Flora Wonder Blog

Acer palmatum 'Geisha Gone Wild'

The North American branch of the Maple Society held their annual meeting in Portland, Oregon this past weekend. Attendees arrived at Buchholz Nursery on Friday morning and were treated to a beautiful sunny day with vibrant colors in the garden. The next day I gave the keynote speech about Buchholz plant introductions, then I was presented with the Peter Gregory life-time achievement award due to my career with maples, and when everybody stood to cheer my normally stoic (bored) 16-year-old daughter welled up a little (as my wife reported). All of the attention was somewhat embarrassing, then to top it off the landslide winner in the Maple of the Year vote was our introduction of Acer palmatum 'Geisha Gone Wild'.

I was honored, of course, but I'm glad the whole affair is behind me, so I can now go back to wearing shirts with frayed cuffs. Besides visiting nurseries the Society also included a trip to the Portland Japanese Garden. I am a member of the Garden so I can attend at any time, but it was fun to share the experience with first-timers from Texas, Tennessee, and even one from Hangzou, China.

The Japanese Garden was packed with tourists on this clear Sunday afternoon – poor scheduling on our part, really – and the low PM sun meant that most portions of the garden were cold and dark. In a way that was nice because where the sun did hit the trees, that is where everyone congregated to photograph the brilliance.

The Garden's publication advises us to “stroll around, slow down, and let your senses guide you into another world.” The special “world” is a “living classroom that offers tremendous opportunities for experimental learning to all who enter its gates. The lessons of Portland Japanese Garden are many and varied; not only does it speak about the way trees grow and how moss forms on stone, but also about the lives and culture of the people who designed and nurtured this enduring art form.”

Promoting cultural ties is important in my opinion, and I've done my part by marrying Haruko. She plays the koto in her kimono, then serves me warm sake in the evening. In Japan there is the saying that “the husband is the boss of the house...if the wife allows.”In America the wife is the boss of the house, no matter what! Anyway, our two daughters are proof that hybrids are often better than the individual parts, and I would gladly produce more if Wife allowed. So, that's why we tied the knot.

The Japanese Garden site was dedicated in 1961, and Professor Takuma Tono of Tokyo Agricultural University – from which Haruko graduated – was retained to design the garden. He lived for a year in a 20' trailer working tirelessly, and even had to endure Go Home Jap and other slurs spray-painted onto the trailer's side. We're all happy he persisted and developed the garden into the peaceful sanctuary that it is today.

The Garden formally opened to the public in 1967, with admission at $0.50 for adults and $0.25 for students, and 28,000 came before it was closed for the winter. In the winter of 1981-1982 it was kept open year round, and now about 350,000 visit each year. Today it is acclaimed by a number of visiting Japanese dignitaries* as one of the most beautiful and authentic Japanese gardens in the world outside of the island nation, as well as one of the foremost Japanese cultural organizations in North America. I was once asked to serve on its Board of Directors but I declined because I was too busy, and besides I recognize that I am too crude and blunt to blend into most committees. But they didn't need me anyway; and since they are now loaded with money they recently opened a new Cultural Village, thus doubling the Garden's area. The new addition is absolutely wonderful, especially since the new Cultural Village's rooftops are planted with green herbage, so that the long views (shakkei) are not compromised with any nearby conflicting structures.

*The former Japanese ambassador to the US, Nobuo Matsunaga, said in 1988 that the garden was “the most beautiful and authentic Japanese garden in the world outside Japan.”

Still in the sun was the Garden Pavilion, which blends perfectly into the garden with its tiled roof, wooden verandas and Shoji sliding doors. The west veranda faces the Flat Garden where one encounters stone (the “bones” of the landscape), water (in the form of raked white sand) and plants, in particular a large red laceleaf maple. The goal is for visitors to feel part of the environment, not overpowered by it. It is typical of a daimyo's (feudal lord) villa garden, and its pavilion represents the Kamakura period's (1185-1333) architectural style. A courtyard to the east of the pavilion offers a fantastic view of Portland's city skyscrapers with Mt. Hood – substituting for Mt. Fuji – in the distance.

It was too cold to sit and contemplate at the Sand and Stone Garden, but I have done so on warmer days. This style of landscape with raked sand and stone is referred to as karesansui which translates as “dry landscape.” Some may consider this as an example of a “Zen garden” as this style is/was often part of a Zen monastery where the monks did the upkeep. Not to get too detailed, but one visits here not to meditate, but rather to contemplate. However the throng of visitors today did neither as crying babies and rambunctious children prevented any spirituality. Again, it was Professor Tono who designed this garden.

The Garden's current curator, since October 2008, is Sadafumi Uchiyama, and he says: “Another name for my position is the vision keeper.” He spoke to our Maple Society group and suggested that the main purpose was to bring two cultures together. I would love to tour the garden with him one day as he is full of stories and explanations, and what a treasure it would be if I could experience the place through his eyes. For example, he points out that the site was once the location of the old Portland Zoo where the bear's den is now part of the waterfall in the Strolling Pond Garden.

The Garden continues to evolve, of course, but Mr. Uchiyama assures us that “its concept and design stay.” One hundred years is the Japanese standard for “maturity,” and Mr. U. says “We're still giving the garden its flavor,” and that “We're just beginning on a long journey.” I'm just pleased to know that it will outlive me.

The following are additional views of the garden throughout the seasons:

Iyo stone

Pinus thunbergii

Pinus densiflora

Picea glehnii

Acer circinatum

Acer macrophyllum

Acer palmatum

Komo rebi (leaking light)

Everyone knows the Japanese word for "goodbye" is sayonara. But that's a rather long-lasting formal goodbye. Ja-ne is more of a casual, "see-ya" kind of goodbye, like friends would say to each other. So ja ne, Portland Japanese Garden – I'll be back soon.

Lucile Whitman

I met the likable Lucile Whitman about 38 years ago, just after she arrived in Oregon from Tennessee. I can't remember the reason for my initial visit to her Salem-area nursery – I suppose she had something for sale – but back then her nursery was little more than a few fruit trees and some dirt clods. Maybe my purpose was to scrounge around the bareroot nursery that was next door, but that entity was forgettable while the estimable Ms. Whitman was most memorable. I suppose what impressed me most was that Lucile was a one-woman show, which was an oddity at that time in Oregon's nursery industry. And, I admit, I fell for her southern drawl.

Before long Lucile's informal nut and fruit tree farm expanded into growing unusual ornamental trees, and she produced them in either containers or in root-control bags in the ground. I experimented with the new grow-bag technology but it didn't seem to fit into my program, but I certainly see its advantages where any unskilled laborer could pop a tree out of the ground at any time of the year.

Ginkgo biloba 'Fandancer'

Morus macroura

Lucile's business proved successful because she produced new and unusual plants, and that, along with her charming personality, insured that she would maintain a loyal customer base. In contrast – in my case – my trees have to carry the entire load. I can visit Whitman farms at any time, but I took advantage of the Maple Society's itinerary, so I sat back on the huge bus loaded with fellow plant geeks. The previous day we toured a much larger, more organized and apparently much more profitable company, but I suspect that most of the society had a better time at Lucile's, so let's see what I found:

Asimina triloba 'Sunflower'

Asimina triloba

Naturally what impressed me most was the wide-ranging display of autumn color, in particular with a specimen of Asimina triloba 'Sunflower'. I have one15-year-old tree of the common “pawpaw,” a deciduous eastern North American shrub, but it has yet to bear fruit, probably because of a lack of cross pollination. Lucile's cultivar 'Sunflower' may have been named for the golden-yellow autumn color or perhaps for the large fruit with yellow flesh. This cultivar produces few seeds and ripens in about September; the taste is like that of bananas, but it is understandable that children and other first-time consumers are somewhat leery of its custardy taste and texture, kind of like my children's aversion to figs and papayas. Indeed, when eaten raw it can produce nausea in some people, so it is best introduced in moderate amounts in ice cream or pies. The generic name comes from colonial French asiminier, and that from Native American assimen, while the specific epithet triloba refers to the flowers' three-lobed calices. The common name of pawpaw is probably from the American tropical fruit called papaya(Carica papaya) by the Spanish. For what it's worth, pawpaw fruit was a favorite dessert of President George Washington, and even President Thomas Jefferson had it planted at Monticello in Virginia.

C'mon everybody, let's sing:

Where, oh where is dear little Nellie?

Way down yonder in the pawpaw patch.

Pickin' up pawpawpaws, put 'em in your pocket

Way down yonder in the pawpaw patch.

I could almost fiddle-dance to that tune with Lucile.

Acer buergerianum 'Integrifolia'

I encountered a trident maple where the label read Acer buergerianum 'Integrifolia', but the name, from Latin integer meaning “entire” (leaf margins) and foliumfor “leaf,” is usually used for a species or subspecies, not for a cultivar. Lucile was occupied with other customers so I couldn't ask about her source. I know that the buergerianum species is variable with a number of varieties such as var. ningpoense, var. buergerianum, var. horizontale, var. formosanum and others, and that some trees are consistently unlobed. Indeed the Japanese botanist Makino described the unlobed as A. trifidum var. integrifolium, although as you can see from the photo above her trees' leaves are definitely tri-lobed.

Acer palmatum 'Pine Bark'

Acer palmatum 'Nishiki gawa'

Lucile had a maple in the field with red autumn foliage and a label that read Acer palmatum 'Pine Bark'. The 2” caliper trunk was reminiscent of Acer palmatum 'Nishiki gawa' which I also grow, and in the Vertrees first edition of Japanese Maples he lists the “Pine Bark Maple” as a synonym of 'Nishiki gawa', implying that the former (with double quotes) is just the common name. However, the photo in the first edition shows a very deeply furrowed trunk, more so than the 'Nishiki gawa' photo of the 4^th edition. Originally I acquired 'Pine Bark' as a cultivar – I don't remember from where – but I soon tired of it because it would almost break in half just by looking at it, unlike the more sturdy 'Nishiki gawa'. I'm not talking about A.p. 'Ara kawa', the “Rough-bark maple,” which is even less convoluted than 'Nishiki gawa'. So what's my point? I don't know, except that I wonder if there was once a third cultivar in the trade that everyone has since given up on? You certainly can't succeed with a tree like my original 'Pine Bark' that is so fragile. Vertrees says (1^st edition) that 'Pine Bark' usually has seven elongate-ovate lobes that “taper to a long point” – as does 'Nishiki gawa'– and that furthermore, “Mature leaves assume bright green color and turn to strong yellow in the Fall,” unlike the red of my 'Nishiki gawa'. What is bizarre is that the 'Pine-Bark' photo in the Vertrees 1^st edition has a caption reading: Acer palmatum 'Pine Bark Maple” with a single quote at the beginning and a double quote at the end...probably the only occurrence in the history of published nomenclature to do so.

Lucile Whitman

The Flora Wonder Blog has been accused before of being “buried in a sprawling mess of recollection and quibbles about minutiae” to which I totally concur. In a sense, I do what botanists do – quibbling about minutiae, such as with the paragraph above – except that I also have dirt on my hands, and to survive I must manage people, worry about the market and deal with the vagaries of mother nature...not to mention my own health and vitality. When Lucile spoke to Maple Society members at the beginning of our tour she suggested that she hadn't accomplished anything beyond what any of us could have done. But – she reminded us – she was always at work; and that's obvious because I've never seen her wear anything other than work clothes, and always with her trusted Felco pruners at the quick.

Sorbus rufoferruginea 'Longwood Sunset'

Lucile's enthusiasm for plants is infectious, but one wonders where she acquires her new starts, and on every visit I discover species and cultivars that I never knew existed. One such was Sorbus rufoferruginea, and since I knew nothing about it I turned to the Hillier's Manual of Trees and Shrubs(2014) where I was advised to “See S. commixta var. rufoferruginea.” An earlier (2^nd) edition of the Manual listed it as a species: “A small tree closely related to S. commixta, of which it is perhaps merely a variety. It differs in its slightly villous buds and the presence of soft brown hairs on the inflorescence and along the leaf midrib beneath. Japan. I. 1915.”In any case the (now) variety received an Award of Merit in 1958, but as S. matsumurana. I was gifted S. matsumurana by an English source two years ago, but neither the earlier nor the current Manuallists it as a species. Well, I'm hardly a Sorbus expert, but I think I should acquire a S. rufoferruginea so I can study this species or variety for myself. The specific epithet is interesting: rufois Latin for “red” and ferruginea means “rust-coloured,” and maybe it is rare in collections because “rowan” lovers prefer a tree with more bright-red berries, as with S. commixta.

Stewartia koreana

Maybe I should get a Stewartia koreana from Whitman Farms as well – I have never grown it, but I saw a beautiful specimen at Gossler Farms Nursery, Oregon, a few years ago. Back to Hilliers (2^nd, 1972), where S. koreana is described as “A superb, small to medium-sized tree...” It was introduced by E.H. Wilson in 1917, which is a reminder that the great plant hunter visited Korea and Formosa in 1917-1918 while collecting for the Arnold Arboretum. The 2014 Hilliers' now lists S. koreana as S. pseudocamellia Koreana Group (var. koreana Nakai ex Rehder). It's odd that the Gossler Guide to the Best Hardy Shrubs (2004), with “More than 350 Expert Choices for Your Garden,” doesn't include S. koreana when I would consider it the star plant in their famous garden.

Eucalyptus nicholii

I had never encountered a Eucalyptus nicholii before this most recent visit to Whitman Farms. I could have stared at it for hours without ever guessing that it was a Eucalyptus; in fact before I found a label I supposed that I was looking at some species of Salix (willow), and indeed it is commonly known as the “Willow Peppermint.” Further research reveals that E. nicholii was first formally described in 1929 by Joseph Maiden in his book A Critical Revision of the Genus Eucalyptus, and the specific epithet honors Maiden's private secretary and “Chief Clerk, Botanic Gardens” Richard Nichol. It is considered a “Vulnerable” species that is native to Australia's Northern Tablelands in New South Wales. I love the trunks of most Eucalyptus species, but I don't grow even one because I don't care for the foliage; however, since E. nicholii's leaves don't look like a gum I should acquire one also, especially since Hillier describes it as an “elegant tree.”

Cercidiphyllum japonicum 'Heronswood Globe'

I noticed that Lucile is growing Cercidiphyllum japonicum 'Heronswood Globe' which Hillier describes as “A slow-growing bushy dwarf selection with beautiful creamy yellow to pink autumn colour.” I grew it years ago but discontinued because sales were weak, and besides it was neither “slow-growing” nor “dwarf.” The original seedling (photo above) was far more vigorous than Hillier states, and subsequent grafts on Cercidiphyllum rootstock are even more so. For a couple of years I sold grafts back to the now defunct Heronswood Nursery, but we discontinued that propagation because I think their sales were slow too. One observation is that I suppose any propagator would look at the Cercidiphyllum genus and consider it a cinch to root, but for me I never struck even one root on any of the “Katsura” cultivars that I tried.

Cotinus obovatus

I have never seen Cotinus obovatus, the “American smoke tree,” in the wild, but then it is rare in the southeast of USA. Lucile had a group in a greenhouse that were deliciously glowing, and once again I decided that I need to get one. There are many contenders for “best” autumn-color shrub, but C. obovatus must be considered near or at the top of the list. At first it was placed in the Rhus (sumac) genus in the Anacardiaceae family by botanist Thomas Nuttall. The genus name is from Greek kotinusmeaning “olive,” while the specific name refers to the egg-shaped leaf with the broadest end uppermost. I know I must site the Cotinus with plenty of sideways room, and even if it is annually coppiced the new shoots can zoom up to 12-15' tall by the end of summer.

Cornus nuttallii 'Colrigo Giant'

The Columbia River Gorge

Thomas Nuttall

Lucile grows many cultivars of dogwood, and I was impressed with the autumn foliage on Cornus nuttallii 'Colrigo Giant'. Speaking of the botanist Thomas Nuttall (1786-1859) who described Cotinus obovatus, he was actually an Englishman, but was famous for his discoveries of North American flora and fauna. His collecting trips provided material for his principal work The Genera of North American Plants (1818), and he is commemorated for the “Pacific dogwood,” Cornus nuttallii. On one trip Nuttall travelled through the Midwest, then boated down the Snake River to the Columbia River which passes through the world-known Columbia River Gorge. How fitting, then, that a tree with the largest flower of this species was named 'Colrigo Giant' for the Columbia River Gorge. I have two specimens of the dogwood planted next to my house, and every year I marvel at the picnic-plate size of the flowers. I like the description given by Dancing Oaks Nursery of Oregon: “Amaze your gardening friends with these huge flowers that can reach up to 8” across! And also with thick, sturdy stems, I think this one has been nipping on steroids.”

Cornus kousa 'Summer Fun'

My Flora Wonder Blog was recently described by a grump as “self-serving” and he would be correct. Basically the theme is plants and I can promote or demote any I wish, and if you don't like it you can simply push the switch button and go back to your porn. Anyway, the final plant that I'll mention is my introduction of Cornus kousa 'Summer Fun', a discovery that Hillier calls “A spectacular small tree with grey-green and pale cream variegated leaves suffused with pink in autumn.” Ms. Whitman grows it and in Oregon alone it is produced by the thousands annually. In my opinion the best feature is that it is notpatented, for which I am proud, because I strongly believe in free-market capitalism. 'Summer Fun' originated as a stem sport on a 16” green rootstock, and I deserve no special credit for its discovery because how could I miss it? I potted up the original seedling myself because I didn't trust any employee to touch it, as in “Oops, the variegated part broke off.” I kept some green on for the first four years, then I grafted a few scions from the variegated portion before I had the nerve to prune all of the green off.

Cornus kousa 'Summer Fun'

The original 'Summer Fun' can be seen from one office window, but then I also walk past it a couple of times per day, and have done so for the past twenty years. It is not for sale nor will it ever be. However, as I was writing the paragraph above I received an email from Mr. J. from New York:

Hi Talon,

Hope all is well.

For the past 15 years M. [his boss] has been the chairman of the board for xyz investments. He is retiring from the board and the company would like to buy him a gift and they are thinking about a tree. Do you have anything...a special maple or champion tree?

Thanks, J.

Wow – what a coincidence! I won't sell the original 'Summer Fun', absolutely not, but I can give it away. Yes, that will be the “special” gift.

Enough about me and back to Whitman Farms. I have a few customers who buy from me and from Lucile's nursery. If you're not familiar with her then get with it and place an order.

www.whitmanfarms.com

Six recent weeks of fall color has been a gift, a last hurrah before plants become mere winter sticks brooding in the cold and gloom. I admire the exuberance, aware that every autumn could be my list, and my successors will speculate that I died doing what I loved, and that occasionally I had a smile on my face during the process. If – as they say – a picture is worth a thousand words, then it's best that I spare you unnecessary verbiage and just give you the visual goods. So, warm regards 2019, thanks for the memories.

Quercus garryana

Acer tegmentosum 'Joe Witt'

Cornus kousa 'Akatsuki'

Acer palmatum 'Strawberry Spring'

Acer tegmentosum 'Joe Witt'

Acer shirasawanum 'Moonrise'

Magnolia macrophylla

Cornus kousa 'KLVW'

Acer shirasawanum 'Moonrise'

Mahonia media 'Underway'

Rosa nevadensis

Acer palmatum 'Bihou'

Cercidiphyllum japonicum 'Raspberry'

Acer triflorum

Decaisnea fargesii

Acer palmatum 'Summer Gold'

Acer nipponicum

Acer palmatum 'Rising Stars'

Acer palmatum 'Kamagata'

Acer saccharum 'Monumentale'

Ginkgo biloba 'Shangri La'

Acer pycnanthum

Acer negundo 'Winter Lightning'

Hamamelis vernalis 'Sandra'

Acer palmatum 'Tobiosho'

Acer palmatum 'Crimson Queen'

Berberis jamesiana

Acer rufinerve 'Winter Gold'

Acer x 'Arctic Jade'

Acer japonicum 'Ruby'

Lagerstroemia 'Arapaho'

Hamamelis intermedia 'Diane'

Cotinus obovatus

At Whitman Farms

Acer japonicum 'Vitifolium'

At the Portland Japanese Garden

Acer circinatum

At the Portland Japanese Garden

Acer palmatum

Acer macrophyllum

Acer circinatum

Acer palmatum 'Purple Curl'

Acer palmatum 'Frosted Purple'

Acer shirasawanum 'Purple Velvet'

Acer shirasawanum 'Plum Wine'

Acer shirasawanum 'Little Fella'

Acer palmatum 'Shojo nomura'

Cercis canadensis

Acer sieboldianum 'Seki no kegon'

Acer shirasawanum 'Royalty'

Acer palmatum 'Peve Ollie'

Acer shirasawanum 'Mikado'

Acer buergerianum 'Angyo Weeping'

Taxodium distichum 'Shawnee Brave'

Acer palmatum 'Peve Starfish'

Acer circinatum 'Baby Buttons'

Acer palmatum 'Summer Gold'

Acer shirasawanum 'Royalty'

Acer palmatum 'Sawa chidori'

Acer palmatum 'Ghost Dancer'

Acer pictum 'Usu gumo'

Acer crataegifolium 'Meuri ofu'

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Compacta'

The Chamaecyparis genus (False cypress) is well represented at Buchholz Nursery. We produce four main categories: C. obtusa, C. lawsoniana; C. pisifera and C. nootkatensis, but since the latter has been shifted to Xanthocyparis (or Callitropsis) we'll concern ourselves with just the first three. In the past I also puttered with C. formosensis – the Taiwan cedar – but due to weak sales, probably because of perceived non-hardiness and the fact that I knew of no cultivars, that species was discontinued. I regret that I didn't leave at least one specimen in the collection because its blue-green flattened foliage was quite attractive. I also grew briefly C. funebris, but in any case it was eventually classified as a Cupressus.

I like The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs(2014) description of the Chamaecyparis genus: “The few species have given rise in cultivation to an astonishing number of cultivars covering a wide range of shapes and sizes, with foliage varying in form and colour. A few are really dwarf, others are merely slow-growing, while many are as vigorous as the typical form.”

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana

I have mixed feelings about the C. lawsoniana species, and in particular I don't care for the straight species itself. It is native to southwest Oregon and northwest California where it grows into a large conical tree with gray-green foliage, and though the horizontal branches develop a drooping form the species is not nearly as elegant as with Xanthocyparis nootkatensis. C. lawsoniana was “First introduced in 1854,” according to Hillier, “when seeds were sent to P. Lawson and Son's nursery, Edinburgh.”Well, “first introduced” to Europe, because prior to that American settlers and Native Americans made use of the species. How British, though, that a native American tree species was saddled permanently with a Scottish nurseryman's name.

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Silver Queen'

Nevertheless, there are a number of C. lawsoniana cultivars that are of garden merit, which we produce by grafting onto C.l. 'D.R. (disease-resistant rootstock). Those companies that produce C. lawsoniana cultivars via rooted cuttings – in America at least – are horticulturally irresponsible since most trees will eventually die from Phytophthora, so the only motive is greed, as the species is easy to root and with enough chemical fungicides they can be cranked quickly from the propagation department and into sales. I've whined about this practice ad nauseum, but just this past weekend I saw at a high-end specialty grocery store the holiday display of “live conifers.” In particular the faded-silver foliage of indoor-grown 'Silver Queen' looked dirty, especially as presented in a gaudy red plastic pot. Bah Humbug!

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Wissel's Saguaro'

Our best selling C. lawsoniana cultivar is 'Wissel's Saguaro', a blue-gray behemoth with arms that resemble the stereotypical cactus.* They look good when young, but at my nursery they can reach to about 15-20' tall (4.5-6 m) in just ten years. At least it stays relatively narrow, and so it can fit into many garden situations. But be clear, my friends, C. l. 'Wisselii' is notthe same as 'Wissel's Saguaro'. 'Wisselii' originated in Holland by F. van der Wissel in 1888, an old cultivar that never really gained favor in America. 'Wissel's Saguaro' was discovered as a witch's broom on 'Wisselii' and was discovered by J.B. Decker of The Netherlands in about 1962. The “cactus” form has existed for over 50 years, then, but American growers and gardeners still consider it fairly new. Maybe its growing popularity as a landscape tree is that Buchholz and other mindful propagators are using the disease-resistant rootstock.

*The Saguaro cactus is Carnegiea gigantea.

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Blue Surprise'

Second in C. lawsoniana popularity for us is 'Blue Surprise', a cultivar I first encountered in a Scottish rock garden about 30 years ago. It forms a compact pillar with intense silvery-blue foliage that dazzled me when I saw it gleaming in the sunlight, but I groaned when I learned that it was a Lawson cypress...but that was before the disease resistant rootstock was developed. In Oregon we achieve a lot of growth per year on grafted plants, and our only worry is that a wet heavy snow will cause the branches to fall apart. 'Blue Surprise' is also of Dutch origin (1968), and I like that their nurserymen often employ the universal language (English) with catchy named for their introductions.

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Imbricata Pendula'

I continue to propagate C.l. 'Imbricata Pendula', a curious thread-leaf form, but unfortunately without a catchy English name. Long branchlets do indeed droop, so that accounts for the “pendula” name, while “imbricata” refers to overlaying scales on the twigs. It's tough, though, to market a conifer with a long Latin name, and I wish it could have been named more whimsically, like for a Dr. Seuss character. Hillier says it was raised from seed in New Zealand in about 1930, but not introduced until much later “as propagation is difficult.” I suppose it would be difficult to propagate from cuttings, but that's a poor excuse because most Lawsons are easy to root, so grafts of 'Imbricata Pendula' are as successful on these rootstocks as any conifer we propagate. Hillier describes it as a “small” tree, and maybe it is if on its own roots, but I have a huge grafted specimen at Flora Farm that is 35' tall at about 18 years of age; and yes, I planted it too close to the road.

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Filip's Golden Tears'

Both C.l. 'Filip's Tearful' and 'Filip's Golden Tears' came from Edwin Smits of Holland. The former is green and very narrow, even more so than the “weeping Alaska cedar,” Xanthocyparis nootkatensis 'Van den Akker', while the 'Filip's Golden Tears' is also very narrow, but with soft yellow foliage. The green and gold forms look the same when growing in a shaded greenhouse, and that's your/my employees' excuse for mixing them up. Honestly, I think my crew just looks at the name 'Filip's' on the label, and don't remember that one of the cultivars will be yellow if grown in the sun, and the other green. When I remind them to focus on the entire plant name, they look at me with glazed eyes and feel for certain that I expect far too much.

Chamaecyparis pisifera 'Filifera'

Robert Fortune

Chamaecyparis pisifera was introduced from Japan by Robert Fortune in 1861. The specific epithet means “pea-bearing” due to the tiny round cones, from pissumfor “pea” and ferrefor “to bear.” Oddly the genus name of Chamaecyparisis from Greek Chamaimeaning “dwarf” or “low to the ground” and kyparissosmeaning “cypress,” odd because both the Lawson cypress and the pisifera cypress can grow quite large, to 150' or more. C. pisifera is referred to as Sawarain Japanese, but my Japanese landscape-architect wife didn't know its meaning when first quizzed. She defended herself, however, that for identification purposes Chamaecyparis obtusa has white markings under the leaves in the shape of a “y” while the C. pisifera species has white markings in the shape of an “x.” Ok, that's useful if you're taking a dendrology exam, but certainly the word sawarais used to describe something. Accepting the challenge, wife Haruko conducted more research and now says sawarawould translate to “fresh,' clean, tidy,” since the C. pisifera species displays a less ponderous canopy than the more-loved C. obtusa species. Then she assured me that Tokyo people – where she is from – would never use the sawaraname, but rather the more rustic denizens of Osaka, or even Kyushu people, would come up with a name like that. I have learned from the past that I rarely get a simple, straight answer when I ask for Japanese words' meanings, but maybe that's just her with her own particular “Secrets of the Orient.”

Chamaecyparis pisifera 'Baby Blue Ice'

Anyway, we don't grow many C. pisifera cultivars when once we rooted some of the golden threadbranch selections by the thousands (when we sold rooted cuttings); but nobody has asked for them in years. C.p. 'Baby Blue Ice' is still popular for us today, and I like the tight pyramidal shape seen on mature specimens. It is hardy to -30 F (USDA zone 4) and the glittery blue shows off nicely in the winter garden, especially with something lower and yellow surrounding it.

Chamaecyparis pisifera 'Harvard Gold'

C.p. 'Harvard Gold' is a golden sawaraselection which we produce (easily) from rooted cuttings, but on 100 F days in Oregon it must be sited with PM shade. I was given my start by the great – now retired – Oregon plantsman John Mitsch*, and since it was then unnamed I called it, and sold it as 'Mitsch Gold'. Eventually I got around to asking John if there was another, more valid name to use. Since his start came from someone at the Arnold Arboretum – but I don't know that story – John suggested 'Harvard Gold'. I gulped because I was initially guilty of spreading it around with a name of my own concoction, and I should have been more patient with the plant's distribution.

John Mitsch

*Don't read this paragraph if you're tired of my excessive whining and pontifications, but I find it irksome that the lightweights at the Oregon Association of Nurserymen (OAN) have passed so many years without enshrining John Mitsch into the Nurseryman's Hall of Fame. John is far too humble to care, but I do since he was as instrumental as anyone for the success of Oregon's nursery industry, including my own company, and to neglect his honor is like omitting Peter or Paul from the Gospel while including the hapless, drunken village priest.

Chamaecyparis obtusa

Ok, now to Chamaecyparis obtusa, the 'Hinoki' cypress. By now regular Flora Wonder Blog readers know that I relish word origins, that I find it the greatest hobby only after sex. Wait a second! – that sentence didn't come out as intended. Anyway, almost all professional nurserymen and home gardeners know that “hinoki' is the common word for Chamaecyparis obtusa. Hinois Japanese for “fire” and kimeans “tree,” so hinokirefers to “fire tree,” but wife H is not certain why the species would translate to that. She speculates that splinters of hinoki were commonly used to begin stove fires, but she's not really sure because modern Japanese people – even though they love old customs and traditions – are now far removed from old word meanings. Often there is an old Japanese poem or story that explains the term, but today's big-city girls have no reason to know it. I make my wife uneasy with my requests for word or phrase origins, and when she doesn't know she somewhat feels that she has failed our marriage. She accuses me of loving Japan more than the Japanese (Nihonjin) do, but I can't help that either.

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Rigid Dwarf'

When you visit my nursery and arboretum – and I would love to tour with a group of students, whether Japanese or American – you'll discover that most species I grow are native to Japan, even if the particular cultivar is of American or European origin. To wit: Acer palmatum, Pinus parviflora, Chamaecyparis pisifera, Chamaecyparis obtusa etc. Japan is well represented in American horticulture, maybe only second to China, but both countries account for more trees in my collection than those from Europe or America. That doesn't stem solely from my love of Japan, but rather because Japanese species are those most easy to sell at my niche-nursery business.

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Lemon Twist'

My hinokis were mostly acquired through the aforementioned Mitsch Nursery, and old John willingly sold me starts even though he knew that I would eventually compete with him. I bought cuttings of C. obtusa 'Torulosa' which was apparently a synonym of 'Coralliformis', a “small to medium-sized bush with densely arranged, twisted, cord-like, brown branchlets and dark green foliage,” according to Hillier. At some point Mitsch was offering 'Torulosa Dwarf' and I bought onto that too, even though it grew at the same rate as the regular 'Torulosa'. As is the wont with Chamaecyparis, my 'Torulosa Dwarf' produced a golden mutation which I propagated. It proved to be stable, i.e. the propagules have never reverted back to green, and I named the mutation 'Lemon Twist'. It features the same twisted, cord-like branchlets with numerous cockscombs, except that the foliage is lemon-yellow. It is a wonderful slow-growing conifer that thrives in full sun and I considered it – 25 years ago anyway – as one of the best plants to have come out of Buchholz Nursery. Imagine my disappointment when I discovered a look-alike in Linssen's Dutch nursery, 20 years ago, with the name 'Golden Whorl'. Yep – the same rate of growth and also with lemon-yellow cockscombs. We still produce 'Lemon Twist' but no one seems to be producing the mother tree of 'Coralliformis'/'Torulosa'/'Torulosa Dwarf' anymore.

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Fernspray Gold'

An early edition of The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs lists Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Tetragona Aurea', that it was introduced from Japan in about 1870 and that it may have arisen as a sport of 'Filicoides'. Then, for the cultivar 'Fernspray Gold', Hillier stats that it is similar to 'Filicoides', and “Originally grown in New Zealand as 'Tetragona Aurea'. C, 1970.”In my opinion they are certainly similar, but I think the New Zealand introduction is actually different. In any case 'Fernspray Gold' is a more garden friendly cultivar name. I'm one of the first in America, if not the very first to acquire it when the now defunct Duncan and Davies Nursery of New Zealand sent a plant sample of it to the American nursery where I worked in the 1970's. My boss didn't care for it and allowed me to take the sample home, and within a couple of years I was propagating and selling it. I was quite proud to receive an order for it from my conifer guru, John Mitsch, the first and only time I beat him to the punch.

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Filicoides Compacta'

Philipp von Siebold

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Filicoides' was introduced by Philipp von Siebold to Germany from Japan in about 1860, implying that the Japanese were already growing selected cultivars of their native hinoki cypress. For me it was a scrappy-looking plant that was marred by dead tufts along the stem, so I eventually discontinued it. Much later in my career I saw a 'Filicoides' Compacta' in Holland which looked good to me, and so now I produce it. In the Hillier manual (2014) under 'Filicoides Compacta' we're advised to see 'Compact Fernspray' which is described as “A miniature, rather stunted form of 'Filicoides'.” It's hardly “miniature” though, as a 10-year-old can grow to 5-6' tall and is very bushy and healthy-looking, so I question the adjective “stunted.”

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Nana (True)'

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Nana Gracilis'

'Nana Gracilis' grafted onto Chamaecyparis lawsoniana

I suppose Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Nana Gracilis' is the hinoki we have produced the most, and it propagates easily by rooted cuttings or can be grafted onto Thuja occidentalis. I have seen old specimens grafted onto Chamaecyparis lawsoniana but that's not advised since the bole of the Lawson rootstock grows to enormous size and looks capable of swallowing up the dwarf hinoki. The American nursery industry is rife with careless growers who mix up C.o. 'Nana' with 'Nana Gracilis', but the former is a miniature that Hillier calls “One of the best dwarf conifers for a rock garden.”I agree and my oldest plant is only about 18 inches tall and wide after 35 years. To keep our customers (and employees) straight about not confusing it with 'Nana Gracilis', I invented the cultivar name 'Nana (True)' which does the job. By the way, a 35 year old 'Nana Gracilis' could grow to 10-12' tall if propagated from a cutting, and 15-20' tall if grafted onto Thuja.

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Harumi'

The last hinoki I'll mention is Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Harumi'. The name can mean a number of things, but if the characters are right it means “spring beauty.” It is occasionally a given name for a Japanese girl who is born in spring, but risky because she might not grow into a beauty after all. I encountered the name in an English author's travel book, Pictures from the Water Tradein the mid 1980's, where the author was chatting with a proud old Japanese man who named his daughter Harumi. Too bad that I couldn't have met this beauty but I remembered the name. In the 1990's I discovered a variegated twig on C.o. 'Torulosa Dwarf', propagated it and named it 'Harumi'. At the time I was divorced and single but I at least had a “spring beauty” in my garden. Then – what do you know? – I met and eventually married a Japanese woman named Haruko (“spring child”). Our first born was a girl so we named her Harumi. The plant 'Harumi' was named by me at least 10 years before I had the chance to name a girl, but the good news is that my daughter (now 16) is exceedingly beautiful whereas my plant is only so-so. Heavens to Hinoki!

I surprised my family this past summer when I announced that I'd like to visit Japan in the fall. My wife and two daughters are bilingual and they go nearly every year, but I stay at home to feed the dog and to make sure the nursery doesn't collapse. Old photos from Japan show that I used to have brown hair while now my head is stark white. We decided to skip Thanksgiving turkey in America for a plate of sushi instead, and the best part was reuniting with Haruko's family – mother, father, a brother and a sister plus their kids. I was impressed that my two daughters are totally fluent with their cousins while they shared past memories and talked about the pressures of school (or getting into the right school).

Family aside, I made it clear that this would be a business trip, so on the second day we visited the famous Ginkgo street in Tokyo in the morning, and then two nurseries in the afternoon. Our ride and guide for the nursery visits was ex-intern, Takahiro Bito who labored diligently for a year in Oregon in 2015. Bito – who needs a first name when your last name is Bito? – is tall, congenial and intelligent, and based on his internship at Buchholz Nursery he was selected for a choice job as a horticultural rep for a large company. Apparently I have a smattering of fame in Japan, probably not for my nursery career, but as the lucky chap who was able to land Ms. Haruko (who everybody knows) as a wife. When we got into Bito's car he apologized that it was so small, but he maneuvered skillfully in the Tokyo traffic, and like the British he drove on the left (wrong) side of the road. H. thanked Bito for attending to us and he replied, “You took care of me for a year, what is one day to help you?”

Acer palmatum 'Ryu sei'

Our first stop was Kobayashi Maple Nursery which was a new destination for me. In Masayoshi Yano's Book for Maples Acer palmatum 'Ryu sei' (or 'Ryu sen') was first distributed by Kobayashi in 1991 with a synonym of 'Millennium Green' which nobody uses at all. For what it's worth the name 'Ryu sen' is used for the patented selection, but there's controversy on both sides of the Pacific...which I won't go into. In any case seedlings readily germinate from it and about a third display the same cascading habit. In the middle of Kobayashi's nursery is a large specimen that I assumed was the original plant. It receives protection from a bench built around it, atop which sat the company dog. My daughters don't know or care about the maple but they lost no time in befriending the mutt, and they left me to wander the nursery alone.

Acer palmatum 'Orange Dream' at Buchholz Nursery

Acer palmatum 'Orange Dream' at Kobayashi Nursery

Mr. Kobayashi

Autumn color was brilliant on the maples and a large number of people were visiting – I don't know if they were actually shopping for trees or just enjoying the color. I'll be blunt: the place was a mess with crooked maples in containers mixed in with those planted in the ground. Our visit coincided with the tail-end of a Tokyo typhoon so many plants were lying sideways in the dirt. I don't know how profitable the company is, I just know that due to its relatively small size and lack of quality trees I could never make a living with it. Unfortunately nothing was labelled and I wondered if the Japanese care at all about a tree's identity. Haruko found a tree with tiny leaves colored red and yellow. She asked K the name and he replied, 'Orange Dream'. Yes, that's how 'Orange Dream' colors for me too, but the leaves on my plants are at least three times larger. With water and fertilizer and rich soil I am able to push maples into far more vigorous growth, so again I wondered how K was able to make a living. Nevertheless we thanked him for the opportunity to visit and we both stood to attention for a photo, then after a couple of bows we piled back into Bito's car.

Shibamichi holding Azalea 'Tsatsuki'

Michelia 'Orange Flower'

Ilex laxifolia 'Variegated'

Our next destination was Shibamichi Honten (nursery) and it was 16 years ago that I last visited. Akira Shibamichi was waiting for us outside in a lawn chair and I was surprised that he remained the same age as before while I definitely had grown old. Indeed he displayed boundless energy as he circulated from tree to tree explaining its story – in Japanese – which Haruko dutifully translated. It seems that everything we saw was not “normal” in one way or another. For example, an Azalea 'Tsatsuki' that flowers all year, a Michelia that flowers orange, a variegated Ilex laxifolia etc.

Stewartia monadelpha 'Fuji shidare'

Daphniphyllum himalaense ssp. macropodum 'Variegated'

Apparently Shibamichi likes me because he offered to give me any cuttings that I wanted, but I wasn't going to cause a stir at customs back in America. 16 years ago we toured his nursery, and then visited other nurseries with him until it was dark and cold. Then we went into a comfortable bar and drank warm sake while he continued to flirt with Haruko. She is very skilled at floating with old geezer plantsmen like myself and Shibamichi, and after our first visit he sent a care package with some fantastic trees: a variegated Daphniphyllum, a weeping Stewartia monadelpha and others. I don't know if he finds all the unusual plants himself or if they are brought to him by others, but probably both since he is revered as the Godfather of Horticulture in Japan.

Stewartia malacodendron 'Beni suji'

At the end of our visit we sat in Shibamichi's office and he pulled 5 or 6 scrapbooks filled with plant prints. After all it was the end of November when most of his leaves had dropped and flowers were long gone. I was most impressed with a Stewartia malacodendron – a southeast USA native – with the cultivar name of 'Beni suji' which means “red vein.” Though a species considered difficult to grow, it has the prettiest flower of all, and now Shibamichi has one with red markings.

Talon and Shibamichi in front of Stewartia monadelpha 'Fuji shidare'

I don't know if I'll ever acquire the Stewartia --time is running out for both of us. But speaking of Stewartia, I asked to pose with him with his weeping Stewartia monadelpha. Generally speaking I'm not very successful at grafting Stewartia, which is a shame because there are some wonderful cultivars. I thought that Shibamichi might provide a useful tip and reveal an exotic secret. Instead he shrugged and suggested that maybe I just had “poor technique.” I laughed – “Sayonara” then.

Buchholz family

My wife and our two daughters go to Japan nearly every year, and while they always have some fun adventure, the main purpose is to reunite with Wife's family. Haruko and her sister Sakiko are very close, so close that I wasn't surprised when they both gave birth to their first child on the exact same day. After a 16 year absence I decided to let my business fend for itself and I invited myself to go to Japan too. Our timing was the end of November and my goal was to see wild nature, not just Japanese gardens and nurseries.

Hachiyoji City at the foot of Mt. Takao

Our hotel in Tokyo was near Shinjuku, the rail hub of the city, and we decided to take the express train to Mt. Takao which was only an hour away. Takaosan, as the Japanese refer to it, isn't much for elevation at only 1965', but it's home to a wealth of plants, in particular Japanese maples. We left early to avoid the crowds while my daughters elected to sleep in. They had access to the internet and were able to connect with their American boyfriends, so they had no real interest to get up early and climb a damn mountain.

Haruko

Atsuko Gibson

I already knew a little bit about Takaosan due to a fun article written by Atsuko Gibson of the Rhododendron Species Botanic Garden in Washington state. She was there two years ago at the end of May to see the blooming of Dendrobium moniliforme (accomplished!). Atsuko explains that nearly 3 million visit Takaosan annually, and my wife supposes that every Tokyo child takes a school field trip there, which she did when she was ten. Atsuko calls Takaosan “heaven” for those who are there to observe plants. It is located on the boundary between the cool zone and the warm zone and approximately 1,300 taxa* can be found. And, if you're into bugs, 5,000 species of insects crawl around to the delight of a bird population of 150 species.

*In the whole of Great Britain 1,500-1,600 taxa are found.

Magnolia hypoleuca

Styrax japonicus

Cryptomeria japonica

I was somewhat apprehensive when we deboarded the train due to cold rain and wind, plus I was suffering from a head cold and my nose dripped constantly the entire day. But the brisk mountain air energized me because to stay warm one had to walk. During Atsuko's visit in spring she saw Magnolia hypoleuca, Arisaema limbatum, Hydrangea serrata, Iris japonica and Styrax japonicus in full bloom, plus a number of ferns. The ferns were still present for me as well, but the preponderance of Japanese cedar (Cryptomeria japonica) was impressive. Often I couldn't see the tops of the sugi trees because of the foggy gloom, nevertheless their reddish-brown trunks were straight and stately. Then best of all were large specimens of Acer palmatum scattered throughout the cedar forest, and we were there at the perfect time for their red and yellow autumnal foliage.

Cryptomeria japonica Takosugi

Hipparidako

Takosugi's eye

There are eight trails to the summit but we took the main one with the promise that we would see the 450+- year-old takosugi or “octopus tree.” The tree was protected by a few posts and next to it was a pedestal on which sat a reddish ball with an octopus carved on top. The tree is so-called because the root arms look like octopus tentacles. Legend has it that the large tree was in the way during the construction of the pathway, and when workers tried to cut the tree down...that night it bent its roots to open up a way for them instead. Now sacred rope is placed around its trunk, making it Takaosan's sacred tree, and it is considered a place of spiritual rejuvenation. It is said if you pet the head of the Hipparidako statue it will bring you good luck, so I gave him a pat and a wink.

Acer palmatum

Near the takosugi we encountered a very short old woman who greeted us with a cackle and a smile. She welcomed us as if she owned the place and she was very energetic and enthusiastic, and for all I knew she maybe climbed the mountain every day. In Japanese the spry midget told Haruko that we should take a side trail if we wanted to see the best large maples. Haruko wondered how could she possibly know that old Buchholz was "Maple Man," and indeed that's what he wanted to see? On the way down from the summit we did take her advice and the short trail ended at a church-like structure surrounded by huge Acer palmatums. The fact that they were barely visible in the fog made them all the more impressive. I thought about the old woman and wondered if she was a real person or something from the spirit world. Maybe the octopus ball brought good fortune by sending this creature to me.

Stewartia pseudocamellia

Abies firma

Unidentified tree

Further up the mountain I encountered Stewartia pseudocamellia for the first time in the wild...unless not wild if someone planted them there, and one tree was impressive for golden autumn leaves. After a few more up-steps and turns I discovered a “true fir,” Abies whatever– Abies firmaaccording to Ms. Gibson's article. Honestly, considering the length of my career, I really should be more adept at tree identification, but I confess that I have trouble with trees from the wild or trees from someone else's garden or from a city's urban forest. To wit: a fantastic broadly-crowned tree with brilliant yellow leaves. Haruko couldn't identify it and neither could I. Help – please! – from the Flora Wonder readership.

Kusumoto Taki

Kusumoto Ine

Philipp Von Siebold

Japan abounds with buildings with architectural styles from its historic periods which I know very little about. Just as I have trouble identifying some of its native trees, I couldn't tell you if a structure is a Shinto shrine or a Buddhist temple. Haruko laughed and said she couldn't either, but sometimes they both occur in the same area. I don't know what any of the stone pillars signify, but just as with British gravestones it is a somewhat awesome pastime to wander amongst the old weathered markers and imagine about the people from a hundred-to-hundreds of years ago. Basically I think they were the same then as we are now. For example, the famous German/Dutch physician-botanist, Philipp von Siebold, fell in love and fathered a beautiful child (Kusumoto Ine) with the comely 16-year-old (Kusumoto Taki), whom he described as "fine as any European woman." I did the same, of course, except my wife was 23 when we married, and certainly we knew that scrutinizing tongues were wagging. But, due to my oriental attraction, I am now (19 years later) in Japan climbing up a sacred mountain and indulging in the aura of its exotic flora. What a wonderful ticket to happiness my wife has been!

Takaosan Temple

Tengu statue

Back to temples, Takaosan, being a power-place location, features Yakuoin Yukiji, a Buddhist temple where many visitors pray to the Shinto-Buddhist tengu(a kami from Japanese folklore). Kami are the spirits or holy powers that were/are venerated in the Shinto religion, and they can be elements of the landscape or forces of nature, or can be the spirits of dead persons. The Takaosan Temple (built in 744 AD) features statues of tengu– a mountain deity with the long Pinocchio-like nose, where the novice tengu has a crow-like beak, but where the more progressed tengu, who has been trained longer on the mountain, possesses the funny long-narrow nose. I know that my wife occupies a more ethereal realm than I do, and even without formal training she submits to the interconnecting energy of the universe (musubi) and is in harmony with, and conscious of, kannagara no michi, or “the way of the kami.” The literal meaning of tengu is “Heaven-Dog,” and since most things “Japanese” are derived from China, there is in Chinese mythology a creature named Tiangou which means “celestial hound.”

Umbrellas at the cable car

Our descent from the summit of Takaosan was far more hectic and problematic due to the increased hoard of visitors who were puffing their way up. Most of the climbers were now armed with the cheap, clear Japanese umbrella which serves its purpose, but nevertheless I suppose that if one was not diligently on guard, then you could easily get spoked in the eye. Per protocol we were hugging the left side of the path, just as motorists do on the roads and street commuters do on stairs and escalators in the train stations, nevertheless Haruko was knocked by a bow-legged woman who wouldn't yield to the correct side. I'll say the following carefully because I don't want to denigrate anyone for their nationality, but the charging woman was Chinese, and no matter what, they are absolutely different, or at least the tourists are very aggressive. The Japanese all realize the importance of Chinese money and the power of their economy, but the Nihonjin grumble that they are growing more and more prolific in their island nation, and that they are...well, less refined.

At the bottom of Takaosan is a tourist village with a number of shops near the cable-car station. Haruko bought me a delicious hot coffee from a vending machine. Vending machines are ubiquitous in Japan; they are well-stocked and clean, and I suppose you could still live a healthy life if you ate from them only. We were startled when a loud whoosh of steam was released from the side of a tourist stall. It was fathersan roasting chestnuts in his fancy steel machine. Inside his beautiful daughter was serving nuts to the hungry mob. I studied the sweetheart closely, impressed with her calm attentive demeanor, where she flashed a smile and gave a pleasant greeting to every customer. I wondered: is she really that nice at home? Haruko assured me that she probably is because Japanese are “good people.” Anyway the chestnuts were delicious, the squash meal was enhanced with a sticky brown sugar, and I think the species is Castanea crenata.

We returned to our hotel where our daughters were lounging on their beds which were littered with plastic wrappers of healthy snacks from the nearby convenience store (konbini), and I'm sure that they gave no thought – because they never asked – about our Takaosan adventure.

My wife's parents, Yusuke and Fumie Nagamine from Tokyo, knew a few months in advance that I would be visiting Japan at the end of November, 2019, and that I would be coming for “business.” I didn't buy or sell anything, so my “business” – as in a tax write-off – was to see and document the native flora, whether the plants were carefully crafted in a garden setting, or just naturally biding their time in their mountainous habitat. Both in-laws diligently researched and set up an itinerary that would satisfy my goals, and they succeeded in providing a trip of a lifetime.

Zempukuji Ginkgo

By train we went to a temple in an area of Tokyo that featured the oldest (probably) Ginkgo biloba, supposedly over 600 years old. The leaves were just beginning to turn yellow, but the area under it, a cemetery, was completely clean of leaves or fruits, so I assumed that the venerable old specimen was a male. Only 100 feet away was a much younger Ginkgo and she was showing off with butter-yellow foliage and had already lustfully dropped hundreds of seeds. The Grandfather Ginkgo had a horrible canopy and a somewhat rotten back side – caused by an incendiary bomb at the end of WWII – but the trunk was massive. I'm sure that he was happy to have the fecund, younger female nearby to help sustain him in his old age, so in that case the pair resembled old Buchholz and his younger Japanese wife, Haruko.

Female Ginkgo biloba

Townsend Harris

The female Ginkgo has a stone tablet that reads: On this spot Townsend Harris opened the first American legation in Japan. July 7, 1859. Harris (1804-1878) was a New York City merchant and minor politician who did some business previously in the Orient, and while in Japan he “negotiated” the Harris Treaty which opened Shogunate Japan to foreign trade and culture. According to persistent legend, Harris adopted a 17-year-old geisha named Kichi Saitou – who can blame him? – but she was heavily pressured into the relationship by Japanese authorities, and then was ostracized after Harris' departure. I don't know if the female Ginkgo existed at the time of the Harris affair – somehow it didn't look to be that old. “Kichi” is a provocative name if you ask me. The word ki can mean “tree” and chi chi can mean “female breast,” but Haruko insists that the geisha's name has nothing to do with “breast tree.” It would be a wonderful coincidence if it did, and that a female ginkgo was placed where old Harris did his deeds. Anyway kuchi means “lips” in Japanese, and it's fun to think about kichi's kuchifor this old pervert.

Ginkgo biloba

The male Ginkgo had a number of pendulous breasts, some of which were nearly hanging to the ground, but they're not particularly attractive appendages. It is known as the “Giant Ginkgo-Tree of Zempukuji,” the name of the accompanying temple which was founded in 824. Holy-man Shinran Shonin was teaching doctrine at the temple, and he concluded by emphatically placing his staff in the ground. Soon the staff began to put forth buds and spread branches, finally growing into the tree we see today.

Icho Namiki

We left the Ginkgo pair to themselves and boarded another train to see Ginkgo avenue in Tokyo. Ginkgo is known as “icho,” and is the official tree of Tokyo, and the icho leaf is the symbol of Tokyo where you will see it above subway stations, on manhole covers and on the sides of buildings. Icho Namiki is the 300m-long avenue lined with two rows of Ginkgo on both sides. I was surprised that they were heavily pruned into narrow pillars and they were maybe 100 feet tall. When Haruko was a child the trees were not so severely pruned, and she and her best friend Chihiro would ride their bicycles through the leaves every November. When Chihiro – now living on a distant island – saw the photo (above) she was shocked by the excessive “haircuts.” These days the avenue is open for pedestrians only in November, with nearby policemen patrolling the throng of visitors. Alas, we were a few days early for the yellow carpet, but what's amazing is that all of the trees will shed at once – “in one consent,” according to former U.S. poet-laureate Howard Nemerov. Peter Crane, author of Ginkgo: The Tree That Time Forgot (2013, Yale University Press) says that “Ginkgo has the most synchronized leaf drop of any tree” he knows.

Ginkgo biloba

Ginkgo biloba 'Blue Cloud'

According to Peter Crane, over ½ million Ginkgo are planted as street trees in Tokyo, and amazingly a very large Ginkgo can produce nearly a million leaves per year. Imagine the number of leaves produced at Icho Namiki since there's about 150 trees total. They were planted in the 1920s when they were about 20' tall, and thank God they survived WWII. I find it amazing that with Japanese maples, yellow, green or red foliage in spring and summer can turn to yellow or orange or red in autumn, but a Ginkgo only turns to yellow, and that includes our introduction of Ginkgo biloba 'Blue Cloud'.

Nishi Honganji

Ginkgo biloba

The most impressive Ginkgo I saw in Japan was a few days later in Kyoto. I don't know if it's ever pruned or not, but it is a great spreading specimen over 400 years old, with its lateral branches supported by strong posts.* A fence protects its root zone, but other than that it is gloriously alone in the middle of a couple of acres, “alone” if you don't consider me or the other dozens of tourists who approach it. The accompanying temple is named Nishi Honganji – ji means “temple” – the origins of which go back to the 14^th century, and today it is designated as a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

*Due to its flat-top shape it is affectionately referred to as the “upside-down” Ginkgo. Another common name is the “water-fountain” Ginkgo, as apparently water sprayed out of its canopy during a great Kyoto fire, and thus the tree was able to protect itself.

Ginkgo biloba

Every Ginkgo we saw in Kyoto was in sync with the old temple specimen for autumn color, and whenever the sun broke through the tourists – yes, tons of Chinese – were recording the event with their telephone cameras. One wonders how many digital clicks occur in Kyoto every day in autumn, what with the brilliance of the Japanese maples and Ginkgoes. I add my photos to the blog, but what does everybody else do with theirs? Who knows, maybe everyone else was on a “business” – tax-write-off – trip like me?

Pinus thunbergii

My daughters wanted to sight-see in Tokyo, in particular the Shibuya Crossing, an insane intersection (called the Scramble) rumored to be the busiest in the world where upward to 3,000 people cross at a time, coming from all directions at once. Naturally pop stars want to have a video shoot with the mass of humanity surrounding them. I elected to pass on that event and instead went with Haruko and her father to see the oldest Japanese black pine in the Tokyo area. Yusuke (father-in-law) rather enjoyed having me in town because, now retired, I'm his excuse to discover new things for himself. We deboarded the train at the Koiwa suburb and gave the taxi driver instructions to take us to the great pine. Driver nodded in affirmation and soon dropped us off at the Zenyoi temple complex where the massive Pinus thunbergii (650 years old) hogged a large portion of the courtyard. Like the old Kyoto Ginkgo, the pine was low and spreading and its branches were supported with concrete poles. The poles could have been boring to do the job, but instead they were ornamental with bark-like texture and fake cuts here and there to suggest living tree rings.

Yusuke Nagamine (left) and Temple Man (right)

Thank goodness my daughters weren't here because 5 seconds is all they would need to “see” the pine tree, then they would have sat on a bench and sulked while their father wasted the afternoon circling around the stout specimen. The fun part is that the light was constantly changing during the partially sunny afternoon, so every point of view was unique, and I've never felt a tree to be more alive with its own treeanality. I'm told that the Japanese locals believe that God lives in the tree, and I suppose they're right. At the time we were the only visitors, but we attracted the attention of the temple's maintenance man, a little guy with a happy face. He explained to Haruko's father that he was 85 years old and couldn't imagine a day apart from his beloved pine. Yusuke informed the man that I wasn't just an ordinary tourist, but that I was his daughter's husband, a “famous maple botanist from America.”

Lumber mill

White Sugi

The last of the venerables that I'll mention is the “white sugi” (Cryptomeria japonica) that is up in the Kitayama Mountains north of Kyoto. Hardly any tourists know or would care about it, but Haruko's mother did her research, and her father rented a van with driver, so we journeyed on a rainy morning into the mountains. The tree (600 years old, if I heard correctly) is revered by the local denizens as a power presence, and it was surrounded by a gate and a shrine or two. The trunk was light-colored, not exactly white, but not the typical reddish-brown of the species. Further unique was the abnormality that it never produced pollen. The man-planted forest in the area was offspring produced by cuttings, so the entire hillside consisted of one clone. There was a sawmill nearby and you can see from the photo that every tree looks identical and perfectly straight. For centuries the wood from the Kitayama Mountain area has been prized for tea room and tea house construction, and even today it is used for elegant interior wood work. The other plus about the pollenless forest is due to a serious hay fever (kafunsho) problem that many Japanese suffer from. Hay fever was not common until reforestation practices after the War led to mature trees with increasing amounts of pollen, and today approximately 25 million (20% of the population) suffer, and it is common for them to take hay-fever vacations to less polluted areas.

Yuki Tamori (front right)

The Japanese person in the photo above is Yuki Tamori, an intern who worked and lived with us for a year in about 2013. I could see that he was no longer a simple boy, but that he had grown into a man. At the nursery, I would greet him each morning with “Today?” “No,” he would reply. “Tomorrow?” “No, not tomorrow.” “Tamori?” “Yes, I am Tamori.” The last time that I saw Mr. Tamori before this day is when I dropped him off at the Portland airport for his return flight home. We got out of the car and unloaded his luggage. I shook his hand and thanked him for being a wonderful worker and member of our family. I glanced back as I drove off, and there was Yuki feebly waving one hand with tears streaming down both cheeks. I welled up a bit too.

Mystery Tree

The last Flora Wonder Blog presented an unidentified tree photographed in Japan with butter-yellow autumn color.

A few readers suggested names, but the most likely came from BH from England.

Gamblea innovans

Good morning Talon,

Your unidentified tree is Gamblea innovans previously known as Evodiapanax innovans or Kalopanax innovans. All as you will know in Araliaceae. We have Metapanax davidii (Previously Pseudopanax) in the garden here. The botanists have gone mad with this group.

Gamblea innovansis an entirely new species for me and even the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs(2014) doesn't list it. If you search on the internet you will find images that seem to match what the Englishman suggests. I wonder if it is hardy in Oregon?

I'll conclude my 4-part November, 2019 visit to Japan by saving the best – Kyoto City – for last. If the “cultural capital” of Japan has a dark side, I certainly didn't see it. Though my brain was in a jet-lag blur, still there was so much surrounding beauty that I stayed energized. My wife, her parents and our two bilingual daughters took care of the details while I entertained myself with the visuals. My 16-year-old is outspoken and can be harsh, but she snapped at me only once when I wasn't paying attention about where to stick the train ticket, the f....... train ticket!

Haruko

Travel magazines heap high praise for Kyoto, and you can see why the placid (though stimulating) city is the perfect venue for international get-togethers...where the intellectual elite try to figure out how to regulate us (tax us) to save our planet. Late November is a fantastic time to see the native flora, while any time is wonderful for viewing the native people (females especially) which was my hobby on the trains and on the streets. Once...the train door opened and a lively, giggling group of a dozen cutely-uniformed six-year-olds danced out, and it reminded me of a photo of Haruko when she was young. They were the sweetest little creatures, shining with lantern-lit faces, and thank God their parents fell in love.

Haruko's family groaned for us about Kyoto, that it would be crammed with tourists, and it goes without saying that the bulk of them would be Chinese. I didn't think it would matter, but it did. You can't appreciate the essence of a Japanese garden when it's too full of people. First of all, no one should be allowed to talk, and please explain to your kids that they can scream and play in an amusement park, but not in a temple garden. Secondly, to photograph a garden's trees and vistas, that is how I commune with nature, and I certainly don't want you standing in the way. Most of my time was spent waiting for you to get out of the way; but of course I realize that I was, also, in your way.

Jingoji

Enkianthus campanulatus

Jingoji

We started our morning by van to an area north of Kyoto – first to the “white sugi” which I described in a previous blog. After that to a temple complex called Jingoji* where the Cryptomeria forest was scattered with large, brilliant-red maples. It was difficult to photograph the scenery with one hand operating the camera and the other holding up an umbrella. I usually don't wear my glasses – when I should – but ahead in the distance was a maple with orange-red foliage that glowed in the fog, and its color was more intense than the other surrounding maples. I approached for a closer look only to discover that I was seeing Enkianthus campanulatus, and how fun I imagined it would be to return in spring to see it in flower.

*Jin (God) go (well-protected) ji (temple)

Chikurin no michi

By noon our driver returned us to a train-station area of Kyoto where he could barely proceed due to hundreds – thousands really – of tourists having oblivious fun strolling down the middle of the road without looking out for traffic. “Ni hao” then. Haruko's parents have been to Kyoto many times so her mother led us down a path to one of her favorite places – a giant bamboo forest.* It was packed with people too, but at least the grove was more subdued than the ruckus back out on the street. It was a fantastic place and I pictured myself being filthy rich so I could plant my own 10 acre bamboo forest. Most visitors behave properly of course, but here and there you would find a trunk that some knucklehead had carved on, and those defilements were painted over with colors that blended in with the natural trunk. So, no matter how stupid you are there was no point in the vandalism.

*Known as “Path of the Bamboo” (Chikurin no michi) and is said to have been loved by the Japanese for over 1000 years.

An enduring symbol of Kyoto is the Togetsu kyo Bridge which scenically crosses the Katsura River.* The first bridge to exist there was built in 836, while the current structure was finished in 1934. The name togetsumeans “moon crossing,” and is so-called when Emperor Kameyama was undertaking a boating party under a full moon, which looked to him like the moon was actually crossing on the bridge. With enough sake, perhaps.

*The current below Togetsu kyo is called the Oi River, while later downstream it is known as the Katsura River.

The backdrop of the bridge is perfect too with the autumn foliage of Arashiyama Mountain. The rain had stopped and there must have been a thousand tourists on the bridge recording the color, and the taxi drivers and rickshaw pullers had to be most careful. The rickshaw is an Asian symbol of the poor pulling the privileged and I have refused to ever ride on one. However in Kyoto the pullers were handsome, strong young men with smiling faces who actually seemed to enjoy the job. They often serve as tour guides with knowledge of the places and Haruko says they are very skilled at working the thank you tip. The Chinese tourists probably also reveled that it was the Japanesecarting their entitled fat butts around town, not the other way around like the past.

Alas, I didn't feel like mingling with the mob on the bridge, so H and I came back early the following morning, and we successfully waited for the sun to light up the maple hill behind.

The Buchholz-Nagamine family

Haruko's mother, Fumiesan, was energetic in leading me to places she imagined I would like and they were all great. I would never want to bother her again, or her husband, for all the trouble and expense they went to. But it was my first ever visit to Kyoto, and they were very proud to show me the best of Japan.

I didn't bother to document the names of all the gardens and temples we saw; it all blurs as you leave one and enter into another. My short time in Kyoto was like a traditional Japanese meal where you nibble at a lot of small portions, nevertheless you sigh with complete satisfaction at the end.

The following are random images which prove my point.

From time to time my wife Haruko pulls a rabbit out of the hat and amazes her friends, her children and/or me. Me, definitely the other day when she furtively handed over a plastic art-tube with who-knows-what inside. Haru then shied away in the Reverse-Oriental-Back-Step as if the content was of no certain value, where I could decide whether to keep or throw away.

What happened is that we were eliminating nearly 50% of our household stuff – kid's books, old clothes, furniture etc. since we had to empty out our three upstairs bedrooms because we wanted to dump the old carpets and replace them with wood floors. Once the old was gone and we were woodenized we were all filled with satisfaction and Haruko and I declared that even if we lived here only a few months further, the expense was worth it. So: out went this to the dumpster, out went thatto Goodwill, and some of the otherwent to my older children. We are now much more happy, or maybe more accurately: relieved.

Ok, so what's about the mysterious old art-tube, one of the few things that she brought from Japan when we married? I unrolled the paper scrolls from inside and was overwhelmed to discover her landscape-architecture project from the Tokyo University of Agriculture where the students were charged with the task to find and to photograph a number of trees – all from the same distance away – so that they could compare and choose the best tree for each situation. Haruko dilligently presented photos of all of the trees in question – for the professors only accepted certain species as valid – but she went much further by also sketching each one in ink next to her photograph. Needless to say, the creepy, tired old professors were stunned by her accomplishment, energized by a student so committed to doing her best, so that they eventually elevated her to more complicated projects...such as documenting the weeds of Chiba Prefecture – which I tease her about to this day.

Anyway, there were a couple dozen trees that she drew which – to me anyway – reveal her special delightful perspective. Let's take a look at some of them, some of those species that are officially accepted for public use in Japanese landscapes.

First, to my surprise (and to some derision) was Cedrus deodarawhich I have seen aplenty in Tokyo. Haruko actually assumed that it was a Japanese native since it is so-often used. I said no! – the species is native to the Himalaya, not Japan. How interesting that with the large number of conifers native to Japan that deodara is what the establishment prefers. It grows well, at least in Tokyo and for me in Oregon, though both are far different environments from the drier western Himalaya where I have seen it in the wild.

Another surprise was the preference of the eastern USA species Cornus florida over the Japanese/Chinese native Cornus kousa. I saw a number of C. florida in Tokyo in late Novemeber used as street trees, and they were in their autumn glory and looked completely healthy. Just because Haruko attended the Tokyo University, I presume the school's other graduates practice their landscape trade in all parts of Japan, from northern Hokkaido all the way south to Kyushu. I have no clue, Haruko neither, if C. florida does well in the very northern or the southernmost extremes (3008 km, 1869 miles apart). Actually I know very little about the flora of Japan – in Japan– but I could prattle forever about how the flora fares in western Oregon, or at least at Buchholz Nursery.

Pinus thunbergii

Of course Pinus thunbergii was a required species, the Japanese native “black pine.” It is totally unremarkable if you look at the canopy only, but for me the tree's torso – the trunk – is what I admire the most. It plates fantastically whether you are encountering a 30-year-old tree or some of the hundreds' year old specimens. I'll say that in Japan the trunk is more dark – hence: “black pine” – than the trees you see in America, but I would advise you to not completely trust my observation. Somewhere in Japan is the oldest P. thunbergii but unfortunately I don't know of it; but I would board the next airplane if somebody promised to take me to it. The species is named for Karl Peter Thunberg, a Swedish botanist/physician and is native to coastal areas of Kyushu, Shikoku and Honshu, Japan and also South Korea. It is called gomsolin Korean, heisongin Chinese, and Kuro(dark) matsu(pine) in Japanese. P. thunbergii var. corticata is popular with bonsai aficionados, with corticata(from Latin corticatus) meaning “having a cortex” or “covered with bark or a barklike substance.” Ok – let me retract what I wrote earlier about the unremarkable canopy – it is actually fantastic in many natural or garden settings for its raw, wild form, and is especially provocative for white, newly-emerging candles in spring.

Cinnamomum camphora

Hmm...let's see, what about Haruko's Cinnamomum camphora, a tree I've never grown? It is native to “Tropical Asia and Malay peninsula to China and Japan,” according to The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs(2014), but if from Japan one suspects that would be Kyushu. A mystery to me is what is the specific identity of the Cinnamomum in the watercolor and sketch above. These are the work of Yusuke Nagamine, my wife's father from Miyazaki Prefecture, Kyushu. He was a powerful Tokyo banker, and when he retired he took up painting – joining a club, going to museums etc., so it shows the family's talent from top to bottom. If not C. camphora, the tree would be C. japonicum Siebold ex Nees, but other than admiring the genus, I know little else about it. I presented the question to Haruko and she said C. camphora, definitely. It was her father's favorite tree in his city and I think it was growing next to a bus stop where the riders could wait in the shade. In Kyushu the evergreen is called kusunoki.

I've never seen nor heard of Quercus phillyreoides, but according to Wikipedia “It is evergreen, withstands frost and can be grown in hardiness zone 7.”Furthermore: “The Japanese use the Q.p. or “ubame oak” to produce binchotan, a variety of vegetal activated carbon.”The value of binchotan is that it is a white charcoal (bincho zumi) that's traditionally used in Japanese cooking, and dates back to the Edo period. I don't know – I don't see any ornamental merit to the species, and I rather suspect that perhaps Japanese botany professors develop certain biases concerning natives as if the species needs a championist, and that is why Haruko was required to portray it.

Haruko did a good job in her sketch rendering of Dendropanax trifidus, a species little used in the West and probably a plant you do not know, but that shouldn't be because of a hardiness issue. Dendrois from Greek for “tree” and panax, from Greek panakeiameans “all healing” (hence panacea). It was named by Linnaeus because he was apparently aware of its use in Oriental medicine, and the ginseng relative is in the Araliaceae family. My interest in it is because we have the related Oplopanax horridus in the Pacific Northwest, a spiny beast known as the “Devil's club” or “Devil's walking stick, “ a shrub that you definitely don't want to scramble through. The Dendropanax is known as kakureminoin Japanese and is traditionally used in moss gardens (roji) which lead to a tea house (chasshitsu), because of its simple, unassuming nature. I guess that's why we don't see it much in America – our people want a more colorful bang for the buck, but the Dendropanax leaves are glossy and the green flowers are followed by black berries.

I don't know what to make of Haruko's Osmanthus asiaticus Nakai, what species that could be. You will find it listed on the internet, as when some Japanese scientists were scrutinizing chemicals in the bark, and you can even find photos of it with its dainty white flowers, but neither Hillier, Krussmann or Bean list it, so it must be an outdated name for one of the other Asian species, some of which I grow. Haruko got out her Japanese field guide which was her authoritative text in college which includes O. asiaticus, so she was totally playing by the rules when she drew her trees. The Japanese common name for Osmanthus with white or pale white flowers is gin mokusei, as ginmeans “silver;” kin mokuseiwould be the name for the species with yellow-orange flowers such as O. fragrans f. aurantiacus, and a large plant of the latter could be smelled all across her university campus. After all, the genus name Osmanthusis from Greek osmemeaning “fragrant” and anthosmeaning “flower.”

Haruko's landscape architecture department encouraged the use of Laurus nobilis, the “Bay laurel” from the Mediterranean region which The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs(2014) describes, delightfully, as “the laurel of the ancients,* now grown for its aromatic foliage and for its usefulness as a dense, pyramidal, evergreen shrub or tree.” Wow! – “the ancients,” how exciting is that? The genus contains only two species – the one from mid-earth, nobilis– and the other, azorica, more tender, from the Canary Islands and Azores (Hillier, 2014). Supposedly, its best use is for, as Hillier says: “good hedges;” as it “stands clipping well.” The plant is commonly used in Mediterranean cuisines, both from the berries and from pressed leaf oil, and the wood gives off a nice smoke flavoring, but – you might want to know – it is a common addition to the Bloody Mary, one of the best all-time-drinks.

*Basically, Apollo had the hots for the river nymph Daphne. She begged Eros (Cupid) to be free of him so he changed her into a laurel tree. Apollo didn't completely give up for he was found resting on his laurels.

We grow Styphnolobium japonicum 'Pendula', but back in Haru's college days it was known as Sophora japonica. In fact early editions of Hillierlist Sophora japonica and there was no mention of Styphnolobium at all. The weeping form 'Pendula' can be found in a number of European arboreta, and when I first encountered it at Wespelaar in Belgium labeled Styphnolobium I had an urge to race into their office and announce they had a label mistake. I buy, sell and collect plants as much as anyone, but I always seem to be absent when it comes to nomenclatural changes. Funny that they stuck with (almost) the same specific epithet when the “Chinese scholar tree,” or “Pagoda tree” is native to China, not Japan, and indeed it was once scientifically known as Sophora sinensis Forrest. Sophorais a more attractive name than Styphnolobium and comes from the Arabic sufayra, a tree in the Sophora genus. Styphnolobium was kicked out of the Sophora group because it doesn't produce nitrogen fixing bacteria.

Two plants I can't stand, Aucuba japonica and Fatsia japonica, are nevertheless popular in Japanese landscapes. For both genera there's an endless amount of variegated cultivars. I remember from 16 years ago in Japan visiting a plant collection of about an acre where everything – every damn plant– was variegated. That was the collector's thing I guess, and he even had a peony with variegated leaves. Eventually he sobered up because Haruko reported that he grew tired of it and sold off all the plants. The botanic name aucubais a corruption of the Japanese word aokibawhich means “blue tree”* while Fatsi it is yatsude, meaning “eight fingers” due to the eight leaf lobes.

*“Ao” means green today but in old times it was used for both blue and green. Ki means “tree” and ba means “leaf.”

I wished that I would have had a crystal ball to know that Haruko would eventually come into my life, probably I would have been more patient and less intense. We really have fun together, and she is famous in the community for her humor, besides being sweet and kind and helpful to all. She is a wonderful mother to our two children, plus a positive link to my older three children, and maybe most impressively, a cherished “second mother” to many of Forest Grove's young kids and teenagers. She is well-known and loved. When she announced to her Tokyo professor that she wanted to do a year's internship in America, he was uncertain and asked “why?” She answered, “to learn more about plants.” Again, he wondered why? – in other words: we have our landscapes, both potential and those already existing, and we have our prescribed list of plants...so why do you need to investigate further? Thankfully she came to America anyway.

So, why did a Tokyo banker's daughter develop such an interest in trees and landscapes? The answer is that she and her sister were sometimes caretakers for two young children who had down syndrome. Haruko observed that they were gleefully happy in a park setting running among the trees, and she could see that parks were no accident, that someone decided what to plant and where to plant them. Haruko's parents were supportive of her America aspirations but her father admonished her to not “go there and get married.” She insisted that it was the lastthing she would ever do. Well, we're twenty years later...

Anyway, I'll definitely keep her sketches; in fact hopefully I can be buried with them.

Picea abies 'Cupressina'

“Sure's pretty when it's white outside,” said J., a young woman who has been with my company since this past summer. I appreciate her positive outlook, but for me ice and snow are problematic, not pretty at all, and I face the challenge to task my employees with useful projects indoors. I wish it was Sunday with nobody here so this old grump could go home and sit on the couch and drink tea with my wife...and later imbibe pinot noir.

The truth is that some employees actually like me – or at least compare me favorably with their past employers – and they are satisfied with a career working with plants. Others view the experience like a trip to the dentist, but they need to make money and Buchholz Nursery pays a little more than other companies. I deal with and tolerate the latter group, but believe me: I receive no inspiration from them and I look forward to retirement. There are days when I just don't want to be in charge. There's actually plenty to do, and I wish it was easy as saying, “Just go make everything better: fix what needs to be fixed, prune and stake and pot up wht needs to be taken care of, but just spend the labor money wisely because we don't have anything extra.” But for some reason I am the Shepherd and the sheep are not able to find pasture on their own.

Ah, look! The snow has stopped and there's a patch of blue as I look out the office window. Well, maybe life is not so gloomy after all. Still it's cold, but I need to go out and cut scions to finish grafting our Abies (true fir) rootstocks. Cold or not, to survive I must crank out a product, but at least I am a promoter of a floral future, a booster of...plant/planet continuation. It is my intention that every tree that leaves Buchholz Nursery will outlive me, but then I've already killed my share. As we gear up for another shipping season, I appreciate our customers, some who have been buying for dozens of years. If you are a new customer I look forward to impressing you with our plants. Thanks to all.

The Buchholz Nursery office closet contains various and sundry items such as flagging tape, old employee records, a customer card index – yes, by hand since I couldn't trust previous office workers to maintain it accurately on their computers. Also, a shelf of dictionaries of French/English, Spanish/English, three German/English, Latin/English and a Tibetan phrasebook which was useful for when I traveled frequently to the Himalaya.

There's also a box of maple scions in the closet from 2004 that were sent from France. Previously I quizzed the Oregon Department of Agriculture inspector, and he, after reading the rules, saw “no prohibition of importing maple scions from France.” Oh, except he was wrong. DH, the Administrator of the Department and JH, the lead Horticulturist drove all the way from 635 Capital Street, Salem, Oregon to tell me that “Acer is a Federal prohibited plant from Europe. The USDA [United States Dept. of Agriculture] will be in contact with you to let know [sic] what you are going to need to do next. Do not ship or sell these plants.” Well, that was 16 years ago and nobody ever did contact me about the affair. Now, some nurserymen would have been tempted to go ahead and graft the dormant scions, and simply replace them with other maple sticks, but I would never want to violate Federal Rules!

I also have a couple of banker's boxes in the closet filled with miscellaneous plant information, articles that I would copy or tear out of horticulture magazines, as well as plant lists from various arboreta. A 1990 list of conifers from the Morton Arboretum, for example, indicates that they grow a surprising number of Abies (true fir), among them two specimens of the “Min fir,” Abies recurvata which I also grow, the “Cilician fir,” Abies cilicica, the “Manchurian fir,” Abies nephrolepis etc. I don't remember how I ever got ahold of this plant list, and honestly I forgot that I even had it.

Acer japonicum 'Ao jutan' (top) and 'Green Cascade' (bottom)

I always assumed that whatever I put into the boxes might be referenced at a future date for some purpose, but in fact, now that I am nearly at the end of my career (40 years running Buchholz Nursery), I never delved into the boxes, not even once until today. One item surprised me: a single page which at first looked like a hand-drawn sketch of two Acer japonicum leaves, A.j. 'Green Cascade' and A.j. 'Ao jutan', but upon studying it further I guess they are photocopies. They were very faint – so tentative – that I had FWB (Flora Wonder Blog) co-producer, Seth, darken them so you can see the relative leaf-sizes and shapes. The tree captions are hand-written, as you can see, but they're not by my hand and I definitely don't remember who did it or why I have it. 'Green Cascade' was an Oregon cultivar introduction by the late Art Wright of Canby, Oregon. It was unique (at the time) – a weeping A. japonicum with dissected green leaves and fantastic autumn color – wow!, what a worthy introduction. However, you can see that, in comparison, 'Ao jutan' (meaning “green and spreading”) produces larger leaves with greater dissection. I named and introduced 'Ao jutan' but the original seedling, from the mother tree of A.j. 'Aconitifolium', was sowed and selected by the late, great plantsman, Edsal Wood of Oregon, and he gave me the start shortly before he died. Sadly, the very generous plantsman passed and never knew that now Buchholz gets credit for his wonderful discovery. In truth, I was never smart or lucky enough to begin and operate a successful nursery for 40 years without the assistance and generosity of many others such as Edsal Wood.

Puya raimondii

I don't remember the magazine where I saw the fantastic photo of Puya raimondii, the “Queen of the Andes” – titanka in the Quechua language – which is the largest member of the Bromeliaceae family. I was in the Andes a couple of times in the 1970's but never encountered this Puya, and my second daughter L. actually lived and attended a university in South America for a year and learned the native Quechua language, but she didn't see the Puya either. The situation for me was that I never knew the giant (up to 50 feet tall) existed, but I would love to go back and seek it out. The specific epithet used to be gigantea, but that name was discarded because it was used previously for a Chilean species, so the name was changed to raimondii to commemorate the Italian scientist Antonio Raimondi who undertook botanical explorations in Peru. The first scientific description was rendered by the French scientist Alcide d'Orbigny in 1830 when he found the Puya at 3,960m (12,990') in Bolivia. I should hurry to see it because it is considered an endangered species by the IUCN where its main threat is from human-caused fires. Imagine: a single plant can produce between 8,000 and 20,000 nectar-rich flowers in a three-month period.

Twenty years ago, before marriage, I asked my current wife Haruko if she would translate Japanese maple names. She came to work the following morning with six pages of translations, and I suspect she took all night to do it. I eventually rewarded her with myself. Though I appreciated her effort, nevertheless the six pages ended up in a bankers box, stuffed away for the past twenty years. If you check the Vertrees/Gregory Japanese Maples book, sometimes the name's meaning is provided, but for many of the cultivars the meaning will never be known. Where the names are translated, such as with 'Akegarasu', the publication says it means “the crows at dawn'. Haruko spells it as two words, 'Ake garasu', and her meaning is “daybreak crow.” V/G lists 'Aoyagi' and says the name is literally “green coral.” Haru went with 'Ao yagi' and for her it means “green willow.” V/G doesn't attempt to translate 'Beni fushigi' but Haru says it's “red mysterious.” V/G says the variegated Acer palmatum 'Kagero' is an “outstanding form,” but I disagree because it always reverted and I have discontinued it. To V/G the name means “gossamer,” but Haruko suggests “heat haze.” So, I don't know who is correct or more correct, but perhaps Haruko should be invited by Timber Press to sit on their editorial board. Anyway I didn't return Haruko's work to the white box, and instead I tucked it into the first page of Japanese Maples where it can rest comfortably next to Peter Gregory's name, for Haruko and the skinny Englishman instantly hit it off with each other.

Cathaya argyrophylla

I fished out of the closet box a folder that said “Cathaya info.” Cathaya argyrophylla is the Chinese evergreen conifer that, like its better-known (deciduous) cousin Metasequoia glyptostroboides, was previously only known to exist from the fossil record...until Chinese botanists discovered living plants in China in 1955. For years it was considered off limits to Western plantsmen and arboreta, and therefore it became the Holy Grail of plants that, for people like me, we were most desirous to acquire. The monotypic genus is most beautiful anyway – so photogenic – that the Sciadopitys/Pseudotsuga-like creature positively shimmers in the landscape. The specific epithet argyrophylla aptly describes the light green needles' silvery undersides, and it makes for an elegant presence in the landscape. The exotic name Cathaya– Xitay in Uyghur, Khatay in Persian, Kitay in Russian, Kitaj in Polish, Catai in Italian, Catay in Spanish etc. – was used in a poetic sense for the denizens of China, while in Javanese the word Katai or Kate refers to “east Asian,” literally meaning “dwarf” or “short-legged.” Marco Polo wrote a story called The Road to Cathay, or Travels in the Land of Kublai Khan.

My banker's box contained a copy of the Arnold Arboretum News, Fall 1995 entitled “Cathaya Comes to the Arnold Arboretum” by Horticultural Taxonomist Stephen A. Spongberg which describes “a rare and endangered conifer endemic to China, which has not been grown or cultivated previously outside of the People's Republic.” Actually, I acquired seed of Cathaya before the Arnold's coup of 1995 but they did not germinate. I did not challenge the venerable Arnold's assertion of being the “first” because no one there would believe me or care, even though one-upmanship is a powerful force in the world of plant collecting. My seed source was...well, it doesn't matter now, since the seed didn't germinate, but by 1996 I had seed from another source that did germinate.

Cathaya argyrophylla

Collecting Cathaya seeds

Subsequently we propagated additional Cathaya either by seed or via rooted cuttings, but even to this day neither method is particularly successful. Sadly – ridiculously, really – I sold off the original propagules, and it was only about 15 years ago that I permanently planted one at Flora Farm and another in the Conifer Field at the nursery. Both are plump specimens, but they currently dwell in obscurity and are only known to me. In other words: no employee at Buchholz Nursery knows that the rare conifers – even now at 9' tall – exist on the properties. Perhaps that fact sums up the nature of Buchholz Nursery and the Flora Wonder Arboretum: that neither neighbors, visitors or employees give a damn about my rare, difficult-to-acquire Chinese conifer. In the spring and summer, every 12-to-14 days, a man mows the grass around both Cathaya specimens, but he toils without any knowledge or appreciation for the species, and would only grow furtive and apprehensive if I recounted its history and value. But, I invite any true plantsman to visit, and we'll walk out to pay our respects to the trees. Two years ago I had a wonderful time on Christmas eve, when my extended family went out at night to collect the cones...then we broke them apart to bag the tiny seeds while drinking Pinot Noir. Only a few germinated, but that is what has become normal for me.

Digging deeper into the box I brought to light a little booklet – New Pronouncing Dictionary of Plant Names– but what good did it do for me as it languished in the dark closet for the past 25 years? It was published by the Florists' Publishing Company of Chicago, Illinois, and the 62 page booklet begins with Abbreviatus meaning “shortened” and ends with Zygopetalum for “showy tropical orchids.” I have the 24^th printing of 1980, and in the Foreword it is promoted as a “handy reference” where “several hundred thousand” copies have been produced. In the booklet's middle I learn that Ismene is the “Peruvian daffodil, spider lily (now Hymenocallis), that Ixia are “cormus plants like gladoli,” and that krigia are “plants like dandelions.” So apparently you don't spell dandelion as dandylion, such as with the golden Picea abies weeping cultivar. In any case the common name is from French dent-de-lion meaning “lion's tooth” – for whatever reason – and the genus in the Asteraceae family is also known botanically as Traraxacum. I have read that the definition of dandelion is “a yellow wild flower that often grows where people do not want it to,” such as with the hundreds that appear on my front lawn every spring. Actually I don't mind them, and I delight in their Japanese name of tampopo. All parts of the plant are edible, and my father used to make a fairly decent dandelion wine.

Cornus kousa 'Heart Throb'

An advertising flyer describing the “recent introduction” of Cornus kousa 'Heart Throb' must be about twenty years old. The late Jim Schmidt of Boring, Oregon is credited with the introduction and I suppose the patent is still valid. Flowers are billed as “larger than the species, around 4” in diameter,” and they last well, “sometimes as much as two months in Oregon.” The flyer claims that “bract color is a deep red,” but I know from experience – one is planted along the long road to my home – that some years they are deep red and other years they are positively pink. In any case it is a heavy bloomer as advertised. I don't know the origin of 'Heart Throb', whether it was a random seedling, or a seedling from another red-flower cultivar such as 'Satomi', but 'Heart Throb' is a great name and a great plant anyway.

I discovered a July 1996 newsletter written by the late J.C. Raulston from the North Carolina State University Arboretum. He talks about 1995 being a burnout stressed year with he being out of the state for 43 weeks with “too much lecturing, too much fundraising, too much teaching and too much too much.” I remember him visiting my nursery where he allotted only a half hour, and he literally sprinted from plant to plant. Panting, with not much time between “hello” and “goodbye,” he sped off to visit yet another garden. Raulston was generous with his plants, though, not like the typical arboretum director, and thanks to him I received the variegated Pinus cembroides 'Pina Nevada' from a Mexican discovery. About 10-15 years ago I heard from one grump that the NCSU Arboretum was “not much of a destination.” I visited about five years ago and found it to be an amazing collection. Shortly after this newsletter was written J.C. died in a car accident, and what a shame he passed away and was not able to see the fruits of his energetic labor.

A further discovery in my miscellaneous plant box was another “newsletter,” this time from the International Conifer Preservation Society– “A non-profit organization to ensure species survival.” I knew that the prevailing botanist was John Silba and the reason he latched onto me was because I loved to collect rare species, and that I was also qualified to propagate them. Therefore, I was the recipient of dozens of obscure Asian conifers – obscure in the sense of their true botanical identity – and I had to somehow (magically) produce healthy, viable plants out of his crappy scionwood. One conifer, that I don't know if I should even have (legally) was Abies beshanzuensis, and it was sent to me by Prof. Silba about twenty five years ago. With only six trees left in the Chinese wild, how was old Silba able to obtain scions and send them to this simple Oregon nurseryman? I now have a beautiful specimen in my Upper Gardens, and maybe it is the largest in the world outside of China. I don't know, though, maybe storm-troopers from the Department of Righteousness will march onto my property to cut it down and to confiscate it. Perhaps my collection will eventually be bulldozed to make for a Walmart parking lot, but in the meantime I'm going to pretend that I'm doing something useful and important with these plants.

Another example of my relationship with J. Silba – who I never met personally – concerns the “Hsing spruce” or the “Flat-leaf Veitch spruce,” Picea neoveitchii Masters, that is “an endangered species from China and may not be in cultivation outside of China in its true form.” Silba continues: “One plant cultivated in Brooklyn (New York) may be of wild origin from Wilsons's [Ernest Henry] collection, though its exact origin seems uncertain. Scions from this plant were sent to Buchholz Nursery in Gaston (Oregon) recently for establishment and ex-situ preservation.” Yikes! – why was I selected to be Noah of the floral ark? Anyway the damn spruces flopped around in containers at the nursery for a few years, then perished in a record cold. I'll repeat the adage yet again: we can never own a tree, we can only borrow it for a short period of time, and we all want our plantings to out-live us.

My misc. plant-info boxes serve as a reminder, a measuring stick to my career, about what I thought was important at the time. I never could imagine that I would be (already) 55 years into a life with plants...but still as ignorant as ever. Thanks to all who supported me.

This past week we wrapped up (pun intended) our winter grafting season. One might wonder what keeps old Buchholz propelled with plant production, as if I don't realize and accept the fact that I'll be too old and feeble to care about – or take care of – the young starts that we created in the past few months. Is it just stupid habitual inertia, perhaps combined with a lack of viable exit plan, that keeps me propagating plants, or is it the only way that this old geezer can have fun? The answer is: yesto the above, at least somewhat, but understand that you'll never be invited to rest with me in my coffin because I plan on getting some work done there too.

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Gitte'

I decide everything with our propagation department: what and how many to graft and/or root. Sometimes – like with the Chamaecyparis obtusas – we produce them both ways. The graft, with its two or three-year-old rootstock is a faster method to get a saleable plant, which is especially valuable for the miniatures. However, with some cultivars, such as the dwarf Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Gitte', the extra boost from its Thuja occidentalis 'Smaragd' rootstock, especially when grafted on a standard, can push undesirable wild growth on the graft. Last week a Dutch nurseryman (Mr. S.) saw a row here of 5-year-old 'Gitte' on standards, and he asked if the cultivar was indeed 'Gitte'. I replied that it was, but he observed that it “doesn't look that way at home.” He should know because the selection came from his nursery and was named for his granddaughter...if I understood him correctly. Since we are done with this season's propagation I will send someone with shears and instructions to prune mine into more-tight globes.

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis in the wild

I have produced Chamaecyparis nootkatensis – now named Xanthocyparis nootkatensis – by both grafting onto Thuja orientalis – now named Platycladus orientalis – and by rooted cuttings. Cultivars of the “Weeping Alaskan cedar” are easily rooted and graft “takes” are usually high. I estimate that my small nursery has produced about a quarter million nootkatensis grafts over the course of my career, because for about three decades we supplied lining-out plants for many of America's wholesale growers, some who would order as many as 800 per year. So, I've made a ton of profit with the species, but...a less-than-pleasant aside is that the scions – most of which I have personally cut, and also the thousands that I have personally grafted – smell like a high-schooler's gym socks soaked in cat piss.

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Green Arrow'

I was the nurseryman who introduced Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Green Arrow' into the trade, when the discoverer and namer Gordon Bentham of Victoria, B.C. told me about the fantastic tree a year before he died. The nursery where he worked had gone bankrupt and the few plants were being liquidated, so I'm certain that 'Green Arrow' would have been lost to horticulture if I hadn't lucked onto them in the early 1980's. I don't produce many anymore because everyone else does, and about ten years ago I saw about 100 for sale in a Seattle-area garden center that looked great – supplied by a grower I never heard of – and they were retailingfor less than my wholesale price. The cultivar is even grown in Europe now, and in The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs(2014) it is listed as “A very narrow, medium-sized tree with pendulous branches held close to the trunk. Foliage dark green.” Well, on a foggy Olde English day, and from a distance, you might consider the foliage to be dark green, but on close inspection it is actually gray-blue-green, as evidenced by the photo above.

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Van den Akker'

A cultivar, more green and not listed by Hillier, is C. nootkatensis 'Van den Akker' which was introduced in Washington state. It might have been present before 'Green Arrow' but it really wasn't in the trade, as in nurseries producing it and shipping it around the country. 'Van den Akker' was found in the wild by someone who gave it to the Dutch landscaper who named it for himself. He produced enough to supply his landscape firm, and I have discovered them in various western Washington plantings where some probably exceed 50' tall. Its narrow habit is reminiscent of 'Green Arrow' except that 'Van den Akker' tends to form additional vertical shoots from the base, making an old specimen look like a small forest. All of the nootkatensis cultivars are compatible with Thuja orientalis, but for an unknown reason 'Van den Akker' does not perform uniformly as a graft, so all of our production is from rooted cuttings.

Taiwania cryptomerioides

We had a handful of Cryptomeria japonica 'Yoshino' in pots which we rooted two years ago and I instructed our grafter to put 'Dense Jade' on them. All Cryptomeria cultivars root fairly easily for us except for 'Dense Jade'. So the rootstocks were all used up and as I drove home that night I let out a groan, suddenly remembering that I wanted to try grafting Taiwania cryptomerioides onto the Cryptomeria. The two genera kind of look alike, don't they? The idea wasn't originally mine, rather I read about the combination in Brian Humphrey's new book The Bench Grafter's Handbook, in which he comments, “Relatively easy in temperatures of 10-15 C.” Humphrey's book features a chapter called Grafting Table List, where he offers the 1) preferred rootstock choice, 2) also possible, 3) least successful and 4) suggestion, not proven. I predict that The Bench Grafter's Handbook will become the standard text for propagation classes in horticultural institutions worldwide. I wish I had another 20-30 years to test his theories, but the book came to me only last year when I'm nearly ready to put my knife away for the final time. I won't reveal any more of Humphrey's secrets, such as what rootstock to use to graft Carpinus fangiana for example – you'll have to purchase the book yourself. CRC Press, IBN 13: 978-1-138-04622-1.

Ginkgo biloba 'Chi Chi'

We root Ginkgo biloba 'Chi Chi' under mist in the summer, and it makes an attractive, compact container or field plant. A word of warning, if you live in Oregon anyway, is that the Oregon pocket gopher loves to eat Ginkgo roots and can kill a tree. One year we even had scale on the Ginkgo trees in our greenhouse, and I found the best way to manage that pest was to burn the tops. So much for the old adage that the unknowing “experts” like to repeat, that “Ginkgo is free from disease and pests.” It reminds me of the TV insurance commercial where the wise old agent says, “At Farmers we know a thing or two because we've seen a thing or two.”

Ginkgo biloba 'Snow Cloud'

Anyway we also use the 'Chi Chi' as rootstock for our other dwarf cultivars such as 'Mariken', 'Spring Grove', 'Troll' and 'Gnome'. Even fast upright selections, such as the narrow pillar 'Grindstone', exhibits exuberant growth on the more dwarf rootstock, as if it makes no difference while sending up 30-36” shoots in the greenhouse. I was also pleased this winter to graft 70 Ginkgo 'Snow Cloud', a new variegated cultivar that does not revert. I ravaged my stock tree to get that many scions, but it was worth it because everyone who sees 'Snow Cloud' wants it.

Pinus contorta 'Chief Joseph'

Usually the first conifer we graft is Pinus contorta 'Chief Joseph'. In the past I would begin in mid October to mid November when the needles were still greenish, the idea being that it was best to graft before they turned to brilliant gold. Two winters ago we didn't get around to grafting until the first of December and we achieved about 60%, our best ever, and believe me, the needles were quite gold then. The first of December is when we grafted this past winter. J, my ace grafter, frets about the low percentage of success and seems to take it personally. She suggested that we use a different rootstock, like Pinus sylvestris instead of contorta, but I replied that we used to graft on sylvestris and our results were even worse back then. She continued to stew about it, so I emphatically quieted her by saying I'm very happy if we can get 50%; we'll sell them for more money, so don't worry about it. What she doesn't know is that all producers of 'Chief Joseph', that I know, say, “Wow – 50% – that's pretty good!”

Calocedrus decurrens 'Berrima Gold'

One more word about 'Chief Joseph' is that you probably do not want to grow them commercially in the field, and then harvest (dig) them in the winter. I only grow in containers now, after losing way too many in the past. If I was to dig one from the ground I would probably choose the end of August to do so. Another plant where most die from winter harvest is Calocedrus decurrens 'Berrima Gold', and since it is yellow all year long, I would have my doubts about August digging. One retail nursery owner sighed when she saw my large crop of 'Berrima Gold' in containers and said that she gave up on it “because they always die.” She related that XYZ wholesale nursery refused to give her credit for the dead trees he provided because they all “looked great” when shipped. I convinced her to never buy a B&B 'Berrima Gold', but that when they're grown in containers there should never be a problem. By the way, neither of us shed tears when XYZ Nursery went bankrupt a few years ago.

Cornus kousa 'Summer Fun'

Magnolia 'Manchu Fan'

Scions are already beginning to push on our December grafts of Cornus and Magnolia that were placed on the hot callus pipe. The temperature is kept at 70F and we keep the graft union just above the hot-water for three weeks. If kept on longer, one runs the risk of over callusing, though I've never experimented to see what kind of problem might result. The definition of a plant nursery is a place where you fool nature, or at least hurry her along, and that's what the hot pipe does. Without it the side grafts would wait until late April-May to produce new growth. For easy to grow hardwoods, such as Ginkgo, we don't bother with the time-consuming hot callus method because we achieve 98% success anyway.

How do I decide how many of a certain plant to graft? Well, it's been 40 years of making plenty of mistakes with too many or too few, and only occasionally the perfect amount. It's a moving target anyway where plant sales can be hot for ten years, then suddenly fall off. One key to success is to grow a lot of different things, but none of them in great numbers. Also, I think it's best to only propagate plants that do not have a short shelf life, i.e. only plants that you don't mind keeping and potting into larger sizes. The neighbor's nursery went under because the bulk of his crops were cheap, easy-to-produce products like Euonymus (by the many thousands), Alberta spruce, roses etc., where if they don't sell you wind up dumping the crop. I'll use tomatoes as an example: Most retail nurseries sell them in 4” pots for a dollar or two, and maybe a few in one-gallon cans for, say three dollars. If they don't sell you don't pot them into a 20” wood box which costs you over $20, because there's absolutely no market for an expensive tomato plant. If your Japanese maples don't sell at a relatively small size when you have a thousand, you move the remainder into larger pots, take good care of them and sell them the following year, or the following...and maybe after ten years you have only a few $200 trees left and your market is happy to find the few at a large size. Anyway, that system has worked for me, except that in good times the cheap Euonymus grower makes more money than I. I guess the grower should have faith in his crops, that they will eventually reward him.

Cedrus atlantica 'Glauca'

Cedrus atlantica 'Glauca Pendula'

Cedrus deodara

Most of the blog readership would assume that I'm about 39 years old, but in fact it was 44 years ago that I grafted my first trees, beginning at a nursery where I worked. My boss was always complaining that he couldn't get enough grafted plants from the Dutchman's nursery who was the only producer back then. I suggested that we skip the Dutchman and do our own. That winter my boss provided me with 12,000 Cedrus deodara in pots, and I (self-taught) grafted the bulk of them with Cedrus atlantica 'Glauca' and a few with 'Glauca Pendula'. Cedrus are pretty easy to do and the take (with beginner's luck) was over 90%. I noticed in a propagating book that one was advised to heel in the graft union with sawdust and keep the tops moist so the scion wouldn't dry out. Besides, the bench had bottom heat, and the whole environment was a tropical paradise in the Oregon winter. But oops! – the conditions were perfect for the gray mold to develop on the puffs of new growth. I was able to prune and spray my way out of trouble, plus I discontinued with the top mist, so the end result wasn't too bad. But ever since that first experience with grafting I find myself constantly worrying.

Peter inspecting Acer circinatum 'Witch's Broom'

People in the maple world – botanists, nurserymen and collectors – are talking about the passing of Englishman Peter Gregory. Regular Flora Wonder Blog readers know that I often mention his work with the third and fourth editions of Japanese Maples, where Peter was tasked with updating the first two editions by Oregon author J.D. Vertrees for Timber Press of Portland, Oregon. The first Vertrees edition of 1978 was influential with my decision to collect maples, a hobby that required that I should begin a full-time wholesale nursery. Timber Press chose well to continue their Japanese Maples franchise with Peter Gregory as author and maple detective, and with each subsequent edition the publication improved.

The first time I met Peter was at my nursery a couple of years before the appearance of the 2001 third edition. He was accompanied by Ned Wells of the famous Seattle-area retail nursery Wells Medina, and by the late Harry Olsen, a maple aficionado who has a number of photographs in the third and fourth editions. I'm afraid I was probably negative about the prospects for another maple book, and I expressed concern because a previous Timber Press publication, Maples of the World (1994), contained a lot of mistakes, at least with the Acer palmatum cultivar section. Timber Press didn't appreciate this rustic, nobody nurseryman pointing out their flubs but a number of them involved me, since other nurserymen accused me of falsely claiming to introduce maple cultivars that I had nothing to do with etc. I could only reply that I didn't write the book, nor was I invited to proof it first.

Peter was humble and reserved when I expressed my concerns about the 3^rd edition project, and in hindsight that is probably the last thing he wanted to hear. But he smiled and allowed me to vent... and eventually his positive enthusiasm won me over. I used to have a problem, a compulsion where I needed to fix the world, to set the record straight, to right all wrongs. I'm still subservient to that urge, but at least I am aware of it, and furthermore, aware that my wife, children, friends and employees do not care about or support my righteous zeal. And, as I said earlier, Peter Gregory's involvement with Timber Press's Japanese Maples resulted in a huge improvement over earlier editions, so I should have kept my mouth shut all along.

I've related before that Vertrees asked me in the early 1980s if I was interested in species of maples other than Acer palmatum – and what he meant by that was species other than the stereotypical “Japanese maples” of Acers palmatum, shirasawanum and japonicum. I replied, honestly at the time, “Not particularly.” He concluded, “Well, you will.” He was correct of course, and I now look back upon those days at what an ignoramus I was. And it was Peter Gregory who was instrumental at nudging me further along the Acer species path, and I'm sure he influenced a lot of other maple enthusiasts and professionals as well – he was a subtle but intellectual advocate for a wonderful group of plants.

Initially I didn't care for the bat-wing leaves of certain Asian species, such as Acer nipponicum or Acer tegmentosum, and certainly not for the alder-like leaves of Acer distylum or Acer carpinifolium. Acer fabri looked like a laurel; but inspect: above dangles maple seeds! Once I was given a maple named Acer 'Maltese Cross' by a Midwest grower. A couple of years later Peter was in my greenhouse and he spotted the tree and asked me about it. I didn't have any information and I replied that I didn't even know the species. Peter tore off a leaf and pointed out the milky sap and identified the species as Acer platanoides. I wished he could have spent a year in my nursery to help straighten out the nomenclature of the collection.

For those wishing more information on Peter Gregory's life you can find a piece on the Maple Society website.

I'll honor him silently, without any further verbiage, with the following photographs of maple species.

Acer buergerianum

Acer circinatum

Acer buergerianum subsp. ningpoense

Acer saccharum

Acer sinopurpurascens

Acer laevigatum

Acer carpinifolium

Acer macrophyllum

Acer acuminatum

Acer barbinerve

Acer morifolium

Acer sieboldianum

Acer pentaphyllum

Acer davidii

Acer davidii var. George Forrest

Acer triflorum

Acer hyrcanum var. hyrcanum

Acer truncatum

Acer japonicum

Acer campbellii

Acer tegmentosum

Acer palmatum

Acer argutum

Acer fabri

Acer crataegifolium

Acer nipponicum

Acer platanoides

Acer oliverianum

Acer caesium subsp. giraldii

Acer okamotoanum

Acer griseum

Acer oblongum

Acer oblongum subsp. itoanum

Acer monspessulanum

Acer cappadocicum

Acer cappadocicum subsp. sinicum

Acer tschonoskii

Acer cissifolium

Acer pseudosieboldianum

Acer pseudosieboldianum subsp. takesimense

Acer glabrum subsp. douglasii

Acer pensylvanicum

Acer micranthum

Acer distylum

Acer coriaceum

Acer henryi

Acer sempervirens

Acer sterculiaceum

Acer sterculiaceum subsp. franchetii

Acer spicatum

Acer skutchii

Acer paxii

Acer pictum subsp. dissectum

Acer pectinatum subsp. maximowiczii

Acer sinensis

Acer insulare

Acer miyabei

Acer erianthum

Acer velutinum

Acer maximowiczianum

Acer morrisonense

Acer shirasawanum

Acer capillipes

Acer rubrum

Acer pycnanthum

Acer robustum

Acer tataricum

Acer cappadocicum subsp. lobelii

Acer pectinatum

Acer orientale

Acer rufinerve

Acer cappadocicum subsp. divergens

Acer x 'Cinnamon Flake' (griseum x maximowiczianum)

Acer x 'Purple Haze' (griseum x pseudoplatanus)

Acer x 'Sugarflake' (griseum x saccharum)

"R.I.P. Peter Gregory"

Picea farreri

From a mysterious source I received scions of Picea farreri, a China/upper Burma species named for the eccentric English plant explorer and author Reginald Farrer (1880-1920). I don't know if I'll be around long enough to plant the spruce out at landscape size, and besides it is only hardy to USDA zone 8, but I'm happy to have it especially since its conservation status is Endangered. It is well-described in the Grimshaw and Bayton book New Trees– Recent Introductions to Cultivation which was commissioned by the International Dendrological Society – yes, I am a member – and produced by...The Board of Trustees of the Royal Botanic Garden, Kew 2009. While I have had this book for ten years already, and have met the personable Mr. Grimshaw a couple of times at Maple Society gatherings, I overlooked – rather underlooked– this mild-hardiness spruce named for the effusive plant author whose writings I can barely slog through.

Acer pseudosieboldianum

The New Trees authors (whom I'll refer to as Grim-Bay) go to some length to explain what is a "new" tree, and I read the defining parameters after first perusing the book's contents and wondering why trees such as Abies vejarii, Acer pseudosieboldianum, Juniperus pingii etc. were considered "new" when I have been growing them for almost 40 years. After studying the definition twice I'm still not certain about the rules. Apparently the book was commissioned as a supplement, a continuation of W.J. Bean's Trees and Shrubs Hardy in the British Isles, and I find the majority of the book's inclusions to be well-written and interesting even if the trees in question have been in cultivation since I began my career.

Osmanthus fragrans 'Conger Yellow'

Unlike Bean who described trees and shrubs, New Trees does not include shrubs, so of course there needs to be a definition of tree versus shrub, and the Englishmen attempt to do so. Osmanthus is considered a tree in this work, while Rhododendron is not. That's curious because the Greek name for the latter is "rose tree." The second sentence in the Osmanthus section says "They are evergreen shrubs or small trees..." Osmanthus fragrans displays flowers ranging in color from white to yellow to orange, but unfortunately it is barely hardy in USDA zone 7. Someone named Hudson wrote in 2004 that "once encountered the fragrance is never forgotten; it is full of tropical overtones, especially on a warm evening." Dirr wrote in 1998, "Not to try the plant is to cheat one's garden."* The evergreen shrub...err, tree is native to the Himalayan foothills through southern China, and is known as guihua in Chinese and mokusei in Japanese. If the species flowers white in Japan it is deemed ginmokuseifor "silver osmanthus" and if yellow it is kinmokusei for "gold osmanthus."

*A hundred years before Dirr and Hudson waxed poetic Reginald Farrer in 1909 wrote that O. fragrans is "a glimpse through the gate of Paradise."

Sir Hans Sloane

Of the 178 genera – if I counted correctly – described in New Trees, the book begins with Abies and ends with Zelkova, but there's about 20% of the genera that I've never heard of, let alone grow. I had to look up Sloanea for example to find out that Linnaeus coined the name for the "bullwood" in the Elaeocarpaceae family with about 150 species of tropical timber trees – so, no wonder I've never heard of it. The genus name honors Sir Hans Sloane, a British naturalist. Quillaja is also a plant I've never heard of, but I suspected that it would be from Brazil with its Portuguese-sounding name, but there's also one species, saponaria, from central Chile. Q. brasiliensis is from Brazil of course, and the inner bark is used medicinally. Actually I wasted a couple of hours last night looking up Schinus, Telopea, Weinmannia and the like, and while I had good fun I have forgotten all of it by today.

Abies vejarii 'Mountain Blue'

Anyway, let's discuss some of the trees that I do know. I used to grow a number of conifers from seed because I could produce various species cheaply, and there was actually a small market for them. One only had to be careful to not produce too many. Out of a group of Abies vejarii, a Mexican fir native to steep mountain slopes between 2,000-2,200 m, I selected the most blue seedling and named it 'Mountain Blue'. I sold the remainder of the seedlings – or dumped them, I don't remember – so I had only one specimen of 'Mountain Blue' left at the nursery. New Trees says there's a shapely tree at the Washington Park Arboretum in Seattle that "has not suffered any winter damage, and appears to be very well suited to the Seattle climate." I wasn't so fortunate because my 12-year-old tree (photo above) perished from a particularly soggy spring, and I had neglected to propagate from it, foolishly.

Pinus yunnanensis

I saw Pinus yunnanensis in China where defoliated hillsides were replanted with it. It was a spectacle because it was apparently forbidden to cut them down, but the locals were allowed to limb them up for firewood. Thus they were bare-legged and skinny for the majority of their height, where the adage "no shoot, no root" would seem to apply. New Treessays "In North America it is found in West Coast arboreta and nurseries, but seems to be absent from collections further east." That probably is explained by its zone 9 hardiness rating, but I know that it can go colder because the photo above was taken at Dancing Oaks Nursery, Oregon, and they are in a zone 7 climate. Curiously Grim-Bay say, "It may not be the most spectacular pine in the world blah blah blah;" I agree that it is not the mostspectacular pine in the world, but the Dancing Oaks specimen isspectacular nonetheless, and I was pleased that they shared seed with me. According to the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2014), Pinus yunnanensis used to be considered a varietyof Pinus tabuliformis, and was collected by E.H. Wilson in southwest China. I grow Pinus tabuliformis 'Twisted Sister' which was gifted to me by Rich Eyre in Illinois, so who knows the real hardiness? Hillier states that P. yunnanensis has more long and slender drooping needles than P. tabuliformis.

I used to grow another Chinese pine, Pinus wangii, and my start came to me as var. wilsonii.New Trees lists it as the "Guangdong white pine," but there's no mention of E.H. Wilson being involved with it. New Trees says it's hardy to USDA zone 9-10, but it survived here at zone 7, maybe because of the hardy Pinus strobus rootstock. I remember that some (male) customers would chuckle at the name because Pinus is pronounced as peenusin Europe and wanger is a euphemism for penis in America...a double dose, if you will, as in a dick dick.

Pinus kwangtungensis

New Trees lists one of P. wangii's subspecies as kwangtungensis, but I always assumed they were separate species. My start of the latter came from the aforementioned Washington Park Arboretum – when no one was looking – and Grim-Bay mentions the early (1940) group of trees that were there grown from seed from northern Guangdong (OMG – dong– here we go again.) Years ago I looked up the province of Kwangtung (hence Pinus kwangtungensis) from my world atlas but it wasn't there. But then, neither was the Chinese capital Peking for it was changed to Beijing, and similarly Kwangtung was renamed Guangdong, a province in southeast China near Hong Kong. In any case the subspecies is very attractive, to me moreso than Pinus parviflora. Grim-Bay mentions the "vivid white stomatal bands," and they are complemented by the delicious – my account – blue-green upper sides. I am so taken with the pine that a 30-year-old specimen is planted at the entrance to Buchholz Nursery. It is well-behaved, and is only about BLANK' tall with a BLANK' wide canopy...with Pinus strobus as its rootstock.

Cupressus bakeri

Cupressus bakeri is the "Modoc cypress" or the "Siskiyou cypress," a conifer native to northern California and southern Oregon where it grows on volcanic or serpentine soils. I'm not sure why it is considered a "new" tree, other than the possibility that collections continue to be made. You can see it at the Hoyt Arboretum in Portland, Oregon and also at the Solberger conifer collection, just a 20 minute drive from my nursery, where a specimen is about 60 years old. The specific epithet honors Milo Baker (1868-1961), a California botanist who discovered it in 1898. The appearance can be rugged in the wild, but trees are more formally pyramidal in cultivation, and attractive with blue-green foliage. Cupressus (or Callitropsis or Hesperocyparis to some) is not my favorite conifer for foliage, but C. bakeri has a wonderful reddish-brown trunk with bark that peels in curling plates. My favorite story about C. bakeri is that the late Dr. Bump of Forest Grove, Oregon – my doctor in my youth – would walk out into his garden on summer evenings and conclude that his neighbor had taken up cigar smoking. Night after night the doctor would get annoyed with his neighbor...until he realized that the odor was coming from his own cypress tree.

Daphniphyllum teijsmannii 'Variegated'

I learned from New Trees that my species name for a Japanese Daphniphyllum is misspeld, that teijsmanniiis incorrect (Grim-Bay blames the Dutch) and it should be teysmannii. That's odd because the name commemorates the Dutch botanist Johannes Teijsmann (1809-1882). I don't grow the straight species, but rather a boldly variegated version that was given to me years ago by a former Japanese intern. He gave me a blank stare when I asked for a cultivar name, as if it wouldn't need to have one. Anyway I was happy to get the plant and ever since I just label it as 'Variegated'. I've seen at least three other variegated forms, and Grim-Bay says, "Variegated seedling occur occasionally in Daphniphyllum, and are highly sought after." I've tried to root cuttings of my specimen a couple of times; I always get 100%...failure.

Illicium parviflorum 'Florida Sunshine'

New Trees says that Illicium parviflorum, a Florida-Georgia native, is rated by Michael Dirr (author of Manual of Woody Landscape Plants) as the "most rugged landscape performer of all Illicium species." The flowers are considered insignificant, though, so insignificant that I've never seen one. Actually I don't grow the regular green species, but rather just the golden evergreen called 'Florida Sunshine', a selection from Plant Delights Nursery in North Carolina. Owner Tony Avent has a fun imagination and he calls the foliage "screaming yellow." I planted one next to my house last fall so I can hear it well. Avent claims it is hardy to USDA zone 7b, and my shrub – I refuse to call it a "tree"– looks as fresh today as it did in the greenhouse. Maybe I was bravely foolish to put my original specimen in the ground, but I now have backups due to summer propagation under mist.

Juniperus cedrus

One of my favorite conifers is Juniperus cedrus, the "Canary Islands juniper," and I assume the specific epithet is due to the gracefully nodding branches which are reminiscent of a young Cedrus deodara. Grim-Bay says the juniper is Endangereddue to overgrazing and timber exploitation, and that "mature trees have become restricted to inaccessible cliffs." The book suggests the likely champion grows at Mount Usher, measured in 2000 at 10.5m tall. I had one in the garden early in my career but it died in a 5 degree F winter, and indeed Grim-Bay rates it as hardy to USDA zone 9. But I now have a new clone that has survived in my Conifer Field for the past fifteen years, and it is grafted onto Juniperus scopulorum 'Skyrocket'. We still don't sell many J. cedrus because of the perception of mild hardiness, but I suspect that there's no place in the British Isles that gets winters as cold as in Oregon.

Juniperus pingii

New Trees gives short shrift to another handsome conifer, Juniperus pingii. I've had one for 38 years and it's planted along the main road into the nursery, so I see and appreciate it every day. The book states that "The species is well established in cultivation and is available commercially, although often in the form of selected cultivars." Wow, I've never seen any selected cultivars, nor have I seen the straight species planted anywhere except here in the Flora Wonder Arboretum. Furthermore it is written that "It is not clear when or by whom this was introduced." What's notclearto me is why this species is included as a "new tree." What I doknow is that "Ping's juniper" is closely related to Juniperus squamata, and I went outside just now to compare it to a J. squamata cultivar, and yes...they must be very close taxonomically. Research independent of New Trees, reveals that the specific name of pingii honors Jin Bangzheng – great name – (1886-1946) whose name during his life was Romanized as P.C. Ping, and he was a founding member of the Science Society of China, and a president of Tsinghua University. Internet research doesn't tell me more about President Ping and his work, but I hope that the botanic scholar didn't suffer undue duress during Chairman Mao's Uncultural Revolution...but he probably did.

Quercus turbinella

I have grown – at least one for 25 years – Quercus turbinella, but for me it has just been a "shrub." Nevertheless G-B consider it a tree, and "new to introduction" says it is hardy to USDA zone 5, and it is considered "the hardiest of the American evergreen oaks." Well, Ok – thanks – but my one Flora Farm specimen suffered a few years ago at 10 degrees F. – a "fry" (far cry) above minus 20 degrees F at USD A zone 5. G-B relates that "it is rare in cultivation, but that in North America it hybridizes freely with the most disparate-seeming partners, including Quercus robur." Well, I hope for some fun since my Q. turbinella is planted in the vicinity of three huge Q. garryana. The species is oddly absent from The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs but the California-to-Texas-to-Mexico tree is commonly called the "Sonoran scrub oak" which the Spanish have named the "Encino oak." Of course the "turbinella" name refers to the acorn's shape of a Turkish turban with the circled top. Every now-and-then we root a flat of 100 – of which maybe 50 strike – and then it takes us about five years to sell them off. You could say that I just flirt with the species.

Rehderodendron macrocarpum

Alfred Rehder

An interesting entry is for Rehderodendron, with its five recognized species, but with R. macropodum being the only one I grow. Grim-Bay describes it as a "solid, wide-limbed tree whose masses of white flowers are succeeded by red, sausage-shaped fruits." The Englishmen continue with "It deserves the adjective magnificent" by Hillier and Coombes 2002. I originally saw it in Seattle at the Washington Park Arboretum, and I grafted a few onto Styrax japonicus...with initial success, but I honestly don't remember whatever became of that project, or those trees. I acquired a tree once again, now from the Rhododendron Species Botanic Garden in Washington state, and I suppose it is a propagule from Director Steve Hootman's collection on the Daliang Shan, Sichuan, China in 1995 which are "now flowering, and produce rose-colored capsules," according to New Trees. The genus name honors Alfred Rehder (1863-1949), the German-American botanical taxonomist and dendrologist who worked at the Arnold Arboretum of Harvard University. The species is described (by me) as "A rare upright deciduous tree from China, only known since 1931." I'll attempt to root some cuttings this summer, especially since Hootman waved it off as "easy to root." All of the photographs above are from his collection, and it would be a shame to not propagate and share it with other collectors of rare and wonderful trees.

With that, I'll end my review of New Trees – Recent...and honestly I don't care much about the definition of "new" or of "trees" or any of the other described parameters in the book – one could quibble with almost everything – but the Grimshaw-Bayton publication is a useful survey of interesting plants from around the world and I spent a full week with it. Thanks to Mister Mystery Man for sending scions of Picea farreri which led me back to the book describing it.

Camellia 'Night Rider'

After chilly mornings this past week the freezing fog eventually lifts and we reduce our garb to T-shirts by lunchtime. Maples are pushing in the greenhouses, the Camellias are in full flower and the Edgeworthias are at their most lustful in odour. I know that many in the F.W. Blog readership are still in a frigid condition and you probably wince at my cheerful outlook, but as I enter my 40^th year of nursery ownership I at least find a lot of Good to go along with the Bad and the Ugly.

Corydalis 'Blue Panda'

Corydalis 'Porcelain Blue'

Definitely Good is a new perennial that we bought starts of a year ago – Corydalis flexuosa 'Porcelain Blue' which was bred by Hillier Nurseries, the English institution that I always blog about. While many Corydalis selections are summer dormant, such as 'Blue Panda' which my friend (R. Hatch) filched from the Panda Reserve in Sichuan China, 'Porcelain Blue' flowers from early spring until autumn. We had a group of 200 in 1 gal containers in the greenhouse that never went dormant at all, and every time we cut them back they quickly resprouted and flowered soon thereafter. The 'Blue Panda' friend was quick to dismiss the idea that there existed an improved Corydalis until I led him into the greenhouse and he became stupefied with the thousands of cobalt-blue blossoms. Unfortunately, the selection is protected so we are not allowed to propagate ourselves; but anyway I predict that it will soon become commonly offered in garden centers that buy from other wholesale growers specializing in perennials. At that point I will discontinue with growing 'Porcelain Blue' except for the five plants I placed around my house. That's pretty much the story of my career: grow new plants, keep and enjoy a few, then eventually move on to more new stuff again...on-and-on until my life no longer proceeds...on and..

Corydalis 'Porcelain Blue'

I hope that Hillier makes a ton of money with their 'Porcelain Blue,' but with their patent, growers – since I am one – are required to call it Corydalis Hillier TM 'Porcelain Blue'. Though it was "bred" by Hillier Nurseries, I wonder if the specific epithet flexuosais entirely accurate, or if perhaps another species is also involved. After all, out of 470 species in the world, there are at least 357 native to China. The genus name is from Greek korydalismeaning "crested lark" and it is a member of the poppy (Papaveraceae) family.

Pleione 'Riah Shan'

Another Good is our Pleione crop which is receiving great customer support. One reason is that we don't offer solo bulbs or newly potted bulbs that might produce a single blossom, unless before that a retail customer spills it out onto the ground and then just walks away. Our fairly-priced product is kept here for an additional year to become well-anchored and is truly retail-ready. We have 43 cultivars now and we're working to get them all into greater production. P. 'Riah Shan' has been blooming for two weeks already. The flower color is intense, and I consider it an attribute that the blossoms are so tiny. What a sweetheart!

Pleione x confusa 'Golden Gate'

Caerhays Castle

Pleione x confusa 'Golden Gate' is a reliable and delicious-looking yellow orchid with a red throat. It was originally collected by George Forrest in SW Yunnan, China and sent to J.C. Williams of Caerhay's Castle in 1924. It was at first considered to be P. forrestii but now is known to be a naturally occurring hybrid between P. forrestii and P. albiflora. I've had the straight P. forrestii a couple of times but would lose it after a year or two, but fortunately 'Golden Gate' is a doer and is just as beautiful as its P. forrestii parent. We would love to add to our Pleione collection but the USA authorities have clamped down on their importation, so unless we breed our own we'll probably be stuck at our 43 cultivars.

Pieris japonica 'Katsura'

Katsura River

Arashiyama maple mountain

I planted five Pieris japonica 'Katsura' along the long road to my home and they are flowering freely now with their pinkish-red chains of bells. Other Pieris japonica cultivars are similar in blossom color such as 'Shojo', but the best feature of 'Katsura' is the wine-red new growth that follows the flowers. I don't know who named it 'Katsura' when the common name of the Cercidiphyllum genus is "Katsura" and of course there's the Japanese maple selection Acer palmatum 'Katsura'. According to Japanese Maples by Vertrees/Gregory the maple's name translates to "wig." My wife says B.S. to that. "Katsura"can mean "wig," depending on certain characters, but what sense would that make? More likely katsura refers to an old Chinese story or poem where the pattern of a tree could be seen on the moon, and that led the Japanese to use it for a place name – for example the Katsura Imperial Villa on the banks of the Katsura River in Kyoto, Japan. Yes, there's a lot of maples there. Of course: there exists another Katsura in Chiba Prefecture near Tokyo. By the way, there's an Obama city in Fukui Prefecture, and according to Haruko obamatranslates to (more) "B.S."

Narcissus at Flora Farm

A few weeks ago my Wife called me at work to tell me how wonderful I am. I was busy, and grew a little annoyed since I suspected that she was going to ask a favor...but then she brought up the fact that the dwarf daffodils were in flower, and she knows I planted them near our house so she could see them every day. H is right – not because I'm wonderful – but that I do place certain plants along our long roads or near the house so she can savor them. After 18 years of marriage I know her well and what delights her, and really I have no greater enjoyment than to make her happy.

Narcissus species

By the 1500's the English referred to the daffodil as asphodel, and that from Latin asphodelus, and earlier from Greek asphodelos. In the Netherlands, famous for their bulbs, they originally called the daffodil de affodil. Narcissus is the botanic name of course and it was formally coined by Linnaeus in his Species Plantarum of 1753. No one knows exactly the origin of the word narcissus, but it is linked to a Greek word for "intoxicated"– hence narcotic– and you all know the boy of that name who fell in love with his own reflection. The genus Narcissus was well known to the ancient Greeks, and Theophrastus described a species thought to be N. poeticus. They were interested in the plant's medicinal value, unlike Haruko who just thinks of them as early-year-loveliness, and I consider them as good cheap fun as well. For what it's worth, the daffodil is the national flower of Wales.

Magnolia 'Caerhays Belle'

On a scale more grand than the puny daffodils is a good-sized Magnolia 'Caerhays Belle' with its hundreds of dinner-plate-sized flowers. Not only is it precocious (flowers appearing before the leaves) but its blooms are among the most early of all Magnolias. That's great excitement for the late winter garden...unless you receive a frost, and one is predicted for this weekend. 'Caerhays Belle' was a cross made by Charles Michael, the head gardener of Caerhays Castle in Cornwall in 1951. He had to wait 14 years before he saw his first blossom, but grafted plants will usually flower in about five years. The hybrid's parents were M. sargentiana var. robusta x M. sprengeri var. sprengeri 'Diva'.

Magnolia 'Genie'

A crop of Magnolia 'Genie' is also blooming now, but then they are in containers in the warm greenhouse. My specimen planted outside will also continue to flower throughout the summer, but just a blossom or two at a time. The slightly-fragrant tulip-shaped flowers begin almost black in color, then open to a rich maroon-purple color and are about 6" across. Best of all is that a light frost doesn't seem to bother the blossoms. 'Genie' was bred in New Zealand and is a M. soulangeana xM. liliiflora cross. The latter species is horrible as a nursery plant due to its disorderly branching, nevertheless it can contribute excellent blood to hybrids.

Rhododendron lanigerum

Another Good find today (March 6) is Rhododendron lanigerum in bloom in the Display Garden. My start came as scions from R. Hatch – the 'Blue Panda' guy – about 12 years ago. More information can be had about the species from the Rhododendron Species Botanic Garden's website. Director Steve Hootman mentions "the amazing-looking large buds" and that "the fuzzy overlapping scales of the buds give the appearance of some strange small pineapple..." Steve continues, "This species is known only from Pemako in SE Tibet and adjacent NE India where it occurs in forests from 8,500 to 11,000 ft." Well, the tree has proven winter hardy in my garden, but in a couple of years I've had the pineapple buds damaged in a February deep freeze. My single specimen flowers pink, but Hootman says it can vary from "pink to red or crimson," and I'm happy to know that because my website images also indicate various colors, with some photos coming from others' gardens.

Rhododendron sherriffii

George Sherriff

Rhododendron sherriffii is also beginning to bloom, and its color is a deep blood-red. My oldest specimen is only 3' tall and wide at 12 years, and as with R. lanigerum, it is grafted onto hardy hybrid rootstock. The species name honors George Sherriff (1898-1967), a British plant explorer in India, Tibet and Bhutan in the 1930's and 1940's, and he received the Victoria Medal of Honor in 1953.

Chaenomeles cathayensis

Chaenomeles superba 'Crimson & Gold'

Neighbor's quince

Chaenomeles (pronounced kee-nom-uh-leez) is a thorny deciduous Asian shrub in the Rosaceae family. The genus name is from Greek chainein meaning "to split" and melea meaning "apple," due to the fruit displaying indented quadrants, however slight the indents are. Besides two stolen pines (more about that later) the only ornamental in my neighbor's scrappy yard is a Chaenomeles, a "quince." Possibly they stole it, or perhaps it spontaneously originated there, but anyway it is pleasant to see all orange-red flowers with no leaves yet. I have grown and sold a few cultivars, but no more for the past 6 or 7 years. That pleases the propagation department (i.e. Juana) because no one wants to work with thorns. It would seem appropriate to find the quince make an appearance in the Christian bible, for example, perhaps as a pillow for Job or as a metaphor for the slammed gates of hell. It is certainly a nasty, brawling bush, best seen from a distance. The odd word quince is from Middle English quynce, but more originally from Greek kydonion. Using plenty of sugar, my grandmother's quince jam tasted pretty Good.

New maple grafts

The final "Good" that I'll mention in The Good, The Bad and The Ugly is the fact that the maple grafts from last summer are beginning to leaf out, and so far it looks positive and hopefully we can continue to stay in business. Obviously I am insecure and every year I have been, especially when I deal with the whims of nature, the uncertainty with employees and the anti-small business, more regulations and taxes that is snowballing in Oregon. Nothing is a "given" or "guaranteed," but at least the market for our product remains in demand. Still I worry; for example: if someone contracts the Coronavirus, that person won't be going to their local garden store to buy my maples. You can't eat dwarf conifers, so who really needs them? Isn't it interesting that Americans have gone into "panic shopping," and the first item to clear the shelves, at least in Oregon, was toilet paper, but I guess you would need a roll of that more than a Corydalis or a Magnolia.

Pinus parviflora 'Goldilocks'

Stolen pine

My criminal neighbor planted two Pinus parviflora 'Goldilocks' near my mailbox along Vandehey road. No, he didn't cash his welfare check and then head to a retail garden center for the pines because no one locally offers 'Goldilocks'; rather he walked over to my container yard at night and took two of mine. I consider it two middle fingers for old Buchholz, for the obvious message is "Yeah, I can take whatever I want and there's nothing you can do about it." Heck, it was probably my "lost" shovel that he used to plant the trees. Our unneighborly adjacents have been stealing from me for years, so we've tightened our security, well, except for the plants. You can't easily lock them up. What's funny is that a portion of the foliage is the green Pinus strobus rootstock that we keep with the variegated scion for the first five years. The knucklehead has no clue that the rootstock will dominate and he'll eventually have two large green trees in his yard. Earlier in my life there would have been a fight but now I just take it in stride. If all that goes missing each year is a couple of $25 pines I'll consider myself lucky. It's bad, but not sooo Bad

What's Ugly is the rusty eye-sore trailer that the Badpeople live in.

The good neighbor's sign

Another neighbor, a Goodman, a husband and father and a mechanic by trade, attempts to ward off the criminal malfeasants with the above posting.

I suppose that's enough of the Bad and the Ugly because you don't really need to know about my problems. "Spring" will be officially upon us in two weeks, and I am already blessed with this floral preview.

I learned in school that America consists of 50 states, with the most recent being the admission of Alaska on January 3^rd, 1959 and Hawaii on August 21, 1959. Some people think there are 52 because they include the territories of Washington D.C. and Puerto Rico but they are not formally states. As a young ster I was school-tasked with filling in a USA map by identifying all 50 states with their capitals – which I could do because I found that kind of school work to actually be fun. Former US President Obama apparently didn't pay attention in school when he later bragged in his presidency that he had “visited almost all 58 states, with just two more to go.” If I lived in one of those two I would say, don't bother coming, and instead spend your time actually perusing an American map.

Anyway, every state has its officially designated tree, while some states such as North Dakota and Massachusetts share the same Ulmus americana, or multiple others with Quercus alba. I have seen most of the tres, although not necessarily in their home location. I've never been to North Dakota, but if one day I can retire I would like to check it out. All of the state trees are native to their state, except Hawaii, for the “Candlenut tree,” Aleurites moluccanus, was brought to the islands by the first people. For those states where I have no photograph I think it would be a worthy project for me to complete all 58...err 50 trees; except it's more complicated because California lists both Sequoia sempervirens and Sequoiadendron giganteum as state trees, while North Carolina just lists Pinusbecause there are eight indigenous species (hence “Tar-heel” state)

Alright, let's take a look at those state trees.

Alabama: Pinus palustris "Longleaf Pine"

Alaska: Picea sitchensis "Sitka Spruce"

Arkansas: Pinus taeda "Loblolly Pine"

California: Sequoiadendron giganteum "Giant Sequoiadendron"

California: Sequoia sempervirens "Coast Redwood"

Colorado: Picea pungens "Colorado Blue Spruce"

Connecticut: Quercus alba "White Oak"

Delaware: Ilex opaca "American Holly"

Idaho: Pinus monticola "Western White Pine"

Illinois: Quercus alba "White Oak"

Indiana: Liriodendron tulipifera "Tulip Tree"

Kentucky: Liriodendron tulipifera "Tulip Tree"

Louisiana: Taxodium distichum "Bald Cypress"

Maine: Pinus strobus "Eastern White Pine"

Maryland: Quercus alba "White Oak"

Massachusetts: Ulmus americana "American Elm"

Michigan: Pinus strobus "Eastern White Pine"

Minnesota: Pinus resinosa "Red Pine"

Mississippi: Magnolia grandiflora "Southern Magnolia"

Missouri: Cornus florida "Flowering Dogwood"

Montana: Pinus ponderosa "Ponderosa Pine"

Nevada: Pinus monophylla "Single-leaf Pine"

Nevada: Pinus longaeva "Great Basin Bristlecone Pine"

New Hampshire: Betula papyrifera "American White Birch"

New Jersey: Quercus rubra "Northern Red Oak"

New Mexico: Pinus edulis "Pinyon Pine"

New York: Acer saccharum "Sugar Maple"

North Carolina: Pinus "Pine"

North Dakota: Ulmus americana "American Elm"

Ohio: Aesculus glabra "Ohio Buckeye"

Oklahoma: Cercis canadensis "Eastern Redbud"

Pseudotsuga menziesii

Oregon: Pseudotsuga menziesii "Douglas Fir"

Pennsylvania: Tsuga canadensis "Eastern Hemlock"

Rhode Island: Acer rubrum "Red Maple"

South Dakota: Picea glauca var. densata "Black Hills Spruce"

Tennessee: Liriodendron tulipifera "Tulip Tree"

Texas: Carya illinoinensis "Pecan"

Utah: Populus tremuloides "Quaking Aspen"

Vermont: Acer saccharum "Sugar Maple"

Virginia: Cornus florida "Flowering Dogwood"

Washington: Tsuga heterophylla "Western Hemlock"

West Virginia: Acer saccharum "Sugar Maple"

Wisconsin: Acer saccharum "Sugar Maple"

Arizona: Parkinsonia florida "Blue Palo Verde" (no photo)

Florida: Sabal palmetto "Sabal Palm" (no photo)

Georgia: Quercus virginiana "Southern Live Oak" (no photo)

Hawaii: Aleurites moluccanus "Candlenut Tree" (no photo)

Iowa: Quercus macrocarpa "Bur Oak" (no photo)

Kansas: Populus deltoides "Eastern Cottonwood" (no photo)

Nebraska: Populus deltoides "Eastern Cottonwood" (no photo)

South Carolina: Sabal palmetto "Sabal Palm" (no photo)

Wyoming: Populus deltoides var. monilifera "Plains Cottonwood" (no photo)

Ok, I guess I have an oak, a couple of cottonwoods and a palm to still encounter, plus the “Candlenut” from Hawaii; and, the what?: a Parkingsonia from Arizona too. I have been to Arizona a few times and have probably seen a Parkinsonia but didn't know what I was looking at. The shrub (or small tree) is drought tolerant and provides some shade in landscapes...like over patios. Native Americans used the beans as a food source and they were ground into a flour-gruel. The common name of “Palo Verde” means “green pole” or “stick” in Spanish because of the green trunk and branches. The flowers are bright yellow and pea-like, and they cover the tree in late spring. Can you imagine me arranging and paying for a trip to Arizona just to photographically document this tree? Well, you better believe it, for I will!

I love the 50 unique states in America and of course I love their trees. I just think that if one state declares its official tree as Acer saccharum, as did Vermont in 1949, then New York has no business choosing the “Sugar maple” as their state tree. C'mon, don't deign to copy another – you were beat to the punch. And Hawaii: it's not too late to select a tree that is truly indigenous to your islands. I know that I have a compulsion to micromanage and arrange/rearrange everything, but it would be more sensible and organized and original if I did.

Cedrus atlantica 'Glauca'

I had never encountered the word glauca in my life until my early 20’s when I began my career in horticulture. The plant in question was the “Blue Atlas cedar,” Cedrus atlantica ‘Glauca’, so I supposed that glauca meant “blue.” Then, after reading thousands of plant descriptions in books such as The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs, Bean’s Trees and Shrubs Hardy in the British Isles and Krussmann's Manual of Cultivated Conifers I learned that glauca was more accurately defined as a light bluish-gray or bluish-white color. With conifers it often referred to a plant who’s needles have a powdery or waxy coating that gives a frosted appearance, but a coating that can be rubbed off. I remember a vicious winter at 0 degrees F with 45 MPH winds because the cold snap blew the coating off the prevailing windy side of our “Colorado Blue spruce” cultivars. Yep: they were thus variegated blue and green until glaucous foliage developed again in spring.

Picea pungens 'Iseli Fastigiata'

The word glauca(same root for glaucoma) is from Latin glaucus and that from Greek glaucos meaning “gleaming” or “gray.” The term was also used to describe a range of pale colors, even yellow-green. A person with fair hair and blue eyes is known as a glaucope(if fair hair and brown eyes a cyanope.) There are a plethora of plant cultivars named ‘Glauca’, but ever since 1959 the International Code of Botanical Nomenclature (ICBN) forbids the use of Latin with plant names. Nevertheless a number of nurserymen are unaware of the rules, and there are others who don’t give a damn about some questionable EuroCode anyway. An example would be Picea pungens ‘Glauca Fastigiata’ where both cultivar words are derived from Latin. This selection was originally introduced in the 1970’s as ‘Iseli Fastigiate’ or ‘Iseli Fastigiata’. It is not against the ICBN rules to use one’s name for a cultivar – such as Iseli– but it is in pompously bad form to do so, and you would never encounter a name such as ‘Buchholz Purple Ghost’ for one of my maple introductions.

Picea glauca 'Blue Tear Drop'

I’m far from being the Noah’s Ark of the floral world, but even at our relatively small nursery size we have about 90 different varieties with glauca in the name, with half of them being Picea glauca(the “White spruce”). Note from the list below that all except Lindera glauca and Rosa glauca are conifers.

Abies concolor 'Glauca Compacta' Pinus parviflora 'Glauca'

Abies koreana 'Glauca' Pinus pumila 'Glauca'

Abies lasiocarpa 'Glauca Compacta' Pinus sylvestris 'Glauca Fastigiata'

Abies pinsapo 'Glauca' Pinus sylvestris 'Glauca Nana'

Abies procera 'Glauca Pseudotsuga menziesii 'Glauca'

Abies procera 'Glauca Nana' Pseudotsuga menziesii 'Glauca Hesse'

Abies procera 'Glauca Prostrata Hupp' Pseudotsuga menziesii 'Glauca Pendula'

Abies veitchii 'Glauca Rosa glauca

Cedrus atlantica 'Glauca' Thuja koreana 'Glauca Prostrata'

Cedrus atlantica 'Glauca Pendula' Thuja orientalis 'Minima Glauca'

etc...

Rosa glauca

Let’s start with the two non conifers, and though we currently sell neither, I still find them interesting members in my collection. Rosa glauca was not named for bluish flowers as you can see, but rather for the gray-blue leaves. I would grow it for the foliage alone because the pinkish-red flowers aren’t much anyway. While the hip (fruit) is dark red that still doesn’t explain the old synonym of Rosarubrifolia, meaning “red leaves,” unless one considers the new growth’s color. Anyway the hardy (USDA Zone 2-3), scrappy-looking shrub is deciduous and native to the mountains of central and southern Europe. I find the species kind of wild-looking, and not really suitable in a neat, refined garden; maybe planted against a rough wall or fence in full sun would show it to best effect. In the Hillier tome it is given a greater thumbs-up and is declared “Invaluable for coloured foliage schemes.”

Lindera glauca

The Lindera genus – named for the Swedish botanist Johann Linder – has had representative species in my garden since the beginning. I used to propagate and sell them but the reality is that they were never really popular – yet another genus that I would describe as underused. That’s a shame because the 80-100 species of evergreen or deciduous trees (or shrubs) are aromatic with small flowers noticeable enmasse, followed by tiny, shiny black berries and beautiful autumn foliage. L. glauca has long, narrow green leaves – and I am a fan of the skinny – that are glaucous beneath, hence the specific epithet. It is native to China, Korea, and Japan and was first described by Siebold and Zuccarini. Hillier mentions that in China this and other Lindera species are “used in the manufacture of incense sticks (joss sticks).” I have one specimen left which is growing in a “natural” environment down by the pond, and it receives no attention, including irrigation. I admire the long-lasting peachy-orange color in autumn; then with the onset of winter the leaves turn to a delicious mocha color and actually persist until new growth pushes them off in spring.

Abies veitchii 'Glauca'

Abies veitchii was first discovered by J.G. Veitch on Mount Fuji, Japan, in 1860, then collected for the Veitch firm by Charles Maries in 1879. I had a specimen in the Display Garden, but over the years it was picked on and drilled relentlessly by sapsuckers until it grew so unsightly that I eventually cut it down. I was further into my career before I discovered a magnificent specimen of Abies veitchii ‘Glauca’ at the Porter Howse Arboretum of Sandy, Oregon, and owner Don Howse kindly shared scions with me. The cultivar receives scant notice in the literature, and Rushforth in Conifers boringly refers to the needles as “somewhat gray-blue.” A more vibrant description is provided by Auders/Spicer in the RHS Encyclopedia of Coniferswhere it’s called “a selection with steel-blue needles.” I think that is a more exciting description, but when one looks up at the foliage it is the vivid silver color of the needles’ undersides that is powerfully impressive, not the top color. According to Auders/Spicer it originated in Germany before 1968, but they add that “This name in Latin form is only acceptable if proved to have been published before 1959.” Hopefully the namer didn’t run afoul of the ICBN authorities.

Cedrus atlantica 'Glauca Pendula'

Cedrus atlantica ‘Glauca Pendula’ is validly named, as the weeping version of the “Blue Atlas cedar” was discovered in France and the name was coined in about 1900. Or, maybe not validly named since the Cedrus genus was once thought to include four species but now some botanists insist there are only two: C. deodara of the Himalaya and C. libani of the Mediterranean. If that’s correct, one should call it Cedrus libani subsp. atlantica‘Glauca Pendula’. I know – only plant nerds like me would care about those details. I first encountered it in a corner field at the first nursery where I worked… where it was sprawling unattractively with no apparent purpose. Later I learned that you could train it into any form you wanted, and, when I was finally in business, I had a narrowly-weeping crop that rose to 15’ tall before I sold them. The selection is certainly not “dwarf” and it didn’t take long to attain such height. In another case I trained one sideways, where each year’s 2-3’ of growth humped along in serpent form. One customer was intrigued with my ten-year (ten hump) creation and couldn’t live without it; and since I needed money I sold it to market. I used to graft a couple thousand of ‘Glauca Pendula’ per year back when we did custom liner production, but demand for it eventually declined and we haven’t grafted a single one for over a dozen years. I realize – just now – that I didn’t keep even one specimen on the property, but thanks for the memories.

Cunninghamia lanceolata 'Glauca'

I want to champion Cunninghamia lanceolata ‘Glauca’ which I website-describe as “An evergreen conifer with a broad pyramidal form. Leaves are bright blue and very sharp. Ornamental reddish brown bark is deeply furrowed…etc.” It is commonly known as the “Blue China fir” and is supposedly more hardy (to USDA Zone 6) than the typical green of the species. The “China fir” can grow to 150’ in height but my grandmother had a hedge of the green version that was annually pruned to only six feet tall, and the sharp poky, foliage definitely kept the neighbor’s children off her property.

Cunninghamia lanceolata 'Glauca' prostrate form

A form of Cunninghamia lanceolata ‘Glauca’ that was entirely prostrate was growing at Arrowhead Alpines in northern Michigan. First of all, I was surprised that the species could even survive there, but I was suspicious about the “flat-growing” specimen. I obtained a start of it – with their enthusiastic encouragement – but my propagules quickly assumed an upright habit. I suppose that in frigid Michigan their plant had “learned” to hunker down to survive the winter. I believe that all plants are unique individually even if they are members of the same species; in other words: some cultivarious members are more tough and resilient than others and some shiver in the cold wind more than their brethren. “China fir” shouldnot survive in northern Michigan, but since one does it gives other plantsmen the hopeful idea that we can and should expand our domain.

Pinus sylvestris 'Glauca Fastigiata'

Nurserymen – I included – used the grow the old cultivar Pinus sylvestris ‘Glauca Fastigiata’, the narrow blue-green pillar that Hillier describes as in “the shape of a Lombardy poplar.” I discontinued it due to its propensity to splay open with just a few inches of wet snow. Even the old Dutch geezer that I used to work for had the cultivar planted as a pair at the front end of this propagation house, and every winter with the threat of snow we barber-poled the specimens with twine to keep them intact. Really, garden-worthy cultivars shouldn’t need artificial support to thrive– let alone survive in a successful landscape. Nevertheless I have encountered “crutches” in some gardens that help ward off old age and gravity with the trees, whether they be ornamental cherries, pines or ginkgoes. At a certain point we all need a helping hand I guess. Anyway, selections of the “Fastigiate Group,” as Hillier calls them, were promoted as early as 1856. I haven’t propagated a single ‘Glauca Fastigiata’ for over 30 years, yet nearly every week I drive past one in front of the bank at the entrance into nearby Hillsboro, Oregon.

Picea glauca 'Pendula'

Ah – Picea glauca ‘Pendula’, the narrow “Weeping White spruce” : one of the most garden-worthy conifers ever. Perhaps the most bizarre and unforgivable omission to The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubsis for Picea glauca ‘Pendula’. How could you ever – in 2014 – not mention it ahead of the old-Latin-Euro cultivars of ‘Coerulea’, ‘Densata’, ‘Echiniformis’ or ‘Nana’? Picea glauca ‘Pendula’ is now produced by the many thousands… as it should be. It supposedly originated in the 1860’s in Versailles, France as a mutation and was formally described by the French botanist Carriere in 1867, according to the American Conifer Society’s website. I don’t know, there are a number of weeping selections for all of the Picea species, and we grow another weeping Picea glauca named ‘Canadian Weeper’ from a 1980’s collection from Nova Scotia. Every morning I stand at the kitchen window and look out at the landscape, and my pillar Picea glauca ‘Pendula’ dominates the near distance at about 30’ tall. Both doves and red-tailed hawks have perched on its top, and occasionally snow or ice frosts its gray-blue branches. Definitely, nature gets an A+ for this creation and I have kept the family fed from the sales of it.

Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Glaucum' (From Buchholz left and Bedgebury right)

Normal Sequoiadendron giganteum cone on left, 'Glaucum' on right

The tallest plant in my original Display Garden is Sequoiadendron giganteum ‘Glaucum’ and I look at it now from my office window – yes, I hogged the desk with the best garden view. The distant sight from the window wasn’t the close experience I wanted, so I just went outside to stand next to the trunk. I suppose the specimen is 80-100 feet tall – and I am pretty good at estimating trees’ heights. It is exactly 39 years old, grafted onto a three-year green seedling rootstock. The best feature, from a landscape point of view, is the narrow form, and I remember the impressive blue pillar at the Bedgebury Arboretum in southern England which was over twice the size of mine. Hillier in 2014 relates that their tree “has reached just over 25m in the SHHG (2013)” and that it was introduced to cultivation around 1860. If so, I wonder where the champion could be found? Actually I don’t buy the Hillier story about an 1860 introduction since blue (glaucous) seedlings have arisen by the hundreds over the years and I have grown many myself. But the narrow ‘Glaucum’ is truly unique regardless of when it was first cultivated. Another nursery’s description of ‘Glaucum’ suggest that it grows “slower than the type”… but hmm… I don’t think so. One difference, however, is that ‘Glaucum’s’ cones are only half the size of those from the normal green trees. If there was only one species in the world where I could stick my chest out and boast I know more about it than anybody else it would be with the “Giant Redwoods.” Believe me. I grew up in a house with two massive 1873-planted specimens and my first plant sales ever – I guess I was about 8 years old – was Giant redwood cones to florists in Eugene, Oregon, thanks to my grandmother’s assistance with driving me around town to the shops.

Pseudotsuga menziesii 'Glauca'

Nomenclaturally questionable is Pseudotsuga menziesii ‘Glauca’ which was popular when I began my career. As with the Giant redwoods there are many selections of the “Blue Douglas fir,” and so the botanical designation should probably be Glaucagroup. Then, keep in mind that var. glauca refers to the eastern-most range of the species native to the Rocky Mountains down and into Mexico, a variety that is more hardy, but more slow-growing than the green version native to my nearby woods. Besides the beautiful blue foliage, the var. glauca features cones that can be pinkish in spring, and they are smaller and more pointed than the far-west’s larger and more rounded brown cones. As I mentioned earlier, Douglas fir cultivars were popular at the beginning of my career, but eventually sales dwindled. I think the problem was that Oregon nurserymen (including myself) were grafting the blue, the narrowly blue, or the weeping blue cultivars onto the less hardy green rootstock, and cold-USA-area garden centers grew tired of returning refunds for insufficiently hardy trees.

If only one color was used to describe the earth’s flora, of course it would be green. Plantsmen, however, have seemingly grown bored of green and we champion other foliage colors such as yellow, red or blue. From a business point of view, red maples always outsell the typically green selections, and blue conifers are horticulturally more in demand than green. I make a living off the abnormal, the freaks, the different. That’s kind of weird, isn’t it?

There is not a consensus on how many countries exist in the world, with some counts ranging from 193 (UN members) to 197. The problematic issues are whether an entity such as Taiwan is independentor a part of grabbing mainland China, or whether Kosovo is an independent nation, as considered soby the USA and other Western nations, or notby the likes of Russia, China, Iran and North Korea – all asshole countries, aren’t they? – or merely a province of Serbia. Despite dubious Chinese “historical” justification, Tibet is not “part” of China, but rather an independent country that happens to currently be under the heel of Han domination. And speaking of “historical,” shouldn’t we consider the Navaho and Nez Perce and other Native American nations as independent countries too?

Pseudotsuga menziesii

Tsuga heterophylla

Tsuga canadensis

A couple of weeks ago I listed America’s “State” trees, where Oregon “decided” on the “Douglas fir,” Pseudotsuga menziesii, Washington chose the “Western hemlock,” Tsuga heterophylla, and Pennsylvania went with the “Eastern hemlock,” Tsuga canadensis etc. I suppose some grandstanding politician made a tree proposal and it was voted ayeand thus it became so. What do you think is the National tree of the United States? Stop…and think it over first. Stop, think.

Quercus

The process of deciding seemed quite democratic: The National Arbor Day Foundation conducted a poll in 2001 and the oak, and all of the American species of the genus Quercus, was the winner, and collectively it is considered The Mighty Oak. Of course the process involved further BS, and five years later it took a Congressional passage and a Presidential signing to become official. I didn’t vote – I didn’t know how to – but I don’t have aproblem with The Mighty Oak, and Oregon is home to a few Quercus species, with Q. garryana being the most notable.

Acer saccharum

Likewise, Canada goes with a conglomerate, and not surprising the choice is the maple genus Acer, but we all suspect the “Sugar maple,” Acer saccharum is the prototype. Remember that a few American states proclaimed Acer saccharum to be their state tree as well. The species ranges in Canada from Nova Scotia all the way west to Manitoba, and in the USA from Minnesota eastward to the Atlantic Ocean. Besides being a famous source of maple syrup, horticulturally it is prized for brilliant autumn foliage, and a sizeable tourist industry has been based on it in the Northeast. They are spectacular in Oregon at the Flora Wonder Arboretum, but sadly in gloomy England they are reportedly (Peter Gregory) not reliable for noteworthy autumn color.

Taxodium mucronatum

How about Mexico – which tree do you think? There could be 100 valid choices I suppose but amazingly the designation is based on a solo specimen of Taxodium mucronatum, the “Ahuehuete,” considered the world’s champion tree in circumference. I have seen this wonderous specimen in Oaxaca, and it was on my list of the top ten accomplishments in my life before I checked out. Only marriage to Haruko and the birth of my five children rank ahead of it. Honestly, the Taxodium amazed me more than the Grand Canyon or standing at the foot of Mount Everest. The Arbol del Tule is located on church grounds in the center of Santa Maria del Tule, and is commonly known as the “Montezuma cypress” with Ahuehuetemeaning “old man of the water” in the Nahuatl language. It is slightly more round (119 feet) than tall and is thought to be about 2,000 years old. If you believe the local legend, the tree was planted by a priest of the Aztec storm god, Huracan, who also presided as a Mayan diety and was present at all three attempts to create humanity under the direction of Kukulkan(known by the Aztec name Quetzalcoatl). So, take that, Darwin!

Quercus robur

I think the most common country-shared national tree – not necessarily preferred by me, but by the dignitaries of various European countries – is Quercus robur, the “English oak.” Obviously it is indigenous to the B. Isles and is also considered the Royal Oak, but countries flung far-afield from each other such as Croatia, Denmark, Estonia, probably Germany (since they just select “oak”), Latvia, Lithuania, Moldova, Poland, Romania, and Serbia. (for an undesignated species of oak), all foremost champion Quercus robur. No! – not Q. rubra (the American “Red oak”) which I have no trouble differentiating from Q. robur – but we should agree that the novice might have some confusion trying to figure out the difference between the two similar-sounding specific epithets.

Olea europaea

Olive branch

Also highly sought for national tree preference is Olea europaea, the “Olive tree,” which is native to the Mediterranean, Africa, southern Asia, and Australasia. It is an evergreen tree or shrub and I saw plantations of them in Greece where I explored the countryside by car in the early 1970s. The four most memorable occurrences for me at that time was feta-cheese salads, tobacco fields, olive orchards and hitch hiking lesbians. I also grew sick of baklava, and have never been able to eat the honey-drenched paper-thin dough since my Grecian fling. As far as the lesbian pairs are concerned: one can be alluringly attractive, but her partner always seems to sport dark-cropped hair and a mustache – a deal breaker for me. Well, you don’t care about those details, but the European olive is the national tree of Albania, Greece, Israel and Palestine. Extending the olive branch is a symbol of peace in modern Europe and also in the Arab world, but it originated first in Ancient Egypt before arriving in Ancient Greece, one of the few examples where the Greeks were not original. Eventually, in Greek tradition, a hiketeriawas an olive branch held by supplicants to acknowledge their inferiority when approaching persons of greater status or power.

Pinus sylvestris

Pinus sylvestris is commonly known as the “Scot’s pine,” so its not surprising to learn that it’s the national tree of Scotland. And once you encounter a few Scotsmen in your life you’re not surprised that the country’s national flower is a thistle, as the northern tribe can be rather prickly to deal with. Sylvestris– meaning “of the forest” – is the only pine native to Britain, and while once common in England and Wales, now the only wild stands can be found in northern Scotland. I’ve purchased a couple hundred thousand P. sylvestris seedlings in my career as it makes a suitable rootstock for most two-needled pine cultivars. It is adaptable to container culture and it makes a decent rootstock for harvesting ball-and-burlap trees from the field. Since the species is native to northern Europe, all the way to Asia, there exists a number of geographical varieties, and growers develop a preference for attributes such as hardiness, or best winter color retention, or for the most fibrous root system etc.

Ceroxylon quindiuense

A fun tree that is the symbol of Columbia is Ceroxylon quindiuense, but don’t feel bad if you’ve never of it because when I sent the photo above (a dozen years ago) to the late tree expert, Dick van Hoey Smith of Arboretum Trompenburg, he was baffled by it’s identity. Well, it’s a non-hardy palm so of course he didn’t know it. I encountered it at the Strybing Arboretum of San Francisco and I was certainly taken with the whimsical nature of the trunk. The related species hexandrumwas growing nearby, also barber pole-like but not quite as exaggerated. Of course the trunk markings are the result of excising leaf fronds which is common with palms. The “Andean Wax Palm” is native to montane forests of Columbia and Peru and can reach an astounding 200’ tall. The genus name is derived from Latin cerafor “wax” and Greek xulonfor “wood.” In the past the stem wax of C. quindiusense was used for making candles, but later was replaced with artificial wax or by the arrival of electricity. Everything you could ever want to know about the genus can be found in Phytotaxa34, A Revision of the Andean Wax Palms, Ceroxylon (Arecaceae) by Maria Jose Santin and Gloria Galeano. The genus is of particular interest to me because specimens dotted the landscape in Peru when I visited in the early 1970’s and I guess I wasn’t expecting to see tall palms in the Andean foothills.

Prunus serrulata

The national tree of Japan is the “Flowering cherry,” Prunus serrulata, locally known as the tai haku. It is also called the “hill cherry” and is native to China, Japan, Korea and India and the flowers can range from white to pink. The fruits (Sakuranbo) are small and bitter and are not eaten unless processed as a preserve, and it’s a taste my wife doesn’t like, but a pleasant delicacy to me.

Podocarpus latifolius

I was initially surprised that the National tree of South Africa – Podocarpus latifolius – is not mentioned in either Hillier (2014), nor in Rushforth’s Conifers, but I suppose the reason is that the latifolia species (meaning broad-leaved) is not sufficiently hardy for the British Isles (only to 25-30F). Also known as the “yellowwood,” it is a slow-growing evergreen that can nevertheless reach 100 ft. tall in its natural habitat. The foliage appears gray from a distance, but the bluish-gray needles are coated with a powder, and as we saw in the recent Flora Wonder Blog post, ‘Glauca’, the covering can be rubbed off which will expose the underlying green leaves. If I remember correctly, the photo above was taken at the Los Angeles Arboretum, but unfortunately I didn’t document the beautiful trunk with its peeling bark. The species is dioecious, with male and female cones on separate plants, so you can see that the above specimen is female. The male cones resemble catkins which is adapted for wind pollination. My photo was taken in spring, but the female’s round, gray-blue seeds mature to purple in winter. I actually grew one indoors as a “house-plant” when I was young, but I don’t remember what happened to it.

Betula pendula

Finland chose as its National tree the “Silver birch,” Betula pendula, but the species is no one’s favorite tree. The bark just isn’t white enough like with B. jacquemontii, or with some of the other Asian species. Plus, it can cover your car or sidewalk with sticky aphid juice. The bugs excrete the honeydew as they move around the foliage which can lead to gray-black mold on the leaves. One of the first projects when I bought the Buchholz Nursery property was to remove a Betula pendula next to the back door due to the sticky situation, plus the plant-idiot placed it atop the house’s septic system. Contrarion ex-wife complained that I was a brutal floral chauvinist to edit the innocent tree… when it meant no harm, but I was dutifully preventing thousands of dollars of repair later. I admit, though, that the silhouette of a B. pendula in the dormant season can be a source of wonder, and the only requirement is that it is planted a safe distance from the house.

Betula pendula 'Dalecarlica'

The Swedes take the Silver birch (AKA “Lady of the Woods”) a step further for their National tree by choosing the cultivar ‘Dalecarlica’, and I used to have one on the property… but no more. The problem was that initially – and still to this day – I underestimate a tree’s vigor, and frankly the rambunctious birch threatened some more important and commercially viable species. It’s sad when a plant collection, an arboretum(such as the Flora Wonder), must choose to keepor delete based upon commercial performance instead of leaving all in place and in peace. My life includes a lot of decisions about the killingor keeping of living creatures, and I must be certain and decisive. ‘Dalecarlica’ displays deeply-cut leaves and was originally found in Sweden in 1767 in the province of Darlana, hence the cultivar name. These dissected-leaved forms can occasionally be found in the wild, but it’s interesting that a formor a cultivar can become the National tree of a country.

Ginkgo biloba

Not surprisingly Ginkgo biloba is the National tree of China, and while very old specimens can be found in Japan and Korea, everyone acknowledges that China is the origin. On the other hand I have a Ginko adiantoides fossil from Morton County, North Dakota which is aged from the Paleocene Epoch (56-66 million years ago). The Ginko is considered a “living fossil” and has remained basically unchanged for over 200 millions years, and it’s amazing to consider that it coexisted with the dinosaurs. It is thought that Ginkgo was first cultivated about 1,000 years ago in China, and most likely for it’s nuts. An abundance of literature exists in China prior to a thousand years ago, and nowhere is Ginkgo mentioned. The first Westerner to document it was Engelbert Kaempfer who was stationed in southern Japan while employed with the Dutch East India Company. The first trees to be introduced to Europe was somewhere between the 1730’s and 1750’s. When my daughter H. was barely over two years old she was walking between her mother and me on a sidewalk in Portland. She stopped, pointed at a single leaf and said (in her cute baby voice), “Ginkgo biloba.” I looked up, and sure enough there were just a few leaves clinging at the end of autumn on a Ginkgo biloba tree. Her mother had taught her plant names as they went for outings in the Flora Wonder Arboretum, and ginkgo was the first tree she learned to identify.

Tree of Life

Saint Peter: Apostle and First Pope

Physically, The Vatican is the smallest nation on earth with an area of 110 acres and a population of about 1,000. The name comes from an Etruscan settlement, Vatica, located in an area called Ager Vaticanusfor “Vatican territory,” a marshy area on the west bank of the Tiber across from the city of Rome. Some would argue that the swamp was never fully drained, at least morally. I’ve never been there, so I don’t know if there’s even one tree on the grounds, but I suppose if they had a National tree it would be the “Tree of Life.” The tree first appears in Genesis 2:9 and 3:22-24, and it is the source of eternallife, then it reappears in the Book of Revelation. Pope Benedict XVI (1927-) said that the cross is the “true tree of life,” while earlier Augustine of Hippo (354-430) said that the tree of life is Christ. Well, other cultures, including pre-Columbian America, had their tree of life too, or tree of the world. The aforementioned Tule tree of Aztec mythology is associated with the actual behemoth Taxodium in Oaxaca, Mexico.

Quercus garryana

The word “tree” is derived from Greek drys-drees,from the same root as Druid and endure, and it referred in ancient times to the oak. I don’t know if it’s a particular species or any Mediterranean Oak. There are about 600 species of Quercus in the world, and those with evergreen foliage are known as “live oaks,” compared to the deciduous Q. garryana that dominates my front lawn. However, even when dormant it still radiates life: the Buchholz family’s National tree.

An article appeared in the recent Maple Society Newsletter (spring 2020) that was written by Alan Tabler, an Oregon nurseryman who has been employed at Don Schmidt Nursery as Production Manager/Grower for the past 34 years. The essay was Small Maples for Small Gardens which I found very interesting and informative...as I always appreciate others' learned perspective of the genus I love so much.

Alan Tabler

Besides the encyclopedic detailing of various Acer palmatum dwarves – and at the risk of Maple Society plagiarism – I quote from one of Alan's paragraphs that suitably illustrates the Don Schmidt Nursery's practice of dry land farming.

“At Don Schmidt Nursery, plants are grown under a system of dry land farming. Under dry land farming, water availability is managed by regular disking of the soil to allow the moisture to wick up to the root zone by osmosis. This system reduces weed and disease pressures and allows for more environmentally sustainable growth. This method also allows the plant to grow to its natural form based on its genetic potential.”

I wrote to Alan that B.H., a famous plantsman from England, read the article and questioned me about this farming practice. I remember that Alan extolled its virtues in a regional newspaper a few years before, but unfortunately I didn't save it, and would it be possible to get a copy of that?

Alan replied, “I couldn't find the article, so I wrote up a brief description of our practices at Don Schmidt Nursery. Please forward this to your U.K. friend. Please have B.H. contact me direct if he has any questions. I am always happy to spread the faith about dry land farming.”

So, here's Alan's gospel:

Dry land farming is a system of agriculture where water availability is managed by repeated disking of the soil. The emphasis is on maintaining soil health and nutrient bioavailability. This type of farming is not new. It was the way most farming was done before water pumps became readily available after WWII.

It should be emphasized that you must commit to the system for it to be effective. Doing only part of the system will not generate the desired results. Disking of the soil cuts into the soil hardpan and allows the available water to wick up into the root zone by osmosis. Tilling of the soil creates the opposite effect by creating a hardpan that restricts water movement. By not giving the plant supplemental water, it allows the plant to grow in tune with the seasons and to shut down growth when the weather requires it. This leads to less leaf and branch scorch, which eliminates entry of disease and also helps eliminate late summer powdery mildew. It takes approximately 8 days to return to a row and disk it again. While there is a fixed cost of tractor and driver, it is competitive with labor and cost associated with moving irrigation pipe.

At Don Schmidt Nursery, we plant our maple liners in October. If there is anything you can count on, it is that it will rain in the fall in Oregon. Oregon springs are often wet which delays planting too late for the liners to establish themselves before the heat of summer. In spring, maples are trimmed hard to stimulate top-growth, which in turn stimulates root growth. The vigor of the plant is maintained and creates a more hardy, healthy plant able to withstand environmental stress.

Maples in general have limited insect problems. Scouting is used to pinpoint any possible problems. While we are not philosophically opposed to the use of pesticides, we only use them when necessary.

One of the drawbacks of dry land farming is the setting of pre-emergent herbicides. Fall rains make pre-emergent application difficult. Ideally, the February dry spell is the time to spray in Oregon. However, February is also the time for digging, trimming and shipping, etc. So, pre-emergent use is often neglected.

Strangely enough, weed growth in the rows is not a negative in today’s labor situation. Keeping employees productive all year round helps to retain those we will need during digging season. Hand hoeing helps keep our employees productive. The key is to finish hoeing before the weed seeds mature in order to keep next year’s weed population in check. In winter we allow a natural cover crop to grow between the rows for soil stability and to be disked under in the spring to return the nutrients back to the soil.

Fertilization is done in March before bud break. At Don Schmidt Nursery, application is done by helicopter in order to complete the process in three hours, rather than three weeks.

Sanitation is important. If any plant shows a sign of pseudomonas or other disease, it is immediately removed and burned. Low areas that are unsuitable for maple are to be avoided.

The hardest current problem at Don Schmidt Nursery is allowing a field sufficient rest. Ideally, fields should be rested and cover cropped two years before replanting.

The soil is your most valuable resource, and maintaining vigor and the health of the soil is paramount. Our plants have a longer rotation, generally six to ten years. The trade off is a strong hardy plant that will perform for the customer.

While dry land farming is not well suited to Texas and other dry areas, it would certainly work in large parts of the United State and the U.K.

The ultimate goal of dry land farming is to work with Mother Nature instead of against her, forcing the grower to follow the rhythms of the seasons and to appreciate the beauty of maples in all phases.

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Well, thank you Alan. I farm differently, though, by using tons of water that nourishes Acer cultivars in “artificial” soil in containers. I will concede that the Schmidt method sounds far more appealing, but unfortunately I am too old and underfunded to give it a try. However, if I won the lottery – which I never will because I never play – I would endow a research institute at Buchholz Nursery to empirically study the Acer genus...with the ultimate aim to advise and encourage the home gardener to further appreciate and to learn how to best succeed with these wonderful trees. Ultimately the proof of Schmidt's theories is demonstrated by the health and vigor of their product.

At this time of our Coronavirus Reality, my Flora Wonder Blog might come across as inane (or insane), as when the Band played on while the Titanic was sinking. It is difficult, but I'm trying to keep my own hopes from descending, and let's hope that some solace can be found with close observation and involvement with nature.

After Alan Tabler declared in his (March 19, 2020) email that he was always happy to spread the faith about dry land farming, he nevertheless concluded with “Strange times they are upon us, Alan.”

Indeed.

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