Flora Wonder Blog

Cornus x 'Scarlet Fire'

My wife and both daughters were occupied last Sunday with activities that didn't include me, and so I was happily unnecessary. I said goodbye and announced that I was "going to work." My wife groaned in sympathy that at my age I had to work on Sunday. But it was a beautiful spring day at the nursery – my place of "work"– and it was perfectly enjoyable to have no employees, truck drivers, customers etc. to deal with. I headed out of the office with my pencil and clipboard to make work lists for the following Monday, but I noticed the deep red flower bracts of Cornus 'Scarlet Fire'. So, just 20 steps away from the office I decided to return and exchange my clipboard for my camera.

Two hours later I came back from wandering through the greenhouses with my brain filled with colorful stimuli. Eventually I did make my work lists, and when reunited with my family I accepted their praise that Father is hard-working and a great Provider. I didn't feel guilty that I was goofing off as well as working, as I do it often, and you can decide for yourself if my time was well spent. I can't imagine any company more fun than Buchholz Nursery on a sunny spring day. Here is what I saw – that day's autobiography.

Rhododendron stenopetalum 'Koromo shikibu'

Aquilegia flabellata 'Pumila'

Acer palmatum 'Ryoku ryu'

Styrax japonicus 'Evening Lights'

Acer palmatum 'Groundcover'

Acer palmatum 'Amber Ghost'

Acer palmatum 'Tsuma gaki'

Acer palmatum 'Little Sango'

Acer palmatum 'Wildfire'

Acer palmatum 'Sweet Lorraine'

Acer palmatum 'White Peaches'

Acer palmatum 'Beni maiko'

Acer sieboldianum 'Seki no kegon'

Acer palmatum 'Spring Delight'

Acer palmatum 'Aizumi nishiki'

Acer palmatum 'Usu midori'

Acer palmatum 'Beni maiko'

Acer palmatum 'Green Gem'

Acer palmatum 'Mardi Gras'

Acer circinatum 'Kisetsu dore'

Acer palmatum 'Golden Falls'

Acer palmatum 'Kenbu'

Acer palmatum 'Marlo'

Acer palmatum 'Akaji nishiki'

Acer palmatum 'Orange Dream'

Acer palmatum 'Lileeanne's Jewel'

Acer palmatum 'Kawahara Rose'

Acer palmatum 'Lileeanne's Jewel'

Acer palmatum 'Geisha'

Acer palmatum 'Seedling from Mikawa yatsubusa'

Acer palmatum 'Taylor'

Acer palmatum 'Seedling from Mikawa yatsubusa'

Acer palmatum 'Lileeanne's Jewel'

Acer palmatum 'Seedling from Mikawa yatsubusa'

Acer palmatum 'Rainbow'

Acer crataegifolium 'Mueri no ofu'

Acer palmatum 'Murakumo'

Leptospermum scoparium 'Kiwi'

Acer palmatum 'Yuki yama'

Pinellia tripartita 'Free Tibet'

Acer palmatum 'Pinkie'

Acer palmatum 'Yuki yama'

Acer palmatum 'Rising Stars'

Bletilla striata 'Ogon'

Choisya ternata 'Sundance'

Corydalis 'Blue Panda'

Berberis temolaica

Rhododendron orbiculare 'Edinburgh'

Kniphofia pauciflora

Rhododendron 'Ever Red'

Podophyllum 'Galaxy'

Ginkgo biloba 'Snow Cloud'

Schima argentea

Acer palmatum 'Rainbow'

Acer palmatum 'Ilarian'

Morus 'Ho-o'

Acer tegmentosum 'Joe Witt'

Acer palmatum 'Phoenix'

Acer circinatum 'Baby Buttons'

Acer palmatum 'Strawberry Spring'

Acer palmatum 'Oridono nishiki'

Acer shirasawanum 'Bronze Age'

Acer palmatum 'Japanese Princess'

Acer palmatum 'Kotobuki'

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Hatch'

Acer palmatum 'Kotobuki'

Acer palmatum 'Ghost Dancer'

Acer palmatum 'Frosted Purple'

Acer palmatum 'Lemon Chiffon'

Acer palmatum 'Shidava Gold'

Acer palmatum 'Amagi shigure'

Acer palmatum 'Ori zuru'

Acer circinatum 'Kisetsu dore'

Acer palmatum 'Ori zuru'

Acer japonicum 'Emmett's Pumpkin'

Acer palmatum 'Peridot Flame'

Acer palmatum 'Pink Filigree'

Acer palmatum 'Seedling from Mikawa yatsubusa'

When I returned home in the evening, our previous plan was that we would go out for dinner to celebrate Mother's Day, but H. and the girls were too tired to make the effort. H. said, "I just want to eat junk food in bed," and she was entirely serious about it. I drove to Burgerville and bought cheeseburgers, French fries and three strawberry milkshakes, and indeed they polished it all off in bed. Afterward my wife thanked me for the Best Mother's Day ever!

I was paging through Masayoshi Yano's Book for Maples (2003). The photographs are good – he was by his previous career a food photographer – but the brief plant descriptions are in Japanese with an awkward English translation. There are hundreds of plants listed, and even though some have finally made their way into America, there are still quite a few that I don't grow.

Acer palmatum 'Kotobuki'

Acer palmatum 'Ilarian'

Acer palmatum 'Murasaki Shikibu' is photographed and described, but I wonder why Yano (or the publisher) capitalizes the “S” of shikibu?* The cultivar was introduced in 1985, and as Yano writes, “As there are several similar cultivars, it is difficult to distinguish among them.” A.p. 'Kotobuki' is not in the book, but it, 'Mardi Gras' and 'Ilarian' can look similar – without labels I wouldn't know them apart. There can be quite a bit of variation in a crop of 'Kotobuki', with the most colorful usually growing smaller than those with more sparse variegation, and the same is true with 'Ilarian' and 'Mardi Gras'. At their best they can all look fantastic in the spring, with the photographer choosing to depict the most colorful portions.

Murasaki shikibu

*Murasaki Shikibu was a Japanese novelist, poet and Lady-In-Waiting at the Imperial Court during the Heian period. She was author of The Tale of Genji(written between 1000-1012), considered the world's first psychological novel.

Acer palmatum 'Mikawa yatsubusa'

I'm always alert to any information about Acer palmatum 'Mikawa yatsubusa'– listed as 'Mikawa yatsufusa' in Yano's book. He describes it as first recorded in the Sakata Shubyo Catalogue in 1972, a cultivar from Aichi Prefecture, located on the Pacific coast in central Honshu.* I'm keen on 'Mikawa yatsubusa' because 1)I've made tons of money growing it, 2) the world's largest is growing along the main road into Buchholz Nursery and 3) my champion is the seedling mother tree for many interesting offspring (such as 'Mayday' and 'Japanese Princess'). Yano doesn't reveal much else, just saying that “it is a dwarf suitable for bonsai” and that “the autumn foliage is beautiful deep red to yellow.” For me, it colors reliably orange in autumn.

*AKA the Tokai region, where it was found in the wild. The area used to be part of an older province called Mikawa. “Yatsubusa” usually refers to “dwarf” in maple cultivar names, but it actually means “eight tufts,” referring to its tufted branches. According to Vertrees/Gregory in Japanese Maples, 'Mikawa yatsubusa' means a “small cluster of three rivers.”

Acer platanoides 'Princeton Gold'

Oddly both Yano and Vertrees include a few species in their books that are not from Japan, even though both books are purportedly about maples from Japan. In their zeal for the Acer genus they just can't help themselves, and both authors include Acer circinatum, the west-coast North American “Vine maple.” Yano also includes Acer campestre, the “Field maple” from Europe, with the variegated cultivar 'Pulverulentum'. The old cultivar (1859) is one of my least-favorite of variegated maples and I don't produce it anymore. Yano also presents Acer platanoides – the “Norway maple” – 'Prinstone Gold' [sic] which has nothing to do with Japan but at least he has a most delicious photo. Yano obviously means 'Princeton Gold', the patented shade tree from the now defunct Princeton Nurseries of New Jersey.

Acer palmatum 'Red Filigree Lace'

According to Yano, the American selection Acer palmatum (matsumurae) 'Red Filigree Lace' has the Japanese synonym of 'Beni saiho shidare'. An example of the book's poor translation is rendered: “This is a weeping form with leaves, feeling of only veins. The spring leaves are red-brown, later deep red-brown throughout summer. In the autumn, the leaves are deep red. A slow-growing.” My wife says that a bilingual “professor” supplied the translation, but it's a shame that it wasn't shown to an English-speaking audience first.

Acer palmatum 'Satsuki beni'

Acer palmatum (amoenum) 'Satsuki beni' is described as a “good leaf form of Acer amoenum f. latilobatum. The spring foliage is young green [sic] with red-brown tipped lobes...” The photo above was taken at Yano's original collection near Nara, Japan. Everything – his hundreds and hundreds of cultivars – was/were growing in ceramic pots which resulted in a dwarfing “bonsai-like” size to the leaves. Though smaller than when grown at Buchholz Nursery in plastic containers, Yano's plants appeared to me to be more vividly colored, and I was sure that he gave long thought to the pots' shape and color to match with each particular maple. Satsuki can mean the “month of May,” and indeed early May was when I visited Yano, and it is also the word used for an “azalea” which usually blooms in May.

Acer palmatum 'Beni sazanami'

Acer palmatum (matsumurae) 'Beni sazanami' is a relatively new (1991) seedling offspring from the old cultivar 'Sazanami' which was known since 1732. I don't grow many of the 'Beni sazanami' because, as Yano says, “The leaves in spring are red-brown, turning green in summer.” So invariably gardeners will describe it as not “holding” its color in summer, therefore it is a difficult sell for me. On a hopeful note though, Yano adds, “The form of the leaf gives a refreshing feel,” or at least that's what the translation reads. Hmm...I'll have to revisit the “refreshing feel.”

Acer palmatum 'Beni komachi'

Acer palmatum 'Otome zakura'

For Acer palmatum 'Beni komachi'– selected in 1975 – Yano lists the synonym of 'Otome zakura' (1975), but does not list the latter in his book. I wonder if 'Beni komachi' originated as a mutation from 'Otome zakura' because the former reverts with growth like the latter. Because of that I don't produce 'Beni komachi' any more, because all of mine would eventually revert. Two weeks ago I saw 'Beni komachi' at Munn Nursery in Oregon – not many, but some, and his looked fine. It was too early in the season for his plants to develop mildew, but mine usually did by June-July. For 'Beni komachi' or “beautiful red-haired dancing girl,” Yano writes, “This cultivar needs a skill of cultivation....At the very least, this tree should be carefully long rain protected,” but I don't have a clue as to what he is trying to say.

Acer palmatum 'Akane'

Acer palmatum 'Akane' is everybody's favorite maple in May, but it can defoliate and/or develop mildew after the onset of hot weather. Yano agrees, saying “It is very beautiful but weak. At the yellow coloration time, avoiding water on the leaves is needed because it is susceptible to diseases, such as powdery mildew.”* The Japanese name akane refers to the “madder plant,” Rubia in the family Rubiaceae, with R. tinctorum being the common madder, R. peregrina the wild madder and R. cordifolia the Indian madder, and according to Vertrees in Japanese Maples, “Because of the color of the dye [from Rubia]...the name has also come to mean 'glowing evening sky,' which describes perfectly the foliage color in spring.”

*Interestingly, I used to think that powdery mildew, which some cultivars and species are highly susceptible to, develops because of constant watering of nursery containers. When I discussed the matter with an agriculture rep, he said the opposite was true, that mildew hates water, and that's why it can run rampant in dry summers on our native Acer circinatum and Acer macrophyllum in the wild.

Acer palmatum 'Taimin nishiki'

Acer palmatum 'Hinode nishiki'

Acer palmatum 'Rainbow'

I have grown a couple of Japanese-originating variegated Acer palmatum cultivars such as 'Taimin nishiki' and 'Hinode nishiki', but for me, along with my own variegated 'Rainbow', the colors are not stable and you eventually end up with an entirely purple-red tree. For 'Taimin nishiki', Yano reveals that the cultivar has been “recorded in the old catalog.” (1882). He adds, “For preserving its variegation for long time, it needs cultural techniques.” Unfortunately there is no further mention of these techniques. Maple nurserymen and hobbyists generally agree that one should use fertilizers sparingly, but who has employees that can process those “techniques?” I have sold 'Rainbow' to small one-man nurseries, and guess what? – their 'Rainbow' remain vividly colored.

Acer buergerianum 'Toyo tricolor'

Acer buergerianum 'Toyo tricolor' has an invalid cultivar name with the combination of two languages. Toyocan mean a number of things, but one is “plentiful,” and of course tricolor refers to the colors of the variegation. The photo above was taken at Yano's place, but I have never grown the trident to know if it would revert for me, as does 'Taimin nishiki' and the others.

Acer palmatum 'Mikawa nishiki'

Yano has a beautiful photo of a variegated portion of Acer palmatum 'Mikawa nishiki', but he says, “The variegation is unstable, so it does not regularly appear every year.” I would agree, furthermore in my experience the variegation is more apparent on under-potted trees that are enduring a little stress. Not to be too negative about my employees, but in their mindless condition they have been known to pull A.p. 'Mikawa yatsubusa' for orders instead of 'Mikawa nishiki', in spite of the tremendous difference, so that's another strike against the cultivar.

Acer palmatum 'Aizumi nishiki'

Acer palmatum 'Aizumi nishiki' is a relatively new (2001) cultivar. As Yano says, “A very beautiful cultivar has white variegations, tinged pink in spring, As the variegation tends to disappear in a long spell of rainy weather, cultivating the plant under covering is recommended.” I don't know about that since our containers receive overhead irrigation nearly every day of summer and the variegation never subsides. Nevertheless, if Yano says it disappears I believe him, for everything is possible in his Oriental situation.

Acer shirasawanum 'Sensu'

Yano lists Acer x shirasawanum 'Kalmthout', a European selection and a probable hybrid with A. palmatum. It is named for Arboretum Kalmthout near Antwerp, Belgium, home to more Hamamelis cultivars than you can keep track of. I don't grow 'Kalmthout', but I would gladly accept scions if someone else does. My interest is because my introduction of A.s. 'Sensu' looks identical in foliage, except that 'Sensu' probably grows more tall than 'Kalmthout'. Yano does not give the year of 'Kalmthout's' introduction.

Acer palmatum 'Bonfire'

Acer palmatum 'Wilson's Pink Dwarf'

If you look for Acer palmatum 'Bonfire' in either the Yano or Vertrees/Gregory book you won't find it. Instead both list A.p. 'Wilson's Pink Dwarf'. I used to keep the two separate even though they looked exactly the same. 'Bonfire' is popular in California while 'Wilson's Pink Dwarf' was selected as a seedling by James Wilson of California, so I suppose Wilson or some other grower decided that 'Bonfire' was a more commercial and descriptive name. Of course it is possible that they're two sister seedlings with similar colors and growth habits. I don't know which name takes precedence but we're selling it as simply 'Bonfire'. My production is limited as I find it difficult to propagate by grafting, and if rooted (which it does) I suspect it wouldn't be as hardy in the outside garden.

Acer palmatum 'Nuresagi'

Acer palmatum 'Nuresagi' (Japanese version)

I look out the office window and see a large specimen of Acer palmatum 'Nuresagi' which I got from Vertrees over 35 years ago. V. writes, “This excellent purple cultivar has large leaves with five to seven lobes which radiate strongly outward, like widely spreading fingers.” Later he says, “The deep, rich black-purple-red is unusual.” Not really – a lot of atro seedlings can have that color. We discontinued production years ago because 'Nuresagi' did not favorably compare with 'Bloodgood' or 'Red Emperor' for holding the deep, rich color. In Yano's book it is listed as 'Nure sagi', “a cultivar from old times (1882).” However, Yano presents a yellow-green colored plant, even though the leaves are shaped the same. According to Vertrees the name means “wet heron,” but neither the red nor the green form evoke a “wet heron” for me.

Acer palmatum 'Murakumo'

So, red or green – who is the real 'Nuresagi'? Similarly, who is the real Acer palmatum 'Murakumo'? Is it 'Murakumo' or 'Marakumo' anyway? Vertrees lists both as separate cultivars with 'Murakumo' being red-leaved with the name meaning “village in the clouds.” No translation is given for 'Marakumo's' name, and if it's indeed a real Japanese word, my Japanese wife doesn't know it. Vertrees's 'Marakumo' looks like my 'Murakumo', and my wife says the latter name translates as “gathering clouds.” You have to admit, since 'Ukigumo' means “floating clouds,” that photos of my 'Murakumo' look more like “gathering clouds” than Yano's version. When Yano visited me about ten years ago I brought up the matter, and with my wife translating Yano apologized for the confusion, as if the green, reticulated tree should be the correct 'Murakumo'. I don't know: maybe he was just being nice because he was on my soil. For what it's worth, in the Vertrees 1^stedition (1978) 'Murakumo' (or 'Muragumo') is described as the red-leaved palmatum with 'Marakumo' being the green form, so at least he is consistent, along with co-author Peter Gregory, in the four editions. My start of the green 'Murakumo' came from the late Howard Hughes of Washington state, a keen hobbyist who was instrumental with Vertrees in sorting out cultivar names. Too bad Vertrees and Hughes are no longer with us, but they would both probably despair that correct nomenclature continues as befuddled today as it has ever been.

A.p. 'Ryu sei' or A.p.' Ryusen' would be a current example.

Acer palmatum 'Purple Ghost'

Acer palmatum 'Tsuma gaki'

Acer palmatum 'Festival'

Acer rubrum 'Drake'

Acer pseudosieboldianum

Anyway there are a lot of choice cultivars, judging by Yano's excellent photographs, of maple selections that I do not have. But then I remember speaking with a novice potential maple-liner customer who wanted to learn more. After perusing my photo library he concluded that it was difficult to make a decision on what to buy. He said, “It seems your photographs are taken when the tree looks its best, not how it looks the rest of the year.” I replied, “Guilty.”

Reuben Hatch

I'm a regular visitor to the Rhododendron Species Botanic Garden in Washington state, a world-treasure plant collection that contains far more than Rhododendron (“Rose tree”) bushes. It's quite a commitment as the journey is a four-hour drive to get there, and sometimes a five-hour drive back due to heavy PM traffic. Frequently I'm accompanied by long-time friend, Plantsman Reuben Hatch, but we don't stay long in the garden because he tuckers out quickly due to 84 years of age. But the drive is enjoyable – or interesting anyway – because we continue to learn from each other while we attempt to solve the world's problems. We're geeks for plants and we've travelled to most states west of the Mississippi, to Mexico, China and the Himalaya a couple of times. And when you think about it, the RSBG is a microcosm of all of those places; and so, as a Flora Wonder Blog reader, you have a passport and invitation to join us old white-haired geezers on our floral adventure.

Rhododendron glanduliferum

Upon arrival we quickly march past the admission window by announcing that we're Garden Members, and the various Ladies of the Till let us pass without question. The first stop is the sales yard, filled with Rhododendron species and hybrids plus a multitude of companion plants. I mentally catalog what I will purchase when I exit, and this time I couldn't pass on two Rhododendrons: R. glanduliferum and R. polytrichum. The R. glanduliferum is a species native to northeastern Yunnan, China, and besides its pinkish-white flowers I bought it for the new oblong-lanceolate leaves which were deliciously red-brown at the end of May. This species has been in cultivation since 1995, and was first described nearly 100 years before by botanist Franchett. The technical specific name is due to the pedicles (flower stalks), corolla and calyx being covered in stalked glands. The late Peter Wharton, curator of the Asian garden at the University of British Columbia Botanic Garden, discovered some specimens in China which grew to over 20 m tall. I definitely don't have room for such a thug in my garden without editing something else, but I was so taken with the color of the new leaves that I'll deal with that problem later.

Rhododendron polytrichum

I guess I was in a lush reddish-brown mood last week because I also fell for a Rhododendron polytrichum which also featured glandular young shoots. It was as if the culprit operators of the Species Garden knew I would be visiting with my cash, so they hauled these wonderful species from their growing houses up to the sales yard. Thankfully this polytrichum species (from China) won't get as large as the glanduliferum species. Nevertheless, Jens Nielsen, who has seen it in the wild, called it “a great beast of a plant.” So now both of these new species are in pots under the shaded overhang in front of my office, and already a number of visitors have expressed admiration, assuming that old Buchholz is a wizard at sourcing beautiful exotic plants. Well, join the Species Botanic Garden yourself – wherever you are in the world – and you can become a Rhododendron snob like me.

Rhododendron davidsonianum

I was tempted to make another purchase, but didn't, of R. davidsonianum, and the label described it well. It is a Chinese (Sichuan) species known as the “Concave-leaf rhododendron” which is native to forests between 1,500-2,800 m (4,900-9200 ft). Damn – I really should have bought it – and so would agree the Royal Horticultural Society since they praised it with the Award of Garden Merit. One would initially presume that the species was named in honor of Pere Armand David (1826-1900), the French priest, botanist and zoologist (he introduced the Panda bear to Europe)...but not so. The Rhododendron was actually named for Dr. W. Henry Davidson who was in China as a missionary doctor – in the right place at the right time – who administered treatment* to the injured plant explorer E.H. “Chinese” Wilson in 1910.

Lilium regale

E.H. Wilson

*At this point I should elaborate on Wilson's injury which occurred because he discovered (in 1903) the “Regal lily,” Lilium regale, in western Sichuan along the Min River. In 1910 he returned to the Min Valley to collect bulbs, but his leg was crushed during an avalanche of boulders. Wilson's leg was set with the tripod of his camera and he was carried back (to Davidson) on a three-day forced march. Thereafter Wilson referred to his “lily limp,” but it was this shipment of bulbs that established L. regale into cultivation. My plants of L. regale are not yet in flower – that occurs when it is 95 degrees F in July – so I'll talk about it again at that time.

Speirantha convalarioides

Also in the RSBG sales yard was Speirantha convallarioides, surprisingly, since it is a genus of only one-known species from southeast China. Commonly known as the “False Lily of the Valley,”* the evergreen's one-foot leaves can accumulate on a three-foot diameter clump. The flowers are strikingly white and sweetly fragrant...and I should have bought one of those also.

*The specific name of “convallarioides” is due to the resemblance to Convallaria, the Lily of the Valley, an herbaceous perennial in the Asparagaceae family which is hardy to USDA zone 3, or minus 40 degrees F. The genus name comes from the Latin word meaning “valley,” but be careful because all parts of this plant are very poisonous, containing cardiac glycoside.

Sorbus sargentiana

Charles Sprague Sargent

Reuben and I visited the RSBG about a month ago, but the new growth on Sorbus sargentiana was not present then. I hurried to it on last week's visit because the new growth is a lush purple-brown...but I was too late and the young leaves had already turned to green. What a short window then, and I wonder if some garden employees or volunteers have ever seen the color that I like so much. The fruits didn't impress me last fall with their orange color, but maybe they were still developing. In the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs I read that the fruits are small, but scarlet, and that they are late in ripening. Hillier also promises “Rich red autumn colour,” but I've never seen it in autumn glory. The “rowan” was discovered by E.H. Wilson in 1903 and introduced by him in 1908 when he was employed by the Arnold Arboretum of Boston. The specific name honors Charles Sprague Sargent (1841-1927), the first director of the Arnold. Maybe a few berries will find their way into my pocket if I visit the tree this winter.

Viburnum sargentii

I was in time, however, to see Sargent's Viburnum in bloom. It says that V. sargentii is in the Caprifoliaceae family, but Hillier places it in Adoxaceae. I've steered clear of Viburnum production in my career even though I have a few in the Flora Wonder Arboretum, and my reason is that the genus is a root weevil magnet, plus it is susceptible to Sudden Oak Death, and who needs either of those two problems? Maybe you've heard of the old adage: “Viburnum when you can mulch 'em?”

Persea thunbergii

A plant I was hoping to see, Persea thunbergii, features red-brown new growth somewhat like the Sorbus sargentiana. I couldn't find the tree though, so maybe it too had already turned green, and I admit that the photo above was from a previous trip. The Persea is in the Lauraceae family, and with the specific name of thunbergii you know it is native to Japan, and was first described by Siebold and Zuccarini. It is listed as hardy to USDA zone 7, unlike Persea americana – the avocado – which is from Mexico and is hardy to only zone 10. The Persea name (Greek) is due to a related species, a sacred fruit-bearing tree of Egypt and Persia. A synonym for Persea thunbergii is Machilus thunbergii, and that generic name is thought to be from a Moluccan* name, or possibly the name of an insect (Machilis).

*Moluccas or the Maluku Islands are an archipelago in eastern Indonesia.

Clintonia andrewsiana

DeWitt Clinton

Clintonia andrewsiana was a fun discovery – I had never seen it before; that's embarrassing because it is native to Oregon and northern California, growing in shady areas of the Sequoia sempervirens forests where I have been plenty of times. I hope to find the rhizomatous perennial again in autumn to see its bright blue berries (about 1 cm long). The genus is distributed across North America and eastern Asia, and was first described in 1818 and named after DeWitt Clinton, an 18^thcentury botanist and politician.* He was a US Senator, Mayor of New York City and the 6^th Governor of New York.

*Oddly, Clinton managed his personal financial affairs poorly, but nevertheless he appeared on the 1880 United States bank note for $1,000.00

Dryopteris polylepis

The Species Garden is famous for its ferns, and they absolutely thrive in the woodland setting. On every visit I discover a new species that has eluded me before; that is, if I can trust the labels. Dryopteris polylepis is from Japan, I read, and I wish my wife could be with me and perhaps tell me more. When I think of her, if she was a plant she would probably be a fern. Anyway the specific name polylepis means “many scales,” and I know that thanks to Sue Olsen's Encyclopedia of Garden Ferns(Timber Press 2007). I like her concise description: “Grow this fern for the excitement the scaly new foliage brings to the springtime garden and the assured ornamental contribution of the foliar black and green highlights throughout the rest of the year. It is an undemanding citizen of the woodland garden with a preference for light shade.” Earlier I learned that the name Dryopterisis from the Greek drys for “oak or forest” and pterisfor “fern.”

Dryopteris lepidopoda

Another attractive Dryopteris is the species lepidopoda from the Himalaya, China and Taiwan, with the specific name meaning “scaly feet.” Sue describes the emerging fronds as possessing “warm sunset tones” and adds, “Additional colorful new fronds are produced throughout the summer giving continued buoyancy to the display.” I could stay in the woodland garden all day admiring the ferns and reading Sue's poetry.

Lilium mackliniae

Frank Kingdon Ward

A sweetheart in the garden is Lilium mackliniae, commonly called the “Shirui lily” because the rare species is found only in the upper reaches of the Shirui ranges in northeastern India at 5,680-8,500 ft (1,730-2590 m). You know from the suffix of the specific name that it honors a woman, and indeed the flower was discovered by plant explorer Frank Kingdon Ward who named it for his wife Jean Macklin. I was pleased to acquire the lily last year at the RSBG's plant sales yard. I have not looked myself, but I have read that if you look through a microscope you can observe seven colors, but to my eye I just see bluish-pink petals. Locally the flower is called Kashong Timrawon and it represents kindness, prosperity and a happy life.

Primula flaccida...or ?

The charm of Lilium mackliniae is that its bell-shaped flowers bow in modesty. More dramatic was a Primula with the label reading flaccida for the specific name. There was nothing “flaccid” about it however, so I don't know its true identity. Maybe the label was for a species that no longer grows near that spot, or was not yet in flower.

Primula pulverulenta 'Bartley Strain'

Another primula was in flower, P. pulverulenta 'Bartley Strain', and the species is native to damp habitats in China. The specific name means “dust” (as in pulverized into fine powder) and refers to the white layer (farina) covering the stems. Normally these candelabra flowers are colored from deep red to mauve, but I liked the pale pink of the 'Bartley's Strain', and it demonstrates that subtly-colored flowers have a place in a sophisticated garden.

Kalmia 'Little Linda'

Peter Kalm

The outer petals of Kalmia 'Little Linda' were fiery-red but the blossoms were not fully open, so maybe she dulls somewhat when they are. I don't recall seeing other Kalmia in the garden, which is strange for a rhododendron garden like the RSBG. Since the label didn't mention a species I presume that 'Little Linda' is a hybrid. I have read that Kalmia is a genus of about ten species, native to North American and Cuba. On britannica.com, it says there are “about seven species which occur in North America and the West Indies.” I don't know anything about Cuban or the West Indies Kalmia, but there are two species native to the Pacific Northwest, K. occidentalis and K. polifolia var. microphylla which are low shrubs commonly called “Bog laurels.” The genus name was bestowed by Linnaeus and honors Pehr Kalm, a Finnish disciple of Linnaeus. Kalm (1716-1779) was an explorer and botanist who was commissioned by the Royal Swedish Academy to travel in North America to bring back seeds and plants that might be useful for agriculture. He covered a lot of territory, and is credited with the first description of Niagara Falls written by a trained scientist.

Huodendron tibeticum

Alfred Rehder

Huodendron tibeticum is in the Styracaceae family and it was first described by Alfred Rehder,* the German-American botanist who worked at the Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University. It is native to China, Tibet and Vietnam, and though hardy to only USDA zone 8 (10 degrees F) the garden's recently planted bush will probably survive, judging from other tender RSBG plants that would likely die for me. It has been called a “False Styrax,” with its small white hanging flowers, but there were no blossoms evident at my visit, while our plants of Styrax japonicus are blooming at this time. The word huo means “fire” in Chinese, so huodendron is “fire tree,” and that is due to the leaves' brown-red new growth – the color I like so much.

*Rehder is honored with the genus Rehderodendron which is also a Chinese tree in the Styracaceae family.

Acer palmatum 'Emerald Lace'

Acer circinatum 'Burgundy Jewel'

Maples fit in well at the RSBG, and the Japanese maples especially so as understory trees under the Douglas fir canopy. A healthy specimen of Acer palmatum 'Emerald Lace' is spreading lustfully, and they probably planted it too close to the path just as I have done at the nursery. Wisely an Acer circinatum 'Burgundy Jewel' was placed in full sun which is necessary for the purple-red foliage to develop. I was happy to donate it to the garden because 1)it's a great selection and 2) because it was discovered in Washington state by Gordy Halgren of Peacedale Nursery. The original seedling of 'Burgundy Jewel', however, was supplied to Peacedale by an Oregon nursery, namely Drake's Crossing.

Acer shirasawanum 'Aureum'

I have long admired a large specimen of Acer shirasawanum 'Aureum'. I have grown the cultivar longer than the Species Garden but I don't have any nearly as large because I always sell mine. On this visit I didn't focus on the canopy, but rather I was attracted to the trunk, and the light on it was perfect. I can't imagine any sculpture more beautiful.

The RSBG is a wonderful resource for plants, and today's blog only highlights a few things that I saw. We stayed in the garden for less than two hours, but the following photos reveal that there was much more to be seen. I encourage all readers to visit the garden, and if you do you will probably end up as a member like I did.

Rhododendron wardii var. wardii

Dryopteris wallichiana

Rhododendron irroratum

Rhododendron liliiflorum

Rhododendron insigne

Rhododendron fulvum ssp. fulvum

Rhododendron calophytum var. openshawianum

Iris ensata

Blechnum penna-marina

Rhododendron kesangiae

Acer palmatum 'Red Pygmy'

Dryopteris expansa

Carex siderosticha 'Variegata'

Rhododendron excellens

Rhododendron kiusianum

Rhododendron 'Titian Beauty'

Rhododendron dalhousiae var. rhabdotum

I know a lot about plants, but most I don't know, so I can probably learn for the rest of my life. In The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2014), we're promised that "The study of botanical plant names is fascinating and rewarding." We learn that generic"names" are always nouns, while a specific"epithet" is used rather than a "name" because, unlike generic names, species will not stand on their own.

Wollemia nobilis

Xanthocyparis vietnamensis

Ok then, specific epithets, the origin of species...Darwin's thing. How do we cubbyhole this world? The Learned of yore were almost always men with a penchant for Latin. The specific epithets can describe the leaves, like coriacea; the flowers, as with grandiflora; the color, as with lutea etc. Epithets can reveal the geographic origin of a plant, such as vietnamensisfor the recently discovered Xanthocyparis vietnamensis, or have been used to commemorate an individual such as Wollemi nobilis, which honors David Noble, the Australian who discovered the rare conifer genus. I doubt, however, that the defining epithets that have been finalized would be the same as I would have used if I was the naming botanist. I wonder if the old geezers decided a specific name immediately after seeing the plant or a herbarium specimen, or if they took time to mull it over, say perhaps with input from the wife, neighbor or colleges.

Acer palmatum 'Bloody Talons' in spring (left) and in fall (right)

Since I will never be a botanist, and since I will probably never discover a species, any plant name I give will have to be for a cultivar (cultivated variant). The problem with nurserymen or hobbyists naming plants is that knuckleheads are welcome to the club. Because of that we have some rather goofy names such as 'Ikandi', 'Geisha Gone Wild', 'Bloody Talons' etc. For the latter – 'Bloody Talons', not etc. – the strange leaves display vivid-red autumn color that actually do resemble bloody talons. But if you find the name goofy you can blame my office manager Eric – I didn't name it – although I am responsible for 'Ikandi' and 'Geisha Gone Wild'.

Picea pungens 'Donkey Dick'

The worst cultivar name of all time, thankfully notcoined by me, is probably 'Donkey Dick' for a mutation on a Colorado spruce, because it was explained to me: "It just hung there." I kept a few around for a couple of years then threw them all out because I couldn't have a plant – unsellable – with a name like that just hanging out here.

Rhododendron 'Gomer Waterer'

Betty Buchholz

George Sherriff

I have expressed before that cultivars named for people are generally a bad idea. I don't know, but there is probably a rose named 'Queen Elizabeth' or 'Lady Diana', or 'Cleopatra' or 'Pocahontas' etc...and I guess that is ok, but a name like 'Arthur Hillier', 'Albert Edwards' or 'Andersonii'– no matter how great the rose – is absolutely a crappy name. The first nursery I worked for grew Rhododendron 'Gomer Waterer', and if you knew the history of the English company and the person it was named for you could probably accept it, but otherwise it's a dumb plant name. I like Rosa 'Betty Sherriff' better because it was probably introduced from Bhutan where I travelled 20 years ago, and because it honors the wife of the Scottish Himalayan plant explorer George Sherriff who I idolize. Also, I'm obviously partial to women names, more than men's, and I imagine that the name Bettywould be apt for my happy wife if she was from England or America.

Rhododendron 'Marchioness of Lansdowne'

Rhododendron 'Winsome'

Sappho

The cultivar name for the hybrid Rhododendron, 'Marchioness of Lansdowne' is absolutely too pompous. Period. Great plant though. Give me instead R. 'Sappho' or R. 'Winsome'– two names I love. A good part of garden enjoyment I think is due to the nameof the plant you put into your soil. The word winsome is derived from Old English wynsum for "pleasure, delight," and that from the Proto-Indo-European root wen for "to desire, strive for." Its unusual blossom color was achieved by crossing R. griersonianum with R. Humming Bird Group, which is why 'Winsome' itself should be identified as Winsome Group. R. 'Sappho' is named from Greek Psapphowho was an Archaic poet from the island of Lesbos. She was known for her lyric poetry which was to be sung while accompanied by lyre – my kind of girl.

Cercis canadensis 'Pink Heartbreaker'

There are a lot of "Eastern redbud" cultivars entering into the trade in recent years. Though the name of Cercis canadensis 'Pink Heartbreaker' is not my kind of name, still I like and grow the tree. I can't propagate it as it is patented, so I buy my trees from another nursery and grow them to larger sizes. It works out for me because my niche is to grow trees no one else has, i.e. trees that are new or in larger sizes than other companies; oh, and also, trees of better quality.

Styrax japonicus 'Evening Light'

We also purchase young trees of the patented Styrax japonicus 'Evening Light', and that's a cultivar name I truly like. It is a wonderful selection due to dark purple foliage which highlights the pure-white nodding flowers which are fragrant. Supposedly this upright, narrow selection from Europe is able to tolerate extreme temperatures, well, to at least USDA zone 5 (-20 F). Of course I gripe when trees are patented and I can't propagate them. It's better if a tree totally begins at Buchholz Nursery where I can control its appearance. Our trees have a "Buchholz look," and the last thing I want for them is to look like they came from another's nursery.

Cornus kousa 'Summer Fun'

Damn right!

My source of 'Evening Light' is also my source for a few other patented trees which are worth growing, in fact 90% of their product is patented. Nevertheless they grow thousands of my Cornus kousa 'Summer Fun' where I receive no royalty from them. Generally I'm anti-patent and have never done it; to me it's like prostituting nature, and I know my muse Flora is against it also.

Acer pseudosieboldianum ssp. takesimense

From the same company I will purchase a few Acer x'Northern Glow'. Nice name, though it too is patented. It is a hybrid of Acer pseudosieboldianum x Acer palmatum 'Hasselkus', where the A. pseudosieboldianum blood will give the Japanese maple an extra zone of hardiness. I was on the ground floor with the hybridization using A. pseudosieboldianum with palmatum and japonicum, where I provided my nursery propagation skills with a Dr. S., then working at the Morton Arboretum in Chicago. The understanding, or my understanding anyway, was that I would be viewed favorably when it would come to the licensing rights to grow the hybrids. Dr. S. stood me up when she moved on to Wisconsin , and nobody ever thanked me for the trouble I went to. Now big companies who can sell a lot are given the right to peddle plants such as 'Northern Glow', with the royalty payments going back to the university. Once again: prostituting plants with a patent. My purpose to buy a few to grow on is to judge for myself if it is worth having besides the extra winter hardiness; otherwise screw everybody else who was involved.

Abies koreana 'Ice Breaker'

Abies koreana 'Ice Breaker' (or 'Icebreaker')* was discovered as a witch's broom on A.k. 'Silberlocke' by Jorge Kohout of Eastern Germany. I grew it for a number of years before I learned that the German prefers it to be called 'Kohout's Icebreaker'. Groooan, great plant but who needs Kohout's name added to it? Thank god it wasn't patented and it is now available across America and Europe. I don't know how large Kohout's original propagations are, but I planted seven trees on a mound. In about three years from now, they will all grow into each other, then I'll have the largest "one" in the world.

*The RHS Encyclopedia of Conifers lists it as 'Ice Breaker', two words.

Abies balsamea 'Eugene's Yellow'

For Abies balsamea 'Eugene's Yellow' I suppose that Eugene's name is necessary because 'Yellow' alone would be an uninspiring cultivar name. We grow a Picea abies 'Yellow', and although a nice spruce it doesn't sell very well. 'Eugene's Yellow' is very slow-growing, and like with many Abies dwarves, it tends to grow into a spreading form when young before growing upward. The photo above is the largest plant I have seen, and it is growing in the conifer wonderland at the arboretum of Porterhowse Farm in Sandy, Oregon. For production purposes we grow ours in shade, and try to stake a leader when young, but the Porterhowse tree is placed in full sun and surprisingly it takes the heat quite well.

Acer palmatum 'Lileeanne's Jewel'

Acer palmatum 'Rainbow'

Acer palmatum 'Lileeanne's Jewel' is perfectly described by MrMaple.com as a "brand new introduction with a rare variegation of pink and white on a bright cherry red and heavily divided leaf." Later MrMaple adds, "This selection is fairly heat tolerant as it has handled the sun of Simpsonville, SC without burn to the variegation." It was found as a chance seedling by Johnathon Savelich and named after this daughter Lileeanne. Sadly the pretty name – and I would love to see the daughter – was butchered into 'Little Anne's Jewel' by a long-time mail-order company from South Carolina, and I would be hopping mad if they flubbed my daughter's name. Fortunately the cultivar is less likely to revert to entirely purple foliage than my variegated Acer palmatum 'Rainbow', at least in my nursery.

Acer palmatum 'Red Whisper'

Acer palmatum 'Fairy Hair in autumn'

Buchholz Nursery introduced Acer palmatum 'Fairy Hair' about thirty years ago and our largest specimen now produces seed. Most of the seedlings will germinate with regular palmatum leaves – which eventually become rootstock – but a few will be 'Fairy Hair' look-alikes. Since we don't know who is pollinating whom we're hoping to find a red version of 'Fairy Hair'. The most red so far was 'Red Whisper' which displayed a whisper of red. I use the past tense because sadly the original seedling died before I could propagate it, so the cultivar exists no more. I'm sure there's a huge number of potential cultivars that meet the same fate, and some would say "good" and attribute it to the survival of the fittest. But don't despair because 'Fairy Hair' puts on an amazing display of red in the autumn.

Acer palmatum 'Inaba shidare'

Let's see, how many maples do I grow where "red" begins the cultivar name? Not 'Red Whisper' anymore, but I grow Acer palmatums 'Red Baron', 'Red Blush', 'Red Cloud', 'Red Dragon', 'Red Emperor', 'Red Falcon', 'Red Feathers', 'Red Filigree Lace', 'Red Flash', 'Red Pygmy', 'Red Saber', 'Red Spider', 'Red Wonder' and 'Red Wood', so maybe 'Red Whisper' felt too crowded. Sometimes the red word comes at the end of the name, as with 'Rhode Island Red', 'Wetumpka Red' and 'Select Red'. The latter, 'Select Red', is of Dutch origin and I never found out who selected it. It doesn't matter because I don't propagate it at all. A large order of Acer palmatum cultivars from a Boskoop, Holland nursery sent Acer palmatum 'Inaba shidare' to the American nursery where I began my career. When the maples were planted out I noticed a few labels that read 'Select Red' which were mixed in with the 'Inaba shidare'. Calling Holland, calling Holland. The Dutch broker responsible for the shipment no doubt ran short and mixed in 'Select Red', figuring that the horticulturally inferior Americans would never know the difference. He probably gulped hard that the Dutch nursery had overlooked the removal of 'Select Red' labels, damn it! My American nursery was told that they were the same, that 'Select Red' was the English translation of the Japanese name 'Inaba shidare'. Not so, and besides I have the two planted next to each other, and while they look alike in spring, by mid summer you can see that 'Inaba shidare' retains its deep color better. So, shame on the Dutchman. Question: where was copper wire invented? Answer: Holland, with two Dutchman fighting over a penny.

Pinus mugo 'Mr. Wood'

The late plantsman Edsal Wood of Oregon grew thousands of conifers and maples from seed, and he used to be an important supplier to bonsai aficionados. But the fun for him was to find the odd and different. He was also very generous, and once when I visited he handed me a tiny pine seedling which was blue, and said, "Take this little Pinus mugo home to try it." I thanked him, although I was sure that it was a Pinus parviflora, not P. mugo. However when I returned I examined it closely and the miniscule needles were in fascicles of two instead of the five for a P. parviflora, so old Ed was right. I temporarily named it 'Mr. Wood' when I began to propagate it, but that was never intended to be the official cultivar name. But I gave away or sold some propagules as 'Mr. Wood', so it was too late to choose a different name. Meanwhile I wasn't aware that a sister seedling was given to Larry of Stanley and Sons Nursery which looked identical. Larry chose a better cultivar name for his miniature, 'Fish Hook', because the short needles had a slight curve. Many have assumed that 'Fish Hook' and 'Mr. Wood' are synonymous, but they can't be as they are separate seedlings, no matter how much they look alike. Even the Royal Horticultural Society's publication of Encyclopedia of Conifersjumps to the conclusion that they're synonymous, and I was even accused by one conifer grower as renaming 'Fish Hook' so I could sell a "new" cultivar. Listen, I can be an asshole at times, especially since I'm a mirror of who you are, but I'm certainly not a cad.

Picea pungens 'Blue Stoplight'

Picea pungens 'Sester's Dwarf'

Cultivar names are so important when marketing plants of course. Sight unseen, if you could have Picea pungens 'Blue Stoplight' in your garden or Picea pungens 'Sester's Dwarf' you would likely choose the former based on the name. The latter cultivar is the better plant though. If your daughter announced that she was getting married but you didn't know the groom, you would cringe if his name was Alibaba Muhammed instead of say, Bill Clinton. Wait – not him either! And you would prohibit the marriage if his name was Donkey Dick. Right?

Santolina virens 'Lemon Fizz'

Pinus uncinata 'Krauskopf'

Taxodium distichum 'Gee Wiz'

We namers should be thoughtful and careful, but it's ok to have a little fun. For example, 'Lemon Fizz' is a fun, happy name for a Santolina virens. 'Krauskopf' wouldn't impress you unless you knew the German name meant "curly head," as the dense bun displays curled needles. 'Gee Wiz' for a dwarf Taxodium distichum is more humorous when you know it was selected and named by Gary Gee of Gee Farms in Michigan...and you picture him taking a leak behind a tree in his arboretum.

Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Miss Grace'

I've had fun with names, but I do regret many of my choices. You can judge for yourself if my plant names are any good by going to Our Plants on our website, then click on Buchholz Introductions.

For the most part my employees are not focused on the weather, none of them. To be sure, they don't like it too hot or too cold or too rainy, but whatever it is they just deal with the situation. Spring has now evolved into summer with its high 90 degrees F temperatures, but they adjust by tossing a couple of extra energy drinks into their lunch bags. None of them are aware, for example, of my sigh of relief on May 15^th when the threat of a damaging spring frost has passed. They get paid anyway...so why should they care? They aren't aware that a weekend swelter, and its management, is integral to the survival of the company, and though most don't harbor any particular ill-will against me, they all know that if I goof it up with bad decisions, or if we set a scalding heat record, they will still have a job with me or someone else. It's understandable numbness, understandable dumbness. In a way it's a sad situation because if I don't prosper neither do they, but they're not programmed to look at it that way. Even my wife and kids don't get the survival anxiety I go through every day.

Ok, I know that none of you want to hear about my medical situations, my dreams last night or what worries me in the day. To you I'm just Plant-Guy and you probably think that I have it pretty good. 40 years in business with beautiful landscaped grounds full of maples, conifers and other wonderful companion plants...just stand back and watch them all grow, right? But remember, the irrigation pump doesn't conk out when it's 65 degrees in April, rather it waits until it's 95 degrees in June, and the distress occurs on a Sunday when there's nobody available to address the problem. My chubby nursery-owner neighbor came from a soft-hands banking world, and his passion and hobby was politics, not plants. His hands may have been dirty, but it wasn't from soil, and consequently he went bankrupt. Nobody in the neighborhood or in the nursery industry misses him, nor would they miss me if I too pooped my pants.

Acer shirasawanum 'Sensu'

But, I shouldn't be so fretful and negative. It's hot, but at 7 PM we are treated to a nice breeze. Sixteen years ago, B.C. (Before Children), my wife and I went outside for a stroll on a hot-June evening. The best description of Dear H. is that, while not childish, she is child-like. She responds to people and her world with true happiness and gleeful energy. She delighted in the fluttering maple leaves of an unnamed seedling of a hybrid of Acer palmatum with an Acer shirasawanum which I planted near our home. She uttered a name: 'Sensu', Japanese for a “moving fan.” Ok – 'Sensu'! – I pounced, for I was also fascinated with the tree and wanted to name it, and I figured that her officiality gave me license to name, propagate and distribute its offspring. I have sold at least 2,000 'Sensu' from my nursery alone, but imagine all of the others that have been grown without my input...er, output, and though it is not the most dazzling maple cultivar ever, it remains one of my favorite. So thank you dear.

Ok, back to theme: it's June hot. Again. I really don't like dogs, sorry – I just don't – except for my mutt Sammy, and since nobody else is at home I am his care-giver. “Outside, outside?” I ask, and yep, he springs a back-flip in anticipation to go out and piss on the lawn. Then he struts around the yard, making sure to mark his ground against any raccoons and coyotes that might attempt to displace him. Thanks, Sammy...and I praise him with “Good Pup, good pup,” even though he is 11 years old, over 70 years of age in dog terms – older than me.

Quercus garryana

While Sammy is doing his business I gaze out at my home landscape. My front door opens to the south-view of an enormous Quercus garryana, the “Oregon oak,” and I am humbled to live next to one of the largest of its species in the world.

Hydrangea macrophylla 'Pia'

Near the base of the oak is the dwarf Hydrangea macrophylla 'Pia'. The specific name macrophylla means “big leaf,” except that they aren't so large for 'Pia', and epithets such as macrophylla, microphylla, parviflora etc. are not really appropriate because they're all relative. We used to propagate 'Pia' and I sold them in a consignment situation with a garden cooperative. One day I got a phone call from Crystal who was the new manager of the garden group. She was distressed to inform me that my 'Pia' was not true-to-name, and proof was that was that they were 34” tall, when the internet said that they would be only 30” or shorter. The stock plant that I was looking at is currently 30” tall at 20 years of age and it is absolutely true to name. Crystal, with glitter smeared on her eye lids, announced that I had to come and get the wrong hydrangeas or they would dispose them because they had to protect the integrity of their company and could not be known as untrustworthy with plant names. I responded by saying they were in fact 'Pia', and if you think they're too tall, just prune them. They were in containers, located in a greenhouse, and with water and fertilizer they had stretched...which can happen with any dwarf. Crystal, with her two months in the nursery business, was not to be outdone and certainly not by a man, even though I had over thirty years in the trade with a national reputation for being Plant-Name-Guy who can and should be trusted. I stood firm while the plants were dumped, and soon thereafter I exited from the plant group. We no longer grow the 'Pia' due to Ms. Crystal-lids and her snotty attitude, nevertheless it is a wonderful cultivar.

Picea glauca 'Pendula'

Carpinus betulus 'Columnaris Nana'

Off to my left are three trees that I cherish: Picea glauca 'Pendula', Cornus kousa 'Ohkan', and a Carpinus betulus 'Columnaris Nana' which is about 10' tall. The problem is that they're too close to each other. The spruce cultivar is one of the largest in the world, so it's not going anywhere. The Carpinus is my original tree and it looks particularly regal in spring, so I'll leave it alone for a couple more years, and who knows, maybe I won't be here after that anyway. The 'Ohkan' dogwood was a gift from Akira Shibamichi in Japan. He sent to me a number of wonderful plants such as a weeping Styrax japonicus with pink flowers, a variegated Daphniphyllum macropodum and a weeping Stewartia monadelpha. I didn't ask for anything which is how you should be polite, as no Japanese nurseryman wants to deal with an Ugly American. Also, if truth be known, he was generous because he was smitten with my impressive wife.

Cornus kousa 'Ohkan'

The C.k. 'Ohkan' is variegated exactly like the patented Cornus kousa 'Summer Gold', and for all I know they're one and the same because 'Summer Gold' entered the trade at about the same time. Plant Haven International, the East coast patent meisters, says that 'Summer Gold'“has much better summer variegation than other C. Kousa [sic] selections.” Nope, it's not better than 'Ohkan' because they're the same. Besides, Cornus kousa 'Summer Fun' beats the hell out of 'Ohkan' or 'Summer Gold' or whatever you want to call it. Elsewhere Plant Haven says, “In early spring this elegant tree ['Summer Gold'] is a mass of four pedaled [sic] bracts.” Maybe it's just me, but I've never seen pedals on a dogwood.

Acer palmatum 'Tiger Rose'

Sammy loves to be outside in the evening of a hot day, and after trotting around for awhile he lays down on the warm grass. I stand at the doorway, waiting, but he wins the stare-down contest so I sit on the front steps to give the old guy more time. To my right is probably the largest Acer palmatum 'Tiger Rose' in the world. The late Dr. Bump of Forest Grove, Oregon, discovered the reticulated seedling from the parent tree of 'Azuma murasaki' and he named it for his wife Rosemary who he called “Rose.” I never did hear why he “tigered” part of the name, but maybe the prominent veins are like stripes on a tiger? I cut one scion from the doctor's 1 gallon tree while he stood and watched. There was at least three scions available but I didn't want to be greedy, and thankfully the one scion took. For some reason I planted my original start in front of the house – probably too close – and it is thriving in full sun. As I write this we are expecting record temperatures for the date, so we'll see how 'Tiger Rose' will fare.

Calycanthus x'Hartlage Wine'

Next to the 'Tiger Rose' is Calycanthus x'Hartlage Wine'. I'm not quite sure how to render the botanic name since it was an intrageneric cross of Sinocalycanthus chinensis, a redundant name, with the American species Calycanthus floridus. Sometimes it is given the specific name of x raulstonii because student Richard Hartlage performed the cross at the JC Raulston Arboretum at North Carolina State University in 1991. The flowers are wonderful but the multi-branched and suckering shrub is a beast that I must prune at least twice a year, otherwise it and 'Tiger Rose' would fight for space. As I gaze at it now, I realize that it was poorly sited and will have to be transplanted elsewhere. At the time my objective was to place the “allspice” close to home so my wife could enjoy it. I have two long roads that lead to my house, and I'm very mindful of what I plant, with pleasing H being my primary concern. Like a peacock strutting his feathers to show off, I'm just mediocre-looking, but I use fantastic plants to impress her.

Edgeworthia chrysantha 'Gold Rush'

One such plant that is near the front door is Edgeworthia chrysantha 'Gold Rush'. The “Chinese paperbush” has a cultivar name that is overused, what with there being a Metasequoia and a Sciadopitys also named 'Gold Rush'. I don't suppose that “sunshine” would be a good name, but when the Edgeworthia is in bloom in late winter there are no leaves in the way, and its appearance is as welcome as the golden sun.

Bletilla striata 'Ogon'

Behind the 'Gold Rush' is a little planting of Bletilla striata 'Ogon', and the purple orchid flowers rise above the yellow leaves, a delightful combination. The plants receive PM shade and I've never tried the cultivar in full sun at the nursery. Bletilla is a cinch to grow in western Oregon, except with its zone 7 (0 degrees F) hardiness being the only limitation. The genus received its name because the terrestrial orchid resembles the genus Bletia, although Bletilla is native to China and eastern Asia, while Bletia is a New World genus. Bletia is also an orchid, but you don't see it in landscapes because of a lack of winter hardiness. The specific epithet for Bletilla striata is from Latin striatum, and hmm..., medically speaking striatum is a striped mass of white and gray matter in the brain which controls movement and balance. The striatum is the largest structure of the basal ganglia, but I'll have to study my hardy ground-orchid further to see what had caused the brain-part comparison.

Mahonia x 'Apollo'

Mahonia aquifolium is an attractive evergreen shrub, while the cultivar 'Apollo' is a nice improvement upon the species. My plant is compact and dense and it's a wonderful butterball of yellow blossoms in spring. When not in flower one can admire the glossy dark-green leaves borne on reddish stems. Remember, the specific epithet aquifolium has nothing to do with water (aqua), but rather refers to the barbed hook at the end of the leaf – like an eagle's beak – aquila in Latin. The Mahonia is Oregon's state flower, though I've never been asked to vote on the matter, and it is commonly called “Oregon grape.” The berries are edible but tartly sour. My grandmother used to make Oregon grape jelly which was delicious, but then I was more of a sugar consumer back then. Even now I will put a ripe berry in my mouth, like while on a hike, and I slowly nibble on it for a few minutes before spitting it all out. My hiking partners don't understand the appeal, but a small amount of juice on the tongue is actually quite invigorating. Five berries in a 12 oz. smoothie would be about perfect. Well, maybe justthree.

Acer palmatum 'Ornatum'

I bought Flora Farm sixteen years ago and relandscaped the entire yard. I edited a Betula pendula and a huge Robinia pseudoacacia, and good riddance to those two old-fashioned farm trees. One laceleaf maple was kept, as well as the massive oak, but nothing else. I like a blank canvas with the freedom to plant whatever I want. I remember the late Jim Schmidt had a back yard of entirely maple cultivars with grass paths between them. Apparently someone told Jim his landscape couldn't consist of only maples, as if that wouldn't look right. Jim said, “Why not?” From his deck you could look down and see his colorful yard, and I agreed with Jim – why not? But it was too late for me to copy him for I had already planted other bushes in my ground. The laceleaf that I kept from the previous owner is almost certainly the old cultivar 'Ornatum', but since I don't know that for sure I have never propagated from it, and besides I probably wouldn't even if I was certain because I doubt that there would be a market for it. According to Vertrees/Gregory in Japanese Maples, “This very old cultivar from Europe has been popular because of its reliability and the rather distinctive foliage color [brown-red]. As other selections of deeper tones were made that retained their color better, its popularity waned somewhat.” Well, it “waned” a lot, not “somewhat,” and now Acer palmatums 'Red Dragon' and 'Tamuke yama' are vastly more preferred.

Picea breweriana

At the southeast and southwest corners of the lawn are two Picea breweriana, and they somewhat anchor the back edge of the landscape. On foggy or rainy days they loom broodingly, but this evening they appear more cheerful in the sideways PM light. The species is not impossible to grow on its own roots, but it is difficult and often unsuccessful because it evolved on the lean serpentine soils of southwest Oregon and northwest California. My two specimens, however, are grafted onto Picea abies, the accommodating “Norway spruce,” and they may be the largest grafted P. breweriana in the country. Purists, such as snob employees of various arboreta, prefer the species on its own roots, but good luck with that, good luck with P. breweriana's survival. You lose none of the integrity, the lovely weeping characteristic of the species when it's grafted onto Picea abies, in fact it accelerates the growth and ornamental value much more quickly. So, “Go Norway,” I say.

The best part of the landscape of my front yard is the H. & S. playhouse, built when they were teeny tykes. By the way, I am cryptic with their names because both are beauties and the internet is full of creeps. I'm somewhat creepy too, that's why I can relate to their situation. They have spent a lot of fun time in their playhouse, especially when accompanied by their brother, sisters, friends and mother.

Sammy is still contentedly lying on the ground as I look out at my world, still grinning at me with his dog-smile. Robins are singing, doves are cooing and oops, a squirrel just ran past the old oak tree and the dog wasn't aware of it. I can finally relax; we set a temperature record for the day but we survived it, and thanks to all who help.

Hot diggity dog – life is good!

Lewiston Clarkston Bridge

Overlooking Lewiston, Idaho

I was born in Lewiston, Idaho – the Potato State – many decades ago but I only stayed there one day. My parents lived briefly in eastern-most Clarkston, Washington, but the only hospital in the area was across the Snake River at western-most Lewiston, Idaho. Both towns were named for the famed explorers of the Lewis and Clark Expedition promoted by the third USA President, Thomas Jefferson. Meriwether Lewis and William Clark camped at the confluence of the Clearwater and Snake rivers in 1805 and again in 1806. Fortunately a bridge was finally built over the Snake to the nearest hospital as my parents hurried across so I could begin my Day One, but at best I can only consider myself a tiny half-baked spud.* After well-over a half century I decided it was due time to return and pay my respects to my birth-place.

*A false origin of the word “spud” was the acronym for the Society for the Prevention of Unwholesome Diet (SPUD), as some felt potatoes shouldn't be eaten. That is clearly nonsense, and more likely the meaning is for a sharp, narrow spade used to dig up potatoes. Its origin is perhaps from Old Norse Spjot for “spear,” or the Latin spad for “sword.”

But first, it is a grueling, though beautiful journey from my home to Boise, the capitol of Idaho. Besides my nostalgia, the purpose of the road-trip was to deliver my 16-year-old daughter to Ballet West in Salt Lake City, Utah, where she will endure a five-week summer intensive. It took us about nine hours to get to Boise but part way there two events stood out: 1) I exited from the freeway to fuel up: “Fill regular please,” I requested from an earnest boy, and he replied, “Yes sir!” Then he jumped on one side of the front window with his cleaning brush while a second kid tackled the other side, and then he scrubbed the front lights as well. That never happens in western Oregon, where the youth are too high and wimpified to accomplish anything. It was clear that the eastern Oregon youths had polished a million windows before, and even on a hot day they were never going to be accused of slacking off. The second memorable event occurred when my Primarefused to get out to eat at a cafe, even though we had left home without breakfast. I crabbed at her, but she said she wasn't “dressed” to go into a restaurant. True, she was wearing a loose sweat-pant-athletic-type of attire, but who cares – “You have a beautiful body and you'll never see anybody here again.” The sixteen-year-old snapped at me: “I'm not going to wear a ball-gown on a long road trip, AM I!” O kkkkkkk...we continued east to Idaho anyway. She is always right, not me, so I have to accept that.

We would spend the night in a city-center Boise hotel, and when we descended our room in a crowded elevator, two more pushed in as well. Two transgender...peoplewere on board, with one being about 6' 2”, 220 pounds with a four-foot long platinum blonde wig. I have nothing against LGBTQ, in fact I think it's best for people to openly be whatever makes them happy, although I'll admit that I've never been within kissing distance of a transgender person. As we exited my youngest daughter teased me that I checked him...er, the person from behind by staring from top to bottom three times. I denied it, but she insisted I did. Later we learned that Boise was abuzz because the next day was Pride Day which explained why we witnessed so many people with rainbow capes, and that there'd be a parade the next day. My 13-year-old is far, far more understanding and accepting than I was at her age, and from that point of view I think the world is improving.

Buchholz couple on left, Anju on right

Petunia 'Blanket Rose Star'

An absolute must when in Boise is to visit Anju Lucas with Edward's Greenhouses Nursery. It was my wife's first time to see her, and afterward H said, “Now I know why you wanted me to meet her.” Besides her buoyant personality, the company is a great customer, and they seem pleased with our product and never once has there been a complaint. What they buy from others is also wonderful, and when H admired a petite, sweet petunia, yes a petunia for heaven sakes! – Anju handed one to her. It became my task to deliver it home alive since my wife was continuing on to SLC with Prima, my youngest was staying in Boise with my oldest daughter while I was going solo into northern Idaho, then cutting diagonally through Washington to make it back to the nursery to administer payday on the due date.

Before leaving Edwards we indulged in their Legacy Garden which Anju designed twenty-some years ago, so she must have been only ten when she designed it. Not much was labelled because it is a garden for enjoyment with nothing for sale, and who wants to see a bunch of distracting metal or plastic labels anyway? The photos above were some of my favorite plants, whatever their identity.

Before leaving Edwards, Anju recruited members of the staff to introduce me. I liked that because it leads to a deeper connection with the company; and let's be clear that they are good, hard-working people. Portland, Oregon has good people too, but I'm pretty sure that Boise* contains a greater number per capita. One thing that is awkward, in fact embarrassing somewhat, is that some of them actually read the Flora Wonder Blog. I never like to visualize the readership because it is primarily a conversation with myself, although I confess that I'm indulgent enough to post it.

*The woods lining the Boise River gave French-Canadian trappers solace after they trudged across arid lands. They named the area Boise meaning “wooded,” and today it is known as “The City of Trees.” The developed parks, paths and green spaces are as impressive as in any city in America.

Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Idaho Champion'

My second purpose in Boise was to see the state's largest “Giant Redwood,” Sequoiadendron giganteum, which was recently moved two blocks away due to a hospital expansion plan. A year ago when I heard about the move I instantly criticized that the hospital should expand elsewhere and leave the champion alone, especially since it was a seedling sent in 1912 by Scottish naturalist John Muir, the founder of The Sierra Club. It would have been cheaper to cut the tree down but the hospital feared a public outcry. A Texas-based company that specializes in moving big trees was enlisted, but this would be their largest move ever, but for $300,000 they were happy to take on the project. A company spokesman estimated the total weight with roots and soil to be 800,000 pounds, nevertheless he put the chances of the tree's survival at 95%. I would have guessed closer to 50%, but I'm not the expert. He explained that “sequoias in their native habitat in California draw moisture from the misty atmosphere and can live for several thousand years...” Obviously his assertion was flawed because he was talking about the “coast redwoods,” Sequoia sempervirens, not the Giant Redwoods from the western slopes of the Sierras. But, he's the expert.

To everyone's relief (including mine) the tree has survived. It will never grow as large in the drier, colder climate of Boise than those in my hometown of Forest Grove, Oregon, but when my daughter drove me to the site I had to tip my hat to the tree-movers. The tree's unusual top was due to damage from Christmas decorations in the 1980's, tree abuse certainly. A wood fence surrounds the redwood to keep people from trampling at its base, but when no one was looking I collected a few cones and hope to germinate the seed. If successful I'll have an indirect connection to Muir who packed the seedlings* himself; of course I like that thought, and I will coin its name Sequoiadendron giganteum 'John Muir'.

*Four seedlings were sent to Emile Grandjean, an employee of the US Forest Service, but two were cut down and the third's demise is unaccounted for. So, the “moved tree” has added historical significance.

Idaho Botanical Garden at Boise

Fagus sylvatica 'Tricolor'

Philadelphus lewisii

Linum lewisii

Echinacea angustifolia

Asclepias speciosa

Monarch butterfly

Sacajawea

S. then drove me to the Boise Botanic Garden where I have been once before, but this visit would be in early summer, not in autumn as the first time. A number of things impressed me, such as an espalied Fagus sylvatica 'Tricolor'. Abundantly in bloom was Philadelphia lewisii – in the Hydrangeaceae Family. It was first collected on May 6^th, 1806 along the Clearwater River, Idaho. I also admired the delicate charm of the “Lewis flax,” Linum lewisii, and also the spidery flowers of Echinacea angustifolia. Asclepias speciosa, “milkweed,” is an attractive perennial in its own right, but it is also the preferred host plant for the monarch butterfly.

The botanic garden is adjacent to the old abandoned prison where one can take an inside tour, but that sounded too dicey, for “once-in, maybe never out?”

Motel Hell

That afternoon I headed north to the aforementioned Lewiston, but I didn't linger with historical signs as I wanted to get there before dark. Finally in town, the glaring 8 o'clock PM sun blinded me through my bug-splattered window and I couldn't find the hotel I was looking for, so I settled on a cheep dive, $49.00 plus tax. My room was west-facing and 150 degrees inside and I was almost ready to forfeit my payment and look elsewhere. Finally, near floor-level I found the air conditioner and turned it on high, and with exhaustion I had no trouble sleeping.

Lewiston hospital

The next morning I found Lewiston to be much more pleasing. I noticed the hospital, Saint Josephs, up on the bluff. Was it one and the same that assisted my mother six decades ago? I guess that I'll consider that it was. I thought about going inside to inquire on its history, but didn't because it was doubtful that anyone at the information desk would be familiar with ancient history. Anyway, enough about me and my autobiography, so I headed north to Moscow, pronounced “moss-ko,” home of the University of Idaho and the U of Idaho Botanic Garden.

Ulmus glabra 'Camperdownii'

Picea pungens in distance

Administration Building

The University campus was very interesting due to a half-dozen specimens of Ulmus glabra 'Camperdownii' in front of one building. “Colorado blue spruce,” Picea pungens, towered close to the Administration building, and I fantasized about myself, perhaps as a student walking past it in my teens should my parents have decided to remain in Idaho years ago.

University of Idaho Arboretum and Botanical Garden

Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Idaho Endurance'

The next morning I met Paul Warnick who was an employee at Buchholz Nursery twenty years ago, but now is Director of Horticulture at the U. of Idaho Arboretum. My particular interest was to see a 100-year-plus Sequoiadendron giganteum that was propagated, and Paul had given me a start five years ago. The original tree has survived neglect and no irrigation, and especially extreme cold on occasion. When I asked “How cold?” Paul responded: “Depends a little on who you believe, but -42 F seems to be a conservative consensus. My memory as a ten year old kid was that it was damn cold. The -30 in 1937 might be as impressive as it was only 21 years old then...” Paul's Idaho Endurance was too crowded with other trees to photograph, so the photo above is my tree now.

Cornus kousa 'Summer Fun'

Paul showed me other trees in the arboretum, and pointed out some from Buchholz Nursery. I was surprised to see our introduction of Cornus kousa 'Summer Fun' for example. In the xeriscape section was a nicely-shaped Pinus edulis, but an even better Pinus monophylla. In fact you could say it had no “character” because it looked like it was perfectly manufactured. Another exciting find was a witches broom mutation on a Larix kaempferi 'Diana', and I imagined a dwarf with twisty foliage. Paul will send me scionwood this winter, and if I succeed, he has decided to name it 'Twisted Sister'. Of course, if I am successful I will send one back to him.

Little Salmon River

Idaho* is a state of fantastic rivers: the Columbia, Snake, Salmon, Little Salmon, and especially the Payette. The latter was wild and churning, and apparently contains the longest stretch of Class 5 rapids in the world. There must have been a thousand rafters or spectators along the river, and I learned later that a race occurred that weekend that draws river-rats from across the country and even Europe. I know because my daughter was one herself, and now she makes a living working for the Boise Parks and Recreation Department where she occasionally leads rafting trips. I reflected that this day demonstrates that everyone has different passions, that some love to raft, some choose to march in a Pride parade, while old Buchholz is into nurseries and botanic gardens.

*The origin of the name Idaho – which has a beautiful sound, better than Orygun – is actually an invented word. A mining lobbyist presented the name to Congress claiming it was a Native American word meaning “Gem of the Mountains,” and indeed Idaho is commonly known as “The Gem State.” Eventually the deception was revealed, but by then the name was in general use. Another theory is that the name means “Land of Many Waters” in the Nez Perce tongue.

Coeur d'Alene

Near the end of my time I decided to head north into Idaho's panhandle, but settled short at Coeur d'Alene which was far south from going completely up to the Canadian border. The French name means “heart of the awl,” and apparently refers to the fact the natives were shrewd traders – but I don't get the connection. When I travel solo for business or pleasure I do so without any music or radio talk. I can't multi-task that way. Actually I'm kind of jealous that myself doesn't get enough time with itself.

C.d.A. is a tourist trap to be sure, but at least it is wholesome, clean, and a fun place, especially for people who love water on a sunny day. I wandered around an enormous water-front park on well-groomed side-walks, and the young, middle and old all seemed to be perfectly happy. Younger women were sparsely dressed, and though attractive, the majority were intent on displaying their free-spirit womanhood, and the chosen media was via their tattoo or tattoos.

Feeling like I should eat, instead of feeling hungry, out of many choices I decided to try the Iron Horse Restaurant. The wait for food was unusually long but I was in no hurry. A middle age man walked by with a parrot on his shoulder, but I had to wonder if he – the parrot, that is – was toilet trained. A group was gathering next to my table, and every time a few more showed up the new arrivals would exclaim, “Happy Father's Day!” As the large family continued to assemble, I heard the greeting at least three more times. I enjoy being completely alone, believe me, but today I envied this happy gathering and I admit that, all alone, I welled up a little.

When my daughter was completely delivered to the Utah West ballet dorm, my wife called and said her plan was to return to Boise to pick up and stay with my youngest daughter. It was nearly dark so I encouraged her to spend the night in SLC and drive the next morning. H. protested, but I insisted – “you'll hit a deer, or something.” She often over-rides my concerns, but when Prima, independent of me, begged her to not drive, H. holed up for the night in a cheap two-star motel. The following morning, when near Twin Falls, Idaho, the car blew up and she nearly caused an accident. Good thing she didn't drive that night after all, or somebody might have been killed. H. was shaking and crying when the rental company showed up with a new car, but still S. & H. made their flight and came home safely. I ended my trip early (after 1,756 miles) because I couldn't relax after her near disaster. My children and I need her obviously, but so does the rest of the world – her light, kindness and energy. When finally together I held her for a long, long time.

Swallowtail butterfly on Rhododendron daphnoides

Everybody knows, “April showers bring May flowers,” and I remember both Grandmothers saying so when I was about five or six. I've heard the saying dozens of times, and even the weather lady spouts it coyly as if she invented the meteorological observation herself. May is long gone and most blossoms have petered out. I look out the office window at Rhododendron daphnoides and see a few lavender-purple blossoms, but mostly I see hundreds of withered brown smudges on the thick 8' tall and wide bush. It was embarrassing in a recent blog that I identified a butterfly on the R. daphnoides flower as a Monarch, when in fact it was a Swallowtail. I know that, after all I've been to the Monarch's migrational grounds in Mexico, and I hope my brain lapses are not going to increase.

Roscoea beesiana

A month ago we nearly hit 100 F – a record for the date in Oregon – and that cooked the crap out of the flowers of Iris, Cardiocrinum and most Rhododendrons. We're in an End-of-June swoon, what with chicken, beer and the Fourth of July just around the corner, but there are still some wonderful blossoms to be seen. Roscoea x beesiana is growing lustfully in our old basketball court and dozens of creamy yellow-white flowers rise above the dark-green foliage. This herbaceous perennial is a possible hybrid of R. auriculata (from the Himalaya) and R. cautleyoides (from Yunnan and Sichuan, China), allegedly developed by the English plant nursery, Bees Ltd., but there is no positive evidence that Bees performed the cross. Anyway the genus is in the ginger family (Zingiberaceae) and was named for William Roscoe (1753-1831) who founded the Liverpool Botanic Garden. Even though the x beesiananame is horticulturally invalid – being Latin, coined after 1958 – nevertheless it received the Award of Garden Merit by the RHS in 2011. Roscoea flowers, to the novice, would appear to be like a cross between an Iris and an orchid and it's hardy to USDA zone 6 (-10 F).

Lilium formosanum var. pricei

The Roscoea flowers are far more demure than a nearby specimen of Lilium formosanum var. pricei, the “Taiwan lily.” The lily features cream-white trumpet flowers with brownish-red outside stripes, which kind of remind me of Rhododendron dalhousiae var. rhabdotum which I saw earlier in the conservatory at the Rhododendron Species Botanical Garden, and I wonder if those linear markings serve some purpose, as in an aid to pollination. I don't know how var. pricei differs from the type because it is the only L. formosanum that I've ever grown. In any case the blossoms are highly fragrant – maybe so much so that they're overpowering when brought into the home.

Lilium regale

Lily box at the nursery

Actually many of my lilies are in flower now besides the L. formosanum, one being the impressive L. regale that E.H. Wilson collected over one hundred years ago in China. I have eight 4' x 5' boxes with hundreds of bulbs, most of them hybrids. Over the years when the crew weeds or cuts off the old foliage in autumn...well, let's just say there's no thought to the lilies' identity. Most labels went into the garbage – the sick reality of a plantsman with mindless employees. Oh well, my grandmothers didn't label their plants; they just enjoyed them for the pleasure they brought, but then they didn't try to make a living from them either.

Lilium nepalense

A final lily* that I'll mention is L. nepalense. It is native to lower Himalayan foothills and surrounding (non-hardy) regions, and that's why I have never grown it outdoors. Some would consider it temperamental and so do I. Furthermore we transplanted bulbs a few years ago, but very few sprouted; I don't know – maybe they were overwatered. It's a beauty though, with yellow-lime green petals with a significant deep purple-red throat. Interestingly the flowers are mostly without scent during the day, but are heavily scented after dark.

*Lilium is a Latin term that was derived from Greek “leirion,” and its root is one of the first name for a flower. The lily represents purity and the beauty of youth, or it can mean motherhood and fertility. Ancient alchemists considered it a “lunar” plant with feminine qualities, while in Traditional Chinese Medicine many varieties of Lilium are said to produce a cooling and soothing effect on the body.

Hemerocallis 'Kwanso'

“Daylilies” are not in the Lilium genus; they are Hemerocallis in the Asphodelaceaefamily, and the name is from Greek hemera for “day” and kalos for “beautiful.” Generally I don't care for them – there are thousands of cultivars – but I acknowledge their toughness and ease to grow. The genus is native to Asia, however the species fulva (the orange or tawny daylily) can be found along roadsides in the United States and is considered invasive. I do have one cultivar, 'Kwanso', which features interesting variegated leaves but I don't care for its brownish-orange flowers, besides it is known to revert to just green leaves. The Gardener's Chronicle in 1867 says that it was introduced by von Siebold under the name Hemerocallis Kwanso flore-pleno. If that is true, then my Japanese wife suggests that Siebold botched the spelling, as there is no “w” in the Japanese language.

Aquilegia longiflora

Aquilegia longiflora (or longissima) remains my favorite “Columbine.” Its butter-yellow flowers feature extremely long (over 10cm), slender spurs and the lucky hawkmoths that jump on them have tongues with lengths from 9-14 cm long. The rare perennial is native to northern Mexico, Texas and Arizona* and is found in oak-pine woodlands in shaded canyons. I keep my one plant in the greenhouse where it has faithfully flowered for over 20 years, as I'm not sure of its hardiness outside.

*From the Big Bend region of west Texas and in the far south of Arizona on the Baboquivari Mountains.

Leucothoe keiskei

Keisuke Ito

Leucothoe keiskei is a wonderful species but beware of L.k. 'Royal Ruby', especially if you purchase the latter from a long-time but dubious mail-order nursery from Oregon. 'Royal Ruby' may be a hybrid – I don't know – but it has larger and more green leaves than the true L. keiskei. With the specific epithet of keiskei you know that it is a Japanese native, the same with Rhododendron keiskei, and the name honors Keisuke Ito, the Japanese physician and botanist who studied the Japanese flora and fauna with Phillip von Siebold. He put his doctor skills to good use by developing a vaccination against small pox, then went on to become professor at the University of Tokyo in 1881. “Ito” is the name used as the author when citing a botanical name, and he is commonly referred to as the Father of modern Japanese botany. Concerning the growing of L. keiskei, I have learned (from failure) to site it carefully: in moist but well-drained soil, and in Oregon PM shade is absolutely necessary. It's urn-shaped pale-white flowers are evident today, but for me the rich mahogany-colored winter (evergreen) foliage is the main appeal.

Inula royleana

Inula royleana is an herbaceous perennial in the daisy family. Even when not in flower it is impressive for its huge green leaves, then all the better when the golden-orange flowers rise above the foliage. I knew nothing about the genus until I encountered in the Himalayan foothills about 25 years ago at 9-10,000' altitude, then when back in Delhi I bought a copy of The Flowers of the Himalaya and could identify what I had seen. We used to have a vegetable garden in the back yard and I placed an Inula at the edge. Since we don't garden there anymore, the daisy was left with no irrigation for the past 12 years. My one plant self-seeded and now I have 5 or 6 vigorous, healthy plants. Its flowers are hermaphrodite (having both male and female organs) and are pollinated by bees, flies and itself, so the plant is self fertile. Don't mess with it though, because it – I don't know what part – is used as a disinfectant and insecticide. The name is derived from Latin Enula campana meaning “elecampane” + campana“of the field.”

Inula ensifolia

Inula ensifolia is far more dwarf than royleana and it is actually smothered with blossoms, though much smaller. It is commonly called the “Swordleaf Inula” due to the narrowly pointed leaves, and it is native to Europe and Asia. My one plant hugs a large rock where it stays neatly put, and my only worry is that the crew might mistake it for a weed before it flowers and spray it out – they have done that with other things (in spite of the label in front). Every employee walks past it in the morning and evening, but apparently thoughts of drudgery overwhelm them in the AM, while thoughts of happy liberation engulf them at quitting time. I doubt if any employee has walked the ten steps over to it when it flowers to check out its identity.

Cotinus coggygria 'Daydream'

We no longer produce Cotinus cultivars, due to a lack of demand really, but nevertheless I'm happy with a few specimens in the Flora Wonder Arboretum. I had forgotten about C. coggygria 'Daydream' that a few years ago I bought 20 of the patented cultivar – meaning that I can't propagate it – and that I sold 19 and kept one for the collection. I noticed on my drive to the house how brilliant its “smoke” flowers were, glowing in the evening light, as this was the first year that it has looked so good. But let's face it: I would have given the thumbs-down to the patent and I don't think the discoverer has garnered much income from it. As I drive into town, just past the Hispanic grade school, is a seedling Cotinus that I have noticed for years that is quite similar to the 'Daydream'. I won't belabor my aversion to patented plants – I've done that enough before – but I concede that 'Daydream' was given a catchy name. Probably most of you don't know that Cotinus is in the Anacardiaceae family, which I didn't know either until I just looked it up. The generic name is from Greek kotinus meaning “olive,” and the specific epithet comes from Greek kokkugiameaning “smoke tree.” Some Cotinus cultivars are much more purple than 'Daydream' however. The genus is native to southern Europe and Asia, and if you're in Beijing, China in October-November you can see it ablaze with autumn color along the Great Wall.

Pelargonium endlicherianum

Our Pelargonium endlicherianum is delightfully blooming at this time, and thanks to office manager Eric for the excellent photo. Actually Eric is like me: we are both mediocre photographers...but we are surrounded by great things. Pelargonium is commonly known as a geranium*, but botanically it's not, although both genera are in the Geraniaceae family. Another common name for P. is “storksbills,” and the generic name is derived from the Greek pelargos for “stork” because the seed head looks like a stork's bill. Hey, wait a minute – Eric collected seed from our one plant last fall...whatever happened to that project?

*Geranium was named after a crane, from Latin gerania or geranos.

Kniphofia thompsonii 'Triploid Form'

Kniphofia thompsonii var. snowdenii

I grow both Kniphofia thompsonii 'Triploid Form' and K.t. var. snowdenii. Both were given to me by Far Reaches Nursery in Washington state (if I remember correctly). Anyway, check out their website and absolutely buy something from them – you won't be sorry. As they look alike, and I received them at different times, I wonder if they are one and the same. I describe the 'Triploid Form' as a cultivar, but of course it is not and it's just a way to document it into the collection. On the Buchholz Nursery website I describe it as: “A perennial with a spreading form. Long narrow grass-like leaves are bright green. In late summer flower spikes produce beautiful orange-red flower tubes. Hummingbirds will not miss them!” Instead of “orange-red” I probably should have described them as pink-orange?

Eucryphia lucida 'Ballerina'

Hmm...what else is blooming now? Actually quite a lot, but I'll finish with Eucryphia lucida 'Ballerina'. First of all I admit that she's a touchy bitch to grow, just like it is raising my teenage daughter...who is a career ballerina. But, the beauty of both overwhelms me, with thanks to my wife's genes for the latter. A British Nursery's website, shootgardening.co.uk, describes 'Ballerina' as a “frost hardy, columnar, densely branched, evergreen tree with oval, glossy, dark green leaves and, in summer, fragrant, saucer-shaped, pale pink flowers with crimson eyes.” Wow! I know that I often over-whrite myself, me and I etc., but I've never encountered a plant description with shootgardening's plethora of comma's and adjectives, but, every, one, of, them, is, spot...on.

Dahlia 'Mystic Illusion'

The above account lists probably only a couple of percent of what is now flowering in the collection, but then I count “flowering” as parts which now exist and which will continue to develop. Flowers are fascinating...things: they're a “mixture” of structural functions to procreate as well as possessing the ability to fascinate.

Fiorella

The word “flower” is an English name for a blossoming plant which is derived from Old French, that from Latin flos. We can have fun with the various names for “flower,” for example:

1) Floortje in Dutch.

2) Fleur or Florette in French.

3) Flora or Fiorella in Italian.

...Oh, “Fiorella,” my favorite...

or maybe not, I'm torn:

How about SSSpanish with Flora, Florina and Florinda?

No, I still choose Fiorella.

“I think you'd better stick with Flora, Talon.”

Wabi sabi is an unusual concept for foreigners (Gaijin), and I suspect that every Japanese person (Nihonjin) would view it differently too. For some it defines “bitter-sweet,” and the related term mono no aware (ah-wah-ray) means “pity” or “sorrow” and refers to the “sadness of fading beauty,” or in Buddhist terms: the bittersweetness of fading beauty. I'm not one to cry over the fallen blossoms of an old Camellia – unless I've drank two cups of warm sake on a cold night in a Saitama, Japanese bar – but I can somewhat relate to the transience, imperfection and finality of things, especially as I get older.

I love the notion of Kyouka suigetsu, meaning “flower in the mirror; moon on water.” Neither the flower nor the moon can be touched, and really – can anything be completely held? I have “touched” my wife many times...but I've never been able to fully grasp her. I couldn't anyway; just her reflection is overwhelming, and I doubt that I could handle her full reality.

My wife celebrates komorebi, or “sunlight filtering through the leaves.” The Japanese characters literally mean “tree-leakage-sun,” and you have an Oriental example of what isn't...is actually what is. Clearly my wife sees a different tree than I do, but I absolutely appreciate her perspective (even though I can't make a living on the concept of “leaking light.”)

Hanafubuki means “flower” or the “petal of the cherry blossom (sakura),” and literally refers to a blizzard or snowstorm when the petals come floating down as if in a snowstorm.

The Japanese phrase, Ichi go ichi e is a Zen-Buddhist proverb meaning “one time, one meeting” which can be translated as “one chance in a lifetime,” or “value all things” for they might not ever reoccur. Obviously, nothing reoccurs even though we long for it/them to do so. Every breath is already in the past, placed in the old breath museum. We dredge up the memories for sustenance I suppose, but be careful that you don't fall too far behind. “Old breath,” indeed.

The following Japanese words and phrases can be interesting:

Ten men, ten colors for “all people prefer different things.”

How about: The weak are meat while the strong eat...which describes “survival of the fittest.”

Beautiful person, thin life suggests that a beautiful woman is destined to die young, or more realistically it means that “beauty fades.”

Even monkeys fall from trees is a fun notion, for it implies that “everyone makes mistakes.”

I like, as the father of five: Giving birth to a baby is easier than worrying about it. I remember reading, about twenty years ago, that a famous classical pianist – I forget just who now (Horowitz or somebody) – fathered a child in his mid-or-upper eighties. “So what?!, I thought, he nailed his young attractive wife – I could do the same – and his old swimmers got the job done. But, let's face it, we all know that an old geezer can “make” a child, but did the oldster ever lift a hand to actually “raise” the child? I think not.

Like many of us, the Japanese people love to collect quotes, for example “Ningen ni totte saidai no kiken wa, takai mokuhyo settei shite tassei dekinai koto de wa naku, hikui mokuhyo o settei shimaukoto da.”Basically it means “the greatest danger for most of us is not that our aim is too high and we miss it, but that it is too low and we reach it,” and that missive was rendered by Michaelangelo centuries ago.

I can relate to Baka wa shinanakya naoranai which literally means, “Unless an idiot dies, he won't be cured,” also known as “you can't fix stupid.”

Mizu ni nagasu is “let flow the water,” or “forgive and forget, it's water under the bridge.”

“Ippai-me wa hito sake o nomi, nihai-me wa sake sake o nomi, sanbai-me wa sake hito o nomu.” It means, “With the first glass a man drinks wine, with the second glass the wine drinks the wine, with the third glass the wine drinks the man.”

Kuchi wa waza no moto means that a “mouth causes trouble,” another way of saying that “silence is golden.”

Makeru ga kachi suggests that you “don't compete over shallow matters” or that “walking away from a challenge can be the best the best decision.”

Jigou jitoku means that what you get in life depends on what you do, or “you reap what you sow.”

Shio means “salt,” which sounds like shi, but don't say it at night because it is the Japanese word for “death.” When we were newly wed my wife was troubled that I wanted to sleep with a fan on a hot summer night. She changed the steady fan to movement-mode, where the air goes back and forth across the room. She informed me that constant air would lead to death...and why in hell didn't I already know that? Hmmm– since she is usually right – I don't sleep with any fan now.

For Japanese people the number four is not good. For example, you can plant one, two, three or five trees in a landscape, but never four. Hospitals do not have an elevator that goes to a fourth floor, as that (shi) would suggest death. You should also avoid ku for “nine” because it rhymes with kutsuu which means “pain.”

Also, don't take a picture of three people side-by-side, because Japanese superstition insists that the person in the middle will die before the other two people.

It's never a good idea to cut your fingernails at night, as the kanji word for that can also read “quick death.”

Some Japanese superstitions are down-right silly...but, you never know. If you're trying to predict the weather you just throw a shoe in the air. If it lands on the sole the weather will be nice. If it lands on its side it will be cloudy. If it lands upside down it will rain.

One of the best perks of a horticultural operation such as mine is that I can collect plants on a whim and write them off as a business expense. I grow hundreds of bushes just for the heck of it, when I know full well that I'll never propagate or sell any of them. In fact, that is the whole point of Buchholz Nursery: to grow and sell some plants as an excuse to be around others. Buchholz Nursery and the Flora Wonder Arboretum is an incredible place – and I say so without boasting – because while I am not so great, the plants certainly are.

I hate walnut trees. I detest the acrid fruits, and the sloppy smelly trees are a big mistake planted next to a house. I know from experience, and the five or six trees on the Buchholz Nursery property were quickly dispatched. You see, I grew up with walnuts as a youth in Forest Grove, and my mother was always crabby when we tracked the slimy leaves and rotten nut hulls into the house. And what teenager needs another payless job raking walnut leaves? I considered it a blessing when they all blew over in our famous Columbus Day Storm of 1962, when winds exceeded 100 miles per hour.

Platycarya strobilacea catkins in May

Platycarya strobilacea nuts in July

Platycarya strobilacea nut in October

In spite of these harsh walnut ruminations, I have absolutely fallen in love with a member of the Juglandaceae family, Platycarya strobilacea, a tree native to eastern Asian in China, Korea and Japan. It is a medium-sized deciduous tree with green pinnate leaves which turn to yellow in autumn. I first encountered it last fall in North Carolina at the Charles Keith Arboretum, and I was particularly attracted to the fruits which resembled conifer-like cones. I went online and found a company that was selling them, and bought three trees for a reasonable price. This spring erect male catkins developed, and they were curious little guys. Now light green nuts are appearing which I know will turn to a mahogany color by autumn. I don't understand a thing about walnut sex, but the fruits exist at the same location as the pollen flowers, and in one case a female cone has enveloped itself around the male flower. One wonders what goes on at night when I'm not there to watch. I've always stayed away from drugs to help manage mountain sickness when I have been in the Himalaya, but one doctor and another trek member used carbonic anhydrase inhibitors, and the diuretic properties can be found in Platycarya. Commonly called the "Broad Nut," an extract of the flower can be used as an active ingredient in anti-aging cosmetics as well. More about Platycarya can be found on the Flora Wonder Blog, A Carolina Wrap-up from November 22, 2013, but finish this blog first.

Ensete ventricosum 'Maurelii'

Ensete is the "Abyssinian Banana" and is so-called because it is native to Abyssinia, or what we refer to today as Ethiopia. I have seen it listed as Ensete ventricosum and as Ensete maurelii and as Ensete ventricosum 'Maurelii'.* It really doesn't matter to me – and one of the very few times for that – because it is just a fun red banana that I'll never grow to sell. Ensete is only hardy to 20 degrees F and so it is hauled into our no-profit house, GH20 for the winter. Last winter we had a heater malfunction and both of my Ensete specimens died, so I replaced them with two new ones this spring. I'm somewhat ashamed to admit that I bought them for cheap at the local box store, where a 3-4 foot plant had a Wow! $17.99 sticker on the pot. I replanted them immediately into a larger pot and grow them in full sun; and stand back for you can almost watch the movement of growth. Ensete can be grown from seed but they usually only flower in hot tropical regions. Mine were propagated via tissue culture and originated from a large bankrupt wholesale nursery with locations in Oregon and California, a company that doesn't seem to be bothered by failure. Bankruptcy as a business strategy absolutely irks me, because in the case of H. Nursery they never go away; they screw their suppliers and keep on going. Maybe my heater in GH20 failed last winter because I was cursed for buying from a box store supplier.

*The maurelii name honors J. Maurel who drew the attention of French authorities in Ethiopia to the red bananas. In 1853 the British Consul in Ethiopia sent seed to Kew Gardens, and mentioned the local name "ansette," but before, in 1769 the Scottish traveler James Bruce wrote that its local name was "ensete." The English so love Ensete that it gained the Royal Horticultural Society's Award of Garden Merit.

Sarracenia wrigleyana 'Scarlet Belle'

I have also squandered company resources on carnivorous plants. Maybe someday I will propagate and sell, but that was never my intention when I acquired them. I originally bought a few for my daughter's birthday, as I imagined she would be intrigued by them. A few years ago she is on record as saying "I hate boys. They're like bugs: you just can't get rid of them." I thought Harumi would enjoy watching plants that devoured bugs, and I was right. Occasionally a yellow-jacket will be lured into her pitcher plant, a Sarracenia wrigleyana cultivar named 'Scarlet Belle'. He doesn't perish without a struggle though, however futile, as part of his head poked through the side in an attempt to eat his way out. As you look at the pitcher traps sideways with the sun as back-light, you can see a black mess of dead critters, with a few buzzing bugs that have yet to die.

Sarracenia flava

Our Sarracenia hobby has even extended to the nursery, where we keep a few bog tubs by the office. The myth that they are difficult to grow and require a terrarium is nonsense. They thrive in full sun and you only need to keep them wet. They will not be happy, however, unless your water source is free of excessive minerals. They catch insects by producing nectar along their pitcher rims. The bugs try to get more by going further into the pitcher, and oops! they lose their footing and fall in. Insects cannot climb out because the inside walls are too smooth, and they cannot fly out because there is no airlift. They are trapped! and die from heat or dehydration while the evil carnivore absorbs nutrients from the bug-mush.

Sarracenias are easy to acquire, for we have Sarracenia Northwest in Oregon, a company that Harumi thoroughly enjoys to visit. At age eleven now, she has softened somewhat, and allows that some boys are ok...just not the annoying ones, and she is known to spend an hour in front of the mirror to make sure her clothes and hair are proper before heading to school. Some mornings are quite tense when things don't work right, but I escape to the nursery in that event.

Rhododendron keiskei 'Yaku Fairy'

I have acquired a classy – I won't say world-class – Rhododendron collection, partly through my Rhododendron Species Garden membership, and largely through friend and plantsman Reuben Hatch who used to grow them for a living. His nursery property in Vancouver, Washington was undergoing development and I rescued many of his prized specimens. For example I have a large R. keiskei 'Yaku Fairy' from his garden, and Rhododendron aficionados would be hard-pressed to find one larger. I do propagate from that plant and sell liners, but most of Hatch's Rhododendrons are simply here to look pretty. It's nice to have plants this way: they exist for my pleasure only and do not become crops to worry about. Many times I wish that my plant involvement was not commercial, that my living was not based upon crop outcome. In fact, I sometimes dream of going cold-turkey and cultivate nothing. I would live in a condominium in the city and dotter daily to the nearest park and swat the dandelions with my cane. Or I would live in a mountain shack, surrounded by native flora only, and I wouldn't care if ice storms, record heat or cold came my way. However, I'm not there yet. I came to work early this hot Sunday to make sure my plants are all right, that the watering crew actually showed up...which they did. I guess I am not really ready for retirement just yet, but I am tired.

Rhododendron campanulatum ssp. aeruginosum

The Rhododendrons I like the best are usually straight species, not the hybrids that are bred to impress with large gaudy flowers. My preference is for plants that intrigue me regardless of their flowers, in fact sometimes the blossoms are a distraction from the plant's beauty. One of my favorites is R. campanulatum ssp. aeruginosum. It is a species occurring in the Himalayan alpine regions of northern India, Bhutan and Nepal, and is recorded at 12,000 to 14,500 feet. No photograph can adequately capture the beauty of this species. On a spring day you gasp when you encounter the blue foliage, as it has something to do with the light on that particular day. The flowers are bell-shaped, hence the specific name campanulatum, while the subspecies aeruginosum refers to the Latin word for "rusty," the color of the leaf's underside. This species is practically perfect in the garden. It is slow-growing and compact and truly unique for the blue mouse-ear type leaves.

Rhododendron daphnoides

Rhododendron daphnoides is another slow-growing plant with small glossy-green leaves. I actually do like its blossoms, whatever that color would be, and the swallow-tails love them too. I have an old 10' tall by 10' wide specimen that I can see out the office window. Something bothered me about it though, it was a big green blob that stood in the way. One winter we "treed it up," which means to make more tree-like by pruning out much of the lower portions and exposing the trunk. That did the trick, and I am much happier with it now. Apparently there is still no consensus among Rhododendron experts whether daphnoides is a species or a hybrid. It was "developed" by T. Methven and Sons in Edinburgh, Scotland in 1868.

Chinese market products

Other "useless" plants, from an economic point of view, is my collection of Pleione species and hybrids. I have never sold one in twenty years, but at least I have had the pleasure to give a few away. My favorite species is probably P. forrestii, a gorgeous yellow orchid from Yunnan, China, which is not so easy to cultivate. I have twice had it for a year or two but couldn't keep it alive. The species is on the IUCN Red List of Threatened Species and I know why. I was plant hunting in Yunnan in the 1980's, and our group was resting on a grassy hillside at 8,000-10,000 feet elevation. Over the hill came a loud group of Hans with their sacks full of Pleione bulbs. I don't know for sure if they were grubbing the forrestii species, or if they were gathering another, but the Chinese can be quite ruthless with their native flora. As you would guess, Scottish plant explorer George Forrest was in our exact area about one hundred years prior, so it was probably P. forrestii that they were gathering. The bulbs are harvested in summer and autumn and they are boiled until they are cooked to the core, then are dried for future use. They are not used for food, even though sweet and slightly pungent in flavor, but rather medicinally to clear away heat to expel toxic substances and to relieve inflammation. Pleione is used for treating carbuncles and cellulitis, malignant tumors, scrofula and subcutaneous nodules, and poor Biblical Job could have used it to treat his sores and boils. And, if you combine Pleione with ground beetle, pangolin scale and mole cricket, the compound softens the liver and spleen and aids in the recovery of the hepatic functions. One of the most fascinating experiences about rural China – at least it was in the 1980's – was visiting the markets, where a whole lot of medicine was going on. I have a beautiful photograph of some P. forrestii blooms in a hanging basket, but unfortunately they are still in slide form and I haven't been energetic enough to convert it to digital. Finish this blog first, then go online to see the rich beauty of P. forrestii.

Pleione 'Alishan'

Pleione 'Ridgeway'

Pleione 'Versailles'

Pleione hybrids are generally more easy to cultivate, and in England they are known as "windowsill orchids." Bring a pot into the house in February, and by March you will be delighted with the pretty flowers. I particularly like the cultivars 'Alishan', 'Versailles' and 'Ridgeway', but a photo of the sweet white purity of 'Claire' is also stuck in a shoebox of slides like P. forrestii.

Wollemia nobilis

Wollemia nobilis trunk (left), "polar cap" (right)

Wollemia nobilis male flower (left), female flower (right)

Seven or eight years ago I acquired a Wollemia nobilis* and I keep it in GH20 because I doubt that it would survive a harsh Oregon winter. Wollemia was recently discovered (in 1994) in the Wollemi National Park in a steep canyon just 100 miles northwest of Sydney, Australia. Previously it was only known through the fossil record. This evergreen conifer is not a true pine, but rather a member of the Araucariaceae family. A small population exists in a secret location as it would probably be fatal if the public knew where it was. It is an odd tree with black bubbly bark and a "polar cap" (white sap) on the terminal bud. Wollemi will root, but not to great success, and just as well as it is only hardy to about 20 degrees F. My tree survived in GH20 even when the heater failed and temperatures dipped to about 10 degrees F for a short period. Ultimately it will hit the greenhouse roof and I will look to sell it, and maybe start again with a little tree...or maybe not.

*The species name nobilis honors David Noble who discovered the grove. Wollemi is an Aboriginal word that means "look around you, keep your eyes open and watch out."

With my no-profit tree collection I behave like a wealthy aristocrat. Thanks to Buchholz Nursery and its customers for funding my folly.

"Oh Talon, I love what you're doing."

The Northwest (USA) was abuzz this past week with the flowering of Amorphophallus titanum, the "Titan Arum," in nearby Vancouver, Washington. The event occurred at the Washington State University campus and thanks to news stations and social media it drew thousands of visitors. The Sumatran flower is the largest unbranched inflorescence in the world, and there was no way that I was going to miss it.

To avoid the crowd I abandoned the nursery to its own devices and headed early to Vancouver where I picked up my Grandfather Gerald, as I knew he would also want to witness it. The flower only lasts for 24-48 hours before collapsing, and as you read this it has probably turned to mush. There weren't many people around at the early hour, but the drawback was that the spathe was not fully open, and also that it's "rotting corpse" smell was not evident, when I actually looked forward to getting a whiff.

Amorphophallus titanum

Sumatra

The Amorphophallus name is from Greek amorphosmeaning "without form, misshapen" and phallos for "phallus," and that for obvious reason. The creature is native to Sumatra and western Java where it grows in rainforest clearings on limestone hills. The natives call it bunga bangkai where bungameans "flower" and bangkaimeans "corpse" or "cadaver." It reeks to attract carrion-eating beetles and flesh flies that accomplish pollination. When in flower the tip of the spadix heats up to human body temperature, while the spathe's – the petal-looking part – color of burgundy-red adds to the illusion of a piece of meat.

Both the male and female flowers grow in the same inflorescence, with the female opening first and then followed by the male flowers a day or two later, nature's trick to keep from self-pollination.

Odoardo Beccari

Amorphophallus was first scientifically described in 1878 by Italian botanist Odoardo Beccari (whose first name sounds a little fishy). It first flowered in cultivation at RBG Kew, London, in 1889. It is in the Araceaefamily, as is Calla palustris and Zantedeschia aethiopica which are commonly known as "calla lily."

David Attenborough

The British naturalist David Attenborough is considered the father of the modern nature documentary. While narrating the BBC series The Private Life of Plants, he avoided using the scientific name of Amorphophallus as he thought it was too "improper" to say on TV. What a dick.

Acer palmatum 'Yuki yama'

It's a monumental task to compile our two sales lists: 1) Liners Ready Now and 2) the Specimen List, with the latter ranging from pots at one-gallon size up to a huge wood box of Stewartia pseudocamellia at $24,000. The liner list (LRN) is far more simple, with plants constantly appearing on the list...which often sell out quickly. The specimen availability is released at one time in July, whenever Seth and I can finish the task. I walk up and down the rows and count and price, and try to keep a balance between what we can part with and what we need to keep for future propagation needs. For example I could sell a thousand Acer palmatum 'Yuki yama' in the size of my one largest specimen, but then I would be cutting my own throat for future production if I was to sell it.

I'm a true capitalist and I love money, but the sales department is always fighting with the production department. Since I head both departments, neither gets their entire way. Micromanaging the balance is my responsibility, as no other employee is capable or wants the job. The notion of “incapable” might sound demeaning, but one cannot be capable if one does not wholeheartedly want to do said task, and they don't, believe me.

Acer japonicum 'Maiku nishiki'

Acer japonicum 'Kujaku nishiki'

Let's look at what's not for sale, for there are some fantastic plants, and it's mostly that I need more time to build up my stock. I have one plant each of Acer japonicums 'Maiku nishiki' and 'Kujaku nishiki'. Originally I assumed that they were the same since kujaku is Japanese for “peacock” and maiku jaku means “dancing peacock,” and the latter is the Japanese name for what we westerners call 'Aconitifolium'. Now that my stock is older it appears that 'Maiku nishiki' and 'Kujaku nishiki' are separate cultivars, but then sometimes variegation in a cultivar does not always look the same, with some trees being sparsely colored and others lustfully so.

Acer x 'Gossamer'

Another maple that I won't part with yet is x'Gossamer', a supposed hybrid between A. japonicum and A. palmatum f. dissectum. A. japonicum was the mother tree and that is quite obvious with the brilliant orange-to-red autumn color. According to mrmaple.com “'Gossamer' was found as a chance seedling by one of our good friends, Billy Schwartz, under a large Acer japonicum at the original Red Maple Nursery in Lima, Pennsylvania.”

Acer palmatum 'Bloody Talons'

You can't have Acer palmatum 'Bloody Talons' either, but my original seedling discovery has fascinated me since it was tiny and its future looks very promising. Today in mid July, the leaves are an unusual olive-green with just a hint of red along the center of the downward-curling lobes, then they will turn absolutely bloody-red in autumn. We kicked around names for this seedling for a couple of days before office manager Eric hit the homerun. The mother tree for 'Bloody Talons' was Acer palmatum 'Amber Ghost' which is famous for being a great source for new cultivars.

Acer oliverianum 'Hot Blonde'

Augustine Henry

Acer oliverianum 'Hot Blonde' should probably be listed as Acer x'Hot Blonde' since it was “found by the brothers at Mr. Maple as a chance hybrid between Acer oliverianum and a golden Japanese maple.” The Nichols brothers from North Carolina was my source and thankfully they didn't patent it as they once considered. A. oliverianum is a central-Chinese species discovered by Augustine Henry and introduced in 1901 by E.H. Wilson while the latter toiled for Veitch Nursery. It was named in honor of the English botanist Daniel Oliver (1830-1916) who was Librarian of the Herbarium, RBG Kew from 1860-1890. In the greenhouse the foliage of 'Hot Blonde' is a light yellow with orange-peach new growth, then in autumn it will flame to brilliant red. Chatting with Tim Nichols about 'Hot Blonde', I expressed the worry that some women in the “new-order” squad might take offense at the name, but Tim dismissed the comment because it was named for brother Matt's wife who is a hot blonde, and “she's fine with the name.” I love the North Carolinians, or at least those from East Flat Rock, y'all.

Acer palmatum 'Red Whisper'

Acer palmatum 'Red Whisper' originated as a seedling from A.p. 'Fairy Hair' and the offspring is similar to its mother except for being a little more red. I've never propagated 'Red Whisper' because my one tree never puts on suitable new growth for scionwood, but it is named in case I try propagating with older scionwood, which I probably should by this summer; in any case keep your hands off of it in the meantime.

Cardiocrinum giganteum

You can't buy a Cardiocrinum giganteum which produced a bizarre fasciated flower stalk – we want to collect seed this fall to see if any of its offspring will replicate with fasciations. Probably they won't, and in fact our one plant may never do so again. A fasciation is a banded or bundled portion of growth, a deformity, which is believed to be caused by a hormonal imbalance. It can occur from random mutation or may be caused by insects or physical injury to the plant, but fortunately it doesn't spread to other plants. Some cultivars such as Cryptomeria japonica 'Cristata' and Taxodium distichum 'Peve Minaret' regularly produce fasciations, at least at Buchholz Nursery. As you can see from the seed-head (above), the Cardiocrinum in question contained far more flowers than normal, but they were of smaller size. For us it takes about six years for a Cardiocrinum to germinate from seed until it reaches flowering size. When small they are grown in the greenhouse, and every year they are potted into a larger size. We move them outside under shade when they are ready to flower because the flower head seems to resent the heat and humidity of a daily-watered greenhouse and they will often rot. Cardiocrinum (from Greek for “heart lily”) is another one of our “crops,” but we all ooed and aahed to see the one plant freak out.

Poncirus trifoliata 'Snow Dragon'

I received my start of Poncirus trifoliata 'Flying Dragon' years ago from a California nursery and I have sold quite a few myself. In The Hiller Manual of Trees and Shrubs, back with the old 1^st edition...and at least continuing until the 5^th, Hillier goes with the generic name of Poncirus which is probably derived from Latin pomumfruit & citreum (or citron), from “Citrus tree.” In the Hillier's 8^th edition (2014) we have somehow arrived at an improved classification, and today we are instructed that the Poncirus genus (in the Rutaceae family), is more accurately included in the Citrus genus (also in the Rutaceae family). The “Japanese bitter orange” flowers white, then evolves into the production of enticing little oranges, but which are impossible to eat. I was gifted two dwarf cultivars of P. trifoliata, 'Tiny Dragon' and 'Snow Dragon', with the former exhibiting diminutive green growth, and the latter with a similar dwarf habit, but also featuring variegated leaves and stems. The new treasures are from Japan I think, for the gifter, Rick Crowder of Hawksridge Nursery in North Carolina, is a frequent visitor to the eastern Islands. Our cutting propagation, unfortunately, is not very successful, so every visitor who wants to purchase my original stock plants must be turned away.

Stewartia monadelpha 'Fuji shidare'

One reason that Buchholz plants are not for sale is because they have not reached a profitable point on the price curve. I used to hide a dozen older Stewartia monadelpha 'Fuji shidare' at Flora Farm because I knew that visitors to the main nursery would want to order them and I would have to disappoint. I needed them for scionwood if I was to continue with the rare weeping cultivar at all. Sadly our graft takes are so poor that the small percentage that make it must be grown to a larger, more profitable size. A few female plants hounds are adept at sniffing out these back-corner treasures, and if happy and attractive they always seem able to wheedle a few plants out from under me. My original two plants came from A. Shibamichi in Japan, and I was successful to acquire them because my happy, attractive wife was able to charm the old geezer into sending them, plus other choice plants. Nothing is off limits if the right woman asks.

Picea engelmannii 'Snake'

I can sell the bizarre Picea engelmannii 'Snake' with ease, but I refused to part with my few stock plants that remain. It is such a strange Dr. Seuss-like creature that I can understand why plantsmen are attracted to it, but it is a tuff cultivar to get into production. The long, arching “snake-branches” often contain only one suitable scion for reproduction, but if you cut that off the rest of the branch will cease and eventually die completely. No two specimens will look alike, and honestly, it is one of the ugliest trees we grow, like a pathetic Charlie Brown-Christmas tree. Again, I wish I owned some secret property where I could house that which is not for sale. I once toured with an arrogant nursery big-shot who condescendingly advised me that anything not for sale should be placed on one side of the nursery, and what was for sale should be on the other...because most of what he wanted was not on the sales list. He never did buy anything from me – even though I thought I had a wonderful for sale group of plants. He had no understanding or appreciation of the difficulty to manage a wholesale nursery/arboretum, and certainly he did not have the drive and intelligence to organize my nursery any better. And by the way, I have discarded a number of employees who fit into the same category. There's nothing more useless than employing a smart-pants, college-educated knuckle-head who proclaims: “If it was my nursery I would, or would not, do this or that.” When you ask the question: “Then what would you do?” you find that the simpleton never sufficiently developed an opinion that would resolve the matter.

Pleione alishan 'Mt. Fuji'

Pleione askia 'Cinnabar'

We grow about 50 species or cultivars of Pleione, the (relatively) hardy terrestrial or epiphytic orchid. The intention is to eventually offer all of them for sale, but for most we don't yet have sufficient stock. Most species will thrive outdoors in western Oregon (USDA zone 7, 0 F), but do prefer part-shade and protection from winter wet. They are often grown in containers in a greenhouse or cold frame, then brought indoors and put on the window seal to bloom. The photo of the attractive couple above was taken on March 24, their wedding date.

Gustave Dore - Les Oceanides (Les Naiades de la mer)

Pleione 'Riah Shan'

Pleione 'Irazu'

As I wrote a couple of years ago:

“The name Pleione originates in Greek mythology, and as a star she was the mother of seven daughters known as the Pleiades. At the same time the Greeks knew Pleione as an Oceanid nymph, and naturally I am partial to her when I consider her depiction in a painting by French artist Gustave Dore. There are other possible origins to the name Pleione – all of them great stories – but her name is associated with grace, speed and elegance.

Acer palmatum 'Mikawa yatsubusa'

All right, one tree that is absolutely NOT for sale, but IS for sale, is perhaps the large Acer palmatum 'Mikawa yatsubusa' which lines the main road into the nursery. No plantsman from America, Japan or Europe can report of one larger or more attractive. I admit that it would be a shame to move it – to sell it – as there is the possibility that it would succumb. It's better to leave it alone, so, it's not for sale...well, unless you buy the entire nursery, which is always for sale.

B.C., long ago (before children) my wife and I went to an upscale restaurant in Portland. After studying the menu she decided on a rather expensive “Painted Hills” cheeseburger. It was the first time for me to see a region in central Oregon used to promote high-priced beef, kind of like Kobe is used in Japan. I explained that those hills were indeed painted – I had been there once before – with red, green and blonde coloration which took millions of years to develop, something that one might encounter in the Martian landscape. I promised that I would take her there one day, and sixteen years later I finally kept my word.

Pseudotsuga menziesii

Pinus ponderosa

Pinus contorta

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis

We drove east, through Portland, then past Mt. Hood and into the more arid portion of Oregon. I love road trips, to see how the trees change with the elevation and the geography. The Douglas fir (Pseudotsuga menziesii) of western Oregon is replaced by Pinus ponderosa, Pinus contorta, Xanthocyparis nootkatensis and various Abies species at higher altitude. Once east of Mt. Hood (in the Cascade Range) you enter the high-desert region around Bend, Oregon. Bend was so-named by the pioneers on the Oregon Trail due to a bend in the Deschutes River which runs through the now-trendy town. The river was named Riviere des Chutes, French for “River of the Falls” during fur-trading times in the early 1800's.

Juniperus occidentalis var. occidentalis

Cattle ranching and farming are important industries in central Oregon...as long as water is available. We drove past huge bales of hay and contentedly-grazing cattle, but I wondered how far away from the actual Painted Hills the rancher could be and still label his stock as coming from the Painted Hills? Where water is not available, the one tree in abundance – with sage-brush growing at its feet – was the “Western juniper,” Juniperus occidentalis. In Oregon it is J.o. var. occidentaliswhile in California it is deemed J.o. var. australis. I know of no cultivars of the former, while the RHS Encyclopedia of Conifers lists a half dozen for the latter. Curiously the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs doesn't even list the species at all. I found a shiner with fabulously blue foliage and I imagined driving 300 miles back to harvest some scions this winter...which of course I will never do.

There are a number of “painted” places in the area, and interpretive signs explain what causes the red or yellow colors. I won't go into the details, except that it's amazing to realize that today's dry landscape was once a tropical jungle. Fossil remains have been found of early horses, camels and rhinoceroses, and indeed there is the nearby town of Fossil, Oregon where behind the grade school one can rummage through the rocks and pick out your own fossils. We stopped for gas in Mitchell, Oregon, a two-block hick town with weathered wooden store-fronts. My wife and daughter went into the general store to use the bathroom. I waited in the car while three men drove up in a high-rise pickup. The middle-aged cowboys with dirty hats got out and lumbered across the road, all walking bow-leggedly like they were suffering from painful hemorrhoids. Of course all six boots featured circular spurs on the heels, so they were possibly the hombres who raised the Painted Hills burger that satisfied my wife sixteen years ago.

I've been grafting Japanese maples for 44 years with one early year being custom grafting for the nursery I used to work for. In that case I was paid ($1.00 apiece) for onlythose grafts that “took,” those that were successful. In October I prepared the rootstocks, cut and grafted the scions, then tended to them with watering and pruning until the day of reckoning on May 15^thof the following year. I made $17,000, with my beginner's luck yielding about 90% success rate, but even though I worked six and sometimes seven days a week for about seven months, the owner winced as he handed me my check. I used the money to buy rootstock for my own grafting, and for the acquisition of stock plants.

There was a period in the nursery's history where the scion-cutting was delegated to an English employee, and he did quite well for a dozen years even though he was left-handed. But before that, and since he departed, I am the “trusted” employee that is assigned the task. One exception these days is if the scion cutting requires a ladder, then I stay on the ground and catch what young David tosses down to me, as I don't want to climb above two steps anymore.

Acer palmatum 'Tamuke yama'

I remember about 25 years ago when the propagator at the large, nationally-known M. Nursery wanted to visit and observe our grafting, especially since their results were poor the previous year. As we chatted I made the observation that I could teach any willing employee, even a monkey, how to graft. What was more important was the selection of scionwood and then the aftercare of the crop. This “propagator” admitted that the scions were cut by someone who didn't fit into one department of the company and so was transferred into propagation. I developed a cold sweat at the thought of just anyone choosing the scions. “Just anyone” might select water-shoots that I would consider too soft, or cut scions too thick or thin, or mix up the 'Crimson Queen' with the 'Tamuke yama' etc. Yikes! Why do you think I prefer to eliminate as many variables as possible by doing it all myself? I guess their company still propagates maples because I see their dubious product in certain retail outlets, but I could list a couple dozen of other Oregon nurseries that grow a better maple.

The above is not to imply that I have it all figured out and never make poor decisions. I know better propagators than myself, especially many from The Netherlands, and there's likely a young man or woman just down the road with better skills. I have fathered five children and I used to greet all of them when they ran up to me by lifting them from under their armpits...into the air, then catching them. It was good fun and they loved the game. At some point there was the last time for each child, but I never knew it would be so at the time. The same is true with maple grafting. It's been at least 20 years since I performed my last graft, probably with some rare variety I didn't trust to anyone else, but I have no re-call of the event. There's no need for me to graft anymore – my trained monkeys do a pretty good job.

Acer palmatum 'Ghost Dancer'

But I still cut the scions, if for no other reason than as an opportunity to commune with my trees. I have had a short, but interesting relationship with Acer palmatum 'Ghost Dancer', an Oregon-selected cultivar that originated at about the same time as my “Ghost series,” and in fact it appears quite similar to A.p. 'Sister Ghost'. I'm pretty sure that the 'Ghost Dancer' name was chosen independent of any of the six or seven cultivars in my “Ghost series.” In any case I bought two ten-foot trees at a retail location for $295 each, so it was a considerable investment. They were under potted and in poor condition per usual in retail garden centers where the stock stays around too long. We potted them up and placed them in a white-poly greenhouse where they thrived. The following August I instructed David to climb the ladder to cut all of the appropriate shoots. David said “ok,” but then once up the ladder he asked, “How many?” “All that you can,” I repeated. Then I further cut the pieces into one or two-node sections, and by the following spring we had about 300 young healthy starts. Last summer we could only graft about 125 good scions from the two trees, and this August the same two post-prime hags presented me with nothing. Instead, I was forced to cut form the original 300 propagules in one-gallon pots, except that in the meantime I had sold 200 before I could cut anything. So, we went from an abundance of loaves and fishes to scrounging for wood in just three year's time. Nursery production can be a roller-coaster ride with any cultivar, but as I've said before: my production department is often at odds with the sales department. Nevertheless I should have managed 'Ghost Dancer' much better.

Davidia involucrata 'Aya nishiki'

Styrax japonicus 'Snow Drops'

I like to finish summer grafting by the end of September, but often we'll slide into the first half of October. Besides the palmatums, shirasawanums and japonicums – the “typical” Japanese maples – we'll also produce the Acer buergerianums, A. circinatums and perhaps some of the stripe-bark maples such as Acer conspicuum 'Phoenix'. Then, if time, we'll do Styrax, Davidia and Carpinus grafts. They do well in late summer - early fall if we have the time. There's no one in the company attuned to the ticking clock except for me. My grafters receive a $50 bonus above their regular pay when they work on Saturday as an incentive to slog through the thousands of scions, but for every one of my 44 propagating years I have always felt behind.

Acer palmatum 'Peve Starfish'

It was seemingly just a couple of years ago when I received scionwood of Acer palmatum 'Peve Starfish' from Vergeldt Nursery in Holland. Actually – I just looked it up in my records – I got my start seven years ago. Besides its display of red-purple leaves that feature downward-curling lobes, the cultivar is vigorous with a stout appearance. I easily sell all that I put on the availability so there is the temptation to produce as many as possible. But I know better than to do that because it is better to be sold out than to have too many. Two years ago I stopped at 1,000 grafts when I could have grafted double that number. This summer I have enough wood to do 5,000 grafts but I'll probably settle for about 700. When 'Peve Starfish' becomes better known and other nurseries are producing it I might settle on just 300-400 per year, comparable to other cultivar amounts. Why it's tempting to produce more is because the trees produce a lot of excellent scionwood and our graft take is high. If I hadn't sold any at specimen size I could graft as many as 10,000; I actually would have had enough scionwood to do so.

Acer palmatum 'Ikandi'

On the other hand, good scions are hard to come by for Acer palmatum 'Ikandi'. I have lots of stock trees but all of the stems are soft and flush with new growth. It's easy to sit in the office and project how many grafts I'd like to do, but you don't know what you're going to find until you start pawing through the trees with felcoes in hand. The seed tree that begat 'Ikandi' was Acer palmatum 'Alpenweiss', and I produce a few of the latter still, but I don't have a market for the same amount as 'Ikandi'. Maybe I shouldn't propagate 'Alpenweiss' any more because 'Ikandi' is more colorful anyway. The seed parent of 'Alpenweiss' was the old cultivar Acer palmatum 'Higasa yama' which I don't have on the property anymore. I gave 'H.' up because 'A.' was more colorful than its parent...if you follow what I'm saying.

Acer palmatum 'Garnet'

I still have one 35-year-old Acer palmatum 'Garnet' in the field but it doesn't produce viable scionwood anymore. My only other 'Garnet' is a younger tree in a 20-gallon pot. It originally belonged to a larger group but they were sold and the single remains because it is one-sided and has a scar on the trunk. For some reason I cut 20 scions – I guess just to keep the cultivar on the ark. Twenty five years ago, when we sold thousands of maple liners more than today, 'Garnet' was a popular red laceleaf, but the demand has waned since then.

Acer palmatum 'Red Dragon'

In Vertrees Japanese Maples(1978), the photo of 'Garnet' is the same as the one in the latest, 4^th edition (2009), except that in the latter edition the photo has been rotated on its side. The descriptive paragraphs are re-worked somewhat in the 4^th edition, but both editions state: “It retains it color well and is a durable landscape plant.” Actually it doesn't retain its color well compared to other red laceleaf cultivars, at least in Oregon. Of course 'Garnet' will be more green if grown in shade. My venerable old specimen is in full sun in a row with 'Crimson Queen', 'Tamuke yama', 'Red Dragon', 'Select Red' and 'Inaba shidare', all of the same age. I don't harvest scions from these trees anymore, but I leave them in place so one can compare their shapes and colors, and from that point of view 'Garnet' is inferior. By the way, I'm writing this in mid-August, when earlier in May all of the trees looked pretty much equal.

Acer palmatum 'Select Red'

Acer palmatum 'Inaba shidare'

Another reason for leaving these laceleafs in place is to absolutely prove that Acer palmatum 'Select Red' (also incorrectly known as 'Red Select') is not the same as Acer palmatum 'Inaba shidare' as some have alleged. They were planted next to each other on purpose to make my point. I won't belabor the 'Select Red' story again* – as I've done it in a past blog – but I will be blunt: the bottom line to the mix-up was due to Dutch greed in the 1970's. I don't propagate 'Select Red' anymore because 1) I don't like the boring name and 2) 'Inaba shidare' is the better cultivar. Again, at least in Oregon.

*Interestingly, 'Inaba shidare' is also known as 'Holland Select'.

When we graft a large number of a cultivar – say 500 up – I purposely graft on two or three different dates, with the scionwood coming from different places. It would be easier to do all of one variety at a time, but I feel that I'm spreading out the risk by splitting things up. Maybe grafter J. has a migraine on one day and her results won't be so good, but hopefully she's fine a month later when we do some more. Even after 40-plus years I continue to be nervous and I take nothing for granted. I don't put all of my chicken eggs in one basket either.

Acer palmatum 'Anne Irene'

Most men are attracted to women, but we all have our "type." Aside from anatomical features, some of us would choose smoldering beauty but others prefer cute and sweet. I go for the latter for it aptly describes my wife. Similarly I have become smitten with Acer palmatum 'Anne Irene', a new Dutch introduction that was discovered as a sport on A.p. 'Summer Gold'. Best in spring, the bright yellow leaves are highlighted by a red margin. I won't go so far as to say 'Anne Irene' is my favorite maple, but she's certainly a maple I highly favor: cute and sweet in spring and summer, but then she actually smolders in autumn with deep red-to-maroon foliage color. I would love to meet the girl that the maple was named for; was she the finder's daughter, or...

I'm no stranger to beauty because my two youngest daughters (ages 13 and 16) are responsible for preparing the scions. They cut the leaves off at the petioles and shorten the tips as necessary, and they are faster, more confident and involved than my regular employees. They would work for no pay, just to help me out, and besides they like to bond in the shared activity. Each has worked alone, but they are happier and faster in each other's company. So just know: if you buy a maple graft from us next spring, or a specimen five years from now, one of these two beauties had her hand on it in the beginning.

Within a cone's throw

In our garden we grow

Trees from the best corners of the world.

Cathaya argyrophylla

Abies koreana

Conifers are prominently featured in the Flora Wonder Arboretum, and with a single throw I can literally toss a cone from one species to the next, and I would prefer that activity to say, playing a round of golf. Probably best done with no one looking, as the staff already thinks I'm crazy. Some of the cones are ugly little turds, such as with Cathaya argyrophylla, or exquisitely fascinating, such as with Abies koreana.

Pinus lambertiana

Sciadopitys verticillata

The general public refers to them as “pinecones” even though most are not in the Pinus genus at all. The “Sugar pine,” Pinus lambertiana, is famous for its whopper cones. The “Umbrella pine,” Sciadopitys verticillata is not a true Pinus of course, even though it produces what appear to be pinecones.

Abies procera

Let's begin our coin toss, er...cone toss with the large Abies procera 'Glauca' that I look at from out my office window. I've mentioned before that it originated as a scion from a cultivar in the Dutchman's garden that was eight feet wide by only one foot tall, but for me it immediately shot upward with absolutely no procumbent inclination, and it is now 40-50' tall. Well, maybe we shouldn't begin with the Abies because the cones are at the top, way beyond my reach.

Cryptomeria japonica 'Spiralis'

Close to the Abies is Cryptomeria japonica 'Spiralis' which I planted at the beginning of my career forty years ago. Commonly known as “Grannie's Ringlets,” it was originally billed as a dwarf conifer, and in the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2014) it says “it forms a small, slow-growing bush of dense, spreading habit.” My tree is an upright pillar to nearly 30' tall, and the best part is that I have limbed it up to reveal the wonderful cinnamon-colored trunk. Hillier relates that 'Spiralis' was “introduced in 1860 from Japan,” so I assume that it was J.G. Veitch who first brought it to Europe (but maybe I'm wrong). Veitch, or whomever, may have “discovered” the curious form, or maybe it was selected and brought into cultivation first by the Japanese. Anyway you won't be able to toss the cone very far because it is light and airy.

Abies squamata 'Flaky'

Ah...nearby is Abies squamata 'Flaky'. The Chinese “Flaking-bark fir” features a trunk every bit as interesting as Acer griseum and Pinus bungeana, and I would consider the trio all the advertisement needed for an Oriental celebration. The cones are only medium-sized for the Abies genus, but squamata radiates with royal purplish-blue energy. This true-fir holds the record for the highest elevation in existence at over 16,000' but still it thrives at 50' elevation in my south-of-Forest Grove, Oregon arboretum. Flora Wonder indeed!

Pinus contorta 'Taylor's Sunburst'

Toss a cone from 'Flaky' to Pinus contorta 'Taylor's Sunburst', the “Lodgepole pine” that is the latifolia variety of the species. It was discovered by Dr. Allan Taylor in Colorado's Rocky Mountains. New growth in spring is a lush yellow color which contrasts with the older, dark green foliage. Tiny red pollen cones appear on the new shoots which goes well with their yellow color. Admittedly 'Taylor's Sunburst' is a boring green pine for ten months of the year, but its spring sunburst for two months makes the wait worthwhile.

Picea pungens 'Hermann Naue'

Picea pungens 'Early Cones'

Picea pungens 'Ruby Teardrops'

An underhanded cone toss will take you from the Lodgepole to Picea pungens 'Hermann Naue', a dwarf Colorado spruce that's loaded with erect purple cones in spring which rise above the foliage. The delightful decoration is similar for two other dwarf cultivars, Picea pungens 'Early Cones' and 'Ruby Teardrops'. According to R. Fincham in Small Conifers for Small Gardens, 'Early Cones' was a seedling selection by Ferny Creek Nursery, Australia, and introduced into the trade in the early 1990's. 'Hermann Naue' is probably from Europe and I first saw it at Hachmann Nursery in Germany. 'Ruby Teardrops' was selected by the bankrupt neighbor's nursery, Fisher Farms, which proves that even if you're unable to manage your finances, still you might be observant enough to find a cool plant.

Pinus flexilis 'Vanderwolf Pyramid'

A behemoth pine anchors the northwest corner of the original Display Garden. Pinus flexilis 'Vanderwolf Pyramid' looms way too large for the relatively small (1 acre?) garden and I rue the day it was planted nearly 40 years ago. We used to graft a couple of thousand of the silvery-blue selection each year, but sales for both the new grafts and for our 6' tall field-grown specimens petered out about 20 years ago and I no longer offer it at any size. My main gripe with the 'Vanderwolf' is that it sucks all of the moisture from the garden's corner, and most garden visitors don't even notice it as an ornamental because of its enormous size. Cones and old needles cover nearby plants so it's also a messy denizen with its neighbors. I've thought about a tree service company removing it for the past ten years, but somehow I never get around to it.

Picea orientalis 'Aureospicata'

Picea orientalis 'Lemon Drop'

Almost touching the hideous pine is Picea orientalis 'Aureospicata' which the Europeans refer to as just 'Aurea'. New shoots are golden yellow and they contrast with the very dark green older foliage. The cones of the “Orientals spruce” are narrow and full of pitch when young, but by summer they open fully to a warm brown. My two specimens are fecund and by the following winter the cones can literally cover the pathway. Not surprisingly, with hundreds of cones littering the grounds, we have had spontaneous seedlings arise that range from green, typical P. orientalis foliage, to little green buns, and sometimes offspring that resembles the mother tree. One such seedling was christened 'Lemon Drop'; I hoped it would be a more-dwarf form, but when grafted onto vigorous Picea abies rootstock I see that it's not so dwarf.

Cedrus libani 'Blue Angel'

Cedrus libani 'Green Prince'

Cedrus libani 'Pendula'

Cedrus libani features plump egg-shaped cones which stand erect along the branches. 'Blue Angel' is a snake-branched cultivar, but as my oldest specimen ages (30+ years) the narrow snakes become less obvious, or less curious, and I confess that we don't produce it anymore. We still propagate the popular C. l. 'Green Prince', and my original 40-year-old tree by the Pond House could be the largest in the world but I have never seen it cone ever. C. l. 'Pendula' doesn't cone either, except that it produces an abundance of male flowers which are certainly interesting creatures.

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Rigid Dwarf'

If you were to throw the Cedrus cone further into the garden you would have to do so before it matures and begins to disintegrate by autumn. Aim for the Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Rigid Dwarf', aptly (though uninspiringly) named for its compressed upright shape, and I think it was selected by Hillier Nurseries in the 1960's. I got my start from the old Mitsch Nursery, Oregon, but I don't propagate anymore because sales were dismal, plus the rate of growth was so slow that there was no profit to be had. Actually, Buchholz Nursery is full of such plants, with our hinoki collection numbering about 100 cultivars, even though we produce only about 15 each year. My Japanese wife taught me that the word hinoki is the Japanese name, with hino meaning “fire” and kimeaning “wood.”

Ginkgo biloba

Ginkgo biloba 'Autumn Gold'

Ginkgo adiantoides

From a botanical perspective Ginkgo is always placed in the conifer section of plant encyclopedias, such as The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs or Krussmann's Manual of Cultivated Conifers. I won't go into the technicalities of that classification, but it has something to do with mobile sperm. Ginkgo was once “widely distributed in prehistoric times (about 180 million years ago!),” according to Krussmann, but “only a single species has survived to modern times.” I have a fossil from the Paleocene which was labeled Ginkgo adiantoides, and it was found in Morton County, North Dakota. Ginkgo biloba is considered the earth's oldest living plant, and it's called a “living fossil” because it has no close living relatives, and is the only plant species dating back 270 million years (Permian) in the fossil record. Ginkgo biloba is supposedly a dioecious plant with male and female reproductive organs in separate individuals, but I have the curious situation where all four of my 'Autumn Gold'– a male clone – have produced fruit. Figure that one out. Anyway I won't be tossing the “silver apricot” because of the offensive smell (like vomit) of the outer flesh in autumn.

Metasequoia glyptostroboides

I grow a number of Metasequoia glyptostroboides cultivars, including my introduction of the weeping 'Miss Grace', but I have never seen cones on the dwarf forms. Down by our northern pond, called the “Primordial Pond” because it receives drainage from the nursery – and you certainly wouldn't want to swim in it – is a large-growing seedling which produces thousands of cones. They are attractive little orbs, much smaller but resembling Sequoiadendron. Male and female strobili appear on the same plant (monoecious) and they apparently cavort when I go home at night because we find seedlings growing amongst the weeds.

Glyptostrobus pensilis

Glyptostrobus pensilis features cones of about the same size as the Metasequoia, and both genera are monoecious and deciduous. The “Swamp cypress” is native to southeast portion of China, Laos and into northern Vietnam. Hillier says “Not recommended for cold localities,” and furthermore states that it is “extremely rare,” and that “This remarkable species (monotypic) has grown in the SHHG without protection for many years but has achieved a height of only 3m (2013).” The Flora Wonder Arboretum is far more frigid than in southern England and my one specimen has withstood 0 degrees F with 40 mph winds and it is approximately 35' tall at 30 years of age.

Larix kaempferi 'Paper Lanterns'

Another deciduous conifer is Larix kaempferi 'Paper Lanterns' which originated as a seedling selected by the late Edsal Wood and introduced into the trade by Don Howse of Porterhowse Farms. Of course the cones are erect when they develop in spring but by summer they turn brown and hang down like little brown lanterns. I don't sell it anymore because for me the plants were too happy and I would grow narrow 10' trees without a single cone. Customers would wonder if I had a cultivar mix-up and I had to explain that their specimens were true but perhaps required more stress to cone. Probably for the retail market it would have been better to field grow the trees, and the shock from digging would have caused the production of cones.

Pseudotsuga gaussenii

Henri Gaussen

Another cones toss winds up at Pseudotsuga gaussenii which is sometimes listed as P. sinensis var. gaussenii (commonly known as Huang shan in the Chinese language). I love the cones at all stages of development, and when fully ripe I've been known to send them to friends at Christmas time. They are larger than our native P. menziesii and the Chinese species is a lighter tan-brown color. All of the Asian Pseudotsuga are compatible with P. menziesii as rootstock, so I've never bothered to raise them from seed. Hillier states “This rare, slow-growing species is susceptible to damage by spring frost,” but in the 25 years I have grown it spring frosts – which we get too – have never damaged the trees. Still, I've never produced many because of the dubious hardiness for most of my customers. The gausseniivariety honors the French botanist Henri Gaussen (1891-1981), and other plants were also named for him such as Ulmus gaussenii, Juniperus gaussenii, and the genus Gaussenia in the Podocarpaceae family.

Pseudolarix amabilis

The final cone delight that I'll mention is for Pseudolarix amabilis. Similar with Pseudotsuga I don't like botanic names with “pseudo” as the genus or the specific name. If they are distinct genera or species – and the botanic community insists they are – then they should be called something besides “false” this or that. Oh well, too late now. Anyway Pseudolarix amabilis is a deciduous Chinese conifer that was introduced by Robert Fortune in 1852. It is commonly called the “Golden larch” because autumn color is said to be golden (Hilliers), but my tree is always a burnt-orange color. The cones ripen in one year, and Hillier says “On large trees they stud the long, slender branches, resembling small, pale green artichokes, bloomy when young, reddish brown when ripe.” I had never seen the cones before, until one day I was pleasantly surprised to find them on my ten-year-old specimen in the Blue Forest. I think I first noticed them around this time of year, at the end of August, and I wondered where my brain had been earlier in the year when they were developing. “Bloomy” indeed, Hillier, and this is the first time I have used this wonderful word.

Tsuga carolina 'Mountain Mist'

There was an eccentric Englishman – I forget his name – who established a conetum in the 1800's, and showed them off like one would a stamp or automobile collection. Many cones were novelties at the time because most of the species were exotic and new to science, but I would love to go back in time and see his collection. I guess I have a veritable conetum as well, only that mine is on live trees.

Sequoiadendron giganteum

My first sales in horticulture was with cones of Sequoiadendron giganteum when I was about ten years old. My grandmother would ferry me around town to the florist shops where I charged 50c per dozen, and who could turn down a cute kid trying to make some money? It's interesting that I now have an extensive Sequoiadendron cultivar collection, especially when in botanical literature it is listed as Sequoiadendron Buchholz. I also got into trouble over the giant redwood cones because we had neighborhood wars with them as projectiles. Yes, I was called into the school principal's office where the old grump looked at me over his glasses and made me promise to never do it again. And I never did.

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No, not those kind of cones!

Years ago I was asked to give a one-hour class to college horticulture students about grafting, as if one hour was enough. An earnest student inquired if there was a book I could recommend that would aid the novice, and after serious thought I suggested Zen in the Art of Archery...where the practice of aiming at the target was less successful than the archer submitting to, and becoming one with the target. The book (Zen in der Kunst der Bogenschießens) was by the German philosophy professor Eugen Herrigel, published in 1948, and it detailed his experiences studying Kyudo, a form of Japanese archery. The professor lived in Japan in the 1920's, and his book is credited with introducing Zen to Western culture in the 1940's and 50's.

The Japanese consider archery to be a religious ritual, and the German author admits that “the master knows his pupils better than the pupil knows himself, and through this understanding the master is able to best instruct his subject.” I can certainly say the same about my nursery employees. In the first 20 years of my career I had grafted over a half-million trees*, and thankfully most of them “took,” or were successful. There were times, usually in the night under lights, where my knifing took on a life of its own, and in my mindless state I performed my operations without really being aware that I was grounded and “working.” The grafts just happened, and in the morning I put them into the greenhouse. The following year I was pleased that 80-90% had made it.

*It would have been more but I was also out cutting scions and preparing rootstock.

Early on I did buy The Grafter's Handbook by R.J. Gardner – great name! – which was published in association with The Royal Horticultural Society, and I purchased the 4^th edition of 1979. The jacket review by The Guardian states that “Mr. Gardner almost certainly knows more about the vegetative propagation of tree and bush fruit than any man on earth...” After recently receiving The Bench Grafter's Handbook by acquaintance Brian Humphrey, I would suggest that the Englishman Humphrey now reigns as most knowledgeable with ornamental grafting propagation. If only mildly interested, his 600 page tome can easily put you to sleep – just as with Gardner's work – but if the reader can relate on some level to Humphrey's theories and explanations, then he'll find himself well-instructed.

I knew that the octogenarian Humphrey was researching and planned to write a grafting book, and I apparently piqued his interest a few times with my ramblings in various Flora Wonder Blogs. While in my career I have largely dwelled in an ethereal realm, BH was paying more serious attention to the science of grafting propagation, and his book is a summation of a lifetime of experience. The CRC Press publication (2019) claims: “This book contains information obtained from authentic and highly regarded sources...blah blah blah,” which makes me nervous about anything I may have contributed.

I don't know if I would have labeled Humphrey's book a “handbook,” for that implies that it's small enough to easily fit into one's hand, but at 600+ pages it's not something you'd want to carry around all day, nor would it easily fit into anybody's pocket. But maybe to the British with their peculiar diction, the term “handbook” is appropriate.

I don't know how many readers will digest the book from beginning to end. I assume it was the publisher who states on the back cover, “Containing 500 full color photographs and illustrations, The Bench Grafter's Handbook: Principles and Practice presents exhaustive information on all aspects of bench grafting.” Careful of the wording there, Mr. Publisher, because “exhaustive” and “exhausting” are pretty much the same. Ok, I'm only joking.

The Sir Harold Hillier Arboretum

I began the book by reading the back cover, then the preface. The latter is a good send off for what follows, with comments such as: “The importance of grafting to the world economy is significant. Grafted plants occupy thousands of hectares of land in many areas.” Humphrey reminds us that, “Historians tell us that the ancient art of grafting may date back four millennia.” Then he reveals a few biographical notes about himself – he doesn't go back quite that far – with the paragraph: “My working life of over 50 years started in 1954 as a lad in a woody plant nursery where I was fortunate enough to have as a foreman a very good knifesman, who learnt his art at the famous nursery of Waterers, in Bagshot, near London. In the early 1960s, an initial two-year session in one of Hillier Nurseries' propagating units specialising in bench grafting further fostered my interest in the whole procedure.” I like Humphrey's purpose, that “The Bench Grafter's Handbook has been written with the intention of providing information based not only on my experience but also on the experience of others.” I wonder if one can be considered a “plantsman” if he/she is not also a propagator. In any case, all genuine plantsmen have benefited from the “experience of others.”

Acer nipponicum

As I mentioned earlier, I don't know if the typical reader has the interest or discipline to begin the book on page one, and then to wade through the entire contents until the end. I know that I didn't/don't, for I tackled it fromthe beginning and the end; so like a little kid in a candy store some topics in the table of contents aroused great interest, like “rates of work” at the beginning (described on page 49) or “drying-off pot grown rootstocks” (described on page 108). Then I also indulged in the plant index at the end, where I could go specifically to, say, Acer nipponicum, where I found that Humphrey concurs that Acer nipponicum does not have a suitable rootstock to use for procreation, that A. pseudoplatanus and A. palmatum have both been “suggested,” but that “both have failed here.” Yes, I have wasted my time on them also.

The "golden" Cathaya

When the index listed Cathaya argyrophylla I hurriedly turned to pages 229 and 524. On page 229 a table listed Conifer Families and Genera – Grafting Times, Cathaya was listed as best grafted in W (Winter). With my heart racing I then turned to page 524, anticipating that Humphrey would reveal the secrets to Cathaya propagation. My spirits sank when the Grafting Table List literally said – for rootstock – “? Pseudotsuga menziesii” and then under comments, “Unproven combination but some grafts have survived 4 years.” Yeah, I know, I have an “alive” graft on Pseudotsuga that is 6 years old, 5' tall now, but I predict that I'll throw it out after a few more years. It just doesn't look right, and in spite of being fertilized the same as my other conifers it appears anemically yellow. What a hoot when a noted conifer specialist saw mine in the back corner of GH25 and said, “Wow, awesome, I didn't know there was a golden cultivar of Cathaya!” “Well,” I replied, “it's not actually...supposedto be golden.”

Anyway, that's how I have (and will continue) to process Humphrey's book. For me it's great enjoyment, and I only wish that he was my next-door neighbor, that perhaps we could spar and jab with each other – bob-and-weave if you like – and though I would probably lose in the end it would be great satisfaction to win a few rounds, or at least to give him a solid sock in the face. No, actually I should be careful with the spry old Englishman, lest he sue me for plagiarism for copying from his book.

Athrotaxis cupressoides

...Continuing with genera from his Grafting Table List, with anticipation I encountered Arthrotaxus sp. [sic] which must be species of Athrotaxis, such as cupressoidesand selangoides. Humphrey had warned me earlier that certain plants were mispeled and that hopefully they would be corrected in a future printing. Though listed as a USDA zone 8 plant, Athrotaxis – the correct spelling – cupressoides (David Don) survived 0 degrees F in my Display Garden except that the foliage turned to a brown-green color; by summer however, the “Pencil pine” had resumed its normal green coloration. I received my start of the Tasmanian conifer from the Washington Park Arboretum in Seattle where it had no trouble in that relatively benign coastal location, and I propagated and sold lining-out plants via rooted cuttings. I read somewhere that Athrotaxis was closely related to Sequoiadendron, and how interesting that my first specimen was planted next to a vigorous Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Glaucum'. Unfortunately too close, as the happy “Giant redwood” sucked all of the moisture from the garden area and the Athrotaxis grew unsightly. Since the latter was never a great seller – due to the perceived hardiness issue – I eventually edited it from the garden, and regrettably I don't even have one in the collection anymore (regrettably, kind of like with old girlfriends who either dumped me or I tired of them). After reading about its supposed affinity to Sequoiadendron I grafted some onto that rootstock – geeze, they kind-of look alike also – and a few of the grafts survived. But damn, that was 25-30 years ago, and today I honestly can't remember how the propagules fared. I know that I don't have them anymore, so did they eventually die or did I sell them, or just what? How is it that I cannot remember, especially since I was so fond of the A. cupressoides species? Anyway, Humphrey says that Cryptomeria japonica is a suitable understock...which leads me to wonder about the possibility of Cryptomeria grafted onto Sequoiadendron rootstock, or vice versa. The question is academic, since both genera are easily produced via seed or rooted cuttings. If I won the lottery, which I won't since I never play, I would devote myself to such investigative projects.

Austrocedrus chilensis

Another wonderful southern-hemisphere conifer is Austrocedrus (southern cedar) chilensis, but I have only seen it in a couple of collection. I acquired it many years ago from the quirky (but now defunct) Heronswood Nursery in Washington state. My one pot quickly went into decline with what looked to be from root rot. Later I saw it at the Bloedel Reserve – a private garden owned by a now-deceased timber baron – and I remember their 6-foot arborvitae-like tree with blue-green foliage looking particularly regal. I thought about snitching a cutting but the timing was wrong, and I never went back in winter to do so. Hmm...let's see what Humphrey says. He reports: “Thuja occidentalis 1+1p 6-8mm or ? Platycladus orientalis.” For comments he writes “Calocedrus decurrens is an alternative rootstock.” Again, I should be awarded the lottery, as I would love to squander the rest of my days experimenting with these types of compatibility relationships.

Abies koreana 'Gait'

Abies koreana 'Silver Magic'

...Back to the beginning, in the table of contents, are chapters devoted to Abies, Acer, Aesculus etc. Ok, let's go to page 267 to learn about “Abies (Pinaceae) – Fir.” This chapter begins with the Introduction where Humphrey writes: “Most species are propagated by seed; vegetative propagation by cuttings is suitable for only a few, mostly dwarf types.” I would agree that the dwarf types are the most inclined to root. With Abies koreana though, I have rooted nearly every cultivar, even the upright, faster-growing selections. The blue forms are less successful than the green, yet every one of the blue has had at least some root. When H claims that “propagation by cuttings is suitable for only a few...”, I would maybe agree with “few,” but argue for a rather “large few.”

Abies koreana 'Ice Breaker' graft

I'm tempted to go side-ways, and into great depth with the above paragraph, but that would certainly put most of you to sleep. Rather I'll proceed to the Abies Grafting Methods section. Humphrey gives short shrift to “type of graft,” “low-grafting placement” and “tying-in” (a band which holds the new graft combination in place). But what caught my attention are these comments: “Sealing Abies grafts is not necessary [I agree] and can be injurious as it prevents exudation of the resinous sap [I never thought about that]. Some grafters favour spacing tie loops widely to allow exudate to flow away.” The last sentence is from personal correspondence with Englishman Guy Meacham who now resides in Oregon and runs the fun Plantmad Nursery. At Buchholz Nursery our most successful conifer to graft is easily the Abies, and it doesn't seem to matter the species, whether dwarf or not, whatever – they just all take. Our practice is to leave no gaps in the tie-up. We begin wrapping from a little above the union and finish a little below, with no part of the tree visible – to exudate – when finished. Curious, right? Why? There is no good explanation, other than that's how I wrapped my first Abies which took, so I never got around to venture otherwise. I will concede that we spend too much on the (unreasonably) costly rubber bands if/when wrapping more sparingly gets the job done, but I've never had any sap issues.

Abies concolor 'Sherwood Blue'

At the end of the Abies section is a photograph of a new graft of Abies pinsapo 'Aurea' and of Abies concolor 'Sherwood Blue'. I was surprised to see the Sherwood selection – I didn't suppose that it had ever made its way to Europe. I first encountered it in the garden of the late Dr. Bump of Forest Grove, Oregon. It had no name, if I recall correctly, but plantsman Bump said he got it from the noted nurseryman, Andy Sherwood of Oregon. I cut a few scions from Bump's tree and labeled them 'Sherwood Blue', so I guess the name has stuck. For the record, the famous Sherwood had at least two sons. One was in the nursery business, but went bankrupt and screwed a number of fellow nurserymen. The other was our family dentist, so both sons were disliked. And full disclosure: I am somehow and distantly related to them; nevertheless my mother always griped that we had to pay too much for dental procedures, that there should be at least some “family” discount.

Maples under poly tent

One final thought about the Abies section is photographs of grafts in poly tents at two English nurseries. For what it's worth, we never cover our Abies grafts, although we do cover Pinus, Picea and others. But for Abies, why go to the trouble and waste the plastic? They'll grow anyway.

Acer campestre 'Carnival'

Acer miyabei

There's a lot of meat on the bone for the Chapter Acer (Sapindaceae) – Maple, but first I'll pick at the observation: “The linkage between graft compatible A. campestre and A. miyabei is one of the most highly supported relationships within the phylogenetic work.” That's obvious to even non-scientists because the two species look very alike and both feature interesting furrowed trunks at maturity. I grew about 20 Acer miyabei from seed, but though large and well-branched they didn't sell, so I top-grafted 10-20 scions onto each tree with Acer campestre 'Carnival', and, three years later, those absolutely sold.

Acer x coriaceum

The maple chapter contains a blessing, a Graft Compatibility by Species chart, an update of what the late J.D. Vertrees did 35 years ago. For example, for Acer x coriaceum the preferred rootstock is A. monspessulanum, followed by A. pseudoplatanus. Then H. notes: “Not successful here on pseudoplatanus. Surviving for some years on monspessulanum but significant suckering.” So, I guess you either root the “Leather-leaf maple” or grow it from seed.

Acer fabri

Humphrey's compatibility chart contains some surprises, such as with Acer fabri grafted onto Acer palmatum as the preference, and Acer buergerianum as the secondary choice. The comment section was blank to my dismay. I would have absolutely betted against that combination; besides it almost implies that Acer palmatum and Acer buergerianum are graft compatible. But as I learned with sports: if team A beats team B, and B beats C, then of course (by Aristotelian logic) team A should beat team C, except it doesn't always turn out that way. But maybe A. palmatum and A. buergerianum are compatible; I don't think they are, but I've never tried it.

Acer fabri

I flirted with A. fabri for about fifteen years, and we used to root them. Sales were weak for the USDA zone 8 plant, but I enjoyed pointing to my largest specimen – kept in the greenhouse – and ask visitors to guess the genus. Very few could – most thought it was a laurel or ficus – and then I would gleefully point to the samaras and announce that it was a maple. I especially admired the rich mahogany-colored new growth, but when my specimen grew too large for the greenhouse I sold it to California and I don't have it anymore. The evergreen species was collected by Ernst Faber in southeastern China in 1887. Being “evergreen” is not always a good attribute for a tree, and in the case of A. fabri the tired, unsightly old leaves would persist throughout winter, and only drop when new growth pushed them off the following spring. One particular plantsman saw my specimen, after being unable to identify it, then declared, “Oh well, I don't need another esotericplant.”

Brian Humphrey

I think you can tell that I'm well-pleased with my copy of the Bench Grafter's, plus it was kindly signed by Mr. Humphrey. My copy will stay near, but I'm already wearing it out with use. The author is highly regarded in horticulture where his “chairmanship of the UK ornamental nursery industry research and development initiatives with the UK Ministry of Agriculture led to the award of an O.B.E. (Order of the British Empire) in 1987. In 2013, his work in the nursery stock industry and in various RHS projects was recognised by the award of the VMH (Victoria Medal of Honour) by the Royal Horticultural Society.”

Julie Humphrey

At the end of Acknowledgements, Mr. Brian E. Humphrey thanks his children for their assistance, then writes: “Since the days we met as students at Kew Gardens, my wife Julie has given unwavering support and help. My heartfelt thanks and dedication of this book go to her.” After reading that, I admit to welling-up a little, for I too have been fortunate with a supportive wife.

Juana grafting

We finished our summer grafting last week, and I'm a big part of the effort since I still cut most of the scions. Now I admit to feeling a little bittersweet because the push to keep the grafters going energized me (the two of them require about 550 each per day), but I wonder how much longer the dog-and-pony show will last. My two teenage daughters are a bit sad as well since they were paid handsomely to prepare the scions, but now they're back to school work on rainy September days, and there's no wage for any of that.

Acer palmatum 'First Ghost'

By coincidence, on the last day of grafting I pulled the abbreviated Vertrees/Gregory Japanese Maples“Pocket Guide” from the shelf so a new employee – who showed great interest in the maple grafting process – could appreciate and learn about the various cultivars that we produce. I don't use this “Pocket Guide” myself, even though it was hand-signed by author Peter Gregory, because the 12-year-old publication is not as comprehensive as the full-sized 3^rd and 4^theditions of Japanese Maples. I do like it, however, because one of the four photos on the cover is Acer palmatum 'First Ghost' which I took about 20 years ago. What is unusual about the photo is that one leaf is an anomaly to the basic leaf shape and color of the cultivar. Strange-looking leaves are not unusual with plants, and if examined alone, one might never guess what cultivar they belong to. For what it's worth, the one weird leaf on 'First Ghost' is now used as the logo on our letterhead and on the Buchholz Nursery sign at our main-road entrance.

Acer palmatum 'Azuma murasaki'

Acer palmatum 'Beni yubi gohon'

Notice the book's sales blurb – is that what you would call it? – on the cover which promises that the book contains “300 popular cultivars.” That claim is not coming from the authors, but rather from Timber Press, the publisher. However, the fact is that at least half of the cultivars contained therein are not at all popular. I don't suggest that they're not worthy cultivars – cultivated variants or varieties – but so many are absolutely not “popular,” nor were they ever considered so by anyone. To wit: Acer palmatums 'Akegarasu', 'Ao kanzashi', 'Aoba jo', 'Ariake nomura', 'Atrolineare', 'Attraction', 'Autumn Glory', 'Azuma murasaki'...just to name a few. Or how about 'Barrie Bergman', 'Beni kagami', 'Beni ubi gohon' which should be spelled 'Beni yubigohon'– not meaning “five long red fingers,” but should be translated as “five red fingers,” – 'Berrima Bridge', 'Berry Dwarf', 'Boskoop Glory' etc. None of the above are even moderately popular in the trade, nor were they ever, so “popular” is a dumb tag.

Look, I know that very few want my opinion, and especially not those at Timber Press. There were a considerable amount of half-assed boners in their 1999 publication of Maples for Gardens and the 1994 printing of Maples of the World which I called the publisher out on...but he considered my reviews “vituperative” and “unwarranted.” Thankfully the dim-wit is long gone while I'm still here, but I'm less vituperative than before. I have aged and mellowed somewhat, but I'll still offer some thoughts about an interesting chapter (beginning on page 23) called Japanese Maples For Specific Purposes and Locations in the Timber Press Pocket Guide.

The maples are listed in 22 different categories:

1 Maples for spring color

2 Maples for fall color

3 Maples for winter bark

4 Dwarf Maples (to 6 ½ ft.)

5 Small Maples (6 ½ – 13 ft.)

6 Medium-sized Maples (10-16 ft.)

7 Large Maples (13-26 ft.)

8 Very Large Maples (20 ft.+)

9 Maples for Partial Shade

10 Maples for Full Sun

11 Maples for Containers

12 Maples for the Rockery

13 Maples for Bonsai

14 Dissectum Group

15 Amoenum Group

16 Palmatum Group

17 Matsumurae Group

18 Linearilobum Group

19 Maples with a Wide-spreading Habit

20 Maples with a Rounded Habit

21 Mound-shaped Maples

22 Upright Maples

Acer palmatum 'Ariadne' (autumn color left, spring color right)

Some of the cultivars are listed in more than one category, such as Acer palmatum 'Ariadne' suggested for 1) spring color, 2) small maple, 3) partial shade, 4) matsumurae group and 5) wide-spreading habit. Of course 'Ariadne' could be included in other groups such as maples for containers or for fall color.

Acer palmatum 'Corallinum'

Let's look at some examples of maples, listed in these subjective categories. For spring color...well, all maples have a spring color, it's just that some are more brilliantly colored than others. One of my favorites is A.p. 'Corallinum', and the tree depicted above used to reside in front of the office, next to our main road. Too close to the road for my comfort. One day the new UPS driver was backing up to turn around and he came within two feet of my tree. I supposed it would be impossible for UPS to accept that their driver had smashed a $5,000 tree so we dug and sold it just to be safe. At the time it was 11 feet tall by 16 feet wide (approximately 30 years old), even though the book says, “Slow growing, this cultivar makes a dense compact plant not exceeding 10 ft. (3m) high.” My sale was ten years ago, so who knows its size now? In Vertrees/Gregory Japanese Maples 4^thedition, Vertrees writes, “Unfortunately the name 'Corallinum' has also been applied to the coral-bark maple 'Sango kaku'. Corallinum has also been known under the names 'Beni seigen', 'Carmineum' and 'Spring Fire'.” In the 4^th edition and the Pocket Guide, Vertrees mentions seeing a fine specimen in the Sir Harold Hillier Gardens and Arboretum but the best part was left out. In the 1^st edition, Vertrees relates that he was discussing with Hillier the false synonymy of 'Sango kaku' with 'Corallinum', and high-pockets Hillier remarked; “Why, they are as different as cheese and chalk.”

Acer palmatum 'Hogyoku'

Included in maples for fall color is A.p.' Hogyoku' with its dependable orange color.* However, as autumn progresses the foliage can turn to deep maroon, at least at Buchholz Nursery. The name Hogyoku means “precious jewel” in Japanese. I like the strong-growing cultivar for its lustrous green leaves in summer, as well as for its autumn color; but I swear that I can look at it all day long and not ever decipher why it was named “precious jewel.”

*For what it's worth, the two photos in the Vertrees 1^st edition and in the Vertrees/Gregory 4^th edition are better and more apropos of 'Hogyoku' than the one selected for the “Pocket Guide.” Not to brag, but honestly I think I should have gone into publishing.

Acer palmatum 'Japanese Sunrise'

As for maples for winter bark, the seven listed are all interesting choices. A.p. 'Beni kawa', 'Japanese Sunrise' and 'Sango kaku' are basically the same, though I'm sure that there are a few maple geeks out there that prefer one over the others for whatever reason. One mentioned, 'Fjellheim', is a dwarf that can be nice, but it's an absolute wimp for winter hardiness (USDA zone 8 or 9?) and I don't have even one on the place anymore. Strangely, while it is listed as notable for winter bark, there's neither a photograph or description in the text. Oops – Timber Press – and geeze: do I have to micro-manage everything?!

Acer palmatum 'Mikawa yatsubusa'

The Pocket Guide category for dwarf maples lists a number of cultivars that are not supposed to exceed 6 ½ feet (2m) tall, but a few of them can grow to two or three times that size. How interesting that recently I received an email from Alan Tabler of Oregon's Don Schmidt Nursery:

Talon,

I have a favor to ask of you. I am giving a talk on 'Small Maples for Small Places' at this year's Maple Society meeting. One of the points I would like to make is that the phrase dwarf maple is usually based on a slower growth rate rather than the ultimate size. Do you have a good picture of your huge 'Mikawa yatsubusa' and its approximate size and age that I could borrow for use in the talk?...

I responded:

Alan, Attached are 2 photos, taken about 5 years ago, in spring and fall. The 'Mikawa yatsubusa' is approx. 44 years old, now about 14' tall and 22' wide. We haven't cut scions from it in over 20 years.

Also, in the past we sold a 'Kamagata' that is now about 26' tall and about 36' wide. The Vertrees/Gregory book includes it in the “dwarf” group...

I agree with Alan's point that calling a maple “dwarf” should be based on a “slower growth rate” rather than “ultimate size.” Alan works at an excellent nursery nationally famous for their maples and I look forward to his talk. Also I admit that I lie a little bit on our website descriptions for height and width for plants, that I undersize them somewhat. In other words I might have a cultivar that will grow to 15' tall in 10 years at our nursery, but I list its height at only 10' tall because the gardener who purchases the tree probably lives in a less lush environment, and he would never achieve that rate of growth.

Acer palmatum 'Tsuma gaki'

Acer palmatum 'Tsuma beni'

The so-called “small maple” category is relative too. (As my uncle Albert Einstein used to say, “Everything is relative”). Some of the cultivars include two laceleafs, A.p. 'Crimson Queen' and 'Lemon Lime Lace', but I have never seen those two anywhere that grew between 6 ½' to 13' tall. I suppose if you kept staking them they would get to that height, but I've never seen it. On the other hand 'Orange Dream' and 'Ukigumo' have exceeded 13' at our nursery. So has 'Tsuma gaki'; and in the book 'Tsuma gaki' and 'Tsuma beni' are listed as separate cultivars. Masayoshi Yano, author of Book For Maples, says they are one-and-the-same, and that was my experience too...but then many of our maple starts came from somewhere, so who knows if they were correctly labeled in the first place.

Acer palmatum 'Kamagata'

The aforementioned A.p. 'Kamagata' was included in the dwarf maple section, and it's also listed as appropriate for the rockery. I have seen Vertrees's original seedling and indeed he had it planted in a mini rockery which can be seen in the booklet on page 86. I know that I've harped on this before in previous blogs, but keep in mind that an original seedling is not necessarily the prototype for what follows, especially for “dwarf” types. The original seedling is on its own roots, obviously, but grafted plants of “dwarf,” or “rockery” cultivars are usually propagated on borrowed, vigorous green rootstock and they can zoom to a size well beyond the original. Whether Timber Press gets that point or not, I don't really care; but I would have loved to discuss that observation with Vertrees, except that he is long gone. A grafted'Kamagata', then, is notthe same (at all!) as the original seedling selection. A 'Kamagata' propagated via rooted cutting might be more true to the original...I will concede.

Acer palmatum 'Villa Taranto'

Acer palmatum 'Atrolineare'

Seriously, some of the book's “categories” are kind of dumb, such as Maples with a Wide-spreading Habit, Maples with a Rounded Habit and Mound-shaped maples etc., because many cultivars can fit into these groups, and I don't think that the typical maple shopper would particularly value or seek out of any of those characteristics. As a maple grower and aficionado I know that these arbitrary groupings don't mean much to me...but maybe I'm just too jaded with my lifetime of involvement with the trees. One category that I dwell on, however, is the Linearilobum group because I've always been fascinated with those spider-like freaks, whether maples or other species of plants. The 2007 publication does not include many that I favor today, and from that point of view a 12-year-old book can be very outdated. Of the seven maples included in this category, 'Atrolineare', 'Beni otake', 'Beni ubi [sic] gohon', 'Red Pygmy', 'Shinobuga oka' and 'Villa Taranto' are dead as far as sales are concerned. That doesn't mean that they were ever bad selections, rather just that very few want them anymore...or at least from my company.

Acer palmatum 'Hubbs Red Willow'

Acer palmatum 'Pung Kil' (reverted tree)

Now, the best selling (for me) of the “strap-leaf” cultivars – and I hate that strap/strapy/strappy term – is A.p. 'Hubbs Red Willow'. In my opinion it beats all of the other red linearilobum cultivars hands down. The foliage on our mature specimens remains regally vibrant even into September when other cultivars really fade to bronze green at this time. Another favorite is A.p. 'Pung Kil' which is a rather quirky selection from Korea. It displays very thin purple-red lobes, but often there is also present some more broad lobes, and it's that combination that makes it seem more interesting than the more “manufactured” appearance of 'Hubbs Red Willow' and 'Beni otake'. Unfortunately we recently had one tree produce all broad-lobed leaves, so I guess you can say that it had “reverted,” but then it wouldn't be the first tree to do so at Buchholz Nursery. I pulled it away from the crop so that it wouldn't be accidentally shipped, and who knows, maybe we'll top graft it with something else.

Acer palmatum 'Kinshi'

Another favorite linearilobum is A.p. 'Kinshi', a compact, rounded cultivar with very narrow green lobes. I planted seven of them near the public road at the Flora Wonder Arboretum, a gift – I guess you could say – for the motorists who speed down the hill. In autumn, which is nearly here, their foliage will turn to orange-yellow which befits the Japanese name that means “with golden threads.” Isn't it odd that I squander my family money by planting trees with the purpose of intriguing people I don't know who just happen to be driving by? Maybe I'll sell some or all of them in the future, I don't know, but if you tool down Blooming-Fernhill Road this October you will see these maples in their glory.

Peter Gregory

Well, I didn't get to all 22 categories in the Vertrees/Gregory Pocket Guide so consider yourself spared. I'll hand the book over to my employee now, and I might not ever refer to it again. But I encourage you to purchase the book if you haven't already done so, and I consider myself very fortunate to have met and “talked maples” with both of the authors.

I have a lot of trees in containers – sometimes one-of's – that I'm anxious to put into ground in the Flora Wonder Arboretum. I have acquired them and have nurtured them to a plant-out size, and now is the perfect month to fill the empty spaces in my peculiar collection. The end of September is a most transitional month, where 90 degree F days give way to the jacket-wearing, apple-eating and the somewhat-depressing events of autumn. The seasons have evolved from spring's lustful indulgence, then to summer's long endurance, and now the floral hopefuls long for a permanent residence amongst their peers. Hopefully we'll find a few dry days to accommodate them.

The fact is that we're constantly digging and selling; also editing plants from the grounds for lack of performance, susceptibility to disease, or because they are not true-to-name...or the names lost, so there's an abundance of space to site replacements with greater potential. To transform is to make better– that is what the plant-fool believes – and since I have a need to promote nature's floral curiosities...I continue what I've done for most of my adult life. The fact that some on my to-plant list will be taken off the sales list explains what I mean by the “plant fool.”

Quercus ithaburensis ssp. macrolepis 'Hemelrijk Silver'

A few years ago I was gifted a silver-leaved form of the “Valonia oak,” Q. macrolepis that was discovered by the de Belders of Arboretum Kalmthout. 'Hemelrijk Silver' was selected from seed collected on the island of Rhodes and was named for their home estate, itself also a large arboretum. Besides the estate name, Hemelrijk is a nearby town in Belgium about 25 miles west of Brussels. Since botanists can't leave classification alone, we are now to name the species Q. ithaburensis subsp. macrolepis, at least according to The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2014). The common name of “Valonia” is due to the acorn cups which are used for tanning and dyeing, and the acorns themselves are eaten raw or boiled. The specific epithet ithaburensisrefers to Mount Thabor in Israel, one area of origin, and macrolepisis from Greek macros for “large” and lepis for “scale” – “with large scales.”

Abies koreana 'Alpine Star'

I'll plant a group of Abies koreana 'Alpine Star' into the rockery. One reason for doing so is because customers want to buy my entire container crop but I still need them for cutting/scion stock. This cultivar is a delightful miniature with a rounded bun shape, but I imagine if left alone a leader would eventually ascend. The “star” in its name is appropriate because the tiny white buds show off against the very dark green foliage, like you're looking at a constellation in the night sky. Like most “Korean fir,” 'Alpine Star' ('Alpin Star' to the Europeans) can be propagated via rooted cuttings, but for more vigor and faster growth we prefer to graft onto seedling Abies rootstock. Any Abies understock would be compatible, but we use either “Momi fir,” Abies firma, due to its heat tolerance, or Abies balsamea var. phanerolepis because it will accept many soil types.

Bergenia ciliata 'Dixter'

Great Dixter

I've had one pot of Bergenia ciliata 'Dixter' in the greenhouse for a number of years and it's finally time to plant the “Elephant Ears” out. Though native to mid elevations in Kashmir and Nepal, it is considered winter tender, even in England, but who knows – maybe the Dixter form is more hardy. Great Dixter is a house in east Sussex, England, and was the family home of the famous gardener and garden writer Christopher Lloyd. He is quoted as saying “The great thing is not to be timid in your gardening, whether it's colours, shapes, juxtapositions or the contents themselves. Splash around and enjoy yourself.” I won't enjoy it if 'Dixter' dies, but then I don't want to be considered timid.

Rosa moyesii 'Regalia'

I'm not a “rose guy” – pruning them is no fun anyway – but I do admire a few Rosa species and grow them in the collection. R. moyesii 'Regalia' is a favorite, but for years our one specimen was crowed too close to the road and too close next to the arborvitae hedge. We brutally pruned it twice a year, but last winter I grew tired of its placement so we dug it up and potted it into a 100-gallon container. It survived the move so now I look forward to putting it back into the ground, but this time I'll site it (with plenty of room) near the long road to our home so my wife can more easily enjoy it. The Chinese species was introduced by A.E. Pratt in 1894 and again by E.H. “Chinese” Wilson in 1903. As I wrote in a previous Flora Wonder Blog, the cultivar name 'Regalia'“is from Latin regalis for 'royal powers' or 'royal privileges,' as regal is from Latin rex or reg for 'king'.” The moyesii species “was named in honor of the Reverend J. Moyes who joined the Chinese Inland Mission, a Protestant organization whose members wore Chinese dress and adopted pig-tails to impress the locals who were undergoing the conversion attempt. Wilson had been hosted for a time by the good Reverend, and a plant hunter in China in 1903 appreciated any help he could get.” The R. moyesii species received the coveted Award of Garden Merit in 1925, and it has been used in hybrid breeding.

Nandina domestica capillus 'Tama shishi'

The dwarf “Heavenly bamboo,” Nandina domestica capillus 'Tama shishi', will be planted out from greenhouse containers because it is no longer in our propagation plans. The thread-leaf cultivar is so dwarf that we can't find good propagating wood, and so slow that I don't make any money anyway. Tama is Japanese for “gem” or “ball,” while shishirefers to a “Legendary Lion.”* The generic name Nandina is New Latin from the Japanese name for the plant, nanten. We still produce two cultivars of Nandina, 'Chirimen' and 'Senbazuru', and though both are very slow also, they make for nice QT (cutie-pot) containers. I explained to a new employee that the leaf stemlets will root – I've done it – but that they won't grow, and I learned that the hard way when I began my career. I have also seen Ginkgo biloba where a single leaf with the petiole can produce roots, but since I've never done it I don't know if new growth would appear.

*My Japanese wife says that the name 'Tama shishi' is not one that the Japanese would use. Rather, 'Tama jishi' is a more appropriate name.

Sorbus matsumurana

Sorbus commixta

Sorbus matsumurana is a new “rowan” species for me, but I need to plant my trees out because by next year they'll hit the top of the greenhouse. The specific name was coined by the great Japanese botanist Tomitaro Makino and means “pine tree village.” I'm not a Sorbus expert, but I received my start of Sorbus matsumurana from the same source as Sorbus commixta 'Embley'. Hillier doesn't list a S. matsumurana, but mentions that S. commixta – also a Japanese species – has a variety rufoferrugineawhich received an Award of Merit in 1958 as S. matsumurana. My 'Embley' went to the Flora Farm grounds last fall, so when the two “species” produce flowers and fruit and autumn color I'll have a project to compare them. An Irish website, Futureforests.ie, states that S. matsumurana produces typical white rowan flowers which are followed in autumn by “heavy crops of bright red berries which persist into winter. Serrated ash-like leaves turn yellow in autumn, contrasting well with the berries.” I love the brilliant orange-red coloration, always dependable on S. commixta, so I hope that S. matsumurana actually does turn to yellow for me in Oregon. Last year in the greenhouse they turned from green to brown, with no fun in-between.

Acer truncatum 'Fire Dragon'

Acer truncatum 'Super Dragon'

On my plant-out list is Acer truncatum 'Super Dragon', a selection of the “Shantung maple” from northern China, Korea and Japan. A few years ago I received A. truncatums 'Super Dragon', 'Fire Dragon' and 'Tiny Dragon' from Keith Johannsen of Metro Maples in Texas, and I was given permission to propagate a couple from each as back up in case I lose the originals. Now with my backups, let's see what these trees do out of the greenhouse and into the “real world.” I know that Keith has long promoted the truncatum species because it thrives in the relative hell-hole of Texas, but then he grows a lot of Acer palmatum cultivars as well.

Illicium parviflorum 'Florida Sunshine'

All visitors immediately notice my one Illicium parviflorum 'Florida Sunshine' even though it's 60 feet from the entrance of GH23. The hardy “Anise” (to USDA zone 6, -10 F) is an evergreen shrub with bright golden foliage. According to Plant Delights Nursery: “We brought three golden seedlings of the rare Florida endemic Illicium parviflorum back from our 2000 visit to Florida plantsman Charles Webb. After several years of evaluation, we selected one plant for introduction as 'Florida Sunshine'.” The best plant description in history follows: “As the weather cools in fall, the leaf color brightens to screaming yellow...” The further promise of the upper stems taking on a brilliant red cast which contrasts with “screaming-yellow” leaves, is all the advertisement I needed to purchase one from Plant Delights Nursery. I'll site it carefully with light shade, or at least shade in the afternoon, because we're more bright in summer than muggy North Carolina with its humid summers; but if in too much shade I suspect the leaves will be greenish.

Diospyros kaki 'Izu'

There is an empty spot in my apple/pear orchard of about 60 trees, and I'll fill it with my first persimmon, Diospyros kaki 'Izu'. It will be a slow-growing tree but a cultivar which is usually very productive. The non-astringent fruit is sweet and contains little to no seeds, and wonderfully it is early to ripen. I love persimmons and I hope that I'll still be around when my new tree bears abundantly. The Latin generic name Diospyrostranslates to “food of the gods,” and in China the fruit is given as a gift for good luck in the new year. The specific name kakirefers to the Japanese word for “red tree” (akaki) because that's the color of the leaves when the fruit is at its peak. Izuis a city in Shizuoka Prefecture, Japan, a short distance to the west of Tokyo.

Dahlia 'Mystic Illusion'

I know my family will be pleased with Dahlia 'Mystic Illusion' which I'll plant near the house. The simple, bright yellow flowers jump out at you due to the black-purple foliage. The bushy plant grows to about 5' tall by 4' wide in 10 years so there's plenty of blooms. I started out with one plant, but to my surprise there are now five, so apparently a garden “helper” divided the tubers when I wasn't looking. (Shh...it's patented). Credit for 'Mystic Illusion' goes to the New Zealand breeder Dr. Keith Hammett.

Magnolia laevifolia 'Free Spirit'

I'm growing a crop of Magnolia laevifolia 'Free Spirit' in containers in the greenhouse, but I'll venture to put one into my daughter's Oregon City garden and one into the Flora Wonder Arboretum. If the USDA zone 8 (10 F) trees can survive the first couple of winters maybe they will thrive in the long run. Nomenclature for M. laevifolia is fluid, and it seems like only a few years ago we called it Michelia yunnanensis, but in any case 'Free Spirit' is an evergreen, cascading bush that will grow to only 4-5' tall, but spread to 8-10' wide. Cream white flowers are small, but a mature specimen is smothered with upward-facing blossoms and they are pleasantly fragrant. 'Free Spirit' looks like it would be a cinch to root, but since it's patented I'll never know. The former name Michelia for the Asiatic genus of trees and shrubs honors the Italian botanist Piero Antonio Micheli (1679-1737), but now we need only concern ourselves with Pierre Magnol (1638-1715). Magnol was Director of the Royal Botanic Garden of Montpelier, France, and was the first (before Linnaeus) who devised a botanical scheme of classification by grouping plants into families.

Berberis temolaica

We'll put a few Berberis temolaica into the ground to be used as stock plants. The species is native to southeast Tibet, not in black plastic pots in an Oregon nursery's greenhouse where they're probably overwatered. Hillier calls B. temolaica, “One of the most striking barberries. Young shoots and leaves are conspicuously glaucous, the shoots becoming a dark, bloomy purple-brown with age.” It was the famous plant explorer F. Kingdon-Ward who introduced B. temolaica in 1924, and English botanist Leslie Walter Ahrendt – a Mahonia and Berberis expert – who provided the final classification. B. temolaica forms an upright, arching deciduous shrub, and in fall and winter the gardener, and his birds, enjoy the oval red berries. The specific name temolaicawas given because Kingdon-Ward first discovered it on the Temo La(Pass) in the Tibetan province of Pome.

Acer palmatum 'Strawberry Spring'

Acer palamtum 'Strawberry Spring'

Acer palmatum 'Amber Ghost' is a particularly fecund cultivar, and some of its seedling offspring have gone on to be selected and named as well. Acer palmatum 'Strawberry Spring' is one-such, and I intend to put a couple of plants into the ground – maybe one in partial shade, and another in full sun. The original seedling was planted out at Flora Farm in full sun where it grew slowly for a number of years. Grafts grown in the greenhouse display more vigor on their borrowed rootstock, but until I place a few grafted plants in the ground I won't really “know” the cultivar.

Acer shirasawanum 'Bronze Age'

Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Lightning'

The above also applies to Acer shirasawanum 'Bronze Age'. It too had about eight years in the ground – the original seedling, that is – but I'm anxious to see how the commercially produced grafts will fare. 'Bronze Age' is likely a hybrid of A. shirasawanum with A. palmatum, kind of like our 'Mr. Sun', and they're actually quite similar, with the former just being a copper version of the latter. My career will end before I learn all I want to know about my maple introductions, but I have experienced in the past that some of my greenhouse wonders, particularly variegates, fail miserably in the landscape. One introduction that dogged it outside, for example, was Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Lightning'. I was originally very excited upon its discovery, but the variegation would bleach-out by June and it would actually look ugly.

Acer palmatum 'Lilleanne's Jewel'

Another maple that will go out is Acer palmatum 'Lileeanne's Jewel'. I have been selling it as one-gallon containers, so it's about time that I get to know it better too. It's fantastic in the greenhouse but I wonder how the pink and white variegation will hold up outside in Oregon's blazing summer sun. This new maple was found by Johnathan Savelich and named for his daughter Lileeanne, but unfortunately the name has been botched by a couple of mail-order nurseries as 'Little Anne's Jewel'.

All of the above, plus many more plants, are going into the arboretum at Flora Farm. I wonder, but don't worry about their ultimate fate...meaning like when I'm not around. Hopefully the next owner will be into the trees as much as I am and they will continue to prosper.

...But, I once saw a Buddhist sand-painting, where a few monks spent weeks creating intricate designs with colored sand. You couldn't call it “artwork” because everything was prescribed by religious dogma, but while not artwork, it definitely was skill-work and it was amazingly beautiful. The best part was that, when finished, a few prayers and chants are uttered, and then the sand is scooped up and put into jars and tossed to the wind. The point is to remind ourselves of the impermanence of beauty, of life. That is also my point of view with my arboretum: though it was all work, sweat and worry at the time, in the end none of the trees will get out of this world alive, and neither will I.

Yep – autumn color – things aren't so green anymore. Last night (Oct. 1) we dipped down to 29 F...another temperature record for the date. I don't know, but with our greenhouse doors closed I guess we escaped any lasting damage. The water pipes didn't burst, thankfully, but we were only about two degrees short of that disaster. The majority – actually all– of my employees went to bed last night without any concern, as did my family, leaving old Buchholz alone to fret without support.

Acer palmatum 'Sango kaku'

Acer palmatum 'Little Sango'

Looking out my office window the behemoth Acer palmatum 'Sango kaku' has turned as orange as a pumpkin and is particularly striking in combination with the clear blue sky. Originally I bought a pair of the “Coral Towers” and planted them on either side of the path. Early on one died so my symmetry was ruined, but the survivor is now 46 years old and is the largest I have ever seen. I'm positive that it's not the largest in the world, just the largest that I have ever seen.* I haven't produced 'Sango kaku' for over twenty years, the reason being is that everyone else does. The cultivar can look dreadful when a two-inch caliper tree gets only a 12” square of soil at the front of a nearby box store. Out of about twenty trees I guess five look happy, but the others are hampered with black stems and split trunks. Anyway, instead of 'Sango kaku' I like to produce the more dwarf version, 'Little Sango', where you look sideways at the red stems in winter.

*After all, 'Sango kaku' was introduced in 1882.

Acer japonicum 'Aconitifolium'

A specimen of Acer japonicum 'Aconitifolium' is the same age, but the poor thing is so full of lichen that I'm frequently tempted to cut it down. It actually beings the transformation of green leaves to red about the first of August, and at this time there is little left. Except for the lichen the tree is healthy and receives adequate moisture, so I don't know why it turns so quickly. 'Aconitifolium' used to be called 'Laciniatum' and 'Filicifolium', so all three names are unimpressive and I prefer the Japanese name of 'Maiku jaku' which translates as dancing “peacock.” In any case it was introduced way back in 1888, only 24 years after the japonicum species itself was introduced to Europe (1864).

Acer saccharum 'Sweet Shadow'

Acer saccharum 'Monumentale'

Acer saccharum 'Sweet Shadow' is on fire, and the flames begin with a light yellow coloration with just a cast of orange. Today the foliage has evolved to a deeper orange, and in about two weeks it will peak with a fiery red-orange, and my one old specimen has never failed to impress me. The Maple Society of North America will be visiting on October 25, which is perfect timing for dazzling color. Oddly Acer saccharum 'Monumentale' is still completely green today, but it's planted in an area that receives more irrigation, and I think that's what delays the autumn color. A “Sugar maple” used to be next to the office – I never knew the name since I didn't plant it – but I also located my first container area next to it which was watered frequently throughout summer and fall. The Sugar displayed fantastic color only after I moved the containers away. Sadly that tree is gone; it was weakened by incessant drilling by a sapsucker or woodpecker so we finally cut it down. Its short stump remained and it grew an orange fungus which would develop every fall. After five or six years the Sugar's fungus food finally petered out, but it was a fun spectacle while it lasted.

Acer circinatum

The Pacific Northwest is famous for its “Vine maple” species, Acer circinatum. I mentioned in the paragraph above that Acer saccharum's fall color can be influenced by the amount of irrigation it gets or doesn't get. I remember that the famous maple author, Peter Gregory, said that the Sugar maple does notproduce outstanding color in England. But I wonder wherein England – was he talking about one or several specimens at Westonbirt Arboretum where he was director years ago? Certainly there must be places in England with lean soil that receive less rain than at Westonbirt, so how would they do there? While not in England, I can picture a Sugar specimen in the Scottish Highlands, and I bet it would look brilliant in autumn. The two photos above were taken on the same day on Mount Hamilton in Washington state along the Columbia River Gorge. The October photo at left is Acer circinatum growing along the stream at the bottomof the mountain, and two miles later the Vine maple's color was red near the topwhere the soil was more sparse and rocky. Both the low and high elevations receive the same amount of rainfall, but with different amounts of water retention.

Acer circinatum

The photo of the Vine maple above was taken in a plant friend's collection at the end of May, and the little tree was already displaying autumn color. It was a delightful sight, and at first I thought she had acquired a red cultivar new to me. But the skinny is that the maple was planted on a flat rock with some small groundcover at the edge to keep the soil contained, and I suppose her little “dish” required daily attention in summer so it wouldn't dry out and scorch. I was so fascinated with her creation – and I have lots of flat rocks at the nursery – that I wanted to rush home and plant a hundred of them, but the reality of another project for me to micromanage kept me from doing so.

Acer palmatum 'Hogyoku'

Earlier in my career I had a row of Acer palmtaum 'Hogyoku' displaying lustrous green leaves in July. Sometime in August leaves on one small branchlet turned brilliant orange, and though I walked past it every day I didn't give much thought to the event. Finally I stopped to inspect and I noticed the branch had broken, probably caused by me when I was cutting scions, but it was still hanging on by a little bit. The following year I intentionally half-broke a branchlet on 'Osakazuki', but apparently not enough as it remained green. The next year I tried it again but the leaves turned brown, so apparently I broke it too much. That was 30 years ago and I haven't done it since, but I encourage all blog readers to break a branch and see if you can duplicate what I accomplished by accident.

Sempervivum 'Gold Nugget' in October

Sempervivum 'Gold Nugget' in January

Of course it's not only deciduous trees that change color in autumn. We have been growing Sempervivum 'Gold Nugget' for a few years. The foliage is not much of interest in summer with kind of a lime-green color, but now it has changed to a more yellow. The best will come later in winter when red tips develop on the fleshy leaves.

Pinus mugo 'Ophir' in October

Pinus mugo 'Ophir' in December

Color on some conifers is changing as well. In summer Pinus mugo 'Ophir' is a non-even – just another boring pine – but today when I walked past I noticed it beginning to evolve to its yellow winter color. There are pines that produce a more dramatic winter color than 'Ophir', such as with Pinus contorta 'Chief Joseph', but it's the glowing nature of 'Ophir's' yellow that is more accomodating with surrounding garden plants.

A lot of plants change color in autumn, and I guess that I have also if you consider me (with my gray hair) to be in the “autumn” of my years. At least I hope I'm in autumn, not in the dead of winter.

Rosa moyesii 'Regalia'

Edgeworthia papyrifera 'Red Dragon'

The color red can be dramatic in horticulture, whether it's found in the flower of a tulip in spring, or a rose in summer. The type flower for the Edgeworthia genus is yellow, so plantsmen get extra excited with the red-flowered E. papyrifera 'Red Dragon'. The blossom color of the “Giant Himalayan lily,” Cardiocrinum giganteum, is normally a cream-white, so plantsmen are aroused when a pinkish one flowers, and wouldn't it be fantastic if a blood-red blossom appeared?

Acer rufinerve 'Erythrocladum'

Today's word red is derived from the Proto-Indo-European reudh. There was no one P.I.E. language per se, but moving backwards in time from our present (red) words, one travels back to reudh in the ancient Indian language Sanskrit, and the Germanic mother tongue, Proto-Germanic. Later, in Greek, the word became erythros, and thus we have the red-barked maple, Acer rufinerve 'Erythrocladum' and the reddish-leaved Aesculus x neglecta 'Erythroblastos'. Doctors and other biology nerds know that the term erythrocytescientifically describes a red blood cell.

Rhododendron ochraceum

Or, we can go sideways as with sanguineum, since Ribes sanguineum comes from Latin sanguis, meaning “blood,” referring to the deep red flowers. Surprisingly, the word ochre or ocher is derived from Greek ochra, that from feminine of ochros for “yellow.” Nevertheless, the word has evolved to mean “red,” for that is the flower color of the recently discovered (Steve Hootman, Peter Cox) Chinese species, Rhododendron ochraceum. I have a small plant in my collection, but probably the largest growing in America is a splendid group at the Rhododendron Species Botanic Garden in Washington state. Director and discoverer Hootman relates: “There were only about four small plants found growing on top of a giant boulder in an untouched, deep valley [in the Jin Pin Mountains of southern Sichuan near the Yangtze River] full of exciting and new plants.”

Thuja plicata

Quercus rubra

Red is often used as a common name for plants, as with “Western Red cedar” describing Thuja plicata or “Northern Red oak” describing Quercus rubra. Sequoia sempervirens, Sequoiadendron giganteum, and I guess Metasequoia too, are commonly called “redwoods.” That can actually be a problem because it is all too easy for the novice to mix up the genera. For example, a local historian wrote an article in the local newspaper about the “redwoods” in Forest Grove, Oregon, where a 150 year old Sequoiadendron giganteum was recently cut down to save a beater – my adjective– house. The historian waxed on knowingly about how seed of the redwood was collected by an early Forest Grove nurseryman “along the coast of California.” Nope. Rather he collected the “Giant redwood” from the Sierra foothills in California. Yikes! – where was the editor on that boner?

Acer palmatum 'Red Dragon'

Acer palmatum 'Tamuke yama'

Horticultural writers – and I guess that I'm one – use various descriptions for the “kind” of red, such as ruby-red, burgundy red, fiery red, scarlet red etc. Acer palmatum 'Red Dragon' is obviously red in spring and summer, but in autumn it takes on a very different hue, a color even more brilliant. The same occurs on A.p. 'Tamuke yama' and all of the other red laceleafs.

Acer palmatum 'Beni shigitatsu sawa'

The Japanese have at least two words for red, aka and beni, with beni being the most commonly used for Japanese maples. Originally I collected A.p. 'Aka shigitatsu sawa', so listed in early editions of Japanese Maplesby J.D. Vertrees. Apparently evidence prevailed – though no one consulted me – that the name should be changed to 'Beni shigitatsu sawa', and I suppose that's a more apt description for the type of red in the foliage. Actually, the cultivar, by whatever name, is not all that “red” anyway – it's just a cast of reddish color on an otherwise dark-green and black-veined leaf.

Acer palmatum 'Hubbs Red Willow'

The Japanese Maples book lists eleven cultivars that begin with red: 'Red Autumn Lace', 'Red Baron', 'Red Cloud', 'Red Dragon', 'Red Elf', 'Red Filigree Lace', 'Red Flash', 'Red Pygmy', 'Red Spider', 'Red Spray' and 'Red Wood'. Furthermore, there are cultivars with “red” in the middle of the name, such as with A.p. 'Hubbs Red Willow'. Then there are “almost-red” names such as A.p 'Ruby Ridge', 'Rufescens', 'Rubrifolium' and others.

Acer palmatum 'Beni hoshi'

Acer palmatum 'Beni maiko'

There's no paucity with the name “beni” for Japanese maples. Besides the aforementioned 'Beni shigitatsu sawa', 'we have 'Beni chidori', 'Beni fushigi', 'Beni gasa', 'Beni hime', 'Beni hoshi', 'Beni kagama', 'Beni kawa', 'Beni komachi', 'Beni kumo no su', 'Beni maiko', 'Beni otake', 'Beni sazanami' and others. One of the first maples I grew in my career was 'Oshio beni', but it soon fell out of favor because the red foliage petered into bronze-green by midsummer, and so the popular, darker A.p. 'Bloodgood' overwhelmingly surpassed it in American horticulture. I regret, though, that I no longer grow even one specimen of 'Oshio beni'...goodbye brief friend.

Cannabis sativa 'Red Rocket'

Ginkgo biloba 'Blue Cloud'

The color red is something that gardeners and nurserymen can fantasize about. As a businessman, I know that I could easily sell thousands of Ginkgo biloba, at least initially, if I was able to discover one with blue or red leaves; and even more sales if the plant wasn't the normal green-leaved Cannabis sativa, but rather the imaginarily-electric C.s. 'Red Rocket'. Don't worry – I don't indulge – but realize that I regularly deal with the extremes in horticulture, so we poor nurserymen imagine a ridiculous payday if we discover the abnormal but something that resonates with the buying public.

So, let's beat around some bushes, and since we're now in the thick of autumn, let's take a visual tour of the red colours present in the Flora Wonder Arboretum and in nearby landscapes.

Acer rubrum 'V.J. Drake'

Acer rubrum spring flowers

“Red maples” abound in urban and suburban landscapes, and while the species of Acer rubrum is one that I never really notice in summer, it's one that is particularly vibrant in October. Only now do I realize that they are planted on virtually every street in my home-town of Forest Grove, Oregon. There are many cultivars and hybrids of red maple, of which I know very little, but one I encountered at the beginning of my career was A. rubrum 'V.J. Drake'. There is nothing to the boring green leaf in spring and summer to indicate the exciting yellow pattern that develops reliably every autumn. I'm not certain if Acer rubrum was coined the “red maple” due to its autumn color, or for its abundant red flowers in spring, but it is very impressive in both seasons.

Acer palmatum 'Green Tea'

I know that many wholesale nurseries, both large and small, offer only a handful of Japanese maple cultivars. Let's see: red upright– 'Bloodgood', check; red laceleaf– 'Crimson Queen', check; variegated – 'Butterfly', check; green laceleaf– 'Virides' (always mispeled) check; fall color – 'O sakazuki' check etc. As for the latter, 'O sakazuki', it was introduced in 1882 and the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2014) states: “Leaves green, turning in autumn to fiery scarlet, probably the most brilliant of all Japanese maples.” That's quite a statement, but it did receive the RHS Award of Garden Merit. I like 'O sakazuki', but in my experience it is considered a non-event and customers seldom ask for it. I keep only a couple of plants on the place and we graft only 25 about every three years. A similar cultivar, but superior in my opinion, is Acer palmatum 'Green Tea'. It equals 'O sakazuki' for fall color, it's strong and well-branched, and it's more interesting in spring on account of pinkish new growth. It was selected at Buchholz Nursery a number of years ago where it boldly stood out from its seedling brethren.

Stewartia x henryae 'Skyrocket'

Stewartia x henryae

Plant snobs must have a Stewartia or two in their gardens to be considered valid, but only occasionally do you find them in plebian gardens, and I've never seen Stewartia used as a street tree. I'm partial to S. x henryae 'Skyrocket, a narrow form of the hybrid between S. pseudocamellia and S. monadelpha. Unfortunately we are not skilled enough to root Stewartia and our graft takes are dismal too. That's too bad – there are a lot of other nice cultivars – and it's surprising that this member of the Theaceae family is difficult when the related Camellia genus is very easy to propagate.

Stewartia monadelpha 'Fuji shidare'

I pay dearly for Stewartia monadelpha seedlings so I can graft the weeping cultivar 'Fuji shidare'. Since very few grafts take I grow on and sell the rootstocks at a larger size to allow time for the graft scar to heal. I wish I had more time left in my career so I could experiment, or better yet if I could copy someone who is more successful at grafting Stewartia. In any case, 'Fuji shidare' is relatively new to America and its orange-red autumn color is absolutely brilliant at this time. 'Fuji shidare' was sent to me from Japan, and I've never seen it elsewhere. My oldest stock plants are never on the sales list, but believe me, nearly every customer begs for them, like suddenly they're my best friend. Only two customers have been able to pry a couple from me – both female, both attractive...which tells you something I suppose.

Euonymus alatus 'Little Moses'

Euonymus bungeanus

Euonymus sieboldianus

Philipp von Siebold introduced Euonymus alatus from Japan in 1860. It's a species that you don't even notice in spring and summer – you can drive through town and not see any at all...until autumn when in fact they are vibrantly everywhere. I planted a few dwarf forms in my upper gardens at Flora Farm and I certainly have gotten my money's worth from them. Besides the ubiquitous 'Compactus', I have 'Chicago Fire', 'Fireball' and 'Little Moses', and the latter three have fun cultivar names, except that all three are patented. The generic name is from Greek euonumoswhich means “having a good name,” and it was Linnaeus who coined it. Alatus is Latin for “winged,” referring to the shape of the stem, but originally from P.I.E. al for “white” or “shiny.” I've never seen E. alatus at the bankrupt neighboring nursery, but they do grow variegated forms of Euonymus fortunei by the many thousands. They keep them (by constant pruning) for about two years past when they should have been shipped, then they eventually go onto the burn pile. I don't sell any Euonymus because my customers would totally skip that line item as if it was infectious. That's a shame because some species in my collection, like E. bungeanus, E. europaeus and E. sieboldianus are admired by all who see them, and are especially noteworthy for interesting trunks. The bottom line is that I don't have money but I do have a wonderful “good-name” tree collection.

Berberis 'Red Jewel'

The Berberis genus is another case where I indulged in plants that I also cannot sell, and one in particular – 'Red Jewel'– is a favorite that I placed near the office. It is a red jewel indeed, but a large red jewel, now about 5' tall by 5' wide (15 years). It's too late for me to do so now, but I should have planted a hedge of it somewhere. The foliage is purple-red in spring and summer, but now it's beginning to take on a scarlet hue, and the shiny red leaves will persist long into winter.

Disanthus cercidifolius

One of my favorite shrubs is Disanthus cercidifolius, and Hillier gives it a perfect description: “It is valued for its beautiful, soft crimson and claret-red autumn tints.”Soft crimson and claret-red; yes, it never colors evenly...which is part of the excitement, enough excitement that it gained the RHS Award of Garden Merit. I have grown it in full sun, but it's also one of the few plants that will turn to deep red even in shade. Disanthus is not common in landscapes, in part because its flowers are tiny, burgundy little things that are not conspicuous. Another problem is that it is prone to root rot. I had my oldest, a 20-year-old specimen that thrived at the nursery, then one year it went south – it didn't die but it wasn't right. I kept it for another three years, hoping for a miracle (because I deserve one now and then), but I finally cut it down. Maybe another problem with the Japanese/Chinese monotype is that some gardeners would confuse the Disanthus name as a misspelling of the Dianthusgenus. The specific name cercidifolius refers to the leaf shape of the Cercis genus, while the generic name comes from the Greek words dis meaning “twice” and anthos meaning “flower,” because of the paired flowers.

Vitis coignetiae

I encountered the ornamental grape Vitis coignetiae one October day planted against a white wall at the RHS's Harlow Carr. The sun was out though the morning was still frosty, but I certainly warmed up to the dazzling autumnal colors of the vigorous vine's leaves. That was twenty years ago, but the result was that I returned home and found the grape offered in a specialty mail-order nursery and I planted two vines at the corners of my garage. My intention was to post them, and with strong support I would trellis them together. That construction was never accomplished, so now I just have two groping vines that I must prune three times per year to keep them from swallowing up a nearby Enkianthus and Rhododendron collection. I won't tend my garden indefinitely, and when I'm gone I fret about the new owner's commitment and ability to keep the grape monsters under control.

Fothergilla monticola

Parrotia persica

The Fothergilla genus was named in honor of the English physician and plant collector John Fothergill (1712-1780). I have them in the collection, but I admit to a mental block as to distinguish one species from another. They all look alike to me, so is the F. monticola (photo above) the same or a subspecies of F. major? My start came from plantsman Hatch's garden labeled as F. monticola, and I grafted five sticks onto a branched Parrotia persica. Four grafts took and a few years later I had a full bush on a colorful Parrotia trunk. What's interesting is that all four portions of the top change to fall color at slightly different times, but basically they transform from orange to red to deep purple, so you can almost set your calendar to the color present. Speaking of Parrotia, its leaves evolve pretty much the same way as Fothergilla, but then they are close cousins in the Hamamelidaceae family.

Liquidambar styraciflua 'Gumball'

Formerly placed in the Hamamelidaceae family (now the Altingiaceae family) was Liquidambar styraciflua, a name first given by Linnaeus in 1753. Apparently L. was impressed with the tree's resin, for the genus was named from the Latin liquidus for fluid and the Arabic ambar, then he repeated it with the specific epithet styraciflua for “flowing with storax.” Prior to that, in John Ray's Historia Plantarum(1686), it was called Styrax liquida. Before the Europeans got involved the tree was called by native Americans Ocotzocuahuitl, a name which translates as a tree that gives pine resin from ocotl(pine), tzotl (resin) and cuahuitl (tree). Anyway, I have various cultivars in the Flora Wonder Arboretum that are beginning to change color. The foliage progresses pretty much the same as the Fothergilla and Parrotia genera, from orange to red to purple.

I began work today in the cold and dark – kind of depressing really – but now (9 AM) the sun has arrived and it illuminates a clear blue sky. Blue is a wonderful backdrop for the red foliage in the garden. We humans are lucky that our maker designed us with the ability to see color. The world would still be interesting if it was rendered in black and white, but what a great bonus to have reudh throbbing in our brains.

I began writing the Flora Wonder Blog eight years ago, beginning in the fall of 2011.

Seth is working at getting photos ready for my upcoming speech for the Maple Society, who will also be visiting here on Oct. 25.

So, since I don't want him to snarl at me with the extra work, today's blog will be a rerun from one of the first, eight years ago.

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Flora Wonder Arboretum

Autumn color this year was more vivid and memorable than ever…or so it seemed to me (again). I worried that I would miss it, all due to the European trip, but returned to a full month of enjoyment. Now finally all the leaves are down, raked and dumped onto the neighbor's property. We face four months of cold, fog and darkened gloom, just like the previous 39 years of my life.

"Color" usually means deciduous trees with leaves, but that's not all. Larix, Taxodium and Metasequoia, aflame with straw yellow to burnt orange foliage, looked impressive, especially on rainy days. The old standby, Larix decidua 'Pendula', has indeed been "standing by" for a long time in our display garden; I would guess it to be 38 years old. My three older children used to hide in it, and demand that I try to find them, but every time I got near…their giggles would give them away.

Larix decidua 'Pendula'

Larix decidua 'Puli' never disappoints. Its natural habit is that of a low, flat groundcover, but of course it can be staked into a narrow weeping tree. The cultivar name is derived from a Hungarian breed of dog which has curly hair that drops straight down. Larix laricina 'Blue Sparkler' could be called "Orange Sparkler," judging by its color now.

Larix laricina 'Blue Sparkler'

Larix decidua 'Puli'

Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Gold Rush'

Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Gold Rush', about 18' tall, was brilliant this year, and could be seen from the far corners of the nursery. Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Kools Gold', which in summer will prove more useful than 'Gold Rush' for those in hot climates, put on a glowing show with the back-light of the afternoon sun.

Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Kools Gold'

Taxodium distichum

Taxodium ascendens 'Nutans'

Taxodium ascendens, the "Pond Cypress," shines with orange while the blue-green cones dazzle like Christmas tree ornaments. The species "ascendens" is nomenclaturally comical, meaning ascending, as the branches certainly do, but combines with the cultivar epitaph, "Nutans," meaning "drooping, weeping or nodding"…it makes you wonder what's the what? Well, both happen, and in fall, this soft-green conifer gives you a moment of horticultural delight. Taxodium distichum, the "Bald Cypress," is just as colorful.

Who would think of the "Heavenly Bamboos" as fall-color champions, but certainly Nandina domestica provides an orange-reddish presence to the autumn landscape. The cultivar 'Moon Bay' is wonderful in late November, and 'Wood's Dwarf', from Oregon's late Edsal Wood, develops into a spectacular orange-red ball, lasting throughout the winter. Perhaps the most fantastic of all is the cultivar 'Senbazuru', a charming little curiosity with tiny, wiry leaves. This little miniature treat turns to red in November, and is delightfully bejeweled with sparkling silver pearls when it rains.

Nandina domestica 'Moon Bay'

Nandina domestica 'Wood's Dwarf'

Nandina domestica 'Senbazuru'

Ok, let's get to the maples. Whenever I invite someone to visit the nursery in autumn, I am usually thinking that they'll get their money's worth with a tour of the Acers. August, September and the first of October can be dreadful in a maple nursery, the fresh spring leaves are ravaged by long 95-100 degree weeks, but fall color is the redemption that we so long await. Acer palmatum 'Festival', a new selection, is noted for its yellow and orange October leaves. Acer palmatum 'Geisha Gone Wild' was the most impressive cultivar from spring through summer, yet still elevated itself to a higher level of color in the fall. Acer palmatum 'Orangeola' and 'Adrian's Compact' treated me to a November 16th birthday's present of back-lit orange and red; for sure, no one has ever received a comparable present.

Acer palmatum 'Festival'

Acer palmatum 'Geisha Gone Wild'

Acer palmatum 'Adrian's Compact'

Acer palmatum 'Orangeola'

My God, my jaw dropped open on a November Sunday, when I wandered the nursery alone. Magical things happen when I can be with the plants, with no distractions from employees, customers (sorry) and crop-production issues. Wow!, the Stewartias were spectacular, with S. henryae 'Skyrocket' an intoxicating wine-red color. S. monadelpha 'Pendula', new from Japan, will be a high-priced favorite, with numerous pearl-white flowers blooming in July, then followed by yellow-orange-red leaves in autumn.

Stewartia henryae 'Skyrocket'

Stewartia monadelpha 'Pendula'

So how did Buchholz Nursery get this oriental treasure? Well, my Japanese wife, Haruko--beautiful and then in her twenties, skilled at floating with old nurserymen (like me)--she impressed upon Japan's Mr. S. that it would be wonderful to have a weeping Stewartia in America. The following winter, I received two plants, as well as a weeping pink-flowered Styrax, 'Momo shidare', a compact white-flowered Styrax, labeled simply 'Dwarf'and another dwarf named 'Pink Compacta'. Also in the shipment were two variegated Davidias, 'White Dust' and 'Aya nishiki'. And more: a variegated Daphniphyllum--tentatively called 'Variegated'.

Cornus kousa 'Ohkan'

Perhaps the most useful present in this fantastic shipment was Cornus kousa 'Ohkan'. Mr. S-san gave me this variegated "Oriental Dogwood" which features lovely cream-white and green variegation in summer, followed by purple, red, green and yellow leaves in fall. Ok, I'll stop being coy, Mr. S-san can be identified as Akira Shibamichi, the godfather of Japanese nurserymen. Furthermore, after a long spring plant day that stretched late into the cold evening, he treated me to way-too-much warm sake at the local restaurant, and we both glowed with happiness.

Acer tegmentosum 'White Tigress'

Back at the nursery my happy day was culminated by the two flats of Acer tegmentosum 'White Tigress'. These were produced by rooted cuttings from a single clone, but the fifty or so plants each displayed different fall color. I huffed on the camera lens, wiped if clean, then photographed the various leaves. We occasionally sell 'White Tigress' as a 6 to 10 foot tree, but these 4" pots would most likely be used as rootstock for our quick-to-sell-out Acer conspicuum 'Phoenix'.

Ginkgo biloba 'Tschi tschi'

Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Matthaei Broom'

Well, there were dozens more fall-colored plants…or hundreds really, that impressed me this year. But now it's mid-December; the gardens still delight, just in a different way. So goodbye Acer griseum, Ginkgo biloba 'Tschi tschi' and Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Matthaei Broom', we'll see you next year. Next week we'll explore the winter garden, and the Flora Wonder Arboretum is well-equipped to please any plantsman in the dead of winter.

Acer griseum

Sunday on the Lam

Book For Maples

A May Day at the RSBG

Cultivar Names

Hot Diggity Dog

Half-Baked Spud

End of June Swoon

A Japanese Primer

Growing Plants for the Heck of It

The "Titan Arum" Opens

For Sale or Not For Sale

The Painted Hills of Oregon

Making Maples

The Flora Wonder Conetum

From Zen Archery to Bench Grafting

Pocket Guide to Japanese Maples

Planting Out: Indulgence, Endurance, Permanent Residence

Autumn Colors...Already?

RED!

Fall Color at Buchholz Nursery 2011