated from Germany in the 1850's.

Cornus kousa 'KLVW'

I don't know the origin of Cornus kousa 'KLVW', a weeping variegated selection. I mean I know who found and introduced it – Robert E. Lipka – but was it a branch sport or a seedling? I suspect it was the former, as was my Cornus kousa 'Summer Fun', and it probably occurred on a green weeping cultivar. For the record 'Summer Fun' appeared from a quarter-inch green rootstock in a small pot, where one branch was green and the other variegated. 'KLVW' is short for 'Kristin Lipka's Variegated Weeper', a rather cumbersome name and difficult to fit on a label. If I wanted to honor my daughter I think I would have shortened it to 'Kristin's Weeper'. Unless staked it will crawl along the ground, and it might be nice that way if planted above a wall. We prefer to stake and our trees usually grow to five feet tall by three feet wide in ten years. The light green leaves are variegated with white and the white flowers in July feature sharply pointed bracts, and then in autumn the leaves can darken to purple. 'Summer Fun' has the more attractive variegation than 'KLVW', but I know of no other variegated weepingdogwood than 'KLVW'.

Fagus sylvatica 'Pendula'

Fagus sylvatica 'Purpurea Pendula'

Fagus sylvatica 'Purple Fountain'

The common “European beech,” Fagus sylvatica, has a number of weeping forms, with 'Pendula' probably the oldest, known since 1836. I have seen grand old specimens in Europe which appear to be near 100' tall, and they can take up a lot of sideways room too. I have never grown one because at the start of my career everyone preferred the more neat and compact 'Purpurea Pendula'. It is an old-timer too, having been introduced in 1865. It doesn't gain much height unless staked, so when a bankrupt nursery was selling a field for cheap I went to take a look. They had 'Purpurea Pendula' labels but the tops were advancing skyward on their own, so it was certain that they were not'Purpurea Pendula', and more likely 'Purple Fountain'. I can't be interested in any plant at any price if I don't know positively its identity, so good riddance to the bankrupt nursery and their plant mix-ups, and maybe that was one reason why they went under.

Fagus sylvatica 'Aurea Pendula'

My favorite of the weeping beech has to be 'Aurea Pendula'. According to Krussmann's Cultivated Broad-Leaved Trees and Shrubs it appeared as a branch sport and was raised by Van der Bom in 1900. I never knew of its existence until I saw one in the garden of the late Howard Hughes of Washington state, a superb plantsman who was helpful to J.D. Vertrees when he began his Japanese maple research. The Hughes specimen was perfectly sited with a large Douglas fir providing afternoon shade. He was in his nineties – Hughes, that is – and was very generous with me with some maple starts, and with the Fagus as well. Every spring visitors to my Display Garden ooh and ahh over the golden weeping beech, but I could have had one even larger if it was not for my capitalist instinct to sell plants. The specimen in my garden is absolutely not for sale...unless you buy the entire farm. Beech can be brittle at any size, so digging and shipping a large weeping golden beech would be a nervous undertaking and we produce all of ours in containers. I probably sell mine for too low a price because it takes forever to get one to ten feet.

Cedrus atlantica 'Glauca Pendula' in the Kubota Garden

Cedrus atlantica 'Blue Cascade'

One weeping plant that I sold scads of when I began my nursery was Cedrus atlantica 'Glauca Pendula', but there is little demand for it today and we haven't propagated any for a dozen years. It is less blue than 'Glauca', but it can be trained straight up or allowed to wander sideways, and a specimen in the Kubota Garden in Seattle travels for fifty feet. For me, of more interest is Cedrus atlantica 'Blue Cascade', a heaping weeper with foliage more blue than 'Glauca Pendula', and a cultivar with a better name too. 'Blue Cascade' was developed by Colony Nursery of Oregon, and we used to propagate 500 a year for them, but we no longer do custom propagation. As a small plant it looks ridiculous, for you train it up to six to eight feet (or taller) then top it, and eventually you will have branches arching downward as it broadens. You'll probably have to prune a mischievous leader that shoots up once or twice, but then the plant gets the idea and simply cascades. The situation is most unusual, because in my experience with other trees I would have to constantly prune to keep the desired shape, but not with 'Blue Cascade'. I have seen a row of them at Colony Nursery where they all mounded to twelve feet tall by fifteen feet wide, and it was impressive to be sure. But as you can see, you must have plenty of room to add one to your garden.

Dacrydium cupressinum

Far more refined than the Cedrus is Dacrydium cupressinum, the “Rimu” or “red pine” from New Zealand. I used to keep mine in a protected greenhouse where my oldest specimen reached the top, then I sold it to a Californian. I discontinued with Dacrydium because 1) it's not very hardy and 2) the tree is ungainly at a small size, but it was fun to have one large specimen for my career. The photos above were taken twenty years ago at the Strybing Arboretum in San Francisco, and you can see what a younger, more thin Buchholz looked like back then. In the wild D. cupressinum can grow to over 150' tall, and the crown widens with age. It is a useful timber tree as the trunk usually grows straight, but many of the old stands are now protected. Photos of old Rimu look gnarly and hardly “weeping,” kind of like with old deodar cedars compared to when they are young. In hindsight I regret not keeping at least one Dacrydium, and the photos give me a bittersweet feeling, the same as with my first serious girlfriend, the strawberry blonde.

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Imbricata Pendula'

Somewhat similar to the Dacrydium in appearance is Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Imbricata Pendula', but with the latter having a more open crown. The branches arch downward with long green branchlets hanging perpendicular to the ground. The oldest tree I have is in the Flora Farm upper gardens, and it was purposely planted near the public road and my own driveway so that I could enjoy it every day and also to show it off to everyone else who drives by. Actually that is the main purpose of my upper gardens, because when you're at the top you can look down the hill at acres and acres of trees and shrubs, all with different colors, textures and forms. The hillside would not win any landscaping awards, where vistas are important and lessis often better than more; my pallet is not a “landscape,” but rather a plant collection. No garden art in it either, it is too wild for that. Don't worry that I brag about 'Imbricata Pendula', for it will not succumb to root disease because it was grafted onto Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'D.R.' (Disease Resistant Rootstock).

Juniperus horizontalis 'Pancake'

Juniperus horizontalis 'Golden Wiltonii'

Juniperus conferta 'Blue Pacific'

I will also brag that I was one of the first nurserymen in America to graft groundcover conifers onto standards. Juniperus horizontalis 'Pancake' and 'Golden Wiltonii' make neat weeping trees when top-grafted, and our understock preference is the straight, fast-growing and hardy Juniperus scopulorum 'Skyrocket'. Another choice is Juniperus conferta – the “shore juniper” – but it is so vigorous that we would top graft at six-to-eight feet, and the cultivar 'Blue Pacific' forms a silver-blue waterfall. I have a wide specimen of 'Blue Pacific' that is growing on the ground, and it is probably 20 feet wide and only 1 foot tall in 20 years, and it continues to root in as it goes. The species is hardy to USDA zone 6, or -10 degrees F, and it is native to sandy seashore sites in Japan and also on Sakhalin Island north of Japan.

Picea breweriana

Picea breweriana with Mt. Shasta

Picea breweriana in front of the Buchholz home

One conifer species that is a must for any serious tree collection is Picea breweriana or “Brewer's Weeping spruce.” When I began my nursery I visited a semi-retired seedling grower in the mountains above Silverton, Oregon. He had a row of 20-year-old Brewers that he planted and kept “just for the heck of it,” as he put it. He was astonished when I asked if I could buy them, but then we agreed on a price, and I think it was the first major wheeling-and-dealing activity of my career. Within two years I easily sold half of them for good profit, and then lined out the remainder in my Far East section to enjoy and to have “something to retire on.” Since I was new to my land and to Brewer's spruce, I couldn't have put them in a worse place. They were planted in a gully that was too wet for half of the year and they languished, and a year later I threw them all away. A few years later I visited southern Oregon/northern California and saw where the species thrives, and it was a far different environment than my soggy gully. Anyway I finally learned to propagate them on Picea abies rootstock, and I now have two beautiful specimens planted near my house. Keith Rushforth in Conifers says, “Grafted plants are usually raised for the amenity market; these are much quicker [than seedlings] to make an adult tree, although strong shoots must be used for grafting.” So far, so good, but then he advises that, “Despite its popularity and the habit, it is not one of the most attractive spruces.” What? What is he saying – that a grafted breweriana is less attractive than a seedling-grown tree? Has Rushforth ever seen breweriana in the wild? I know he has not seen my grafted specimens, and if he ever did he wouldn't be able to tell if they were grafted or not.

Picea breweriana 'Inversa Form'

None of my conifer books make mention of cultivars of Picea breweriana, but there are a few dwarf selections such as my 'Emerald Midget', and 'Fruhlingsgold' where the new growth is lightly colored. The most fantastic of all is 'Inversa Form', and though it has a terrible name, it can be described as a really weeping "weeping Brewer's spruce," and you can see the narrow habit in the photo above. I was given my start by Uwe Horstmann, son of the famous German plantsman Gunter Horstmann, who arrived unannounced one day with plant gifts in hand, and now I am very grateful. If the government knew that I had received plants without documentation they would have been confiscated and burned, and I would have received the bill for their destruction. Plantsmen of the world, real plantsmen, can take better care of their trees without any government intervention, so buzz off.

There is a plant in the trade with yellow foliage and small purple flowers. It is named Corydalis shimienensis 'Berry Exciting' although it never does produce berries. I won't pass judgement on the plant, for I have never grown one; but I will pass judgement on the name: berry bad.

Frank Kingdon-Ward

I have an edition of the Englishman Frank Kingdon-Ward's Berried Treasure, back when the late explorer was finding new plants in China and Tibet, and then lucratively writing about his adventures. His Berried Treasureis a good read and I approve of the book's title, but maybe it's because the plants he writes about actually do have berries. One gripe is that the book was published in England – at 121 Charing Cross Road, London, but there is no date given. C'mon, always have a date!

Rosa moyesii

The Flora Wonder Arboretum is berrily represented by colorful fruits, and winter is a great time to see them. Kingdon-Ward mentions Rosa Moyesii, with a capital “M” for the species name because it was named for a person*, but of course today the specific name should never be capitalized. I grow the rose, but unfortunately I planted it too close to the road, and every year after flowering we must cut it in half. I can't resist quoting from Far Reaches Farm, the folks with a “fine madness for plants,” – “It would be a shame not to grow this rose at least once in your gardening life. Gorgeous single flowers of an entrancing terracotta red which stirs an ancient response from deep within the limbic...”Perhaps you'll think these plant nuts are too easily aroused, but I don't think they exaggerate. R. moyesii is well endowed with thorns, and now that the leaves are off I detect a hummingbird's nest in the center, and I hope that the little mama and her brood made it in and out without a scratch. Is a rose hip a berry? Well, to Kingdon-Ward it was.**

*This rose was discovered by E.H. Wilson in western China and it is also known as the “Mandarin Rose.” It was named for the Reverend James Moyes (1876-1930) of the China Inland Mission.

**Kingdon-Ward devotes 5 ½ pages to “what is a berry,” then says “For general purposes, then, we might define a berry as a fleshy fruit containing one or more seeds. Surely that's simple enough, and commendably brief. What has the botanist got to say to that?”

Billardiera longiflora

K-W says, “While on the subject of climbers [vines], I might mention Billardiera longiflora, a Tasmanian twining plant “for rajas and rich men only”, [note British grammar, with the comma after the quotation mark] as the Indian advertisements say, though that is not to say that its charms are purely esoteric.” Ok, ok – I take it back – K-W is not a good read, he is boringly pedantic, with “what does it matter, they [the fruits] are succeeded in October or November by almost cubical, or compressed globular, capsules, with rounded corners, of a rich deep navy blue, about an inch each side.” Hey, he wrote that, not me! – and why is an English writer using “inches” and not “centimeters,” or was that done when the K-W works were rendered to the American readership? In any case K-W was a tireless explorer, and not only did he discover many species, he sought out the best form to introduce into English gardens. Nevertheless he was considered very competitive, territorial and an arrogant son of a bitch by his peers.

Cotoneaster 'Streib's Findling'

Cotoneaster microphyllus 'Cooperi'

Cotoneaster dammeri – Dammeri to K-W – “is also called for good measure C. humifusa.” It is a species of a flowering plant in the genus Cotoneaster which is in the Rosaceae family, and is native to central and southern China, and I have seen it there. Flowers are white and berries are red, and I grow the cultivar 'Streib's Findling' with ground-hugging branches. I have one planting – actually just one plant – that is growing below our Pond House, and it now measures over twenty feet in diameter, and it friskily rambles over the granite stones...rooting in along the way and only rising to three inches tall. I also grow C. microphyllus 'Cooperi', another ground-hugger with glossy dark-green leaves and deliciously red berries, but it is only hardy to USDA zone 7.

Callicarpa japonica 'Hatsushimo'

Callicarpa japonica 'Shiji murasaki'

K-W has a small chapter (17) entitled Miscellaneous Coloured Fruits and that is where he makes brief mention of Callicarpa japonica. All that he says is that the fruit is more violet in japonica than the bluish-lilac C. Giraldiana [sic], and that C. japonica comes from Japan, but we already guessed that. There are a couple of C. japonica cultivars at the nursery with variegated foliage, 'Hatsushimo' and 'Snow Storm' with the latter the more colorful in my opinion. What is funny is that 'Snow Storm' is named 'Shiji murasaki' in Japan – it is the very same plant – but “snow storm” is not a translation of “shiji murasaki.” If you check out the character of shiji it is exactly the same as for murasaki. So it translates as “purple purple,” and that puzzled my wife/translator Haruko. She kept repeating “shiji murasaki – why?” – and promised to do more research. I wonder if 'Snow Storm' and the Lowes-box store Monrovia Nursery's 'Summer Snow' are the same, they sure look so, with 'Summer Snow' being patented. Ah, that damn patent issue again, where a Japanese plant comes into America and the large capitalistic nurseries want to control the action. I think I will propagate anyway – as 'Shiji murasaki'– and see what happens.

Callicarpa japonica 'Leucocarpa'

My favorite of the Callicarpa japonica cultivars is C. j. 'Leucocarpa' with its pure white berries. The cultivar name is derived from leuco from the Greek leukos for “white”* and carpa meaning “fruit.” The C. japonica species was introduced in 1845, but for the cultivar name leucocarpait must have been so designated before the 1950's to be valid. I have never planted seed of leucocarpa and I wonder if all seedlings would produce white berries. As you can see in the photo above the berries ripen to white as early as October when my plant still had fresh green leaves. Now the leaves are all rotting on the ground so the fruits stand out even more, and the bush – about 7' tall by 7' wide – is adorned with the constant presence of birds.

*Melano is derived from Greek for “black” and melancholia was believed to be caused by an excess of black bile. The medical term melanemesis is black vomit or vomit discolored black in yellow fever, while melangeophileis an organism that thrives in or on black loam. No one knows for sure how the Black Sea was named, but one theory is that it was known as the “Sea of Death,” for many sailors met their fate when violent storms attacked their vessels in a body of water with no islands or very infrequent safe harbors.

Sorbus americana

Sorbus alnifolia

Mr. Moose

The Sorbus americana above left is from North Carolina on the Blue Ridge Parkway, and I now grow it at the nursery since I harvested seed – probably illegal – when no one was looking. My young trees don't produce berries yet, but they did show off fantastic autumn color. S. americana occurs in eastern Canada, from New England south to North Carolina, and as far west as the Great Lakes. The berries provide food for birds and small mammals, while moose eat the foliage, twigs and bark as a preferred browse. The photo above right is Sorbus alnifolia, and it was taken at Arboretum Wespelaar in Belgium in October 2012. I had never seen S. alnifolia in fruit before, and I was so impressed that I bought some seedlings and planted a grove of them at Flora Farm. While S. americana is known as the “Eastern mountain ash,” S. alnifolia is the “Korean mountain ash,” although they are not true ashes (Fraxinus) since Sorbus is in the rose family. Alnifolia was named for its alder-like leaves, green in summer turning to bright yellow-to-orange in autumn. I largely dismissed Sorbus early in my career, mainly due to the orange fruits on many varieties, and orange just seemed inappropriate in a garden. I guess I have changed.

Ilex aquifolium 'J.C. van Tol'

Ilex aquifolium 'Pixie'

Ilex aquifolium 'Britebush'

Ilex aquifolium 'Crinkle Variegated'

Ilex is a large genus (400 species) of deciduous and evergreen trees and shrubs, and they are well-represented in my gardens. I became familiar with I. aquifolium early in my life because my parents had a large holly tree in the yard, and the ball was always rolling into it during our games. I now grow variegated cultivars, a semi-weeping form with large glossy foliage ('J.C. van Tol') and a choice dwarf bush named 'Pixie'. Maybe the 'Pixie' is dwarf in part due to Haruko's pruners, as 'Pixie' branches find their way into her Christmas wreaths. Ilex aquifolium was the type species described by Linnaeus as it is native to Europe. The common name holly in Old English time was holegnand in Middle English Holin, and later Hollen. Even though birds love the berries they can be fatal for humans.

Ilex fargesii

Ilex fargesii* is one of my favorites for its long leaves which are deciduous, so the red berries are now ornamenting more obviously. The species honors Pere Paul Guillaume Farges (1844-1912), one in a group of three famous French missionary/botanists along with Pere David and Pere Delavay. These missionaries were not highly successful converting souls, but they did accomplish the diversion of Chinese flora to western gardens. E.H. Wilson was sent to China to collect seed of Davidia involucrata, as his employer at Veitch Nursery wanted to be the first to offer it in Europe. Wilson brought back tons of seed, only to find that Farges had sent seed to Vilmorin in France a couple of years prior. The English plant explorers always hated it when the damn French beat them at something.

*The only thing K-W says about 'Ilex fargesii', "...if it has a fault it is that it will not exert itself sufficiently to fruit really well (and that damns it as berried treasure...)." Hmm, it exerts itself sufficiently at Buchholz Nursery.

Ilex serrata 'Koshobai'

My sure favorite Ilex is serrata 'Koshobai', a dwarf dense deciduous shrub that is loaded with tiny red berries. Koshobai is Japanese for "pepper-corn," and the cute berries are so small that you can fit about 15-20 of them on a dime, with each individual berry about the size of Roosevelt's eye. The only problem with 'Koshobai' is that in some winters the leaves do not fully fall off, but this year the twigs are completely bare and the fruit sparkles when the rare sun appears. The berries last for months, and a small pot is placed on our table from Thanksgiving until New Year's. An important ornamental attribute of 'Koshobai' is that it is parthenocarpic, which means that it can develop fruit without a male. Ilex serrata was known in England before K-W's time, but he did not include it in his Berried Treasure, a shame. 'Koshobai' is one of the most delightful plants in my entire collection, and probably one of the most talked about.

Gaultheria nummularioides

Gaultheria tricophylla

The ericaceous genus Gaultheriawas named for Jean-Francois Gaultier, an 18^th century Canadian physician and botanists. Originally from France, after he had settled in Canada he married – in his words – "a lady of rank. I have reason to be satisfied in every way; my wife has much wit, a fine education, and great ability for running and organizing a house, and she can expect wealth after the death of her father, who is 78." Sounds like my wife, except without the wealth. Anyway, the genus that bears his name is related to Vaccinium, and its fresh-looking evergreen foliage would be reason enough to grow it, and the fruits are a nice bonus. G. nummularioides is a low groundcover from the Himalayas to southeast Asia. It is best in a shady location with sharp drainage. My favorite species is G. trichophylla, and I have seen it in the wild in the Himalayas at about 12,000'. On second thought, what I saw was maybe a closely related species, for Hillier says that G. trichophylla is from western China.* In any case I have had the true species off and on, but they are not long-lived for me. The large fruits are edible and I love their blue color. I should get another start when I can.

*But its common name is "Himalayan snowberry."

Berberis jamesiana

Berberis trigona 'Orange King'

Berberis jamesiana is a shrub with wicked thorns but beautiful pendant racemes of berries, and it was introduced in 1913 by George Forrest from northwest Yunnan. B. trigona's (formerly linearifolia) berries are not as attractive as B. jamesiana, but the flowers are more spectacular. They bloom in March in our greenhouses, and one year a visitor practically ran through the greenhouse to see what it was. Surprisingly sales were never good, maybe because the plants have an ungainly habit, but my employees are happy that they don't have to make Berberis cuttings anymore. The trigona species is native to Argentina and Chile, and it requires excellent drainage.

Crataegus monogyna 'Inermis Compacta' at RBG Edinburgh

Crataegus – the hawthornes – are a genus of thorny shrubs and small trees in the family Rosaceae, and the origin of the generic name is from Greek krataigos, from kratos for "strength" plus aigos, from Greek aigilops for the "Turkey oak." Another theory is that the name is derived from kratos for "strength" and akis for "sharp," referring to the thorns on some species. I never cared much for the hawthornes until I discovered C. monogyna inermis 'Compacta', a thornless selection (inermis) that grew compactly. I grew a ten-year-old-tree to about six feet tall and enjoyed the white spring flowers followed by red berries in the fall, and the birds certainly enjoyed my tree as well. One year I decided that a botanical trip to Scotland was due, and I appreciated that upon entering the RBG at Edinburgh admission was free. I took the path to the right, in the direction to the famous rock garden, and from a distance I saw a large round tree blooming white...and I wondered what it was, and every step forward indicated that it was indeed the compact Crataegus. I assume that it is still there, truly the anchor of a world famous garden. I am really a trunk-man, an aficionado of a tree's torso, and I have thousands – really! – of tree-trunk photos, but I think the photo of the Edinburgh specimen is my favorite. Hail to Scotland, to their gardens, to the unreadable poetry of Robert Burns...which leads one to a wee bit of Drambuie, or, if no one is counting...to perhaps one too many.

Christmas is upon us, and it seems that the past half-year rushed by at lightspeed.

It must be time for our biannual photo contest. I have gathered my favorite images from the past six months and you can choose one, only one, that you consider the best. The winner will be selected from the image with the largest popularity, and one of you will be chosen at random to receive the prize.

You could win a 16" by 24" print, mounted beautifully on a bamboo board, totally ready for hanging. You may cast your vote at info (at) buchholznursery (dot) com, not as a comment on this blog. If you do not win, you can order your favorite at $269, or for that matter, any photo from our entire website. I have a number of them in the office and at home, and they really pop off from the walls.

Contest closes at 12pm, Wednesday, December 30th, 2015 and the winner will be announced at 4pm, Wednesday, December 30th, 2015.

Good Luck.

Oregon sky #1

Crataegus monogyna

Acer palmatum 'Little Princess'

Robinia pseudoacacia 'Purple Robe'

Acer palmatum 'Orange Dream'

Calycanthus 'Venus'

Acer japonicum 'Giant Moon'

Hamamelis intermedia 'Jelena'

Dahlia 'Chilson's Pride'

Acer palmatum 'Aratama'

Acer pictum 'Usugumo'

Leucothoe keiskei

Cornus florida 'Autumn Gold' #1

Cornus florida 'Autumn Gold' #2

Acer japonicum 'Taki no gawa'

Equisetum arvense

Franklinia alatamaha 'Wintonbury'

Acer palmatum 'Akane hagoromo'

Corylopsis spicata 'Golden Spring'

Cornus kousa 'Blue Shadow'

Acer palmatum 'Hogyoku'

Pinus thunbergii 'War Bonnet'

Acer palmatum 'Emerald Isle'

Asimina triloba 'Sunflower'

Rhododendron nuttallii

Acer palmatum 'Beni shigitatsu sawa'

Lilium regale

Acer palmatum 'Alpine Sunrise'

Cercis canadensis 'The Rising Sun'

Acer palmatum 'Ikandi'

Acer palmatum 'Samidare'

Cornus controversa 'Variegata'

Acer palmatum 'Geisha Gone Wild'

Brunnera 'Alexander's Great'

Acer palmatum 'Shin hikasa'

Acer conspicuum 'Phoenix'

Davidia involucrata 'White Dust'

Acer palmatum 'Kawahara Rose'

Polyspora longicarpa 'Full Moon'

Acer buergerianum 'Michael Steinhardt'

Ginkgo biloba 'Tschi tschi'

Acer japonicum 'Aconitifolium'

Magnolia 'Pink Surprise' x 'Red Baron'

Acer palmatum 'Little Sango'

Illicium parviflorum 'Florida Sunshine'

Acer palmatum 'Pastel'

Cornus kousa 'Akatsuki'

Acer buergerianum

Poncirus trifoliata var. montrosa 'Flying Dragon'

Acer palmatum 'Dark Knight'

Mukdenia rossii 'Crimson Fans'

Acer palmatum 'Usu midori'

Arctostaphylos uva-ursi 'Radiant'

Acer palmatum 'Blonde Beauty'

Davidia involucrata var. vilmoriniana

Acer palmatum 'Koyasan'

Salvia 'Hot Lips'

Acer sieboldianum 'Kumoi nishiki'

Clerodendrum trichotomum 'Stargazer'

Acer palmatum 'Kara ori nishiki'

Oxydendrum arboreum 'Chameleon'

Acer japonicum 'O taki'

Cornus kousa 'Heart Throb'

Acer palmatum 'Ryu sei'

Ginkgo biloba 'Green Pagoda'

Acer palmatum 'Peve Ollie'

Schefflera delavayi

Acer truncatum 'Fire Dragon'

Hamamelis vernalis 'Sandra'

Acer x 'Cinnamon Flake'

Acer palmatum 'Eagle Claw'

Ginkgo biloba 'Golden Colonade'

Cornus nuttallii 'Colrigo'

Acer shirasawanum 'Bronze Age'

Acer davidii

Arbutus unedo

Acer palmatum 'Miwa'

Dahlia 'Mystic Illusion'

Acer palmatum 'Ueno homare'

Acer circinatum

Cercidiphyllum japonicum 'Boyd's Dwarf'

Acer palmatum 'Beni musume'

Ginkgo biloba 'Mariken'

Acer palmatum 'Coral Pink'

Acer saccharum 'Monumentale'

Forest Park, Oregon

Acer tegmentosum 'Joe Witt'

Acer palmatum 'Strawberry Spring'

Oregon sky #2

Remember: one plant only. If you enter more, they will all be disqualified. Also, a vote cast as a blog comment will not count. Sorry, we are unable to ship the prize outside of the United States.

Maple Time

Win Some, Lose Some

The Pinetum

At The Beach

Belgic Memories

Leaves Me Happy

Not For Sale

A Swinger of Birches

Fun with the Gossler Farms Nursery Catalog

Romping with the Colours

My Home Clouds

What? Whence?*

Maple Society

Wandering Through the Greenhouses

Flamboyant Foliage

Seth's Journey Home

Foliage Finale

Weepers

Berrifest

Buchholz Photo Contest