Flora Wonder Blog

I first met Reuben Hatch in about 1987. He billed himself as a “Grower of Rhododendrons for the Discerning Gardener,” and operated his one-man wholesale nursery from Vancouver, Washington. We hit it off as friends as we both loved plants and we both loved to go plant hunting in exotic lands such as Mexico, China and the Himalaya. In addition we would rise early and meet for hikes once a week at Mt. Hood, the Oregon Coast Hills or on one of the many trails in the Columbia River Gorge. Sometimes we would visit other Oregon nurseries and gardens and due to Reuben's full head of pure white hair I would refer to him as “my grandfather,” even though he is only 16 years older than I. In recent times we had to limit our adventures because as he entered into his 80's his brain became hay-wired and he developed the tendency to lose balance and fall.

I hadn't seen R. in about two months but I had a bag full of magazines and books to exchange so Haruko and I decided that we would visit even if we just waved through the window. H. also delivered a marionberry pie and I brought a dish full of Pleione orchids in full flower. It was Reuben who got me started with Pleione about 25 years ago in the first place, and since he no longer grows them he can have a couple of weeks of fun with mine, then I'll bring them back to my greenhouse.

About plants, R. knows far more than I...while I clearly know far more than him about plants – a perfect relationship. Many know us two as a pair, and I suppose that some might wonder if we are gay. R. definitely is notgay. I guess I am sort of – in many ways – but never in a sexual sense. I appreciate the beauty of flowers, leaves and healthy females, and while I am completely loyal to my wife, I don't see anything wrong with my fascination with the latter, and all the better if they are intelligent and quick-witted.

Though R. “retired” twenty years ago – “at the end of the last century,” as he puts it, he stays busy with his half acre of plants. Everything is jammed on his limited lot, but he continues to prune the established while shoe-horning in the new, and has thus kept the garden fresh and invigorating. He doesn't worry about clashing colors or themse of a “proper” landscape because there is simply no space unfilled. Nevertheless he keeps acquiring new plants and even has a heel-in area – the bull pen – that contains about 50 plants with nowhere to put. Grandfather's place consists of hundreds of separated individuals as well as the blending of foliage that sprawls one bush into another.

I featured R.'s garden in a blog four years ago entitled Grandfather's Garden, and I'll rehash some of that here:

Rhododendron x 'Airy Fairy'

Rhododendron exasperatum

One of Reuben's oldest Rhododendrons is the horrifically named x 'Airy Fairy', and it caught me by surprise last month for I had never seen it in bloom before. The cross (R. lutescens x R. mucranulatum 'Cornell') was achieved by Francis Maloney and introduced in 1976. Another Rhododendron is the likable R. exasperatum, a species with tubular/campanulate red flowers native to NE India, Burma and SE Tibet. Unfortunately it is only hardy to about 5 degrees F, so Gramps planted his close to his house for added protection. It got clobbered two years ago when we reached 10 degrees in early November and it looked rough all last year. Now it looks great, especially with its purplish-green new growth. R. exasperatum was not named due to any confusion about where to place it botanically, but rather was named by Harry Tagg in 1930 for its rough-ribbed leaves. Exasperate is from the Latin verb exasperare which is based on asper for “rough.”

Rhododendron x 'Ever Red'

Rhododendron x 'Wine and Roses'

Still in pots are Reuben's two recent acquisitions from the Rhododendron Species Garden, R. x 'Ever Red' (or 'Everred') and the hybrid R. x 'Wine and Roses'. The former was bred at Glendoick in Scotland and is grown mainly for its red foliage color, although the dark red flowers in April are nice too. 'Wine and Roses' is a fun name and it fits the plant perfectly. The perky leaves face upward revealing deep purple-red undersides and in April the blossoms are pink. Both form small compact plants and Reuben will probably leave them in containers.

Carex elata 'Aurea'

Choisya x 'Gold Fingers'

Grandfather looks down upon his garden from his second-story bedroom window and is impressed with the fireworks-like explosion of color from Carex elata 'Aurea', which is possibly also known as “Bowles' golden sedge.” One must be careful with golden plants...that you don't use too many, a sin similar to too many exclamation points in a letter or story!!! Reuben has too many, but he couldn't care less; and for a person so Aristotelian* in his approach to life, he nevertheless goes quite wild with colors in his garden. Another yellow doozy** is Choisya x 'Gold Fingers', and I even bought one for myself at Xera Plants when I noticed that Grandfather's plant happily thrived in our record-breaking heat last summer. 'Gold Fingers' is aptly named, as each leaf consists of five narrow lobes, and it resembles a golden version of the green-leaved Acer pentaphyllum. Dancing Oaks Nursery of Oregon describes 'Gold Fingers' as “This is one ebullient*** plant!”

*Aristotle's name means “the best purpose.” Centuries later the Roman Cicero described his literary style as “a river of gold.” Sadly only about a third of his original output has survived.

**Etymologists believe that “doozy” is an altered form of the word “daisy,” which was used in the late 1800s as a slang term for someone or something considered the best.

***Ebullient means “to bubble with enthusiasm.” Bulla is Latin for “bubble,” hence our English word “boil.”

Pinus koraiensis 'Morris Blue'

Reuben loves his three Pinus koraiensis 'Morris Blue' which he planted in a triangle. By next year they will push into each other, a dilemma that I would solve by cutting two down. He grimaced when I mentioned my solution, and he somehow prays that they can grow taller without also growing wider. I saw the original at the Morris Arboretum in Pennsylvania about 20 years ago, and I remember it being equally wide as tall. I was with plantsman Greg Williams of Vermont at the time and he later sent me some scionwood. As the blue seedling was previously not propagated nor named, I tentatively christened it as 'Morris Blue' just to keep track of it, and to keep it separate from another P. koraiensis cultivar, 'Silveray'. As is so often the case, what is at first “tentative” eventually becomes permanent, and now Buchholz and other nurseries have raised thousands of them. While 'Morris Blue' is similar to 'Silveray' when young, the former takes on a fuller more-broad habit at maturity, and sorry G., I should have given you 'Silveray' instead. 'Silveray'– one word with only one “r” – was originally distributed by Hesse Nursery of Hanover, Germany.*

*Amusingly (now), in Krussmann's Manual of Cultivated Conifers – translated into English in 1985 – the author feels compelled to note that Hanover is in West Germany. It reminds me of a German intern, Harald, who worked a year for me in the 1980's. We were discussing world events when I asked him if there would ever be a united Germany. He dismissed it as a fantasy that a handful of Germans wished for, but he didn't believe that it would ever happen. Actually, he was certain that it would never happen. Holy Helmut Kohl, look what happened!

Pinus patula

Reuben and I visited Mexico in 2000 where we encountered Pinus patula in the mountains of Oaxaca. Or was it patula?* It's hard to know for certain as there are a lot of long-leaved pines, but I remember the shimmer of the needles in the sunlight (shimmer me timbers). My first patulas were raised by seed – which was inexpensive – but to my horror about 500 germinated. I dumped about 450 of them, but at least I was able to sell or give away the remaining USDA zone 7 trees. Eventually I had only one tree left, an absolute beauty, but it snapped at the base in a strong winter's wind storm. In desperation I grafted a few scions onto Pinus sylvestris rootstock. They prospered and now one specimen is at Reuben's place. He loves the pine but laments its vigor, for it never seems to stop growing, and he began to prune it in earnest so it would still fit in its too-small space. At my last visit Hatch finally conceded that the tree was beyond him, but he doesn't have the willpower to totally edit it from his landscape. It is only ten years old and I know that in another ten it will probably triple in size. At least the reddish furrowed trunk becomes more and more attractive.

*A few years later I purchased The Pines of Mexico and Central America by Jesse Perry, and the shimmering pines were probably Pinus patula var. longepedunculata.

Pinus culminicola 'Two Mile High'

Another interesting pine in Hatch's crowded front-yard plot is Pinus culminicola 'Two Mile High', and I used the rootstock Pinus strobiformis on which to propagate his specimen. There is no perfect rootstock for this highest-altitude pine in the Cembroides group of “nut pines,” and only (for me) about 3 or 4 out of 10 live to ten years of age, but Reuben's low flat-growing tree looks good. I attribute its vigor to his lean sandy soil with sharp drainage, for the north-east Mexican species prospers natively in “shallow, rocky, gravelly limestone” conditions according to Perry's account. My original was grown by me from seed about 30 years ago from a collection at 12,500', and I selected it for being more silver-blue than its brethren. I fully admit now that it is not much different than the type – less than my wishful thinking at first decided. Horticulture is like that for me: one supposes more in the beginning, but actually knows less in the end...and my children actually remind me that for all things it is a fact. Perry advises us that “There can be no doubt that P. culminicola is indeed a rare and endangered species.” Because of its isolation on a handful of remote mountain summits it escaped discovery until 1959. I wanted to impress you with the origin of the specific name culminicola Andresen and Beaman, but all that I can suppose is that it culminates at high altitudes and that cola (or kola) is a “nut”...but, someone please correct me if I am wrong.

Pinus thunbergii 'Kotobuki'

Acer palmatum 'Kotobuki'

One more pine in the Hatch patch that I'll discuss is Pinus thunbergii 'Kotobuki'. The reason is because his (from me) is twice as large as any that I have, and I wonder why I didn't keep at least one around of the same age. The second reason is that Kotobuki Street is just a couple of miles from his Vancouver, WA home, and I have never seen a Kotobuki Street anywhere else in my life. Every time we drive past the street I ask Reuben if he remembers what the Japanese word means, but he never does. I wish that he would write it down and put in some effort – if for no other reason than to stop me from asking. For the record it means a “celebration, rejoicing or happy event.” Maybe the pine's prominent white candles resemble a pyramidal birthday cake? I suppose Reuben's tree is about 20 years old and it's developing a lean which the cultivar is wont to do. We also grow Acer palmatum 'Kotobuki', one of the most colorful of all maples, although it at times can revert to just green.

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Glauca Pendula'

The most prominent tree in Grandfather's front yard is Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Glauca Pendula', which we should now call Xanthocyparis nootkatensis. I had various clones of so-called 'Glauca Pendula' at the beginning of my career until I eventually narrowed it down to just the most blue. Even then it's not all that blue, but it still makes for a nice lawn tree. I'm happy that Reuben's tree prospers because I don't have a single one on my property anymore; and no customer seems to care when we used to sell three-to-four thousand lining-out grafts per year. It's funny how tastes change, and I reflect that I would be bankrupt if I grew today what I did thirty years ago. I note that 'Green Arrow' made it into the cultivar list in the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs, although no mention of my involvement is included, and also Hillier doesn't speak of 'Sparkling Arrow'– the less-likely cultivar to revert than all the other “Aureos.” I really don't care, but I find it interesting what European horticulture values...or does not.

Cytisus battandieri

Cytisus battandieri is a fun plant that Reuben put on the hot, west side of his house. I'm not so sure that I would want one in my garden, but the damn thing smells strongly of pineapple when in bloom. The “Pineapple Broom” is also known as Argyrocytisus battandieri and comes from Morocco, and it is known to be relatively drought tolerant. I like its silver-gray leaves even when not in bloom...but still it is a broom, a broom that I'll probably never plant. That's what is great about Grandfather's garden, that he grows a lot of weird stuff so I don't have to. The origin of cytisus is from Greek kytisos for a different shrub, Medicago arborea. Argyro in Greek means “silver,” while Argiro is a female name which means “of the money” or “of value.” The Greek martyr Argiri was married to an honest and religious man, but a Turk fell in love with her and tried to seduce her. Since her Christian religion was an issue in Turkey she was tortured and died in prison, but at least she became a martyr of the Greek Orthodox Church. The specific name honors Jules Aime Battandier, a French botanist and authority on Algerian plants.

Acer palmatum 'Calico'

'Calico' devouring 'Mikazuki'

Acer shirasawanum 'Sensu'

Grandfather has one of the best maple collections in the Northwest and I frequently compliment him on his outstanding source. He diligently prunes yet they are still pushing into each other. Acer palmatum 'Calico' seems to double in size every season, and it won't be long until it devours a nearby Acer palmatum 'Mikazuki'. Reuben obtained a shirasawanum x palmatum seedling from Jim Baggett, an ag professor from Oregon State University who dabbled with maples at one time. I was so impressed with its fall color that I propagated a few, and later it was named 'Sensu'. My wife and I were out in the garden one evening – B.C. (before children) – and she was delighted with the movement of the leaves in the breeze; she likened it to a moving fan, hence 'Sensu'.

Cornus x 'Dorothy'

Near Reuben's property lived Dorothy – I can't remember her last name – a sweet, sharp-minded woman in her nineties who I would have dated if I was single. She had a wonderful collection of trees including what appeared to be a hybrid of our native Cornus nuttallii and Cornus florida. I was fortunate to see it in full flower and later I was able to harvest scions, much to her proud delight. It became Cornus x 'Dorothy', and both Reuben and I have one in our collection. I sell a handful each year, but there are so many Cornus cultivars that I doubt that 'Dorothy' will ever become a mainstay. Nevertheless I am reminded of the woman every spring, so to me she lives on.

Reuben has been marriet to Harriette (known as Saint Harriette to everyone who is familiar with the couple) for almost 60 years. When they were about to observe their 50th anniversary, I asked him what was their ceremony plan. He didn't know, and said his daughters were in charge of the plants. "For all I know," he quipped, "we'll drive to the Dairy Queen and split a milkshake." Reuben frequently grouses about his spouse's hobby – her job really – of frequenting antique/junk stores where she sometimes sells stuff, but usually brings treasures back home to add to the thousands of items that she has already collected. One time he (foolishly) chastised her for her "clutter" which she did not take well at all. I reminded him that he does the very same thing, just with plants instead of porcelain figurines and antique Santa Claus dolls. "You're probably right," he conceded.

I don't think I would exchange my garden for Reuben's and he wouldn't exchange his for mine. I will admit though that he appears to have more fun with his riot of colors, even if they sometimes clash. A developer bought the land where he used to grow his Rhododendrons and now Reuben has seven new neighbors, but only one is at all interested in what he grows. Nobody else asks to come over and look around. Just as well for he doesn't want their little brats traipsing through his plants. The developer provided a few boring plants for Grandfather's new neighbors, so every house features a Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Pendula'– or three – and an Acer palmatum 'Sango kaku'. The other few plants died because, “Oh, are you supposed to water them?” Hatch's place sits at the far end of a cul-de-sac at an elevated level, a virtual jewel in the rough.

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Below more fun plants from Reuben's garden:

Echibeckia 'Summerina Orange Tuin'

Yucca rostrata

Delphinium species

Eucomis 'Sparkling Burgundy'

Digiplexis 'Illumination Flame'

Rudbeckia 'Goldsturm'

Cercis canadensis 'Appalachia'

Eryngium maritimum

Inula royleana

Embothrium coccineum

Pseudotrillium rivale

Dahlia 'Mystic Illusion'

Cordyline australis 'Sunrise'

Ratibida columnifera

"Nice garden Reuben"

Sissinghurst

Vita Sackville-West

I had an old girlfriend; no, she wasn't old...then (but she is now); rather she was a girlfriend from a long time ago. For her birthday I gave her a beautiful coffee-table book that featured white flowers. Yes, she was blonde, but after she dumped me I wished she would have given the book back. Of course Vita Sackville-West created a white garden at Sissinghurst which she described as a grey, green and white garden: with “grey clumps of foliage, pierced here and there with tall white flowers.” White blooms are often associated with purity, but maybe the old hag Vita was trying to make up for a character devoid of it.

Abies alba

Bletilla striata 'Alba'

Callicarpa japonica 'Leucocarpa'

Campanula 'White Wonder'

One encounters the term albafrequently in horticulture, but it first appeared in the classical texts of Ptolemy, then later as Albion in Latin documents. Ultimately it is based on the Indo-European root for “white.” In horticulture and botany alba can refer to a specific epithet, such as Abies alba, as a forma or subspecies, and also as a cultivar name such as Bletilla striata 'Alba'. Botany abounds with leuco or leuca which comes from Greek leukosmeaning “clear” or “lacking color” or “white.” We grow a Callicarpa japonica 'Leucocarpa', the “Japanese white beauty berry” for example. Then, for those plants named in the modern times (post 1959, where Latin is forbidden), we have the adjective white in a cultivar name, as with Campanula 'White Wonder' and Acer palmatum 'White Butterfly'.

Phlox subulata 'Vivian's White Blanket'

Eric Lucas

An old white man discovered and named Phlox subulata 'Vivian's White Blanket'. Office manager Eric Lucas doubles as our alpine-plant supervisor, and honestly, if he wasn't here we would be forced to drop the exciting and profitable program. In a trough in front of the office one of the plants is the spreading groundcover called Phlox subulata 'Schneewittchen' (“Snow White” in German). It went to seed and next to it the 'Vivian' sprouted and differed by it's miniature bun shape. I took a pot home to plant near the front door and I can verify that the 4” diameter gem possesses 88 tiny, milk-white flowers (yes wife Haruko counted them twice). Eric named it for his mother, the 97-year-old matriarch of the Lucas clan. The bun might be the cutest plant in the Flora Wonder Arboretum, and it's fittingly named for the spry old woman. The Phlox genus name means “flame” in Greek, obviously since many varieties bloom bright red. Subulata refers to the awl-shaped leaves, and as a member of the Polemoniaceae Family it is commonly known a the “Jacob's ladder.” In the Book of Genesis the biblical Patriarch Jacob dreamed of a ladder leading to heaven, the direction that I hope to eventually go.

Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'White Spot' from Arboretum Trompenburg

Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'White Spot' is a mouthful for a plant name, and not a very tasty one either. 'White Spot'– what's that? – like a seagull crapped on your car's window? Actually 'White Spots' variegation is not clean and vibrant, and there are many other variegated conifers that are far more worthy. I stopped growing the cultivar about 15 years ago because apparently everyone else felt the same way as I. Nevertheless, in about 2012 I visited the Arboretum Trompenburg in Rotterdam in The Netherlands, and I found their specimen to be highly attractive. I commented to the garden Director, Gert Fortgens, that I was impressed because their specimen was more attractive than any other I have seen. Fortgens replied that it was because they keep their plant regularly sheared; so the more dense, the more color: that is their successful philosophy. I keep one in the F.W Arboretum for old times sake, but my production focus is with a witch's broom mutation from 'White Spot' that was named 'North Light' by me, but unfortunately it is still encumbered by it's Euro name of 'Schirrmann's Nordlicht' after the German who discovered it.

Synthyris stellata 'Alba'

Synthyris stellata 'Alba' is certainly no show-off, rather it is a demure garden rarity that is in full bloom at this time. I got my start about 20 years ago from the now defunct Siskiyou Rare Plant Nursery, a southern Oregon mail-order company specializing in alpines. Normally the “Columbia Kittentails,” an evergreen perennial, sends up blue flower spikes at this time, so it's a coup I guess that I have the variety with pure white flowers. The species can be found at the western portion of the Columbia River Gorge between Oregon and Washington states, and I have discovered it also on Saddle Mountain in the Oregon Coast hills. I acquired it as S. stellata, but some would have it as S. missurica subsp. stellata 'Alba'. The genus is commonly called the “Spring Queen” or the “Snow Queen” because of it's early flowering, and again, my 'Alba' plant does not demand/command much attention in the garden. I don't think, furthermore, that there's a single employee in my company – past or present – who could locate my single specimen. I acquired my solo plant for $12.95 if I remember korrectly, but I've never propagated or made a single cent from it... and such is the nature of an arboretum. My plant performs admirably in full sun in my heavy/rich soil, but the experts will tell you that is a woodlander that prefers shade in a hummus-rich soil. The genus name comes from syn for “together” and thyris for “little door” or “valve,” referring to the capsules of the plant in fruit. It was first documented by Lewis and Clark at the headwaters of Hungry Creek in Idaho in 1806.

Rhododendron dauricum 'Alba'

Rhododendron dauricum 'Alba' (or 'Album') is a white cotton-like bush that I have planted down by my shaded southern creek. The species is native to forests in eastern Siberia, Mongolia and Hokkaido, Japan so it is plenty hardy, especially since the specific epithet dauricumrefers to Dauria, a mountainous region in Siberia. Perhaps most important horticulturally is that it is a parent of the 'PJM' hybrid along with R. carolinianum. For me it is mostly deciduous and blossoms appear on bare stems as early as March, and the species itself received the prestigious British Award of Garden Merit (for the normal purple-flowered form). Beware, however, as all parts of the plant are poisonous if ingested; and furthermore be aware that this, and some other species of Rhododendron are pollinated by bees, and the honey they produce can sicken you. Plant explorer Frank kingdom Ward (1885-1958) found out the hard way on his travels from northern Burma towards Tibet, where his group suffered from a feeling of drunkenness, vomiting, and madness that lasted for several days; however the local Tibetans suffered no problems while eating the honey. It is said that ancient Greeks and Romans would leave Rhododendron honey in the path of invading armies, and the intruders would vomit and grow dizzy from the poison grayanotoxin contained in the honey.

Asa Gray

The neurotoxin was named for Leucothoe grayana, a Japanese native which was named for the American botanist Asa Gray. Gray (1810-1888) explained in his Darwinia that religion and science could coexist which was a novel concept for the time. He was also known for the Asa Gray disjunction, documenting the surprising similarity between many eastern Asian and eastern North American plants. He marveled that the flora from eastern North America was more similar to the Flora of Japan than that of West Coast USA.

Carya alba

Carya ovata, the “shagbark hickory,” used to be named Carya alba Nutt (for Thomas Nuttal, the English botanist who worked in America). The photo above was taken at a Belgium arboretum that specialized in American species, and the tree in question was quite large and old, which maybe explains the old name, but I don't know why the specific epithet was changed. The genius name is from Greek karya for “walnut,” and indeed it is in the Junglandaceae family. Ovata refers to the egg-shaped leaves. The eastern USA native makes for a wonderful large shade tree, while the nuts were an important food source for Native Americans and the early white settlers. Each nut is in a husk, and in the fall it splits open into four sections. The common name hickory is borrowed from the Algonquin pokahickory, and pawcohiccora was the nutmeat or a milky drink made from it.

Cornus alba 'Siberian Pearls'

Cornus alba used to be called Swida alba L. (for Linnaeus). Well, the flowers are white but the bark is red on the northeastern Asian species. Everyone who finds an interesting form seems compelled to patent it, so while I have a few of them in the garden I don't currently propagate or sell them. I bought the attractive cultivar 'Siberian Pearls' as I was impressed with its showy white berries, and I did plant a hundred cuttings which all struck root. Then I found out it was patented, but I decided to pot them up anyway. It took forever to sell them, and I think I dumped the last 50. 'Siberian Pearls' is a “cheap” plant anyway, suitable for the patent pimps who grow them by the thousands, the types of growers who tend toward bankruptcy during the hard times.

Daphne cneorum 'Alba'

There are still a couple of Daphne cneorum 'Alba' growing in the rock garden of the FW Arboretum. It is yet another plant that I have discontinued with horticulturally, and I admit that there is far more discontinued in my career than the number of plants that I currently grow. The problem with the Daphne is that my female employees would water them constantly, not wanting to be accused of letting something dry out, and the Daphne couldn't survive the deluge. I realized that I couldn't successfully grow just a few hundred... mixed in with everything else, but that I would have to commit to thousands and devote an entire greenhouse to them and monitor the irrigation by myself. Since the crew was adept at watering maples and conifers I gave up on the Daphne, and that included all species and cultivars of them. I am proud to be considered a plantsman, but my career (and enthusiasm) has been tempered by numerous setbacks, and there are days when I question why I should ever wake up and go to work in the first place. To those who succeed with Daphne – and I know a few – my hat is off to you, and you are always able to sell your product.

Morus alba 'Chaparral'

Morus alba 'Ho-o'

Morus alba is the “white mulberry,” a small tree from Asia, the leaves of which are fed to silkworms. The fruits are sweetly edible, beginning with a whitish color, then maturing to reddish black. In Oregon the tree is deciduous, with sexual flowers usually on separate trees (but not always). They appear in the form of catkins and the Morus genus holds the record for “rapid plant movement,” a phenomena that Charles Darwin documented in 1880. Its flower movement takes 25 microseconds – one millionth of a second – as pollen is shot from the stamens at a velocity of over half the speed of sound. I used to grow M. alba 'Paper Dolls' with green/white variegated leaves, but which was too vigorous for its own good, as shoots could reach 5' long by July, so we were forever pruning it; and besides the variegated foliage also tended to revert. Another cultivar is 'Ho-o', whatever that means, and is unique for highly ridged, crinkled leaves – maybe the ugliest plant in the collection. No one can identify it unless in fruit, and I supposed other plantsmen pity me for my weird choice in trees. 'Chaparral' is far more attractive as a small weeping tree, and while I've seen them sell for cheap at box stores it is a fruitless cultivar. The word Morus was used by Linnaeus and is the Latin word for the genus in the Moraceae family. There is nothing particularly interesting about the common name “mulberry” – which comes from the Latin for “morus.”

Pulsatilla vulgaris 'Alba'

Pulsatilla vulgaris 'Alba' seed

Easter has passed and so too the blossoms of Pulsatilla vulgaris 'Alba', the “White common Pasque flower.” The Latin word pasque means “grazing,” from the Greek paskha, but ultimately from the Hebrew pesakh for Passover. The flower name was bestowed by the herbalist Gerarde in 1597, and it's native to grasslands in Europe where the flower color is normally purple. The following seed heads develop into ornamented fluffy orbs resembling clematis. The genus name Pulsatilla is from Latin pulsatus meaning “beaten about” which describes the swaying flowers in the wind. Vulgaris means “common” in Latin and a myth persists about another common name of “Dane's Blood,” where the flower springs up where a Dane or a Roman soldier has died.

Leucadendron argenteum

I had seen Leucadendron argenteum in various California arboreta, and when I saw one for sale at a southern retail nursery I snapped it up. It is not at all hardy in Oregon so I kept it in my GH20 hot house where I enjoyed it for a number of years... until the heater failed on a cold winter's night. The specific epithet argenteum gives rise to the common name of “Silvertree” due to the dense, silky-silver hairs. The generic name of the South African Leucadendron literally translates as “White tree” or “Witteboom” in Africaans. I probably won't make an attempt to acquire the Leucadendron again – I had my fun for awhile. That should be all white for me.

Acer palmatum

In a recent Flora Wonder Blog I stated that nurserymen have seemingly grown tired of green – our natural world's primary color – and we prefer deep-red maples, extra-blue spruces and golden pines over the normal green of the species. As we enter into May I'm happy to be alive, both corporally and financially (both barely) and now the myriad shades of green are as delicious as any spring in memory.

Dryopteris wallichiana

In a number of languages the word “green” is verde, such as in Portuguese, Italian, Romanian and Spanish, while the pesky Catalans go with just verdand the French are apparently happy enough with vert. The Welsh say wyrdd, however that's pronounced. Icelanders say graenn, the Germans grün, the Dutch groen, the Danish gron, and the Swedes too. In Finland “green” is vihreäwhich sounds nice. The Irish say glas, and they request that the bartender always keeps their's full.

Gunnera manicata

Wobiriwirais a wobbly way to say “green,” but that's how they do it in the Yoruba tongue. You probably don't know where in hell the denizens speak Yoruba, but it's estimated that between 30 to 40 million souls do so. It is a WestAfrican language spoken in Nigeria, Benin, Sierra Leon and Liberia, and due to some millions who use Yorubaoutside of Africa, it is the most widely spoken disporal language from that continent. It is thought that Yorubadates back to prehistory, around 15,000 years ago.

Rubus calycinoides 'Emerald Carpet'

The word for “green” in the Chichewalanguage is also wobiriwira, and that's interesting because it's a Bantu language from far away EastAfrica, in such countries as Malawi and Zambia, and as a minority language in Mozambique and Zimbabwe. Fruit names in Chichewaare fun: apulosifor “apple,” kantalupufor “cantelope,” lalangefor “orange” and mandimufor “lemon.”

Carpinus fangiana

In the Maori language “green” is matomato. It is thought that the Maori people settled in New Zealand in about 1280 AD, coming from the eastern Polynesia in deliberate seagoing canoes that were possibly double-hulled and probably sail-rigged. Mr. Tupaia, a Tahitian travelling with Captain Cook in 1769-1770, was able to communicate successfully with the Maori. Learning their ABC's is easier for Maori children, as there are only 15 letters: A,E,H,I,K,M,N,O,P,R,T,U,W,NG and WH. Is it safe for me to point out that whine...er, Wahine means “woman?” Aha (“what”). Kia ora (literally “be healthy”) is a greeting of Maori origin, with the intended meaning of “hello.”

The official language of Greenland is Greenlandicwith about 50,000 speakers, and it belongs to the Eskimo family of language. The word for “green” is qorsuk, but even if you hear that word 100 times you still can't say or remember it. “Breakfast” is the impossible ullkkorsiutit, but “coffee” is easy with kaffiand “milk” is immuk. An “apple” is iipilit, “tomatoes” are tomatiand “bananas” are bananit. The word for “son is erneq, and the word for “daughter” – appropriately for me with my own – is panik. Ataatais “father” and anaanais “mother,” a pleasant sounding word; however “man” is arnagand “woman” is (oh boy!) angut.

Cardiocrinum giganteum

The word for “green” in Japanese has always confused me, even though my wife has tried to explain it a dozen times. The word for “blue” is ao, but it refers often to a “blue-green,” and when the word for “green” – midori– came into usage during the Heian period (794-1185) it was still thought of as a shade of blue and not a separate color. Even today there are many greenthings that the Japanese still refer to as ao. Midoriwasn't taught to young Japanese students as a separate color until after World War II. A green traffic light is still described as ao, which is perhaps why Japanese people instead take the trains, and explains why it was so nerve-racking to teach my wife how to drive.

In other countries besides Japan there is also a history of combining blue and green. In other words, blue and green might be distinguished, but a single term might be used for both if the color is dark. In Arabic the word for “green” is akhdarand “blue” is azraq, but in Classical Arab poetry the sky is sometimes referred to as “the green.”

In Portuguese one makes the distinction verde claroand verde escuro, meaning “light” and “dark green” respectively. Furthermore verde olivais “olive green” and verde esmereldameans “emerald green.” In Modern Greek ladisis “olive green,” lachanisis “lime green” (cabbage colored). Kyparissiis “brownish green” (cypress colored) and chakiis “dark khaki.”

The modern Chinese language uses lanfor “blue” and lufor “green,” but previously the word qingwas used, and it depicted the budding of a young plant, but before that it also described colors ranging from yellowish green, through deep blue all the way to black. That's confusing to the brain, for sure. Qingcaiis the word for “green bok choy” while a “cucumber” is known as either huangguafor a “yellow melon” or qingguafor a “green melon.”

Ulmus glabra 'Camperdownii'

In the Choctaw language (of Oklahoma) okchakkomeant “pale blue” or “pale green,” but that was in the 1850's. In an 1892 dictionary, okchamaliis “deep blue” or “green,” okchakkois “pale blue” or “bright green,” and kilikobais also “bright green” because it resembled the kilikki, a species of parrot. Today the Choctaw Nation officially recognizes okchukofor “blue” and okchumalifor “green,” regardless of the brightness. Given the history of color-designation evolution, I expect the future will see further changes, but my wife Haruko will be happy to read this blog and discover that Japan is not the only country that mixes blue and green. And, don't worry, there won't be a pop quiz on any of this. However, if I ask any of my children a question, thatwould be a “Pop quiz.”

Taxodium distichum 'Peve Minaret'

The Koreans have a lot of words for “green,” and I think that notsaegis the most commonly used, but unfortunately the name is not very lyrical. Even worse, I suppose, is pulbatfor a “grass field.” I would describe my landscape now as “lush,” which is awkwardly called puleuspuleushan, but I dare you to try to pronounce that. If something is “green” – as in immature or unripe – it is known as misughan. “Light green” is yeondusaegwhile “chartreuse” is yeondu bicha word you would never use in the presence of a Western woman.

Selaginella braunii

Away from my nursery, away from my usual horticultural enterprise, I'm perfectly at peace with a green natural world. Leaves and needles keep busy with chlorophyll production in the service of photosynthesis. Everything is fresh-looking in spring and the plant kingdom offers various shades of green in both hue(true color) and value(lightness or darkness).

A few examples of “greens” based on plants follow:

Plant	First Recorded Use in English
Shamrock Green	1820's
Pine Green	1923
Myrtle Green	1835
Moss Green	1884
Mint Green	1920
Laurel Green	1705
Forest Green	1810
Fern Green	1902
Asparagus Green	1805
Artichoke Green	1905
Jungle Green	1926

Junglegreen...hmm – I much prefer the greens of Oregon than jungle shades. I have hiked through a jungle along the Amazon River when I was in my early 20's and it was not a relaxing experience. It wasn't the colors that bothered me, but big flying bugs, snakes and the oppressive humidity kept me from enjoying the colors.

“Green Hell” is a term that has been used for book titles. I read one beforeI went to the Amazon, and I guess the purpose of my trip was to see how hellishit truly was. Green Hellwas also a movie, a 1940 adventure film where a group heads into a South American jungle in search of ancient Inca treasure. Of course one of the leads was a beauty, portrayed by the comely Joan Bennett, and she co-starred with the manly Douglas Fairbanks Jr.

Another Green Hellis a tome by Steven Milloy with the subtitle How Environmentalists Plant to Control Your Life and What You Can Do To Stop Them. The publication blurbs: Everywhere you look, everything is going green. But soon, this trendy green lifestyle won't be voluntary, it will be mandatory. Milloy shows how the government will soon have you under its green thumb. I won't weigh in on this read, but customers who bought Green Hellalso purchased similar books like Profiles in Corruption: Abuse of Power by America's Progressive Elite, Scare Pollution: Why and How to Fix the EPAetc. Well, I know that corruption prevails at all levels and from all sides, as well as a lot of misinformation, but I don't think that a finger-jabbing diatribe will solve much.

Pseudolarix amabilis

There are many Latin words for “green”: viridis, virens, viridans, succidus, prasinus, immaturus, recensand crudus, though most of those are not in your, nor my diction. Besides the Latin word for “green,” Viridisis a medieval Italian name for a female – an unusual name – but one that conveys freshness, youth, springtime and nature. I have never met a Viridis, but I would love to, and if anyone in the readership knows of one please send a photo. Ditto for Succiduswhich translates to “fresh, sweaty, moist, sapful and juicy.”

Ginkgo biloba

So: “green,” with all those myriad shades. Let's drench our eyes, our brains with the lushful color. No more taking that wavelength for granted, and realize that we receive only a finite number of spring days to enjoy. Better to appreciate the green grass from six feet above rather than from six feet below.

Last week I celebrated the virtues of the calm and lush shades of green, but today I revel in the more bombastic stimuli now occurring at the Flora Wonder Arboretum. You might speculate that the colorful extravaganza is all in the service of procreation – to lure the pollinators – but it also seems likely that Flora, or other Gods from above, also just possess a whimsical urge to entertain us.

Clematis 'Pink Fantasy'

Today's blog was inspired by a Clematis in bloom with ridiculously pink flowers. When my daughter turned 16 last year I wanted to give her something special as a gift. My wife said nothing would work, just give her some money, so I followed instruction. But Sweet 16 also asked if I would take her plant shopping because she wanted a flowering vine of some sort to train up outside her bedroom window. I readily agreed, proud as the dickens that she wanted a real plant instead of something like a tattoo or damn piercing. Well, the pink Clematis is not what I would have chosen, but she got her wish.

Rhododendron stenopetalum 'Koromo shikibu'

Murasaki Shikibu

I acquired Rhododendron 'Koromo shikibu' from the Rhododendron Species Botanic Garden in Washington state and it is showing off in our Blue Forest garden. The label said the species is stenopetalum, but that species cannot be found in the wild, so it is likely a hybrid which could have been produced by a Japanese botanist or gardener, or perhaps it occurred spontaneously. In any case it is an evergreen azalea with an unusual lavender-pink sepal color. It is also uncertain how it got its cultivar name, but it might refer to the flowing robes of Murasaki Shikibu (973-1016), author of The Tale of Genji, widely considered the world's first novel. She was a novelist, poet and lady-in-waiting at the Imperial court in the Heian Period. Murasaki Shikibu was her pen name, but no one knows her real given name. She was educated and was proficient in classical Chinese, which was unusual because women were then thought to be incapable of real intelligence. Her “intelligent” father lamented that she was a female, “Just my luck, what a pity she was not born a man!” But despite being a smarty she was known for a strong personality that seldom won her friends. I don't know but I really think that wecould have hit if off.

Acer palmatum 'Murasaki shikibu'

There is another 'Murasaki shikibu', this time for a variegated Acer palmatum. It is a colorful mutant with twisted-lobed green leaves that are variegated with pink, red and white. There are a number of similar-looking selections which can look nice, but they're prone to revert. You can have three trees of the same age – as I did with Acer palmatum 'Kotobuki'– but they can vary in size: the most colorful is the smallest (with poor scion wood), the medium is pretty good for color, while the largest is mostly green, so you can't really propagate and sell from the most vigorous one; in fact you throw it out.

Bletilla striata 'Murasaki shikibu'

So, the maple should probably be discontinued, but there's yet another 'Murasaki shikibu' for a great Bletilla striata cultivar, and its color is similar to the Rhododendron 'Koromo shikibu'. I love the Bletillas which are blooming now and are plenty hardy in my area. They are easy to grow, never finicky like so many of the orchids. They say that the genus prefers the shade of a woodland garden with humusy soil, but we have a number of them in plain hard dirt in full sun, and one named 'Alba' annually produces hundreds of blossoms that rise above the lush green foliage.

Acer x 'Hot Blonde'

Another fantastic plant named for a woman is Acer x'Hot Blonde', a yellow selection that is believed to be a chance hybrid between Acer oliverianum and Acer palmatum, therefore it can be considered a “Chinese Japanese maple.” It was discovered by the Nichols brothers of MrMaple and named for Matt's wife who...really is a hot blonde. In spring 'Hot Blonde' (the maple) displays broad yellow leaves with an orange border, and then for some reason turns to a deep red from autumn to early winter. The selection is still new for me and untested outside in Oregon, but the Nichols boys attest to its vigor and that it can take full sun at their East Flat Rock, North Carolina location. The Chinese Acer oliverianum is hardy to USDA zone 7 (0 F) while Acer palmatum is usually reliable to USDA zone 5 (-20 F) so my guess is that 'Hot Blonde' would fall in the middle.

Pieris japonica 'Flaming Silver'

Rosso, The Challenge of the Pierides

Pieris japonica 'Flaming Silver' pops with orange-red new growth at this time. By summer the foliage hardens to a green color with a silver edge, hence the name. As with most “Andromeda” cultivars, it is fairly easy to propagate from rooted cuttings under mist in summer. Easy, so we don't propagate anymore, and leave 'Flaming Silver' to the Pieris/Rhododendron growers who produce large numbers with slim profit margins. The genus name Pieris is from Greek Pierides, a name for the Muses, the deities of song, dance and memory upon which all thinkers and artists depend. Even I must consult with the muses before I begin the Flora Wonder Blog, because if I didn't I would certainly be unable to complete the first sentence.

Picea glauca 'Mac Gold'

Many of the conifers “flower” profusely in May. No, not flowers in the true botanical sense, but rather flushes of new growth that can rival any flowering reproductive structure. New growth with conifers is almost always differently colored, and of a lighter hue than the older needles. But some, like with Picea glauca 'Mac Gold' or Pinus contorta 'Taylor's Sunburst', are dramatically more vivid than usual. Picea glauca 'Mac Gold' (AKA 'McConnal's Gold') is a wonderfully formal, dense, pyramidal selection, but poorly named because the new growth is cream-white, with nary a spec of gold ever. Since the bulk of the tree is dark blue-green, it can support the spring flush without the white portions burning.

Picea pungens 'Maigold'

Picea pungens 'Gebelle's Golden Spring'

Picea pungens 'Spring Ghost'

The Picea pungens species has a number of selections with the spring “bloom.” 'Maigold' (May gold) is a pretty European form while 'Gebelle's Golden Spring' is its American counterpart. As you can see from the photos both are only slightly gold-blushed, yet both carry “gold” in their names. Picea pungens 'Spring Ghost' is even more showy that the previous two, but then it's also more susceptible to burn, and we coined the adage: “Spring Ghost, Summer Toast.” 'Spring Ghost' was discovered in Minnesota by Bailey Nurseries, and I was the first to propagate and name it. The idea was that we would then sell liners back to Bailey since they had no experience with grafting spruce. By mutual consent we eventually discontinued the relationship because graft takes were very low, and the shape of the subsequent propagules was never impressive (as in Christmas tree shape). My first tree still resides in the Display Garden, and after 36 years it is only 15' tall by 12' wide at the base, and while it still toasts, the burn is less than when it was young; still I can't consider it a commercial tree.

Picea orientalis 'Aureospicata'

Picea orientalis 'Aureospicata' in May

Picea orientalis 'Aureospicata' in April

Picea orientalis 'Lemon Drop'

Picea orientalis, the “Caucasian spruce,” has a number of cultivars with a golden spring flush. 'Aureospicata' (AKA 'Aurea') is as normal sized as the type and with a similar shape, but it is distinguished by its butter-yellow new growth which lasts for 5 to 6 weeks before hardening to green, dark green actually. I have two 40-year-old trees in the original Display Garden but haven't propagated it for the past 20 years; I'm no cheerleader for any cultivar, no matter my opinion about it, since the fact is that no one buys it anymore. My trees are highly sexual, with each specimen having a million or two male strobili and the crimson female cones are present as well, about an inch long now. It looks like nature's strategy is for the now-withered male pollen to peter out before the female fully ripens so as to spread the genetics, nevertheless dozens of seedlings germinate in the garden every year and a number of them feature the yellow new growth. One such we selected (named 'Lemon Drop') as it appeared more dwarf than its mother, but the jury is still out because the original 'Lemon Drop' is growing on its own roots and one should compare graftto graft.

Acer rubrum 'Vanity'

The wildly-colored Acer rubrum 'Vanity is aptly named, and since it is a large wide-spreading bush I can imagine it used as a dramatic hedge. The variegation is probably too gaudy for elite garden snobs, but plebian dirt grubbers such as myself can have fun with 'Vanity'. The foliage evolves during the season, and by summer a lot of white appears on the leaf, nevertheless it does not burn in Oregon. For us, 'Vanity' strikes roots easily from soft summer cuttings under mist.

Acer pseudoplatanus 'Eskimo Sunset'

Esk River, New Zealand

A rival to 'Vanity' for splashy foliage is the New Zealand introduction Acer pseudoplatanus 'Eskimo Sunset'. Ya, ya – I know – in the trade it should be called 'Esk Sunset', named for the Esk. River in New Zealand, which was probably named by a Scottish settler after Scotland's Esk River. According to Wikipedia, the New Zealand river-version is said to rise “in the Dampier Range near Esk Head [flowing] southwest on the western side of the Puketeraki Range to reach the upper Waimakariri [River] some 20 km (12 mi) north of Springfield.” Did you follow those directions? Geeze, I've received similar instructions from local gas station attendants who have been recently released from prison due to the Covid crisis, only to become more lost than before. So why do I stick to the 'Eskimo Sunset' moniker rather than 'Esk'? Well, I first discovered the cultivar as a small, recently acquired tree on Saint J.D.'s (Vertrees) place just a few months after he passed away, and the label said 'Eskimo Sunset'. Knowing that he was an absolute stickler for correct nomenclature, I continued with the name that I saw on his label. How ironic that his maple life's purpose was to clean up the wrong names and the synonyms of Acer cultivars, but that he could have gotten this one wrong? Did a New Zealander send him the plant, and J.D. just assumed that 'Esk' was an abbreviation of 'Eskimo'? That doesn't seem Vertrees-like at all, so for me it remains a mystery. Anyway, I'm stubborn so I keep the “wrong” name, perhaps as an unconscious desire to honor my maple mentor.

Woodwardia unigemmata

Not as wildly-variegated nor as splashily-colored as the previous two maples, I grow a fern whose new fronds actually delight me more: Woodwardia unigemmata. The older leaves and the spiraling stems are artistically brilliant when green, but the warm color of the new growth is absolutely soothing to the soul. I cannot describe the frond color in the photo above – and I've just stared at it for ten minutes now – but I can't conjure an adequate description. Is there an artist in the Flora Wonder Blog readership who could perhaps enlighten us? Actually I like it when the blog becomes a two-way street where we can share and learn from each other. I want to always be correct, of course, and also the most original and observant too, but I quickly applaud those who are more so. As I said before, I want to be the dumbest guy in the room...and fortunately I usually am. I've met quite a number of people who are very inspiring.

Abies procera 'Glauca Prostrata' – oops!

The Flora Wonder Arboretum is filled with plump, pyramidally-shaped plants, especially with the coniferous species. So often the “dwarves,” which are touted as miniaturegarden denizens, actually grow quite large – at least for this old nurseryman – and a plant that is/was initially described as dwarf, or globose or spreading can with age assume a plump pyramidal form. Don't be fooled with the cultivarious monikers of 'Nana', 'Pygmaea' (Pygmy), 'Gnome', 'Midget', 'Munchkin', 'Minima', 'Spreader', 'Prostrate' etc...for they can all grow into strong, upright specimens.

Picea omorika 'Nana'

In spite of that, some conifers are “relatively” true-to-form, and they bless our gardens with a year-round structural presence. For example I have a glittery dense pyramid – Picea omorika 'Nana'– that was for years a dwarf round ball; but now, after nearly half a century, it's currently a 15' tall fat pyramid that has unfortunately created a water-shadow problem with the nearest irrigation sprinkler. The specific epithet of omorika is the Serbian name for “spruce,” while the generic name of picea is Latin for “pitch” for the resin in the bark. Despite the species origin in southeastern Europe, the cultivar 'Nana' originated as a witch's broom found about 1930 in Boskoop, The Netherlands.

Abies nordmanniana 'Golden Spreader'

My oldest specimen of Abies nordmanniana 'Golden Spreader' used to have a low spreading form, but eventually – with no help from me – it developed an upright pyramidal shape and is already 10' tall. It is growing in the rock garden in full sun and has never burned, even though some experts claim it requires afternoon shade to prevent sunscorch. 'Golden Spreader' is particularly effective in the winter garden as it emits a warm golden glow even on cloudy days. The nordmann species, or “Caucasian fir,” was discovered by Alexander von Nordmann (1803-1866) and was introduced into western Europe in 1838. It is grown by the thousands in Oregon as a Christmas tree as it is relatively fast growing for a true fir, and also because it retains its needles for a long period. Rushforth in Conifers claims that silver firs “will keep them [the needles] four to five years, but I [Rushforth] have counted live needles 26 years old on Caucasian fir.” I'm impressed with such committed long-term observation.

Pinus cembra 'Blue Mound'

Long ago, if I remember correctly, a conifer aficionado from Washington state called to chat about Pinus cembra 'Blue Mound', and I think he implied that it was his dwarf discovery. I never saw the original, but I'm sure it was appropriately named: for a miniature blue mound. But as I frequently admonish, you can't expect the propagules to appear the same as the original seedling because they are grafted onto vigorous rootstock, probably Pinus strobus, so all of my 'Blue Mound' specimens have grown into plump pyramids. I've even seen 10' tall trees at another nursery where candle pruning probably does not occur. Linnaeus coined the specific epithet cembra which was named for a commune in Trentino in northern Italy with a population of about 2,000 (pre-covid) souls. The common name for P. cembra is “Arolla pine,” and that's for a village in the canton of Valais in Switzerland. In The Garden (1904) it states: “The Arolla is an Asiatic tree brought to us during the glacial epoch that reigned throughout Europe for hundreds of millions of years. Its place of origin is probably northeastern Siberia where it is quite at home, forming immense forests...,” and indeed we used to grow P. cembra var. siberica. I have a number of P. cembra cultivars but I've never seen the species in the wild, but apparently Hillier has, and in his Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2014) it states that it is “An ornamental tree of almost formal aspect which has distinct landscape possibilities.”

Pinus bungeana 'Temple Gem'

Pinus bungeana 'Temple Gem' is an early Buchholz introduction, discovered as a seedling growing at about one-fourth the rate of the type. I named it 'Temple Gem' because the northeast Chinese species was first seen by Dr. Bunge in a temple garden near Beijing in 1831. It was introduced to horticulture in 1846 by Robert Fortune, the Scottish botanist and plant explorer, more infamously known – from a Sino point of view – as the thief of tea plants (Camellia sinensis) and tea processing information from the Chinese. I used to grow a lot of conifer species from seed and I estimate that the original 'Temple Gem' is about 35 years old and is now a broad 14' pyramid. I remember about five years ago sitting down to rest on a bench at the University of Tennessee Arboretum. The bench was in front of a bushy form of Pinus bungeana, and I eventually got up to find an identification label. To my utter surprise it was 'Temple Gem', but I know that I didn't send it to them and I don't know who did; nevertheless the findinvigorated me.

Picea breweriana 'Emerald Midget'

In our Short-Road section near the dwarf bungeana is Picea breweriana 'Emerald Midget', another early Buchholz introduction of seedling origin. For some reason it has prospered even though the type struggles in my region on its own roots. The “Brewer's Weeping spruce” is native to southern Oregon and northern California and has adapted to the mountainous, rocky serpentine soils. That doesn't matter if you graft the species onto Picea abies, which is actually better for container or field culture, and you don't lose any ornamental quality by doing so. I admit that I started this blog somewhat critical of plant names such as 'Gnome' and 'Midget' etc., yet I have done so myself with 'Emerald Midget', which at 35 years of age has grown to 12' tall. I should point out also that it doesn't really display the “weeping” appearance, and that the needles' silvery undersides are more on display than with the type. In fact, a conifer “expert” from The Netherlands (E. Smits) questioned me about 'Emerald Midget's' specific identity, that he and other cognoscenti were certain that it was, in fact, a Picea omorika, not a Picea breweriana. I won't question their overall expertise, but...study the buds of the two species; really focus on them and you must conclude that it is a P. breweriana. Really, do I have to do your homework for you?

Picea mariana 'Blue Teardrop'

I collected Picea mariana'Blue Teardrop' about 15 years ago, and speaking of “doing one's homework,” I later discovered that the cultivar is more certainly a member of the Picea glauca tribe, so I was required to change/correct hundreds of labels...which further bewildered my already confused employees. In any case 'Blue Teardrop' is an appropriate name, and the selection provides a solidly formal, slow-growing dense evergreen for the landscape, one that can be most appreciated on dire winter days. Interestingly, Picea glauca var. albertiana conica, even the blue selections, are fairly easy to root, but the dwarf 'Blue Teardrop' is not, at least not for me. The selection was made at the old Mitsch Nursery in Aurora, Oregon as a sport of P. g. 'Echiniformis', a cultivar that frequently reverts.

Sciadopitys verticillata 'Picola'

Just outside the office door is a group of Sciadopitys verticillata 'Picola', a dwarf form with a broad pyramidal habit. It originated as a seedling selection before 1980 at the Bohlje Nursery of Westerstede, Germany. 'Picola' can be replicated easily by grafting onto seedling rootstock, but it can also be increased by rooted cuttings, which are neither easier nor more difficult than any other “Umbrella pine” cultivar. We used to have better rooting success earlier in my career, but back then I had a very skillful propagator who is no longer with me. We use a stronger hormone with Sciadopitys than with other conifers, and even though the cutting will strike roots, water management under mist is crucial as the needle whorls don't easily shed the water and the center bud can rot. The stem is unable to push another growth bud, and even keeping the cutting on life support for another 2 years will not accomplish a miracle. In the distant past, and this year also, we attempted additional measures such as soaking the cuttings in water for 24 hours before planting. We're ever hopeful and keep on trying, but honestly I would gladly accept a 50% success rate, and also I would love to have my old propagator back.

Sciadopitys verticillata 'Fatso'

Buchholz Nursery also selected a more-dwarf (than the type) Umbrella pine and we named it 'Fatso'. I discovered, however, that our grafts would push vigorous growth and a few years later we would just have a regular-looking Sciadopitys, unlike the better behaved 'Picola'. I planted our specimen by the office where it looks good, but we haven't propagated it in at least 10 years.

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Kosteri Fast Form'

Where space allows, Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Kosteri Fast Form' is an attractive evergreen conifer of dense pyramidal habit with cupped olive-green foliage. The selection originated as a more vigorous mutation of C. o. 'Kosteri' (obviously) which is itself a choice slow-growing cultivar. There also exists in the trade an 'Oregon Crested' cultivar which may or may not be the same as 'Kosteri Fast Form', but in any case they look the same.

Ginkgo biloba 'Chi chi'

Ginkgo biloba 'Chi chi' is a wonderful semi-dwarf selection with a dense, broad pyramidal form. Cuttings in summer root readily under mist, and we can achieve a 6-8' tree in about ten years. I have a 25-tree hedge planted next to my back yard and it's quite a sight to behold in autumn. We had grown 'Chi chi' for a number of years, then about ten years ago I was convinced by someone (whom I now don't remember) that the name should be 'Tschi tschi', so we changed all of our labels and sold them the new way. My wife Haruko disapproved because that was not a valid Japanese name, and that it was possibly Chinese. Anyway we're now back to 'Chi chi' which means “breasts” in Japanese, and chi chi also means “breasts” in Spanish, or at least in Mexican Spanish. The genus name Ginkgo is actually a mistake in translation spelling; it should have been the Japanese gin meaning “silver” and kyomeaning “apricot” due to the edible white seed which is hidden inside the vomit-smelling outer flesh. Fortunately 'Chi chi' is a male clone, although ginkgoes have been known to change sex.

Picea glauca 'Daisy's White'

May is the month of glory for Picea glauca 'Daisy's White', a dwarf pyramid that features cream-white new growth. It originated as a mutation on P. g. 'albertiana conica' that was discovered by L. Jeurissen-Wijnen from Belgium, which explains why it was originally named 'J. W. Daisy's White'. Daisy is his granddaughter's name. The colors change throughout the season beginning with butter-yellow buds which contrast with the green of the older foliage. Then the color changes to a yellowish white, and then to green in summer. According to Promising Conifers from the Nederlandse, “This pearl should be placed somewhere in the half-shadow...[it] can be used for many purposes in a small garden, a heath garden, on cemeteries, in a rock garden or on a balcony or terrace. Alas this plant can have problems with plant louse and red spider.”

Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Little Stan'

Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Little Stan' is a dwarf, dense pyramid consisting of juvenile foliage, bright blue-green in spring, hardening to a gray green by summer. This cultivar was discovered by nurseryman Nelis Kools from Deurne, The Netherlands and was named for one of his nephews. Nelis's nursery holds the Dutch national collection of Sequoiadendron, Sequoia and Metasequoia, no easy feat since his property is not that large. The plant can burn in winter in Oregon when it is young, but after a few years in the ground – in full sun – it can tolerate the weather. 'Little Stan' originated as a seedling, and it's fascinating that the cute dwarf came from a parent that is a member of the most massive tree on earth. However, I had one planted in our Conifer Field where I hadn't paid any attention to it all spring and summer a few years ago. To my shock I noticed one day that it had bolted from the top and produced a 4' normal Sequoiadendron leader, completely different from the juvenile foliage at the base. I informed Nelis about the situation and found it strange that a seedling could do that, when we both are familiar with cultivars from witch's broom origin that can revert back to normal. I threw out that particular tree but we still propagate and sell 'Little Stan', and they are produced easily by rooted cuttings in winter. One could graft it too, I suppose, but that might make it even more likely to revert.

Abies concolor 'Archer's Dwarf'

Abies concolor 'Archer's Dwarf' is a very garden-worthy cultivar, but it must be placed with excellent drainage. It will be rather globose when young but eventually will assume a pyramidal shape. The needles are unusual for an Abies concolor in that they are more fine than normal and also they are slightly sickle-shaped and point towards the main stem. 'Archer's Dwarf' was introduced by Gordon Haddow of Kenwith Nursery, England, and was named for the discoverer J. W. Archer from Farnham, England.

Tsuga canadensis 'Bergman's Heli'

Tsuga canadensis 'Creamy'

Tsuga canadensis 'Betty Rose'

I just walked through the original Display Garden and three mature Canadian hemlocks are planted near each other, all with pyramidal forms. Each is seldom encountered at their sizes, but they have all been through a lot of growing seasons. The foliage on Tsuga canadensis is delightful in May, so fresh and clean-looking. 'Bergman's Heli' is one we no longer propagate, but today I wonder why not? We continue to propagate 'Creamy', but when they're sold in one-gallon pots the form is low and spreading. The same for 'Betty Rose', but you can see that they both eventually grow upward. The 'Betty Rose' is considered a “miniature” but my 40-year-old specimen is nearly 10' tall now, and I'll bet that it is the largest in the world. The original plant was discovered in Maine by Francis Heckman of Pennsylvania. According to John Swartley's The Cultivated Hemlocks, “'Betty Rose' is the dwarfest of the white-tipped hemlocks, a very striking plant and a favorite of the author.” A favorite of this author too.

I don't want to overstay my welcome with excessive verbiage, but the plump pyramids are in their prime in May and they are best seen in person. The Flora Wonder Arboretum is somewhat of a prison for me, a beautiful one however.

Tilia cordata 'Akira's Gold'

Buchholz and Akira Shibamichi

Last November I was in Japan visiting plantsman Akira Shibamichi...finally, after a hiatus of 16 years. He appeared sharp and energetic and remained about the same age as before, while I had gone shiro(white: on the top lettuce). He pointed out this plant here and that plant there, here and there, on and on. One I vaguely remember was a golden lime, Tilia cordata (heart-shaped), but it was mostly bare of leaves at that late date. After I returned home I noticed on MrMaple's website that they featured a Tilia cordata 'Akira's Gold', and I was quite surprised that it was already named and actually in America besides. Really, you should subscribe to MrMaple website's plant notifications, and even if you don't buy anything – a shame if you don't – you can still glean plant information, often accompanied by the origin of the cultivars they peddle. Anyway, the Nichols brothers sent a vigorous, large start of 'Akira's Gold' which has now leafed out in a container in my greenhouse, and I'll be sure to find a place to ground it in the Flora Wonder Arboretum this fall.

Liquidambar styraciflua 'Golden Treasure'

Liquidambar styraciflua 'Gold Beacon'

Another gold-leaved special is for a “Sweet Gum,” Liquidambar styraciflua 'Golden Treasure'. The leaf is mostly colored yellow but a small, important amount of green remains in the leaf center, enough to keep the golden portion from sun scald. Also the starry, maple-like leaf is more exciting with the variegation rather than just being totally, boringly yellow. The genus name is derived from Latin liquidusmeaning “liquid” and ambarmeaning “amber” due to the sap's color. The gum is commerced for a number of uses, ranging from perfume to chewing gum to folk medicines. In the past we have also grown L.s. 'Gold Beacon'– which it truly is – but still I prefer the 'Golden Treasure' which is more adventuresome.

Acer platanoides 'Princeton Gold'

Last night I was out in the arboretum, just wandering from tree to tree, enjoying the glimmer that the setting sun bestowed upon the wind-dancing leaves. They were brilliantly aflutter, and it was especially the case with Acer platanoides 'Princeton Gold'. I give this selection an A+ rating for being attractive throughout the growing season, and for the fact that the strongly gold-colored leaves do not scorch at all in our fierce (up to 108 degree F) humidless-summer temperature. I remember back to the previous spring when I was impressed with how the golden, emerging leaves were delightfully complemented with attached red petioles. This is a very worthy introduction, but other than my one arboretum specimen I don't propagate or distribute 'P.G.' since it is a patented clone, and what a stupid shame that with that legalese restriction it cannot become more widely available.

Acer buergerianum 'Michael Steinhardt'

Mr. and Mrs. Steinhardt

One can easily grow enamored with Acer buergerianum 'Michael Steinhardt', a golden selection of the “Trident maple,” from a species native to Japan. The plant was introduced by Don Shadow of Tennessee, USA, and the luscious burn-free yellow leaves of spring become somewhat orange by mid-summer. Photo (above) shows that the original discovery will grow with a broadly oval crown, but at the small-to-10' size that we sell, they are somewhat willowy, so perhaps we should prune even more than now. M. Steinhardt, honoree of the cultivar name, is the successful New York City financier who owns a Mt. Kisco arboretum and zoo (Iroki), and his grounds are graced with many of my plants – maples especially – which often include the largest-of-its-kind in the world, and in quite a few cases, the original tree itself. I figure that I can both make money off of Iroki, and also better insure the historical integrity of the special trees themselves...since they are probably more secure at their new, well-endowed Mt. Kisco location than remaining under the tenuous ownership of Buchholz himself.

Acer longipes 'Gold Coin'

Acer longipes 'Gold Coin' has entered into the FW arboretum thanks to the long-time maple grower from Oregon, Carl Munn. Actually it should be named A. l. subsp. amplum – from Latin ampulus, meaning “numerous,” but nothing in the literature adequately explains what is so “ample”: the flowers ,seed, leaves, or just what? Anyway it is a Chinese endemic that's in the platanoidessection and was introduced to cultivation by E. H. Wilson during one of his forays into China in the early 1900's. 'Gold Coin' is a small-to-medium size tree with reddish young new growth that turns to a strong golden yellow, then eventually evolves to green on the older branches. All of that is followed by a clean whitish-yellow in autumn. This special golden selection was introduced by the well-known maple veterans at Esveld Nursery in Boskoop, The Netherlands in the 1980's, and its paucity in the trade is said to be due to the difficulty with propagation, but...but I don't know about any of that from personal experience. The longipesspecific epithet refers to the leaf's elongated, pointed lobes.

Acer macrophyllum 'Golden Riddle'

I have a golden specimen of the “Oregon Big-Leaf maple,” Acer macrophyllum 'Golden Riddle'; but if you acquire one give it a lot of space, and probably you should plant it with PM shade as well. I planted one out in full sun about three years ago, and it did burn for its few outdoor years, but often the scorch problem will dissipate with time, but maybe not. You can solve the scorch by planting in shade, and while that will produce just lime-green leaves, they will be quite attractive anyway. The A. macrophyllum species is the largest member of the Sapindaceae family and features leaves up to 24” across. While Native Americans used the maple's wood for canoe paddles, it has also been used in modern times for furniture, firewood, salad bowls and guitar bodies...and if you have plenty of time on your hands you can use it to make maple syrup.

Acer maximowiczianum 'Metallic Gold'

Carl Maximowicz

I've seen Acer maximowiczianum 'Metallic Gold' only once in my life and that was in a Japanese collection near Tokyo. I liked that the leaves were not completely gold, but rather the green trifoliate foliage had a light blush of gold, and like with the Liquidambar (above), that was more interesting than if it was solid gold. Alas, it was 16 years ago that I saw 'Metallic Gold' and I've dropped hints ever since that I sure would like to acquire it, but have yet to score one. I remember the Japanese specimen was short and not particularly old, but it was bushy with strong, stout stems and it glowed in the pre-evening light. Acer maximowiczianum is the “Nikko maple” and indeed I saw a few huge specimens in Nikko at the University of Tokyo's distant arboretum. A synonym for the species is Acer nikkoense but you'll also find it ranging into China too. The specific epithet honors Carl Johann Maximowicz (1827-1891) who discovered it in Japan in the 1860's. Unfortunately botanists got carried away, quite ridiculous actually, for there also exists an Acer maximowiczii, a snakebark with simple leaves and striped bark – very different than A. maximowiczianum. The maximowiczii is native to China only, and some botanists now consider it as a subspecies of Acer pectinatum, and some insist that pectinatum consists of four additional subspecies. I've learned to steer clear of contending botanists with their nomenclatural obsessions, and I tend to classify the species differently, as in: can I make money off of them? Also, if not grown from seed, what rootstock does one choose to graft them upon?

Cercis canadensis 'Hearts of Gold'

There are a number of Cercis canadensis (“Redbud”) cultivars with leaves of gold. 'Hearts of Gold' is a worthy selection and can be grown in full sun. The dubious California Monrovia Nursery Company claims that it is “The first known gold-foliage Cercis!”Apparently the “craftsmen” – their name for their employees – had never heard of 'Aurea' which was selected much earlier. 'Hearts of Gold' was discovered in a private garden in Greensboro, North Carolina in 2002, and was first produced at Hidden Hollow Nursery in a...”hidden area” outside of Belvidere, Tennessee. The Neubauers of Hidden Hollow grow shade trees – I visited about six years ago – and their quality product means I don't have to mess around with patent issues, and wholesale growers like myself can buy a well-sized tree at an affordable price.

Cercis canadensis 'Hearts of Gold'

I think that the beautiful golden foliage of 'Hearts of Gold' would be incentive enough to place it in the garden, but the grower is also rewarded with lavender-purple flowers – individually small but impressive en masse – which occur before the golden leaves emerge...a spectacular double delight. Cercis canadensis is the state tree of Oklahoma and it is native from Ontario, Canada all the way down to northern Florida and even into Mexico. And, if you're so inclined, the flowers can be eaten both fresh or fried, as native Americans did. They [the Natives] were probably just hungry, but later research indicates that the flower extract contains anthocyanins, the green developing seeds contain proanthocyanidinand that linolenic, alpha-linolenic, oleicand palmitic acids are present in seeds. I'm too cautious to try any of that, so I just enjoy the Cercis genus for its flowers and foliage.

Choisya ternata 'Gold Fingers'

Catt's Cat

I visited the fascinating English plantsman, Peter Catt, sixteen years ago at his nursery in southern England. He produced Japanese maples and had even visited my nursery once. He is perhaps best known for his introduction of the “Mexican orange,” Choisya ternata 'Lich'– for his Liss Forest Nursery– which is brilliantly marketed as 'Sundance'. The orange's foliage ranges in color from chartreuse to golden yellow, on a manageable bush, and also a gift to the gardener are clusters of sweetly fragrant white flowers. Some growers insist that, when crushed, the flowers emit the distinctive smell of basil. I should confess that I've never grown Catt's 'Sundance' as I'm not really into that type of “Mediterranean” shrubbery, but I did fall for its relative 'Goldfingers' because I liked the skinny lobes, for I have always been a fan of the skinny. His discovery/selection is patented, and we both carefully danced around that issue – I being against the practice in general, but he revealed that the royalties actually brought him more income than did his other plant sales...so I have to admit to being somewhat jealous. Wife Haruko was with me at the time, and actually pregnant with daughter Harumi, but neither of us knew about it at the time. Peter treated us to lunch at a nearby pub, and Haruko recalls that the energetic old white-haired Englishman zipped through the narrow streets in his sporty car way-too-fast and also on the wrong side of the road. Poor Haruko had to endure the wild speed with her babe-in-the-oven, and I was somewhat unnerved as well. My most fond memory of Peter Catt – and by the way, shouldn't there be a nursery rhyme? – was that he was accompanied by his pet cat – Catt's cat – as we walked through the nursery, and when the orange feline plopped upon some containers of Hakonechloa, smashing the blades, he didn't scold or chase away the critter at all, instead he smiled at her with a somewhat bittersweet look. I found out later that Peter's wife had recently passed away.

Rubus spectabilis 'Golden Ruby'

Rubus spectabilis is a deciduous shrub native to the west coast of North America. In the Rosaceae family, the edible fruits ripen to an orange-pink color which explains its common name of “Salmonberry,” but if not harvested they will eventually evolve to a red color. Rubus is derived from ruber, a Latin word for “red” while the specific epithet spectabilismeans “spectacular,” although I can't discern anything particularly spectacular about the weedy bramble at all. I have planted a golden form, 'Golden Ruby', down by my southern creek where it is perfectly at home in the shade of alder trees. “Ruby” in the name describes the flower color, which contrasts effectively agains the golden leaves, but again I wouldn't describe any of it as “spectacular.” The fruit appears like a raspberry, but most find the taste insipid, but nevertheless when you are in the woods they are free. It has escaped cultivation and can now be found growing wild in England and Ireland, and what do you know, the fruit has been used to flavor vodka – a combination which seems absolutely horrible to me.

Symphytum x uplandicum 'Axminster Gold'

I was gifted a Symphytum xuplandicum 'Axminster Gold' but the cultivar is not a plant I would have ever purchased myself. I described the comfrey early-on for my website as a “Dramatic perennial with large hairy leaves. Green foliage is variegated with gold patches, about half-and-half. Cannot be overlooked in the garden.”Well, with that description I forced myself into enthusiasm, but after a couple of years all the leaves reverted to totally green. I keep it in the garden anyway, planted next to my boring garage, but last week I did go out with camera to document the demure light-blue flowers. Symphytum is a genus in the borage fmaily, Boraginaceae, and xuplandicum (S. asperum xS. officinale) is a Russian comfrey, a healing herb, a “bruisewort,” “blackword” or “wallwort,” and in folk medicine the comfrey is known as “knitbone” and “boneset.” The Latin name Symphytum is derived from Greek symphismeaning “growing together of the bones,” and phytonfor “a plant.” Axminster is a town in Devon, England, which was built on a hill overlooking the River Axe which heads to the English Channel at Axmouth. To me, far more interesting than the damn comfrey, is that Axminster dates back to the Celtic time of around 300 BC, and that there was a Roman fort just south of the present town. It was recorded as Ascanmynsterin the 9^thcentury and the name means “monastery or large church by the River Axe.”

Fraxinus excelsior 'Aurea Pendula'

Golden-leaved plants may contain Goldin the cultivar name, but often too the Latin designation is Aurea, or Aureum. Along a canal at Arboretum Trompenburg in Rotterdam is an imposing specimen of Fraxinus excelsior 'Aurea Pendula'. The species is the “common ash” of Britain, and from Europe to the Caucasus, but one that I have never grown. I remember spotting 'Aurea Pendula' from a distance in the foggy gloom, and with every step that took me closer I became more and more uncertain about what I was seeing. Fortunately it was firmly labeled, otherwise I might not have guessed it to be an ash. In the Hillier Manualit is described as “A small tree of rather weak constitution...”but the Trompenburg tree looked solid to me. Fraxinus is in the Oleaceae family along with about 700 other members such as lilacs, olives, forsythia and privet. The generic name originated in Latin from a Proto-Indo-European root for “birch,” which also was used to mean “spear.” The city of Fresno in California is one of the worst hell-holes in America, but it was named for its abundance of white ash trees (Spanish: fresno) along the banks of the San Joaquin River. For what it's worth, the Fresno Municipal Landfill was the first modern landfill in America. It was closed in 1987 because it became too full of the overwhelmingly abundant garbage.

Fagus sylvatica 'Aurea Pendula' in the Display Garden

The last tree that I'll discuss is Fagus sylvatica 'Aurea Pendula', probably my favorite tree in the May garden. My largest specimen happily thrives down by the southern creek where it receives shade from the wooded hillside. It is nearly 40' tall, my start coming at the beginning of my career from the late Howard Hughes – no, not the movie mogul! – a plantsman from Washington state. If a tree could have a “human” form, a woman's body easily can be imagined with the 'Aurea Pendula' in the original Display Garden. It is not as old as the creekside tree but it has a very lovely shape. On one spring evening, walking out into the garden just before dark, I detected some movement. 'Aurea Pendula' had hurried back to her place and stood in the first position until I passed. I hid behind a pine and waited, and sure enough she resumed her dance throughout the garden. What a prima ballerina!, cavorting with all of the other trees which stood mesmerized by her graceful movement.

Creekside specimen of Fagus sylvatica 'Aurea Pendula'

Rhododendron 'Taurus'

While I have worked with trees since I was about five years old, I formally entered the nursery profession in the early 1970s when I landed a job at a large wholesale nursery (since gone bankrupt). The company produced easy to propagate and easy to grow plants – relatively easy that is – and they probably maintained at least 80 acres of Rhododendrons alone. There were a dozen or so varieties, but thousands of each. I then made my acquaintance with R. 'Jean Marie de Montague' and I'm sure I personally dug four or five thousand of them myself. It wasn't my favorite cultivar because the branches were horizontally stiff and breakable and difficult to tie up to dig. If you look up 'Jean Marie de Montague' in the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2014) you won't find it; you must look instead for 'The Honourable Jean Marie de Montague' and good luck cramming that long name on a label. I was young and dumb (horticulturally) back then, but I remember being amused by the pompous name, and even that a plant could be named for a royal person in the first place.

Rhododendron 'Marchioness of Lansdowne'

Maud Evelyn Petty-Fitzmaurice

For you royalty aficionados a marchioness is the wife of a marquess,* and Maud Evelyn Petty-Fitzmaurice became one when she wed Henry Charles Keith Petty-Fitzmaurice, the 5^th Marquess of Lansdowne at Westminster Abbey in 1869. She was Vicereine of India from 1888-1894 while her husband was Viceroy. A true courtier, she was Lady of the Bedchamber to Queen Alexandra from 1905-1909, then was an Extra Lady from 1910-1925. For charitable services she was appointed Dame Grand Cross of the Order of the British Empire (GBE) in the 1920's. While Jean Marie de Montague was “Honourable,” The Marchioness of Lansdowne was considered “The Most Honourable.” You can see that she was a very attractive woman, my type for sure, and I think I could have measured up to her standards as I am “The President”...hmm, of Buchholz Nursery. I have an old, large specimen of Rhododendron x'Marchioness of Lansdowne' in the Display Garden, and in fact it is blooming now. I admit that I can't be certain which marchioness received the rhododendron's name, as the Bowood Estate was laid out by the 3^rd Marquess of Lansdowne in the 1850s, and today the area has expanded to 60 acres of rhododendrons, camellias and azaleas that surround the family mausoleum. Any help from Britain?

*A marquess is a British nobleman ranking below a duke and above an earl.

Rhododendron kesangiae var. album

Rhododendron kesangiae

Kesang Choden

I have a Rhododendron kesangiae (known in Bhutan as “Tala”) in the garden, and it will eventually grow to a large size. Normally the species flowers a rose-pink color that deepens to purple, but I have the var. album form. I don't know what that means though. Was it one plant that was noticed as flowering white, and seedlings from it also flower white, or is there somewhere in its Bhutan range where they all bloom white? The iaesuffix to kesangiae's specific name is a nomenclatural give-away that it honors a woman, and in this case it honors the Royal Grandmother of Bhutan, Ashi Kesang Choden Wangchuck, the only queen grandmother in the world since all of the other old royal hags have passed on.

Abies koreana 'Silberlocke'

I have been to the Horstmann Nursery in Schneverdingen, Germany twice, but I'm not certain if it's still operational. And sadly the great plantsman Günter Horstmann had just passed away before my first visit (and he didn't appear the second time either) but his son Uwe had taken it over. It was a conifer specialty nursery and a number of wonderful cultivars had their origin there, especially the internationally-known Abies koreana 'Silberlocke', which the family prefers to be known as 'Horstmann's Silberlocke', except the RHS and Buchholz and most others have shortened it to just 'Silberlocke'. In any case it originated as a seedling as many German nurseries use the hardy, adaptable Abies koreana as a rootstock for other Abies cultivars, or as a slow-growing garden specimen itself. The name translates to “silver locks (of hair)” which is self-explanatory when one sees the vivid needles' undersides curled around the stems. I received a start early in my career and I suspect that I had the largest tree in America. I say “had,” because as I mentioned in an earlier blog my crew went loco in la cabeza a year ago when they were instructed to cut the cones off because they were ripe and heavy and were making the branches flop...and oops! – they cut the entire tree down. I discovered it gone a few days later but I didn't say a word because, well, why? Adios.

Abies koreana 'Ice Breaker'

G. Kohout of (former) East Germany discovered a witch's broom mutation on a 'Silberlocke' about 15 years ago which he named 'Kohout's Ice Breaker', but K's name has largely been dismissed, to his chagrin. Nevertheless it is a spectacular dwarf, dense conifer and it has already gained fame with the RHS and received the prestigious Award of Garden Merit. Near the office I planted a group of seven on a mound fairly close to each other, knowing full well that they would soon grow into one, and thus I would then have the largest 'Ice Breaker' in the world. Fortunately none have ever coned or...yikes!

Daphne x'Lawrence Crocker'

Apollo and Daphne

We used to propagate and sell Daphne xsusannae (D. arbuscula x D. collina) 'Lawrence Crocker' although it is sometimes listed as x medfordensis. The authenticity of the latter name is questionable. In any case it is a garden show off with deep pink, very fragrant blossoms on an evergreen, with a dense, rounded form. The best part about Crocker's cracker of a plant is that it apparently arose spontaneously, for the legendary plantsman was a co-founder of the Siskiyou Rare Plant Nursery near Medford, Oregon and I have a number of alpines in my garden from the well-known source. I don't know if Cracker, err Crocker named it for himself but I hope not. Of course the genus name Daphne was named for a female in Greek mythology, for she was a naiad, a variety of nymph associated with wells, springs and streams. She implored her father to transform her into a laurel to escape the amorous Apollo. We have discontinued with all Daphne production because my female crew tended to overwater, and I just couldn't get through to them that they were constantly dying because of it. So I find it ironic that Daphne (from Greek daefni) is associated with bodies of fresh water.

Acer palmatum 'Peve Chameleon'

Acer palmatum 'Peve Dave'

Acer palmatum 'Peve Lombo'

Acer palmatum 'Peve Multicolor'

Acer palmatum 'Peve Ollie'

Acer palmatum 'Peve Stanley'

Acer palmatum 'Peve Starfish'

Piet Vergeldt of The Netherlands operates one of the best nurseries in Europe, with sons who are not pampered at all. I have visited three times I think, and though there's plenty to see I tend to hurry through as I sense that they are anxious to get back to work. The company has introduced quite a few fantastic plants, with cultivar names that begin with “Peve,” short for Piet Vergeldt. They grow the types of plants that I prefer – dogwoods, magnolias, conifers and maples, and for the latter we have received starts of A. palmatums 'Peve Chameleon', 'Peve Dave', 'Peve Lombo', 'Peve Multicolor', 'Peve Ollie', 'Peve Stanley' and my favorite, 'Peve Starfish'. In fact, 'Peve Starfish' is the maple, out of hundreds of cultivars, that I currently produce in the greatest number.

Taxodium distichum 'Peve Minaret'

I acquired Taxodium distichum 'Peve Minaret' almost 20 years ago and was one of the first nurseries in America to offer it. On my website I described it as “A deciduous conifer with a compact, pyramidal form...” That description was based on a row that Vergeldt had planted next to his greenhouse, and the photo above shows my wife Haruko standing among them. It turns out that they appear compact because Vergeldt regularly harvested scionwood. My oldest specimen is 30' tall now and I never would have planted it where I did if I had only known, but since it's not so rare anymore there might come a day when I'll turn it into firewood. I first saw 'Peve Minaret' while on a Conifer Society tour, and I snapped a few photos before everyone in the bus hovered around it. It was in the afternoon on about day six and five wives stayed on the bus – by that point they had their fill of plants and only accompanied their husbands to Holland to keep them away from the red-light district in Amsterdam I suppose. One woman eventually did get out and she clearly admired the 'Peve Minaret', so she went back to the bus to call the others out. Soon enough there were five women, all stroking its foliage. I reasoned that if five tired ladies who weren't really into conifers fell in love with it, then I should grow it too.

Magnolia stellata 'Jane Platt'

Jane Platt's garden

I grew Magnolia stellata 'Jane Platt' for quite a few years, then something convinced me that it should be classified as M. kobus var. stellata so I changed all the labels. I should have consulted my Hilliers Manual first because it's listed there as stellata with kobus a separate species. Anyway it is one of my favorite of all small trees. It was acquired by Mrs. Platt of Portland, Oregon as M. stellata 'Rosea', but Magnolia expert Roger Gossler of Oregon was convinced that it was superior to the typical 'Rosea' that he was familiar with. He obtained cuttings, and after growing it for a few years as 'Rosea' he asked Mrs. Platt what she would rather it be named. In the Gossler Guide to the Best Hardy Shrubs he relates: “Very uncharacteristically, she said, 'How about Jane Platt?' We named it just that, and dedicated our catalog to her that fall. She never said anything to us, but we heard she was thrilled. When 'Jane Platt' was exhibited [the plant, that is] at the Royal Horticultural Society, it received an Award of Merit, a thrill to Mrs. Platt and our family.”I have visited the late Jane Platt's garden a few times, and some of my plants have been added to her palette. She truly was an elegant woman with an artistic sense of plant placement and combinations. She had money to facilitate her passion, but money does not guarantee good taste.

Platycladus orientalis 'Franky Boy'

I first saw Platycladus orientalis 'Franky Boy' at the nursery of Nelis Kools in Deurne, The Netherlands, and I expressed admiration and asked about it. Dead-pan Nelis responded, “Well, it is a Thuja.” That was probably 20 years ago, but just two years later I had it in production, and today we root a few thousand per year and also top graft standards on Platycladus orientalis rootstocks. According to Promising Conifers“'Franky Boy' was selected out of 3,000 seedlings of Platycladus orientalis 'Elegantissima' by Tree Nursery Frank from Heiligen Eiche, Austria in ± 1990-1992. They introduced it in 1999.”'Franky Boy's' foliage color changes throughout the season: gold in spring, yellowish-green in summer and a bronze-orange in winter. I dug and potted my original tree to sell, and it is about 7' tall at 18 years of age.

Tsuga mertensiana 'Elizabeth'

Tsuga mertensiana is our native “Mountain hemlock” and all seem to be slow-growing, usually with a narrow form for the first 20 years. I have a few 50 year+ specimens in the Blue Forest, the seed being sown by a tree farm in the hills above Silverton, Oregon, and their canopies have broadened now. T. m. 'Elizabeth' is a dwarf with horizontally-spreading branches. A 25-year-old specimen will be about 4' tall by 6' wide, at least in my nursery. 'Elizabeth' can be propagated by rooted cuttings in winter, or by grafting onto seedling mertensiana rootstock. It was discovered in the Mt. Rainier National Park in Washington state in 1940 by Elsie Frye who named it for her daughter, Elizabeth; which of course would be illegal today – not to name it Elizabeth – but to filch it from the forest. When Mrs. Frye “harvested” it she certainly could not have known that her tree was going to remain in a spreading form, for in the wild it's almost always explained by the mountainous environment. And I wonder how old the original tree was when she claimed it?

Aesculus hippocastanum 'Wisselink'

The first time I encountered Aesculus hippocastanum 'Wisselink' was at the Bellevue Botanic Garden near Seattle, Washington, and their small tree had held up well all summer in full sun, surprising for a selection that is basically white, except with prominent green veins. Remember about 30-40 years ago when a hamburger commercial for “where's the beef?” went pre-internet viral and entered into usage with mainstream politics...basically meaning that the blah blah blah of politik-speak needed to be grounded by something resembling substance. I imagined the same about the “Horse chestnut” 'Wisselink', for one wonders: where's the chlorophyll? The variegated horse chestnut was found by William Wisselink as a chance seedling near the Dutch village of Aalten. Surprisingly the beautiful cultivar is not listed in the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs(2014), nor in Krussmann's Manual of Cultivated Trees and Shrubs(1984), nor in Bean's Trees and Shrubs Hardy in the British Isles(1982), perhaps the three most stalwart of publications for the horticulturist and gardener. A couple of specialty growers in Oregon have mixed up 'Wisselink' with Aesculus neglecta 'Erythroblastos', and since I have a specimen of both in the greenhouse I was able to help them untangle the mix-up. The 'Erythroblastos' displayed a strong red cast to the leaves – for about two weeks – where 'Wisselink' never does, but I admit that in the June greenhouse they can look similar.

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Phil's Flurries'

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Phil's Flurries' is a selection that will probably never have a solid future in horticulture. It is a variegated Chamaecyparis lawsoniana selection that was first observed as a sport on C. l. 'Green Globe'– a cultivar that often misbehaves. The mutant was set aside by our manager Phil Turrell, an excellent employee who “lasted” at Buchholz Nursery for 18 years, quite an accomplishment. Alas, the colorful cream-white shoots can burn, and the propagator should seek out the foliage that is half green, half white, but even then it can go sideways and turn into a totally green bush, or one with too much vulnerable white, so likely the end result is a horticultural mess that won't make anybody money. Perhaps I should have named the cultivar 'Phil's Flub', but that wouldn't be his fault since plantsmen discover many abnormal growths which we cultivate, and ultimately we win some and we lose some.

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Laura Aurora'

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Sparkling Arrow' at the New York Botanic Garden

The same could be said for Chamaecyparis (Xanthocyparis) nootkatensis 'Laura Aurora' (named for my 2^nd daughter), a variegated form of the “Weeping Alaskan cedar.” Abnormal growth in the Cham/Xantho genus is commonplace, but the issue is whether or not that leads to a stable, unique clone. With the Chamaecyparis genus the odd-balls and freaks usually do not, but when they prevail they can be spectacular. My advice is to never name after a friend or any family member, though I have done so, because you basically waste an honor if it flops. At the beginning I could not have predicted that C. n. 'Sparkling Arrow' would become positively established in horticulture but that C. n. 'Laura Aurora' would not. Again, you win some and you lose some.

Acer x 'Hot Blonde'

The term hybrid is from Latin hybrida, and we know it as a “composite of mixed origin.” It can refer to animals, people or plants...and to machines also which can be variously charged by more than one source of power, as in a hybrid car which can run on either gas or electricity. For example the “television” is a hybrid word made up from the Greek tele meaning “far” and Latin visio meaning “see.” Remember, a week or two ago I featured in the Flora Wonder Blog the accidental cross of Acer x'Hot Blonde' which arose in a North Carolina Nursery, MrMaple, between an Acer oliverianum and an Acer palmatum, thus resulting in a “Chinese-Japanese maple.” Today I walked past my first plant gifted by the Nichols Brothers which is already 7' tall and loaded with scions, and I anxiously await the beginning of maple grafting season.

Honestly I don't know what God thinks/thought about it, but in prehistory hybrid humans existed, with anatomically modern humans mixing with Neanderthals as recently as 40,000 years ago. Neanderthals occupied a large Eurasian range, but they were classified as such because the type specimen, Neanderthal I, was found in 1856 in the German Neander Valley. Some evidence suggests that the Neanderthals didn't go completely extinct, and when I consider some of the male German interns I employed in the past, the species is alive and well and still breeding with modern human females.

Acer palmatum 'Japanese Princess'

Acer palmatum 'Strawberry Spring'

Acer palmatum 'Ikandi'

A number of times I have been introduced as a “plant breeder,” one who has introduced many outstanding cultivars, in particular maples. Those who claim so show their horticultural ignorance, for I have “bred” no plant ever, although I have successfully bred five children...and no, I did not use a female Neanderthal to do so.* Just because I have discovered and introduced many maples from either seedling or witch's broom origin, I have never forced into union cultivars or species for my interest or pleasure. I merely harvest from nature's prolific variations, with the confidence that if the named-cloned mother tree is fascinating or original, then her progeny might also be so. Everyone, for example, likes Acer palmatum 'Mikawa yatsubusa', and one delicious daughter was selected out and named 'Japanese Princess'. Acer palmatum 'Amber Ghost' yielded A.p. 'Strawberry Spring', while Acer palmatum 'Higasa yama' begat 'Alpenweiss', which in turn bore the even more spectacular 'Ikandi'.

*The last two were inter-racial, inter-continental hybrids between this German-American and an ornamental...err, oriental species from Japan.

Rhododendron orbiculare 'Edinburgh'

Rhododendron orbiculare 'Exbury'

There can be considerable variation within a species, just as there is with homo sapiens. Rhododendron orbiculare, the “round-leaf rhododendron” from China (known locally as tuanye dujuan), is represented in the Flora Wonder Arboretum with two forms, 'Edinburgh' and 'Exbury', and I take great pains to make sure the crew doesn't mix them up. I don't know the history of these two forms, how one wound up at the Royal Botanic Garden in Scotland and the other at Rothchild's place in Hampshire, but both are considered better than a brand x orbiculare in another's garden. I know that my two are not cultivars in the traditional sense even though I mark them with single quotes, but that helps to keep my employees from mixing them up. We produce them by grafting onto hybrid rootstock, so it can be said that I propagate them, but I'm certainly not “breeding” them.

Pleione x confusa 'Golden Gate'

Years ago we had a state plant inspector, now retired (with fantastic benefits), who poo-pooed the notion of hybrids, that his interest was only for the purespecies. I don't know why the government functionary developed such a snobbish distaste for hybrids, as if the hand of man was somehow inferior to the hand of Mother Nature. While the inspector was good at spotting aphids, he failed to understand that some hybrids occur naturally. A month ago I discussed that Pleione x confusa was a natural hybrid between P. forrestii and P. albiflora, and while it looks similar to the beautiful but finicky P. forrestii, the P. albiflora blood provides the hybrid with a boost of vigor that this gardener appreciates.

Acer x 'Red Dawn'

Acer x 'Shira Red'

Personally I don't care if a plant originates as a natural hybrid or as a man-made cross, for it is what it is and it does what it does. Who really cares, except for the holder of the patent rights I suppose, which will never be me. Acer x'Red Dawn'– nice name – was originally listed as an Acer shirasawanum, but most growers and collectors now reckon it to be a hybrid with palmatum, but it's a non-event in any case. We introduced a look-alike, A.s. 'Shira Red', with the mother tree absolutely A. shirasawanum. It looks like a hybrid too, but the seed on ours rises up (per the shirasawanum species) while 'Red Dawn's' seed dangles down. Since I grow both cultivars in small numbers I don't need a scientific analysis, and frankly my introduction is really a non-event too.

Acer x 'Mikado'

Much more interesting is another Buchholz introduction, 'Mikado', which is also possibly a hybrid. I won't go so far to say that I'm tired of the deep red-purple foliage of Acer palmatums 'Bloodgood' or 'Red Dragon', but after a long career of producing them by the thousands, I've grown to appreciate the plummy hue of 'Mikado'. The only problem is that the original tree (photo above) is now twice that size in a space way too small, and I fret about the enormous task to transplant it. The word Mikadowas formerly used for the Emperor of Japan, from mi for “honorable” and kado for “gate” or “portal,” and it was first used in 1727. Of course The Mikado was an operetta by W.S. Gilbert and Sir Arthur Sullivan which premiered at the Savoy in London on March 4, 1885. It was an instant hit and ran for 672 performances, with fun characters such as The Mikado for the Emperor, Nanki-Poo, The Mikado's son (disguised as a wandering minstrel), the maiden Yum-Yum – I married a Yum-Yum too – and Pooh-Bah, the Lord High of Everything.

Acer x 'Kawaii'

The final maple “hybrid” that I'll mention is what we classify as Acer shirasawanum 'Kawaii', a Buchholz introduction, so-named because when my wife first saw it she uttered "kawaii," the Japanese word for “cute.” This selection originated as a seedling from the late Jim Baggett of Corvallis, Oregon from the parent tree of Acer shirasawanum 'Palmatifolium' in his open garden setting. “Open garden” means that he had a number of maple species growing in close proximity, so who knows which tree pollinated which? Like 'Mikado' it features the plum-red foliage except that the leaves are finely dissected. It does not “weep” as do many of the Acer palmatum laceleafs, rather it is low and spreading and very slow growing. Very slow, indeed, and I remember some years ago that a customer complained that the specimen we shipped to him was too small for the price. Too small, ha!, I explained that it was two years older than some of the other trees he got for the same money. I have to ask myself why I grow it at all since it is far less profitable, but anyway I still hold a grudge that someone questioned my price.

Quercus x 'Luscombeana'

Quercus suber

In the rather crowded garden of Arboretum Kalmthout in Belgium I saw an interestingly fissured trunk in the distance but I was not able to identify the canopy. Fortunately the label was in place and it was identified as Quercus xhispanica 'Luscombeana', a hybrid I was not familiar with. The climate in Belgium is similar to that of western Oregon, so their old tree had survived a lot of winters. Returning home I opened The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2014) and read, “A large, ornamental tree raised by Mr. Luscomb in his nursery in Exeter about 1762...Many of the plants grown under this name appear to be seedlings.” x Hispanica is the “Turkish oak” (Q. cerris) crossed with the “Cork oak” (Q. suber), and the latter, while listed as USDA zone 8 (10 F) has survived about 10 years in my field. Even if the 'Luscombeana' became available I really don't have room for another large oak, especially since it is not as fissuredly pronounced as the Q. suber. Hillier calls x hispanica a “variable hybrid” which can occur in the wild as well as in cultivation. In that case no two will appear exactly the same, and so the true 'Luscombeana' can only be replicated by asexual propagation.

Quercus x 'Pondaim' at Arboretum Trompenburg

Quercus dentata

Another interesting oak hybrid is x'Pondaim Group' with the “group” meaning that the cross has been made (or occurred) more than once, with the parents being Q. pontica x Q. dentata, the “Armenian oak” and the “Daimyo oak” respectively. I saw the original 'Pondaim' in Rotterdam – or I think it was the original – at the Arboretum Trompenburg, and indeed the cross was raised by JRP van Hoey Smith (Trompenburg's owner) about 1960. I have specimens of both of Pondaim's parents and I prize them greatly, but I don't have the hybrid and have never seen it before in America. Unfortunately each parent is on separate properties about five miles apart so I won't find a hybrid unless I move them together. An attractive feature of 'Pondaim' is that the leaves are marcescent, which means that they change color in the fall, but they persist through the winter. This is caused by the veins that carry the sap slowly closing in autumn, until a layer of cells called the abscission layer completely closes off and the tree cannot rid itself of its leaves. I admit that I've never seen a 'Pondaim' in winter, but I include (above) photos of marcescent Q. dentata whose foliage begins a warm orange and then evolves to a glowing brown. The name 'Pondaim' is from the combination of pontica and daimyo: 'Pondaim'.

Phylliopsis 'Sugar Plum'

William H Brewer

x Phylliopsis is an intergeneric hybrid between Kalmiopsis and Phyllodoce and it forms an attractive dwarf shrub perfect for a rock garden (with necessary sharp drainage). This Ericaceae cross originated at Hillier Nursery in 1960, and was thus given the specific epithet of hillieri(Cullen and Lancaster). American horticulturists were slow to the race apparently because both genera come from the western portions of southern Oregon and northern California. I've been to this area a number of times but have not encountered either parent, or didn't recognize them if I did, but I guess they bloom at a time when I'm locked up at the nursery. We used to grow the cultivar 'Sugar Plum', and you could almost imagine fairies dancing around the flowers. Alas we discontinued production because they resented being overwatered in black plastic pots in the greenhouse. Also it probably prefers a more acidic media and to be treated as an alpine plant. The Phyllodoce species used in Hillier's hybrid was breweri, named for botanist William Henry Brewer (1828-1910) of Picea breweriana fame. The Kalmiopsis parent's specific epithet of leacheana honors Lilla Leach* who discovered it in 1930 in what is now known as the Kalmiopsis Wilderness reserve. It is a rare endemic to the Siskiyou Mountains where one also find the “Brewer's Weeping Spruce.”

Lilla Leach

*Lilla Leach is long gone, but we still have the Leach Botanic Garden in Portland, Oregon.

Platanus x hispanica

Platanus x hispanica 'Suttneri'

Platanus x acerifolia is nomenclaturally no more; now we should call it x hispanica– like with the oak hybrid. I don't get the epithet though, as the “London plane” is a cross between the east-coast America Platanus occidentalis and the southeast European Platanus orientalis.* Besides, Hillier casts doubt when he suggests that it might not be a hybrid, but rather just a form of P. orientalis. In any case it was first recorded in 1663. Regular readers know that I am a fan of torsos, and I can appreciate the colorful trunks, but no way would I want the monster in my collection. I remember at the beginning of my career when I moonlighted at the crabby Dutchman's nursery where we had to pot up a couple hundred of the brutes (when in leaf) for a special order. Something on the leaves' undersides – dried hairs maybe – caused us to cough, cry and sneeze, and it was a torture I'll never forget. Nevertheless it is one of the 50 Great British Trees that the Tree Council selected in 2002 to honor Queen Elizabeth's Golden Jubilee. And by the way, apparently Prince Charles was too busy that day to help us pot up the damn planes.

*Perhaps the cross first occurred in Spain.

Rhododendron davidsonianum

Rhododendron racemosum

Rhododendron 'Ginny Gee'

Pere Delavay

I've never seen the Rhododendron hybrid x pallescens, but I do know the wonderful parents of R. davidsonianum x R. racemosum. I wonder if the cross can be found at the Rhododendron Species Botanic Garden in Washington state, especially since they claim to have the largest collection of Rhododendron species in the world. I'm overdue for a visit – damn it Covid 19 – for I used to go three or four times every year; and I am a member and I discover new (to me) and wonderful plants each time. R. davidsonianum is native to Szechuan and Yunnan, China at moderate elevations of 6,500 to 11,500 feet elevation and the flowers can range from white to purplish pink. The specific epithet honors W.H. Davidson who participated in the Christian Friends Missionin China. R. racemosum is another Chinese evergreen shrub which can grow straggly. It was first introduced to cultivation by the French missionary Pere Delavay in 1889. It is a parent to R. x'Ginny Gee' which I have had in the garden for over 30 years. The specific epithet racemosum means that the flowers have a raceme, from Latin racemus for a “bunch of grapes.”

Camellia x 'Night Rider'

Camellia x 'Water Lily'

Camellia x williamsii is a hybrid so-named because C. japonica x C. saluenensis was first raised by J.C. Williams at Caerhays Castle, Cornwall about 100 years ago. There are numerous cultivars, half of which are named for people I suppose. I have become enamoured with Camellias in my latter years and we find good sales for them, and I've even learned that the genus is spelled with double ll. 'Night Rider' blooms with very dark-red double blossoms, but the rich mahogany new growth is what mostly attracts me. 'Water Lily' was gifted to me by the great plantsman, Roger Gossler of Oregon, and it was the first Camelia...err, Camellia in the collection. The blossom speaks for itself and my words are not necessary.

Again, I've never performed a plant cross – I guess I'm too busy making a living with what others have accomplished – but I like that often it is done by puttering hobbyists trying to improve upon what Flora has provided.

Today, June 19, 2020, spring*has fully sprung and by tomorrow we will have officially transitioned into summer. The past was an exceptionally inspiring and beautiful season, but also the most ugly with the nasty virus and its consequences, as well as with the turmoil that afflicts our cities. We are almost half-way through our year and I think I have worked every day, but since I mostly love my “work” I guess that's not much of an accomplishment.

*The word “spring” is from Proto-Germanic “sprenganan,” and that from Proto-Indo-European “sprengh” meaning “rapid movement,” and more generally “to leap, burst forth, grow.”

Today, as you read this Flora Wonder Blog, know that it is a rerun from about five years ago. I am now on a long road trip with my family which you may or may not read about in the future. I wonder if my sojourn is a subconscious urge to seek out a humble shack in the wilderness where I can ride out the End of the World? I have already received more than my money's worth of happiness in my life, but I certainly do worry about yours and my children. Sorry...kids.

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December 2016 - Return to the Olympics

Twenty five years ago I took a solo trip to the Olympic Peninsula of Washington state, my first ever visit to the very-most northwest corner of the contiguous states in our Union. The center of this large area is dominated by the snowy glacier-clad Olympic Mountains, and those are topped by Mt. Olympus at 7,980' in altitude. It was observed in 1774 by Spanish explorers led by Juan Perez, and he chose the name of Cerro Nevada de la Santa Rosalia, but four years later the English captain John Meares was so impressed with it that he renamed the peak Mount Olympus because it resembled a “god-like paradise.” Of course the Englishman's name stuck, but why did any of these arrogant Europeans feel privileged to rename a mountain in America, for Native Americans already had the name of Sunh-a-do? Just as with plants, the first name counts, and I think that the least that our Federal Government's Department of Whatever could do is to provide the original name along with the Euro rename.

Acer macrophyllum

Quite a number of river drainages exist as the melted snow, glaciers and heavy rains send water to the west...into the Pacific Ocean. I think I was initially inspired to visit the area by a magazine article about the Hoh River Valley, in particular with its trail that was called the “Hall of Mosses.” In my exuberant youth I drove the four hours north-by-northwest and arrived there at 9:30 in the morning, and I found myself to be at least two hours ahead of anyone else. I had the “Hall” to myself and I devoured the greenery by myself, and the photo (above) of the Acer macrophyllum adorned with the jewel of the fern, Polystichum munitum, was one of the best of all of my memories. At the time I vowed to revisit this incredible temperate rainforest every fall/winter to document its existence and evolvement, and I was blessed to be in a position to do so.

Every year turned into “well, not this year” because...because...because. Why/how could I have submitted to a life out of my own control? Family and business concerns, as well as my own laziness had intervened, and I carried this self-imposed guilt for two and a half decades. It was not like an expedition to Mars, or to Patagonia even, but rather just a trip to Oregon's neighboring state's northwest corner. Thoroughly ashamed of myself, I announced to my wife that I was leaving, that I had to go, and I would do so the day after the Thanksgiving holiday. Haruko was supportive – she always is. But that morning she was sick, tired and worn-out from preparing and serving three major dinners in five days, plus dealing with the girls' hectic dance preparations for the Nutcracker ballet...and then with me with all of my burdening stuff...and, and, and and.

In short I left with a late start. My plan was to circle the peninsula counter-clockwise and I hoped to get to the top, to Sequim (rhymes with “swim”) or perhaps further to Port Angeles, two towns I had never been to before. Sequim is in the rain shadow of the Olympics and it actually receives less rainfall per year than Los Angeles, California. Nevertheless it was raining and dark, but I decided to press on to Port Angeles. I wanted to explore the town, but thought I should do so in the morning, but it turned out that then it was still raining hard. I confess that all photos above were taken out of my car window.

A short distance from my hotel was a National Forestry Center where I picked up a map. I also wanted to acquire a Senior Pass, a card that allows old-timers to get into parks and onto trailheads for free. And we deserve it when you consider how much we have paid into the federal government. There were three bureaucrats at the Center, with two of them helping other citizens. I addressed the third – a 50 year old woman – who was busy shuffling papers, and I said that I wanted to get a Pass. She glared at me as if she had better things to do, then snarled, “Do you qualify?” I quipped that even though I didn't look old enough, indeed I did qualify. I thought my comment would elicit a smile but she remained stone-faced and I then decided that I would stop trying to be nice. For $10 I got my Pass, then before I left I said that you were supposed to be able to apply for one on-line. I told her that I filled out the application a year ago, then the government is supposed to review it and send a Pass. She looked at me like I would be too dumb to fill out an application online, and in truth she was right, but I had Seth do it and he's a hell of a lot smarter than this hag. I asked her what was the point of an online system if nobody gets back to you? Silence. I commented, “That's sooo governmental, isn't it?” The other attendants glanced up at me, and I'm sure they were all relieved when I finally left.

Lake Crescent with Pyramid Mountain

Arbutus menziesii

Still raining, I headed west across the top of Washington on Hwy 101. One soon encounters Lake Crescent*, and I pulled into a parking area because at lake-edge I saw an attractive madrone tree, Arbutus menziesii. I wasn't the first to encounter the tree for “Danny did Debbie” was carved into the trunk, as well as other idiotic hearts with initials. Hopefully Debbie dumped Danny because only a male, I think, would scar a tree trunk. If I caught anyone doing it I would be inclined to carve “dumb shit” onto his forehead.

*The lake reaches a depth of 600' and it was carved out during the Ice Ages.

I'll admit to being a little grumpy, or at least melancholy, and felt somewhat guilty to have left my family. Also I was unhappy that I actually did qualify for a Senior Pass. I drove on and on without the radio or any music, just an old man alone with his thoughts. Hwy 101 passes through the dreary town of Forks, so-named due to its position amongst a couple of rivers. Logging used to support the town but I don't know what sustains it anymore. Probably Forks is better known as the location of the movie Twilight, a quirky film about teenage vampires that stars the good-looking Kristen Stewart. I knew about the movie because it fascinated my teenage daughter, even though her mother felt it was too racy at times. At what point do you let your children see and do whatever they want? Haruko asks when she should stop being a helicopter (hovering) mom?

At the edge of town I drove past the Forks Timber Museum. An impulse caused me to brake, spilling stuff onto the car floor, but I thought it was sort of my duty to see the museum. The attendant was about the same age as crab-cake back at the Forestry Center, but she was far more pleasant, in fact exceedingly so. She followed me throughout the little museum and explained everything. I was amused with logger jargon, like “Fernhopper” for a West coast forester, “Hen Skins” for light summer underwear and “Monthly Insult” for a paycheck. A bashed hard hat was put on display to remind other loggers to be careful. Five minutes is all that is required at the museum, but Ms. Pleasant's intent was to keep me longer, and she even asked me personal questions. I had a scruffy 5-day beard going – I must have looked dreadful – but maybe by Forks' standards I may have looked wonderful to her. When she went briefly into a back room I shouted “Thanks” and made my getaway, glad that she didn't invite herself further on my trip.

The road to Hoh

Finally I entered the beautiful road into the Hoh Rainforest and my spirits improved. The Hoh River was raging and the landscape was soggy. The area can receive 140 inches of rain per year which is almost twice as tall as I am. I was actually happy that it was raining – I wanted it to rain since I was in a temperate rainforest – and I have absolutely no desire to visit this area in the dry summer. It was already mid-day when I arrived at the visitor center and I was shocked that there were 30 cars in the parking lot. 30 cars means at least 60 kids and everyone was wearing brightly-colored ponchos and raincoats. Just 100 yards onto the trail a 3-year-old boy was crying because he had just wet his pants. His mother was scolding him, asking him why he didn't say something back at the visitor center. Dad just stood there looking stupidly useless. No doubt the rain and the drippy trees triggered a need for him to go, but what's the big problem, just take the kid back to the car and change his clothes. You do have a change of clothes right? You always have a change of clothes for a 3-year-old. Mom?

There were just too many kids, loud kids, and their parents were loud too. But it was a Saturday – I should have known better. Oh well, who was I to deny a family their outdoor recreational bonding time? I was dressed for the rain and had good hiking boots. At first I tried to jump over or skirt around the puddles, as some of them were pretty deep, but eventually I gave up on dry feet and just sloshed through. Throughout the park were interpretive signs such as “Coho in the Creek” – which has a nice ring to it. I wanted to sing “Coho in the Creek, such a saucy fellow...Coho on a rainy day.” Another sign explained why 5 or 6 trees were lined up in a row, that they had sprouted atop a fallen “nurse” log, and the mother log had rotted away long ago. My father was no stranger to the woods and he had explained that to me when I was a child, and I have already done so with my children.

Green upon green, moss and ferns, all deliciously wet. The creek waters contained a lot of aquatic life as well, and sometimes the water drops created fantastic patterns. In meadows vertical green snags looked like Dr. Seuss creatures with heads adorned with ferns. They say that moss, lichen and ferns don't harm a living tree, but certainly they add extra weight and make them more vulnerable to wind storms. There was no smell of rot or decay, however, even though that is what occurs in a rainforest; but to me everything was sweetly fresh and invigorating. I have previously been to a tropical rainforest (Amazon) – versus this Hoh temperate rainforest – and in the former the stench and the humid air was suffocating. It was a crisp 45 F at Hoh, and anyway, everything was bejeweled with water droplets and I couldn't have been more pleased.

Alnus rubra

Some trees were enormously large, usually hemlocks and Douglas firs, and there was an impressive stand of red alders, Alnus rubra, by the Hoh river edge. I try to imagine the original natives endeavoring to survive in this mossy fern-ridden environment...versus the Native Americans trying to survive in the arid American southwest. Nothing came easy for either group. The Hoh tribe was known as Chala-at and they had their own language. The Hoh River, Chala-at-sit, meant the “southern river” and the Hoh people believed they were created by the shape-shifting “Changer,” K'wati, who went around the world making things as they are today. When K. got to the Hoh River he discovered that the inhabitants were upside-down people and weren't good at anything at all. He succeeded to right them and taught them how to properly catch the nutritious smelt fish etc.

Acer macrophyllum

Perhaps my primary purpose to return to the Hoh was to reunite with my aforementioned Acer macrophyllum, to observe – just like with me – how we have both changed over time, and would we even recognize each other after 25 years? I trekked to the appropriate area along the “Spruce Trail” and there stood my friend, my girlfriend, or was it her? She had greatly changed: the center Polystichum was gone, ferns at her side had appeared, and overall she had gained weight, but then haven't we all? Really though, I can't be certain if it was the same tree, no matter how much I wanted it to be.

Hoh river

By 3:30 it was already getting dark in northern Washington so I headed back to the car. The sun was trying to break through in the distance, giving a gleam to the Hoh waters. I was tired and wanted to take the first hotel I came to. I passed the road leading into the Lake Quinault area, even though that is where I would return in the morning. There is a beautiful lodge along the shore where I have stayed with Haruko BC (before children), but I didn't want to pay lodge prices for just myself. I continued south and saw the sign that I was entering the town of Humptulips, where I wanted to stay just for the sake of the narrative, but in only 10 seconds I had driven completely through the town. 38 miles south of the Quinault Road was the twin towns of Hoquiam/Aberdeen, that were separated by a narrow river, but each place looked the same and contained the same people. I found a chain motel that was just two blocks away from a chain Mexican restaurant. Victor was my server and he was attentive and friendly, but he kept calling me “Sir” like I was old enough to be his grandfather. When I returned to the motel I looked in the mirror and discovered that I looked quite seedy, and that maybe the cheerless woman back at the Forestry Center was actually frightened of me.

In the morning I raced back north, to the town of Humptulips where I stopped to photograph the sign, and the general store was the only building in town. The name of Humptulips was after a band of the Chehalis tribe that lived in the area, and one source claims the word means “chilly region.” The area that comprises the “town” is 9 square miles with a population in 2010 of 255 souls, so obviously there were a number of shacks and trailers at the end of side roads. The median income for a family was $22,188, so I imagine a lot of people were on the dole. The racial makeup is 79.17% White, 3.24% Native American, 0.93% Asian etc., but I wondered if Haruko lived there what 0.07% of her would be missing.

Lake Quinault

Lake Quinault Lodge

The road into Quinault was narrow but beautiful, much as I had remembered it. There were a small number of vacation homes along the shore, and I imagine that moss-scraping from the roofs and window ledges was an annual chore. As for the lake it is huge but boring, and I guess the appeal is primarily for fishing and boating.

As you would suppose, Quinault is an Indian name, and it refers to the “Canoe People” or “People of the Cedar Tree.” The tribe thrived with good fishing and hunting opportunities, and they had time to carve out immense canoes from cedar logs. Lewis and Clark noted that the crafts were “upward to 50 feet long, and will carry 8,000 to 10,000 pounds' weight, of from 20 to 30 persons.”

Picea sitchensis Champion Tree

My purpose was to revisit the largest spruce tree in the world, and then to hike a nature trail with some of the most enormous conifers in one location. The old spruce, Picea sitchensis, used to vie with a tree near the Oregon coast, but the latter blew down a few years ago. It was not far from the largest maple in the world, located near the town of Jewell, Oregon, but it too blew over. I journeyed to Jewell to pay my respects to the maple, and asked a rustic local if he knew where it was. He grinned and smugly told me that I was too late, that the “sycamore was flat on its ass.” Sycamore-Sitka whatever, go back to trying to get your car started, and later someone else directed me to the correct place. Anyway the Quinault tree looked good and probably will outlive me.

Pseudotsuga menziesii

The nature trail featured enormous Douglas firs and hemlocks, one giant after another, and one interpretive sign claimed a tree was 300' tall. Looking up at its canopy made me lose my balance, but then I am getting old. I tried to photograph a colorful alder leaf, or was it a poplar? But my camera wouldn't focus because there was no juice left in the battery. I felt the same way: not much juice left in me either, so I got in the car and drove home. My 10-year-old rewarded me with a big hug and a delicious kiss on my lips, while my 13-year-old teenager just gave me a hug. I had a wonderful trip but I was happy to be home.

Happy to be home

We're about half-way through the year, and today we'll bake with a temperature near 90 F. Lest I forget how pleasant it was this past spring I reviewed some images of the season. The plants did their part to entertain me even though the rest of the world doled out sickness, sadness and an alarming degree of insanity. But let's appreciate some of the pleasant memories, to help balance out the worries with the floral joy of life.

Acer palmatum 'Tsuma gaki'

Camellia 'Sweet Jane'

Rhododendron 'Ever Red'

Rhododendron macrosepalum 'Linearifolium'

Abies veitchii 'Glauca'

Rhododendron 'Taurus'

Rhododendron orbiculare 'Exbury'

Camellia japonica 'Sake Cup'

Cornus florida 'Ragin' Red'

Woodwardia unigemmata

Magnolia laevifolia 'Free Spirit'

Acer palmatum 'Ilarian'

Rhododendron boothii

Aesculus hippocastanum 'Wisselink'

Acer palmatum EX 'Mikawa yatsubusa'

Acer palmatum 'Geisha'

Acer palmatum 'Japanese Princess'

Acer palmatum 'Uzen nishiki'

Cornus kousa 'Summer Fun'

Acer palmatum 'Miwa'

Acer palmatum 'Fred's Wild Dream'

Acer 'Cinnamon Flake'

Fragaria chiloensis 'Green Pastures'

Acer palmatum EX 'Alpenweiss'

Abies koreana 'Silberlocke Seedling'

Acer palmatum EX 'Amber Ghost'

Acer palmatum 'Phantom Flame'

Acer palmatum 'Aizumi nishiki'

Acer campestre 'Carnival'

Acer palmatum 'Amber Ghost'

Rhododendron 'Pink Walloper'

Acer crataegifolium 'Meuri ofu'

Acer pictum 'Naguri nishiki'

Acer palmatum 'Olsen's Frosted Strawberry'

Acer palmatum 'Lileeanne's Jewel'

Acer macrophyllum 'Seattle Sentinel'

Cornus sericea 'Hedgerows Gold'

Cornus florida

Picea orientalis 'Aureospicata'

Acer oliverianum 'Hot Blonde'

Cercis canadensis 'Merlot'

Acer mandshuricum

Pseudotsuga menziesii 'Big Flatts'

Acer palmatum 'Lemon Chiffon'

Acer platanoides 'Princeton Gold'

Parrotia persica 'Persian Lace'

Fagus sylvatica 'Aurea Pendula'

Buchholz Nursery

Cornus kousa 'Ohkan'

Acer palmatum 'Jubilee'

Cardiocrinum giganteum var. yunnanense

Acer palmatum 'Bloodgood'

Lilium hansonii

Acer palmatum 'Pastel'

Abies koreana 'Vengels'

Acer palmatum 'Sharp's Pygmy'

Cornus kousa 'Akatsuki'

Stewartia malacodendron

Two weeks ago I and my family spent a few days in Montana. The state has an overwhelmingly popular reputation compared to, say, Arkansas, Delaware, North Dakota or West Virginia. I absolutely love the place even though I don't think I would want to live there permanently (because I hate snow), but what a perfect place to summer visit! My Japanese wife commented that the Montana people seem more friendly and sincere and down-to-earth than the wanna-be kooks and kreeps from the Portland, Oregon area. Indeed, I shook hands – with trust – with a few Montanans, the first time I touched skin with strangers in over three months, and I guess I really do miss that social contact.

I had zoomed through Montana once before, about 20 years ago, on a fast road trip to elsewhere, so in a sense this recent trip was my first “real” visit to the state. The primary purpose was to pick up and return to home my 17-year-old daughter who was staying for a few weeks in Helena with her best friend, a sweet, good-looking but vulnerable black girl who certainly became a fish out of water when her parents dragged her from Oregon to live in all-white Montana. I won't comment on that further, however. Since I was going to be in Montana anyway, my wife and I developed an itinerary that would mark it as a “business trip,” i.e. a tax write-off.

Montana– Spanish for “mountains” or “mountainous lands” – is known as the “Treasure state,” maybe because its motto is Oro y Plata, Spanish for “gold and silver.” Just over one million souls live within its confines, the fourth largest state in size (145,392 square miles) behind only Alaska, Texas and California. I like that the state animal is the Grizzly Bear, the bird is the Western Meadowlark, the fish is the Blackspotted Cutthroat Trout, the tree is Ponderosa Pine and fantastically, the state fossil is Maiasaura, the Duck-Billed Dinosaur. Also, rather quirkily, certain areas or towns are known for other facts, characteristics or endeavors: as in caverns for the south-central Bighorns, artists for the Blackfoot Valley, prayfor Yellowstone Big Ranch etc. But what's the connection with bike rides for Whitefish, or a Week of Hope or Buzzing Honeyfor the Flathead Valley? Arlee too has Buzzing Honey, as well as Drum Circles. Bozeman is similarly Abuzz with Honey, but additionally Bozeman, Missoula and Great Falls are famous for Roller Derby. I don't get the Neon Signs, though, for what has that electricity got to do with hillbilly Sheldon, Chinook, Butte, Big Timber, Miles City or Great Falls? Plus, a number of places promote Bouldering where one apparently scrambles atop rocks (either inside or outside) as a form of exercise, recreation or as some research for stone spirituality. Hmm...call me dull, but I don't really want to buzz or hum or drum, as I am adverse to most types of formal spirituality. Anyway, if you are into any of this type of information you can learn more at www.distinctlymontana.com/whywelivehere.

Bibler Gardens

Our first stop in Montana was in Kalispell, a town of 24,000 people in the northwest corner of the state. Bibler Gardens was our destination, a private arboretum built on a hillside above the town, and the late “Sam” Bibler left it well-endowed and thriving since his death in 2002. The garden is open to the public from time to time, but not in June, so I was especially honored that Director Tyler Hawk and Curator Jeanie Teausant allowed us in and showed us around. Old Bibler made his fortune with gas and oil and he loved gardening and the outdoors. Plants and lots of money make a perfect combination, and I'm sorry that I could never have met him.

Acer palmatum 'Ukigumo'

Jeanie, Tyler and I chatted about plants as we walked around, about what grows well in Kalispell and what struggles. They had four Acer palmatum cultivars which have survived because they are planted next to a building and given extra winter protection, while all others planted elsewhere have since perished. However, sometimes a harsh environment leads to more brilliance in foliage color, and I was amazed that Acer palmatum 'Ukigumo' was more white than I have ever seen. One of the hybrids of Acer palmatum x Acer pseudosieboldianum ('Northern Glow' maybe?) was thriving, however, and indeed two different cultivars of the cross were available at a Kalispell garden center (Hoopers).

Tyler mentioned that winter temperatures at Bibler had not (negatively) exceeded -10 F in quite a few years, whereas Jeanie lives 20 miles away where it has. But it's not so much how cold it gets– for most palmatum cultivars are listed as hardy to -20 F – but rather how it gets cold. Kalispell's temperature fluctuations can be the death knell for many ornamentals and the Rocky Mountain states are infamous as a gardener's nightmare.

Abies koreana 'Ice Breaker'

Picea abies 'Pendula'

One design scheme that caught my attention was a backdrop of about five Picea abies 'Pendula', the “Weeping Norway spruce,” which diligently attended to more dwarf conifers in the foreground. Another time I walked past an Abies koreana cultivar, but no label identified it. It was an irregular upright with very short recurved needles. They had an A.k. 'Silberlocke' displayed in the garden, but this little specimen was something else, a cultivar I couldn't identify. I was shocked when Jeanie eventually referred to it as 'Kohout's Ice Breaker', for the needles were only ¼ the size of mine in Oregon. It didn't glitter as spectacularly as those grown at the Flora Wonder Arboretum, but still theirs looked completely healthy. As you can see in the photo the Bibler tree had produced cones, and I reflected that I had never seen cones before on any of the Abies koreana witch's broom cultivars, and I'll certainly plead with them to receive some seed this fall.

Hooper's Garden Center

Conrad Mansion

We bade farewell to the kind folks at Bibler Gardens, and after a quick stop at Hooper's Garden Center (remember: “business trip”) I toured the grounds at Kalispell's Conrad Estate, where apparently some of my plants were waiting to be planted this fall thanks to the Bibler connection. We couldn't enter the mansion as it was past closing time, but I was able to walk around the landscape because it is now city property. Alicia Conrad Campbell donated the estate to Kalispell in 1974, and though that was a kind gesture, she was probably relieved that someone else was then responsible to tend to the bushes and mow the lawn. In fact, the property had gone into disrepair and it was the good Sam B. who helped to recue it, becoming the first president of the Board of Directors. Alicia and her husband moved into a trailer on a corner of the property, and after much financial hardship the city accepted her gift...with the condition that no taxpayer money be used to support it.

Bitterroot Salish

Kalispell is a spread-out city, as if land is easy to come by and no one needs to feel crowded. I reflected that if the same-size area was in India there would be a few million people atop of each other. The name Kalispell is a Bitterroot Salish(Native American) word meaning “flat land above the lake.” The lake in question – the Flathead Lake – is huge, and it is the largest natural freshwater lake in the western USA. K. is only 31 miles from Glacier National Park which we hoped to explore the following day, but as it was cold and raining I had my doubts if the roads would be open. In hindsight I felt pretty dumb because on the 19^th of June in any year the park is probably still piled with snow.

Helena Capitol Building

We abandoned all Glacier plans and instead headed southeast to the capital city of Helena. Besides picking up my daughter I felt compelled to see the capitol building which would be fairly easy to find in relatively small Helena (population 32,315). One denizen pointed east and said, “I think it's over that way.” He was right and I spotted it from a few blocks away...glowering upon an incline, smudged under a layer of depressing soot. One can imagine a multitude of dirty deals going down within its walls, but I had no interest to enter. Helena was inadvertently founded by four men from Georgia. They had been all over western Montana looking for gold with no success, but on July 14, 1864 they decided to take one last chance in mining the nearby creek. They lucked out, found gold and named the stream, appropriately, Last Chance Gulch. When word got out Helena became a boomtown and soon housed over 3,000 souls. The “Gulch” name didn't stick and the young town was renamed “Crabtown” after one of the four Georgians. No one really liked that name either, and Pumpkinville and Squashtown were also used. Since many of the miners were from Minnesota they preferred to name it after Minnesota's Saint Helena, and the shortened version remains in use today. My daughter concedes that Montana is a beautiful state and that Helena is attractive enough, but she reports that there's absolutely nothing to do and she would become a drug addict if she was forced to live there. She worked with her friend in a crepe shop making and serving the cheap, sugary confectionery, and her take-home pay for three full days was $137, with quite a few other dollars going back into the state's economy.

The Gallatin River

We didn't stay even an hour in Helena, instead zooming at a fast speed southwest to Big Sky, a tourist boom town, poised an hour away from the western entrance into Yellowstone National Park. The Big Sky developers boast that the new town is an R-Destination: “come Recreate, Relax, Rejuvenate and Return home Refreshed.” A van loaded with noisy brats arrived as we were checking into our hotel and they overran the lobby with no pretense of sobriety or social distancing. After driving so much I was anxious to leave the hotel and an easy hike to Ousel Falls was just a mile away. Haruko and I took our time on the trail while our daughters chose the hotel's heated outdoor sauna and pool. My youngest (14) reported later that a 45-year-old pervert was in the pool with his wife, yet he kept staring at her sister. I said that I would too, but that I'm more subtle and careful to not get caught. That disgusted my daughter so I changed the topic back to our hike. The southern Montana forest was lush and beautiful and the snow was completely gone. Ousel Falls is named for the Ousel bird (Cinclus mexicanus), commonly known as the American Dipper, and the river forming the falls is the South Fork of the West Fork of the Gallatin River. The Gallatin River, along with the Jefferson and the Madison, converge near Three Forks, Montana to form the Missouri. The Gallatin was named by Meriwether Lewis for Albert Gallatin, U.S. Treasure Secretary from 1801-1814, and parts of the movie A River Runs Through It were filmed on the Gallatin. These days I don't observe the fly-fishing religion although I used to fish as a kid. When my daughter asked me about my fishing history I replied that I used to fish for beautiful women...until I caught my wife. “Ha to that,” said my 17-year-old, “now all you fish for is compliments.”

I wanted to leave early the next morning for Yellowstone but nothing is more problematic than waking two teenage girls who stay up too late with their telephones and distant boyfriends. They were crabby at the get-go but soon enough fell into peaceful slumber. They were still sleeping in the car while Haruko and I were waiting with half of America for Old Faithful to erupt. H. called them to hurry up or they would miss it and they finally arrived with just seconds to spare, but Miss 17 declared it a “non-event” anyway. Later I had them trapped in the car and I felt it incumbent to explain a little thermal geology, but they groaned as if I was the family dentist. The English word geyseris derived from the Icelandic Geysir, for one specific hot spring, and it means “The gusher” from Old Norse geysa“to gush,” and that from the PIE root gheu“to pour.” Even Haruko grew weary of my lecture so I became a silent old man, alone with his thoughts. At one point a half dozen cars were parked randomly along the road and everyone was looking down into a meadow. I detected a solo large gray canine, and a mangy coyote it was not, so it must have been a wolf, which were recently reintroduced into Yellowstone; my first wolf encounter ever. With no good place to park I slowly drove off. But...a wolf, how about that!

Old Faithful

While we waited at Old Faithful for the erection...err, the eruption, I imagined that every married couple snickered about the reliability of Mr. Geyser. Haruko wandered off and chatted up a middle-aged park ranger who forlornly mentioned that – in Haruko's interpretation – in five years the entire Park would explode and that “nothing here today would then remain, it would all be gone.” H. was appalled at the horrific prognosis, “Honey, the park man said that we will melt into oblivion in just five more years. Honeeeey... the world is gunna end in just five years! – and I just barely got to know you.” “Ok, dear, he really didn't say that we're all goners in five years, but that the cataclysm could occur in the next five minutes, or in five years, or in the next five thousand years...from now. We just don't know, and he certainly doesn't either, so don't worry about it.” Nevertheless Haruko fretted about her children, the cat and dog, and that she might never become a grandmother. I don't know, but I'm not even certain that our world will be around in five years anyway.

National Parks are incredible places and each one has its own unique identity. Yellowstone is a veritable Disneyland of flora, fauna and geology, plus you get pristine rivers and a huge sky. The park had lots of tourists but was fortunately devoid of Chinese and Europeans during our visit. I guess that was one small Covid 19 blessing, but sadly the magnificent lodge at the Old Faithful village was locked up. I felt great the minute I entered the park because the pleasant attendant greeted me with a smile and waved me on when she saw my senior pass. After all I have contributed millions of tax dollars and I feel that I certainly deserve a red carpet as well as free admission.

We spent only one day at Yellowstone and left in the evening of a most memorable day. The final encounter was a solo bison standing next to the road, and was it possible that he winked goodbye at me?

Old Buchholz with Miss 17

We are currently in the process of compiling our 2020-2021 specimen sales list. I go up and down each row and in and out of all greenhouses, examining every plant and deciding what goes on the menu and at what price. It's my 40^th year of doing so, and the goal is to charge a reasonable price, one that will keep the customers coming back year after year, but also where we have made a modest profit in the end.

No one else here at Buchholz Nursery wants my job, but I would love to find someone who does. The task takes hundreds of hours because it is accompanied by a detailed work list for the crew: pot up, prune, stake etc., but sadly a number of instances where it's best to throw the plant away. The practice of horticulture is an unusual dance with nature, and most of the time I feel as if I'm being consumed with the relationship. Except that I can't think of anything better to do.

"Hellllp - Get me out of here!"

Our customers have been clamoring this past month for our new specimen plant availability. I have done my part and the task to enter the data into our system is in Seth's hands. I didn't want to tamper with his mental energy by asking for too much, as in also preparing a blog, because I've been snarled at before: "Do you want me to do your damn blog, or do you want me to make money?!" Well Seth, I was actually hoping you could do both, but no, I realize that making the cash is the greater priority. So what follows is a rerun from a couple of years ago...

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Wandering Through Nomenclature

Pinus contorta var. contorta

Regular Flora Wonder Blog readers know that at the beginning of my career I worked for an enormous wholesale nursery – now bankrupt – that produced millions of boring trees and shrubs. In my six years there I went from being the new grunt to the manager of a farm that employed 110 men. To be honest I was appointed “manager” by default. It wasn't that I was so great, but rather that there was nobody else even half capable. But in my tenure there I never once used a botanic name for the plants we grew, and even the owner didn't know the botanic name of any of his plants. It didn't matter (to him), and he made scads of money anyway and died a multi-millionaire with a Rolls Royce in his garage. Seriously. It wasn't until I began my own nursery that I found scientific nomenclature to be not only important, but also interesting. For example the conifers were mainly all Pinus at one point, then eventually they were separated into Pinus, Abies, Picea, Pseudotsuga etc. I became fascinated with this naming of names*, and now botanical history has become a hobby that I will pursue until the day I die.

*The Naming of Names by British author Anna Pavord is an exciting adventure into botanical history, and though ten years my senior, she is probably the first person I would choose to spend an evening with if I could.

Picea polita

Abies procera

Gustav Karl Wilhelm Hermann Karsten

One of my first nomenclatural lessons was that Picea was the generic name for “spruce” and Abies was for the “true” firs. To the general public they surely appear to be about the same – upright, evergreen trees that produce cones that are often full of sticky pitch. But of course the cones are erect on the branches of the firs, while the Picea cones are erect at first but then drop downward as they mature (I'm tempted, but wont make a joke here). And anybody who works with Picea and Abies knows that the former has prickly needles while the latter are more soft (again, no jokes). But at first I was confused. Let's see: Picea is spruce and Abies is fir...then what the hell is Picea abies? What a confusing name for the common “Norway spruce!” We can blame Linnaeus/Karsten for the problematic name. You all know about Linnaeus, but I'll tell you a little about Karsten – Gustav Karl Wilhelm Hermann Karsten (1817-1908), but why so many names? He was a German botanist and geologist who followed my hero, Alexander von Humboldt, and traveled in Venezuela, Ecuador and Colombia from 1844 to 1856, and later served as professor of plant physiology at the University of Vienna. As follower of Linnaeus he was the binomial author of many botanic species.

Acer pensylvanicum

Scilla peruviana

Last week's Flora Wonder Blog, The Allure of Lore, suggested that the more you know about the scientific name of a plant, the more you can appreciate it, and that no diminishment to its “magic” need occur. After all, the haughty botanists who bestowed most of the generic and specific names (after the Linnaeus binomial system) were allowed the award of “first name sticks” no matter how dumb or wrong it might seem to us today. Thus we have Acer pensylvanicum spelled rong – but too late – and Scilla peruviana that doesn't come from Peru.

Abies lasiocarpa

I'll admit that the botanic names are sometimes rather petty, or at least to me. We learned last week that Abies lasiocarpa was named for its hairy cone scales. If I looked at the fir for every day of my life I would never distinguish it for its hairy scales. On the other hand, the next time I see a cone I will certainly check the scales, and hopefully I will be with someone so I can boast of my botanic knowledge.

Abies balsamea var. phanerolepis rootstock

For the past few years we have been keeping track of the species of rootstock used as understock for our Abies grafts. Prior to that I could only tell you what we used for the current season, not what the rootstock might have been ten years ago. The choices could have been A. koreana, A. firma, A. balsamea or A. balsamea var. phanerolepis. To a customer in the humid southeast USA, he would be happy to know that the A. firma was the rootstock, and for someone in Oregon he probably wouldn't care. This past winter the majority of our grafts was on A. balsamea var. phanerolepis, commonly known as “Canaan fir.” It is native to isolated pockets in the mountains of Virginia and West Virginia, and the common name comes from one location in the Canaan Valley northeast of Elkins, West Virginia. For you heathens in the readership, Canaan was a Semitic-speaking region in the ancient Near East that corresponds to modern-day Israel, Palestine and Jordan. Phanerolepis is derived from Greek phaner or phanero for “visible” or “manifest,” and lepis meaning “scale.” Therefore you have a fir with conspicuous bracts unlike the hairy cones of A. lasiocarpa mentioned previously.

Corydalis flexuosa 'Blue Panda'

Agonis flexuosa

Reuben Hatch

Let's take a look at some other plant names and see what we can learn. Last week we sold out of our crop of Corydalis flexuosa 'Blue Panda'. It was collected in China and named by my “grandfather” Reuben Hatch about 30 years ago. Later it was patented by Terra Nova Nursery of Oregon but it should not have been because 1) it was collected in the wild and 2) it had been sold under the 'Blue Panda' name for about five years prior to the patent. The specific name of flexuosa is a guess and I'm not sure if that was ever proven for certain. Flexuosa does not mean “flexible” in the botanic sense, rather it means “full of bends” in Latin. A few other flexuosa species include Agonis flexuosa (a tree species), Grevillea flexuosa (a shrub species), Deschampsia flexuosa (a bunch grass species), Scutellastra flexuosa (a sea snail) and others. I don't know what is so “bendful” with the Corydalis – the foliage or flower?

Corydalis scouleri

Fumaria officinalis (photo by Luis Nunes Alberto)

John Scouler

The origin of the word Corydalis is from Greek korudallis which is a variant of korudos for “crested lark” referring to the appearance of the flowers. The flowers are similar to an annual weed, Fumaria, whose name is from Latin fumus terrae, meaning “smoke of the earth.” Fumaria is a genus of about 60 species and it grows all over the world. Corydalis is native to Asia, Europe and North America and we even have a species in Oregon, C. scouleri, which honors Scottish naturalist John Scouler (1804-1871). Scouler was smarter than he looked, and after accompanying David Douglas on the Columbia River he returned to Europe and was appointed professor of mineralogy, geology, zoology, and botany to the Royal Dublin Society. I have traveled and botanized on the Columbia also, but I have never been appointed to any “professorship” ever.

Corylopsis glaucophylla

Corylopsis spicata 'Golden Spring'

The entry following Corydalis on the Buchholz Master Plant List is Corylopsis, and the genus is commonly known as the “winter hazel.” That's obvious because the generic name comes from corylus for “hazel” and the Latin suffix opsis meaning “resembling.” Generally speaking I don't like naming plants for other plants that they resemble, and I think that the botanical namers should have been more original. Besides, Corylopsis is in the Hamamelaceae family and Corylus is in the Betulaceae family. Corylopsis spicata (Latin for “spiked”) is a species with the attractive cultivar 'Golden Spring' and it is the only winter hazel we currently propagate. I have a number of other species in the collection but they didn't sell very well. The nomenclature is murky for Corylopsis anyway, or at least it was for me. One species had beautiful foliage and was called glaucophylla by the now defunct Heronswood Nursery, but I've never seen it listed before or after I acquired my plant 15 years ago. Could it have been that glaucophylla was a cultivar name? If so it is an illegitimate name.

Crocus sieberi 'Firefly'

We have never sold Crocus at Buchholz Nursery, however the genus is no stranger to the Flora Wonder Arboretum. It is a member of the iris family which develops from corms and I am delighted to know that the plural of Crocus is Croci, pronounced as krō-kē. There are about 75 species native to the Alps, southern Europe and the Mediterranean and they perform spectacularly in Oregon...well, if you can keep the damn squirrels away from them. Crocus is the saffron plant and the name is from Greek krokos which is of Semitic origin, from the Akkadian* kurkanu for saffron. In particular I like Crocus sieberi, a late-winter bloomer also known as the “snow crocus.” The species is named for Franz Sieber (1789-1844), a botanist and collector from Prague who traveled to the Middle East, South Africa and Australia. In his later life Sieber went loony and wound up in the Prague insane asylum where he spent his final fourteen years, but don't blame the Croci for his dementia.

The Akkadian Empire (from the Ancient History Encyclopedia)

Bronze Head of an Akkadian Ruler

*The Akkadian Empire was the first or one of the first “empires” in history. The Semitic-speaking people were centered in the city of Akkad and they ruled across Mesopotamia, the Levant and Anatolia (modern-day Turkey). Sargon of Akkad (2296-2240 BCE) was the most famous of the bad-ass rulers, except that under his command women were actually respected and got to play important roles in religious matters. As with today's constant turmoil, the cities within the empire squabbled – I think it's a genetic thing – and the empire collapsed, and was then followed by the Babylonian Civilization.

Aesculus hippocastanum 'Wisselink' at Sebright Gardens

What's the skinny on the variegated “Horse chestnut,” Aesculus hippocastanum 'Wisselink'? I first saw the cultivar at the Bellevue Botanic Garden near Seattle, then again at Sebright Gardens, Oregon, where a magnificent specimen was displayed. The foliage on the cultivar was nearly white (in spring) with enough green in the leaf veins to keep the selection from burning horribly in summer. Thomas Johnson of Sebright told me that his tree came from Lucile at Whitman Farms, Oregon. I begged one from Lucile and the other day we picked up our tree, but it was labeled A. h. 'Variegata'. So...I'm wondering if I have the real 'W.'?

Aesculus hippocastanum

Irina Boboshko

Vladimir Horowitz

I'm not a chestnut guy – I've always figured that I didn't have room for the various species in the collection, but Sebright's wonderful specimen allowed me to change my mind. Aesculus hippocastanum is the “Horse chestnut,” a species native to the “wild border region between Greece and Albania,” according to Hillier in the Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2014). Wow! – I was there when I was single in my 20's, but I didn't find the region so “wild,” except that I encountered a preponderance of hitch-hiking lesbians...to my dismay. The chestnut is cultivated for its shade-providing properties and for its white, yellow or red flowers. Hillier says that it is “Possibly the most beautiful of large, flowering trees in the British Isles,” but he doesn't mention the cultivars 'Variegata' or 'Wisselink'. The common name of “Horse chestnut” is because it was thought that horses ate the seeds to clear chest problems and to help with breathing. Nonsense to that because the fruit and seeds are actually poisonous to horses. Those so afflicted will be happy to know that A. hippocastanum has an anti-inflammatory property, and so it is effective in the treatment of hemorrhoids, a form of varicose veins. If only Napoleon could have known. Oh, lest I forget the subject of this blog, the name Aesculus is Latin for a variety of oak tree, although chestnuts and oaks are not in the same botanical family. Besides curing butt-itch, the tree is often found in Bavarian beer gardens, because in olden times, before refrigeration, brewers would dig cellars for lagering, and the chestnut's spreading, dense canopy would protect the cellars from summer heat and the shallow root-system would not grow into the caverns. Also, Ukranians love the species, and its flower is the symbol of the city of Kiev, the birthplace of pianist Vladimir Horowitz and home to the beautiful, former Buchholz Nursery intern, Irina Boboshko, one of our best ever.

Cotoneaster frigidus

The genus Cotoneaster is a useful small tree or shrub in the rose family, and the gardener (and his birds) is/are rewarded with glossy yellow-to-orange-to-red fruits in autumn and early winter. Oddly, the generic name is from Latin cotoneum for “quince” and aster which denotes “incomplete resemblance,” which implies that it is a plant that resembles a quince, but not quite. “Quince,” or Chaenomeles is a genus of shrubs also in the rose (Rosaceae) family. The generic name Chaenomeles is from New Latin chaemo, and that from Greek chainein and Greek meles for “apple” or “fruit.” Apple is generically Malus – not as in “Malice for None,” and also nothing bad – but rather a genus in the Rosaceae family distinguished by fruit without grit cells. Malus is derived from Latin malum for “apple,” and that from Doric Greek malon. If you were paying attention in high school or freshman college, you would know that “Doric” or “Dorian” was an ancient Greek dialect, and not just a type of architecturally-vertical column. I am particularly enamored with Cotoneaster frigidus which is native to the Himalaya, and I guess it was named because of its origin to a cold place? Frigidus is Latin from frigere “to be cold,” similar to Latin frigus for “frost,” and that from Greek rhigos. Anyway C. frigidus is a “tree” Cotoneaster, so give it plenty of room in the garden.

Caesalpinia gilliesii

If you want to attract hummingbirds you can do no better than grow a specimen of Caesalpinia gilliesii, the “bird of paradise” with yellow flowers and red filaments. This bush/tree is native to Argentina and Uruguay and some list it as hardy to USDA zone 6. Plant Delights Nursery reports that one survives at the Denver Botanic Garden, but PD rates it as zone 7a. Not only are the flowers very showy, but Caesalpinia is friendly to other plants. The genus has a symbiotic relationship with some soil bacteria, and nodules develop on the roots which provide nitrogen for other plants growing nearby. Caesalpinia was named for the Italian botanist Andrea Cesalpino (1519-1603), and it was bestowed by the Franciscan monk Charles Plumier. Linnaeus retained the name in his system and praised his predecessor with the following: Quisquis hic exstiterit primos concedat honores Casalpine Tibi primaque certa dabit.* Linnaeus honors the Scottish naval surgeon and botanist John Gillies (1792-1834) with the specific name. He was a wimp however, and suffered from poor health and died at age 42 in Edinburgh. While in South America he endured wars and civil unrest along with his chronic ill health, but he was able to send numerous plants to Hooker at the RBG Kew.

*Basically, Cesalpino was the best.

Botanical nomenclature and its history is fascinating, and if I haven't convinced you of that it's the fault of my presentation rather than the subject matter itself. Were we “Wandering Through Nomenclature,” or “Rambling Through Nomenclature?” – you can decide. The word nomenclature is derived from Latin nomen for “name” and calare meaning “to call.” Botanical nomenclature is really a means of communication, a way of mapping our natural world in a shared language. With this tool I can speak to Icelanders, South Americans and Asians about our earthian floral experience, and we can all learn from each other. My life has been a plebeian grind, and growing plants has not been an easy or secure way to feed my family, but along the way I have found happiness and satisfaction, and thank you Flora for your bountiful gifts.

The month of July was named in honor of Julius Caesar (upon his death). The year's 7^thmonth finally gets serious with heat and the nursery crew grows weary with the physical work and the constant need to dodge the irrigation department. Heat, exertion and the state mandated wearing of masks is not a healthy combination, yet the employees press on...much to my gratitude. Thankfully no one has fallen ill to the wicked C. virus as we constantly fuss and sanitize, well beyond the legal requirements.

Lilium leichtlinii var. maximowiczii

July may be the dog-daysmonth, yet there are plenty of visual attractions that satisfy our senses. We have a collection of about 50 species and/or cultivars of Lilium. Currently in vibrant flower is L. leichtlinii var. maximowiczii and our clone is DJH 228(collected by Dan Hinkley). The var. maxis the orange (tiger lily) variant of Honshu, Japan's normally yellow-colored species and the maxrange extends into Korea and Manchuria as well. The specific epithet honors Max Leichtlin (1831-1910), a German horticulturist who founded a botanic garden in Baden Baden which specialized in bulbous plants.

Acer maximowiczianum

Betula maximowicziana

Rhododendron schlippenbachii

Karl Maximovich

The variety L. l. maximowicziihonors Karl Johann Maximovich – no stranger to the Flora Wonder Blog – the Baltic-German-Russian botanist who discovered interesting new species and named many others from the Far East. Named in his honorinclude Acer maximowiczianum, Betula maximowicziana, Populus maximowiczii and more; but more impressively, plants named by himinclude Acer mono, Acer miyabei, Berberis thunbergii, Rhododendron schlippenbachii...to name just a few of the most notable. Herr Max was esteemed for his botanical acumen, while I was most impressed that his square head supported the most prodigious set of white sideburns in all of horticulture. Make no mistake, Max was highly connected in the world of science and he graduated in biology from the University of Tartu, Estonia in 1850 and was a pupil of Alexander von Bunge of Pinus bungeana fame. From 1859 to 1864 he visited China, Korea and Japan and became well-versed in the flora of Japan, following in the footsteps of Carl Peter Thunberg and Philipp Franz von Siebold. Max's assistant in Japan was Sukawa Chonosuke whose name was commemorated with the flower Trillium tschonoskii, and though equally difficult to pronounce, with Acer tschonoskii.

Lilium martagon 'Claude Shride'

A few weeks ago we hauled our large pot of Lilium martagon 'Claude Shride' from a far greenhouse to our office area so all could enjoy its blossoms. The martagonspecies is the “Turk's cap lily” and Shride's form blooms profusedly with deep red-to-mahogany flowers which are spotted with bright orange. The martagonspecies is native from Portugal to the mountain meadows of Switzerland and all the way to Mongolia. I usually despair when a cultivar is given the name of the discoverer or breeder, especially so with the given name of Clod...err, Claude, but Mr. Shride (1893-1976) seemed like a good guy, a lily breeder form Vashon Island, Washington who became President of the Lily Breeder's Association, and I'm sure he was quite proud of his creation.

Lilium species at Sebright Gardens

The common name of lilyis from Old English lilie, from Latin lilia, and the latter name of liliais plural of lilium. It is probably derived from Greek leirion, and perhaps that from an eastern Mediterranean word hleli. Across Europe the lily* name is beautifully rendered as Leleiin Dutch, Lisin French, Lirioin Spanish, Giglioin Italian and – my favorite – Liliyain Russian. Last week I was at Sebright Gardens, and owner Thomas Johnson's landscape was full of flamboyance as well as subtle beauty with dozens of Lilium hybrids. The photo above was one of my favorites but I couldn't find the label.

*The “lily” word was used as early as the 1500s for “white, pure and lovely,” but the greatest oxymoron of all is that my vile, welfare trailer-neighbor is surnamed “Lilywhite.” The old hag has hated me from the beginning since I wouldn't allow her mangy horses to graze in my newly planted Display Garden. “Nothing will grow there anyway,” she announced. See photo at the blog's beginning to see my response.

Hydrangea aspera 'Macrophylla'

A large Hydrangea aspera 'Macrophylla' has been growing near the office for over 30 years and it is in full flower at this time. It is a magnificent shrub, except that now it should be viewed from a distance as all of the blossoms are at the top. The specific epithet aspera* means “rough” or “coarse” but I find the leaves to be soft and velvety. Young shoots and the leaf petioles can be bristly however. The deciduous shrub, introduced from China by E.H. Wilson, makes a notable winter presence due to tan-to-cinnamon colored exfoliating bark. One wonders why it never received the prestigious Award of Garden Merit, or at least not to my knowledge. We used to propagate 'Macrophylla' but sales were always weak – maybe it required a more catchy cultivar name.

*I love the state motto of Kansas – ad astra aspera – which is Latin for “to the stars through hardship (or rough times).”

Fuchsia magellanica 'Pumila'

Magellan

Charles Plumier

I can't think of a plant with more cuteness per square inch than Fuchsia magellanica 'Pumila'. The Chilean/Argentinean dwarf dies back completely in winter and you're certain it's gone for good, but every spring it reappears and blooms lustfully in July and August. The magellanica species honors Ferdinand Magellan of course, and it occurs on Tierra del Fuego at the southern tip of South America. The genus Fuchsia was named in 1703 by French botanist Charles Plumier and honors German Botanist Leonhard Fuchs (1501-1566), and the German's surname literally means “fox.” Magellan himself didn't find time for flowers when passing through the Straights – he was preoccupied with wealth and survival instead – and it was Plumier who discovered Fuchsia (triphylla) on the Caribbean island of Hispaniola (Haiti and Dominican Republic) in about 1696.

Bletilla x yokohama 'Kate'

Bletilla striata 'Murasaki shikibu'

A frothy swathis a description I have never uttered nor written in my life, yet it's what comes to mind when I look out of the kitchen window at a large group of Bletilla xyokohama 'Kate'. She is a hybrid between B. striata 'Big Bob'xB. formosana, and thank you Big Bob to help beget the delightful Kate. The blossoms dance in the evening breeze about 3' above the ground on thin stems, and it's a performance that would fit right in with the Nutcracker ballet. 'Kate' isn't the only ballerina we grow, in fact we have amassed a nice collection that includes 'Pink Snow', 'Kuchi beni' (red lips), 'Murasaki shikibu', 'Sweet Lips', 'Ricky' and others. Most are hardy to USDA zone 5-6 and are a cinch to grow, even in full Oregon sun. The generic name honors Louis Blet, a botanist and apothecary at the Spanish court in the 1700s, while the illais the diminutive suffix. Actually Dr. Blet was honored for the related orchid species now known as Bletia which is native to North, Central and South America, and the West Indies, while Bletilla is from China and other east Asian countries. I feel that Bletilla hybrids and cultivars are at the dawn of a new era, just as Japanese maples used to be, that one day there will be specialty nurseries and collectors who grow hundreds of cultivars. And why not? – they are easy and beautiful.

Aquilegia longiflora

Aquilegia longiflora (longissima) is aptly named and is commonly known as the “Long-Spur Columbine.” Old-timers used to call the genus “Granny's Bonnet” but women, neither young nor old, wear bonnets anymore. The genus name is derived from the Latin word aquila, for “eagle,” as the flower petals are said to resemble an eagle's claw. The common name of columbineis also from Latin, columbina, which is from columbafor “dove,” as the flower resembles a group of five doves. I don't know, I think I would need someone to point out the doves for me. One old pot of A. longiflora is all that remains at Buchholz Nursery, and it happily thrives in a greenhouse that receives overhead watering every day of the summer, yet it is native to arid northern Mexico, west Texas and southern Arizona. I've never seen it in the wild – it is considered rare – but I know two Oregon gardeners (who don't know each other) and both complain that, though interesting in flower, the plant is a flopper.

Corylopsis wilmottiae 'Spring Purple'

Ellen Willmott

It's not only flowers that command attention in the hot summer, but plant foliage can also be spectacular. The blossoms of our Corylopsis pooped out months ago but the foliage gives you a half year of enjoyment. The genus has undergone considerable nomenclatural revision since I began my career, and honestly I don't know one species from another – I guess I'm afraid to pry into them. What I first collected as C. willmottiae is now considered C. sinensis Willmottiae Group, and with the suffix iaeyou know that it honors a woman. The dame in question is Ellen Ann Willmott (1858-1934), an English horticulturist and an influential member of the Royal Horticultural Society. In 1897 she was a recipient of the first Victoria Medal of Honour (VMH). Miss Willmott never married yet she employed over 100 gardeners, all male, and was once quoted as saying “women would be a disaster in the border.” Sadly she spent her way into poverty and was arrested for shoplifting in 1928. I think I could have gotten along with her, even though she carried a revolver in her handbag, but she had a demanding reputation and was quick to can any gardener who allowed a weed to grow among her flowers. I think of Miss (Ms. today) Willmott every time I walk past my specimen of 'Spring Purple', a Hillier introduction. The new leaves are especially purplish in spring, but even now shoots continue to grow and the new leaves are still somewhat purple, albeit with a little more brown in the coloration.

Corylopsis spicata 'Golden Spring'

Corylopsis spicata 'Golden Spring' is fantastic in foliage from spring through summer, but you must carefully site it to retain the pleasing gold color while not damning it to scorch in full sun. Let's just say my plants are perfectly sited in a white-poly greenhouse (BAG9) and we can achieve beautiful shoots up to 4' long, with lush leaves twice the size as those grown out in the garden. 'Golden Spring' was discovered by Seiju Yamaguchi from Gifu, Japan, but it is also known as 'Ogon' or 'Aurea' which I suppose is a ploy around its patent (is that still valid?).

Acer palmatum 'Summer Gold'

I grow a fair number of Acer palmatum 'Summer Gold', an Italian selection from Ghirardelli Nursery (also famous for Acer palmatum 'Fireglow' and other worthy introductions). Earlier G. had also introduced the golden A. x'Jordan', reputedly a palmatum/shirasawanum hybrid, but as 'Jordan' tends to burn 'Summer Gold' effectively put that hybrid out of business. The foliage of 'Summer Gold' is not boringly yellow – it is actually chartreuse in early spring with a thin red border, then becomes more golden in summer. I grow my crops in the greenhouse for faster growth – but be diligent to prune! A few years ago I purposely left a couple of wooden-boxed specimens outside in full sun to see how they would do. They fared well and did not burn, though I'll admit that they looked “tired” by mid August. Then they redeemed themselves with brilliant orange-red foliage in autumn. When I mentioned the pruning of 'Summer Gold', I didn't want to imply that only a professional horticulturist is able to grow it; actually the opposite, that any idiot can stand aside and it will produce a full, symmetrical canopy on its own.

Acer palmatum 'Anne Irene'

Similar to 'Summer Gold', but perhaps a little more feminine in appearance is Acer palmatum 'Anne Irene'. 'AI' originated as a sport from 'Summer Gold' so it is also golden, but is a little more dwarf than its parent. It is a worthy introduction – by Dick van der Maat of Boskoop, Holland – and I'll copy an apt description from the Mrmaple website: “Anne Irene leafs out with bright golden yellow leaves that can be outlined in a frilly red border. As the leaf matures, the red border fades but the leaf turns more and more yellow. The fall color is a bright fiery red to deep maroon.” 'AI' is an absolutely sweetheart and I've never yet seen it revert back to its parent's appearance.

Ginkgo biloba 'Snow Cloud'

Every year I place a number of prominent labels on certain plants that read: SORRY, NOT FOR SALE. First of all I already know that every customer who visits will want to buy them, but they are usually new selections that I want to build up on my stock before I will sell. One such is Ginkgo biloba 'Snow Cloud', a dwarf with cream-white variegated leaves. The color changes throughout the season, and now at the end of July, about 1/3 of the leaf end is colored like a puffy summer cloud which contrasts pleasantly with the otherwise green. On younger growth the entire leaf can be streaked with the variegation. For me, 'Snow Cloud' is like a first date where I like what I see but I don't really know much about her, or even if “she” is indeed female. I've never trialed it out in the garden, but I should plant one out this fall, and I'll site it with PM shade. Variegated ginkgoes are notorious for reverting – will 'Snow Cloud' too?

Ginkgo biloba 'Mariken'

Speaking of variegated ginkgoes I walked past a group of 'Mariken'– the dwarf which was discovered as a witch's broom by P. Vergeldt in Holland – and I noticed a patch of bicolored leaves at the base of one. It is fun to see but I've never had success to keep the colored portion stable. The crop is about 8 years old and they were recently shifted up to a larger pot size, so one individual employee came into intimate contact with it, and perhaps another hauled it into the greenhouse. Did anyone notice the variegation? I don't have the answer about who sees what around here, I really don't. Before I wrote about 'Snow Cloud' I walked down to GH23 to take a closer look at my few plants and I discovered an old nail on the road, which obviously I picked up. “Nail bad, cost money!” But sadly I'm the only person who notices the nails.

"I float too high to see nails"

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P.S. If I ever do propagate the variegated 'Mariken' I think I'll call it 'Mariken Woman'.

Young Buchholz in the 1980s

Not just engaged in horticulture, but actually inventing it.That thought applies to certain innovative, intelligent and experienced plants(people), and I consider myself fortunate to have known many. All the better if they're somewhat humble and don't preach about how great they are, but I can even tolerate some amount of boasting if the idea, method or plant factoid has merit. Upon the summation of my career – no, not yet – I can imagine another nurseryman, a detractor, conclude that “Old Buchholz basically copied others and just put his own spin on it.” And I would agree with that sentiment: I haven't invented anything; I haven't honed horticulture to a higher level either. Sure, you can learn a few things from me, but remember I've already copied from someone before. Certainly, though, I have set a human record for how much one can worry and still remain alive.

So, where am I going with this blog? I guess nowhere. You can consider it an unnecessary blogette. Even though we're sizzling in the mid-90s I'll go out and cut maple scions this evening – that's what I feel like doing. Keep pushing the plants through the pipeline. The best part is that the bagsful of maple sticks are set on the ping-pong table in the garage, while I go inside and collapse in my chair with a well-deserved cold beer. Then later at night this old farmer's two daughters prepare the scions. They do a perfect job and keep the labels straight, and none of you can begin to keep up with them. Just think: every maple you buy from Buchholz Nursery these days has been blessed by the hands of a beautiful woman. Maybe that'swhy I am still in business.

Today's blog is abnormal, so I warn you to read no further if you're expecting my typical plant pratter. Let's do geography instead. I know, at least half of the readership has already heeded my warning and will not continue. You remaining all know what geographymeans – the study of places (including space) and the relationships between people and their environments – from the Greek geo for "earth" and graphia"to write." The word photography, for example, means "to write with light."

When about 7-10 years old I developed a fascination with the world's places, probably because my father worked two jobs and my mother didn't drive, so consequently we never went anywhere. Back then there was no internet and TV was in its infancy, so I wasn't exposed to nature or travel programs. But our family did receive the monthly National Geographic magazine and I devoured most of those articles. An added bonus was that I could ogle bare-breasted African women. Via the magazine I accompanied expeditions to the Andes and the Himalaya, to China and India, to London and New York City etc., and then in adulthood I eventually visited all of those places.

I wasn't the sharpest kid in school but I aced geography well above the other students. For example I could locate on a globe – I guess nobody has those balls anymore – every African country and its capital. The same with most of the world's countries. Later I lost track of a lot of it since the USSR split into a bunch of stans (meaning "land") and some of the African countries renamed themselves etc. Long ago I was in the international section of the Bangkok airport and I was puzzled by the readerboard which listed a flight to Mumbai. When I got home I investigated where the hell was Mumbai and discovered that Bombay had changed its name.

Cyrene

Eratosthenes

The first recorded use of the word geography was by the Greek scholar Eratosthenes (276-194 BC) and he is credited with the discipline. His map of the known world is fascinating, and actually kind of interesting that so much was both known andunknown. Era was a brilliant polymath: besides geography he was an astronomer, music theorist, poet and mathematician, and for the latter he developed a simple algorithm for finding prime numbers, now known as the "Sieve of Eratosthenes." Era was born in Cyrene, an important Greek, then later Roman city near present-day Shahhat, Libya. It was also headquarters of the Cyrenaics, a school of philosophy founded by Aristippus, a 4^thcentury BC disciple of Socrates. Cyrene's important export during its early history was the medicinal herb silphium, and it was in such demand that it was harvested to extinction. The "giant fennel" was used as a seasoning, as perfume and, oh boy, as an aphrodisiac, so who wouldn't want some of that? To help keep ardor in check it was also used as a contraceptive.

In ancient Greece Libyacould mean all of Africa,* or at least the Afro-lands west of the Nile. The modern nation acquired the name in 1934 when Italy held it as a colony, and it became formally independent in 1951. Libya was first mentioned in the Egyptian 12^th dynasty (1991-1786 BC), in the historical story Prophecy of Neferti.

*The Greek Herodotus (484-425 BC) wrote: "As for Libya, – [Africa] – we know it to be washed on all sides by the sea, except where it is attached to Asia.

Asia Minor

Herodotus

The name Asiais also attributed to Herodotus, from the Phoenician word asa which means "east" and the Akkadian word asuwhich for "to rise." So Asia means "the land of the sunrise," but first it only referred to the east bank of the Aegean Sea. In Latin an inhabitant of Asia Minor was an Asianus, but these days that could refer to the people of China, or at least to their Communist dictatorship. Romans used the term oriensfor the east because they had a Eurocentric view of geography, as if theywere placed in The Middle, and indeed the Mediterranean Sea means "middle earth," or "the body of water in the middle of the earth." Another meaning of orient is "a pearl of great luster" which would apply to my Japanese wife, and sometimes I tease her by calling her my "Little Ornamental." If she is slow to awaken in the morning I remind her that the day is almost finished in the Orient. She groans, and wonders why she married this old American who pops with jokes that only he thinks to be so funny.

Ok, back to China – how did that name originate? As is typical, nothing is certain. The name might come from Sanskrit literature where Cina could refer to the inhabitants around the origins of the Indus River, but I guess that would be an Indocentricconcept. Later the Latin word Sina would become the origin of Sinoor Sinae, which too has its origins in Sanskrit. In its official language China is known as Zhongguo for "central state," a horrible concept when in the wrong hands. More pleasantly it could be Zhonghuafor "central beauty" or Huaxia for "beautiful grandness" or Shenzhou for "divine state." More realistically, today, Han and Tang are common names for Chinese ethnicity, and now the People' Republic of China is Zhonghua Renmin Gongheguo...but I promise that you won't be tested on any of this. The Japanese use the term Chuka Jinmin kyowakoku, but I was afraid to ask my wife the literal meaning of that, for one must be careful to not push the wrong buttons. Anyway, I've been to China only once, I guess it was about 1987 – if you exclude Hong Kong a decade earlier – and in those pre-Tiananmen days I was impressed with that country's energy, its potential, but the world has definitely soured about its existence since then. The Chinese have long considered themselves to be at the middle of the earth, and in fact China's classroom maps present their country in the center, and the kids are taught that all lands surrounding China are fit for only barbarians.

Marco Polo

Pakistanis would disagree, as their country's name means "land of the pure" in Urdu and Persian. Once home to the prehistoric Indus Valley civilization, it was conquered by Aryans in about 1500 BC. Eventually the British ruled it as part of India, then it became a separate Muslim state in 1947, where it has been largely dysfunctional ever since. Today's Pakistan used to be called West Pakistan to distinguish it from East Pakistan, with the latter now existing as Bangladesh ("Land of the Bengals"). The Bengalname is for its people, said to be from Banga, the name of a founding chief, and Marco Polo mentioned Bangala in 1298. Some speculate that it came from the word Bonga meaning "Sun god." I've been at the borders of both Pakistan and Bangladesh but I never officially set foot in either country, and I'm sure that I never will. Way too hot!

Robert Gray

Closer to home, I find it amazing that no one knows for certain the name origin of my home state of Oregon. I have dozens of word-origin and place-origin books in my basement library – pre-internet you see – and the only ones I trust are the books that state the uncertainty. Some authors stridently declare their theory about the name, but another book can provide a completely different theory. We know that in 1500 Spanish sailors returning to Mexico from the Philippines were the first white people to see the Oregon coast, and in 1578 Sir Francis Drake maybe touched shore, looking for a passage between the Pacific and Atlantic Oceans. In 1792 Robert Gray sailed up the Big River which he named the Columbiaafter his ship's name. The Columbia River at one time was called the Ouraganwhich means "hurricane" in French, so perhaps during a winter's bluster the great river was called "the river of storms," hence Oregon. Another theory posits the Spanish origin of Orejon from the chronicle Relacion de la Alta y Baja California by Rodrigo Montezuma. In 1598 he made reference to the River. Another suggested that a plant in the oregano family which is found in Oregon led to the name. On and on...

Las Sergas de Espladian

Queen Calipha

Our neighboring state of California has more certainty about its name and it's a fantastic story, but I suspect that most of that state's denizens have no clue about it. When the Spanish invaded the New World they were aroused by a mythical island named Califawhich was inhabited by a black race of warrior women. The gals even had their left breast removed so they could better draw their bows. This fantasy was described in Las Sergas de Esplandian by Garcia Ordonez de Montalvo, written about 1510. When Spanish conquistadors first discovered the Baja California peninsula they believed it to be a large island, east of the Indies, ruled by a Queen Calipha. The author conjured the name from Arabic Khalifa(leader), or else he was influenced by the term Califerne in an 11^thcentury French epic The Song of Roland.

Map of California (1666)

I'll quote an excerpt from Montalvo's novel:

"Know, then, that, on the right hand of the Indies, there is an island called California, very close to the side of the Terrestrial Paradise, and it was peopled by black women, without any man among them, for they lived in the fashion of the Amazons. They were of strong and hardy bodies, of ardent courage and great force. Their island was the strongest in all the world, with its steep cliffs and rocky shores. Their arms were all of gold, and so was the harness of the wild beasts which they tamed and rode. For, in the whole island, there was no metal but gold.

Diego Gutierrez, the Americas, published in 1562

In 1562 Diego Gutierrez published the first map using the name California. Of course gold was eventually discovered in Coloma, California at Sutters Mill which led to the Gold Rush (1848-1855) which immediately brought 300,000 people to California. The state's logo name is The Golden State, but that has nothing to do with gold or the Rush, rather it originated when the Spanish explorers noticed from their ships gold-cladded hills which turned out to be the flowers of the native poppy, Eschscholzia californica.

George, Washington

George Washington

To Oregon's north is Washington state and that was named after America's first president, George Washington, but that may change by those wishing to cancel culture, and who are toppling his statues because he kept slaves. I won't weigh in on any of that because I don't want to anger stupid people. But I will report that there is a dinky town named George, as in George, Washington, and I had breakfast at its one cafe which also doubled as a tourist shop where you could buy cups, plates and t-shirts. My omelette and hash-browns were pretty good too. I didn't stick around for the annual July 4^th celebration where the world's largest pie is baked every year, weighing 1,000 pounds.

Hyndman Peak, Idaho

Shoshone man

The last place name that I'll discuss is the state of Idaho, most notable for its potatoes and as the birth-place of me. It is a beautiful land of forests, rivers and mountains such as the Twelvers where a number of peaks exceed 12,000' in altitude. What does the word Idaho mean? Unfortunately it was an invented name that mining lobbyist George M. Willing proposed to Congress for an area around Pike's Peak (in present day Colorado). He claimed Idaho was the Native American Shoshone name – E Dah Hoe– meaning "Gem of the Mountains." By the time the deception was discovered Idaho was already in common use. Perhaps some would suggest that my entire career is fraudulent too, that I take all of the credit while my employees do all of the work.

So, hopefully you have enjoyed our geographic journey. It was certainly easy as you sat in your chair, and your sojourn came at no expense.

August is a tough month. Visually the nursery is at its worst, totally pooped out from the heat and alarmingly behind on the weeding, pruning, potting etc. I'm dragged through the month as a servant of the propagation department, needing about 1600 scions per day. My father-in-law gave my wife advice for me about staying in good shape, that I should stretch with arms up and bend over for about 10 minutes each day. Ha! – I do it for hours each day. I was up the ladder in a sweaty greenhouse to get the top scions of a new variety – stretching...stretching – when I somewhat lost my balance. Nothing happened, but I realize I'd better finish the rest of my career from the ground only.

Acer palmatum 'Black Lace'

The scions I was striving for were Acer palmatum 'Black Lace'. It is new for me and I cut every graftable stick into a single-node section. Earlier in the day I received a catalog from a nationally-known wholesale nursery, and I read their description for Acer palmatum 'Seiryu': “The only upright laceleaf Japanese maple.” Not anymore. I have been growing 'Seiryu' for almost 40 years, and I often reflected that one could make a ton of money if you could discover a red or purple-leaved upright, and now we finally have one that's dark enough to be called “black.” It is said to come from Holland but I don't know who discovered it, and I'll just hope it's not patented.

Acer palmatum 'English Lace'

Another “upright” burgundy-red laceleaf is Acer palmatum 'English Lace' which mrmaple.com called the “Holy Grail of Japanese maples!...That's right, I said upright and laceleaf.” And then we are advised to stake this selection for best upright growth. Hmm, I didn't stake my stock and the form is more spreading than upright, so maybe I need to change my growing technique. We have been producing 'English Lace' for the past few years but I have no idea if it was really introduced from England. Neither 'Black Lace' or 'English Lace' made it into the newest (2009), 4^th edition of Japanese Maples by Vertrees/Gregory.

What follows are a few other cultivars in our production that you also won't find in Japanese Maples, and one wonders if publisher Timber Press has another edition in the works.

Acer palmatum 'Rainbow'

Maybe it's just as well that my introduction of the variegated Acer palmatum 'Rainbow' is not in the Maple Bible because I have a love-hate relationship with the cultivar. The original seedling was dazzling when I first discovered it, but now that tree is in the Upper Garden at Flora Farm and there's barely any pink and red coloration on the purple leaves. We still have a few trees in containers but I took the unstable cultivar out of production two years ago.

Acer palmatum 'Lileeanne's Jewel'

Not as vibrantly colorful as 'Rainbow'– when at its best – is Acer palmatum 'Lileeanne's Jewel' but at least the latter keeps its variegation better. I'm certain that our lush growing environment and culture, that all the other maples seem to appreciate, is the primary cause but I don't know how to unlush the situation. Anyway I cut every stick of wood of 'Lileeanne's Jewel' that I could find, and if all goes well have a few hundred to sell in the near future. Sadly the exciting seedling find was named for Johnathon Savelich's daughter, but it has been misidentified as 'Little Anne's Jewel' or 'Lil Anne's Jewel' by some, including a long-time, well-known mail order company...which is inexcusable.

Acer palmatum 'Fred's Wild Dream'

If the mother-tree Japanese maple is attractive or unique the offspring have a good chance to be too. As with people the germinated seedlings can vary, and sometimes to a great extent. My favorite “Mom” is Acer palmatum 'Amber Ghost' which was selected 25 years ago and became one of the founding members of the “Ghost series.” I was showing the folks of Dancing Oaks Nursery some of the unnamed seedlings and co-owner Fred W. went nuts for one in particular. He wanted to buy it but I suddenly became excited too. I said that I would give it to him, but that I wanted to propagate it first. I don't use code names or numbers to identify the propagules as that leads to confusion down the road. Rather, everything new that we propagate is given a final cultivar name, and then we let the market determine whether it is worthy or not. My wife was helping me prepare (de-leaf) scions in the garage and one variety in particular astounded her. The evening sun shone through the window and she held up a branch, and the leaves with the backlight produced a spectacle that she described as “most beautiful ever,” especially since the scion was glistening with mist as well. She reached for the label to identify it, which read 'Fred's Wild Dream'.

Acer palmatum 'Purple Curl'

Another seedling of interest is Acer palmatum 'Purple Curl', and I place it as an Acer palmatum because the mother tree is, although 'Purple Curl' appears to have had some involvement with an Acer shirasawanum. I would describe it as uniquemore than beautiful and I doubt that it will ever be in great demand. But as you can see it attains great brilliance in autumn.

Acer palmatum 'Peve Starfish'

Acer palmatum 'Hitode'

One of my favorite new maples, also absent from the Vertrees/Gregory book is Acer palmatum 'Peve Starfish'. It was introduced by Piet Vergeldt of The Netherlands, and I guess that I'm responsible for the “Starfish” part of the name, while the “Peve” is his tag for most or all of his introductions (as in Taxodium 'Peve Minaret'). During one of my visits to his nursery he showed me the unnamed seedling and I remarked that the leaf resembled a starfish; then I forgot all about my comment. Later I introduced a seedling named 'Hitode' which is Japanese for “starfish,” having forgotten all about Vergeldt's tree. Back at Vergeldt's when I mentioned that there was also a “starfish” from America – which could lead to some confusion – he looked at me quizzically and replied, “But you named mine.” And then I remembered.

Acer palmatum 'Jubilee'

Maples in the morning, maples in the evening – my brain is loaded with encounters with the remarkable colors and variations of foliage. I could continue with dozens more of new selections, but blog co-producer Seth implores me to keep it “short and sweet.” We'll see: maybe I'll continue next week. Now I have more scions to cut.

My wife Haruko is a lot of fun, believe me. She knew that I would leave for work in the morning before she arose from bed, so she communicated via the above cartoon. It was 100 F the previous day and I was exhausted with no energy left to prepare scions. Apparently I did considerable complaining the night before, and naturally I worried that employee xyz would forget to water a greenhouse. I'm happy to report that all went well, but still I've learned to never assume it will. And by the way I'm always depicted in her 'toons as a polar bear, while she is often an alpaca, her father is an owl – a wise owl – and her mother is a baby seal. If you refer back to the past blog, A Kyoto Dream from January 3^rd, 2020, you will see a photo of the animal similarities of the Buchholz-Nagamine family.

Maple grafts

This past July I trained two additional employees to graft, and after initial struggles they now seem to be reliably adept, but with the more rare scions still going to my ace grafter J. Since maple liners have been in great demand the past couple of seasons, I ordered an additional 7,000 rootstocks (3/16” caliper) already in pots, to supplement the original 25,000 that we're almost finished with. 15 years ago I was counseled by a chirpy employee, a know-it-all – since summarily executed...err, terminated– that I must “spend money to make money.” I replied to the wise guy that you have to havemoney before you can spend money to make money, and no, I wasn't going to spend $80,000 on a big new tractor so he could play around “farming” in an air-conditioned cab. Anyway I was reminded about his wisdom when I decided to purchase the additional 7,000 rootstocks, and hopefully this owner is making sound spending decisions.

Acer palmatum 'Jubilee'

Last week I discussed some new maple cultivars that were not listed in the latest Vertrees/Gregory Japanese Maples (4^th edition 2009). There are probably hundreds more due to the “name-every seedling” mentality that maple geeks are inclined toward, myself included. The blog ended with a solo photo of Acer palmatum 'Jubilee' but with no description or explanation. Some years ago I wrote for a Buchholz maple introductions presentation: “Acer palmatum 'Jubilee' forms a vigorous tree with a bushy shape. It originated as a seedling from 'Purple Ghost'. It is similar to 'Amber Ghost' but its lobes appear more deeply divided and the color is more pink. Has not been released yet.” Well, it has now been "released" and we've grafted about 300 this summer. A row of stock trees grows in full sun at Flora Farm and it's almost an evening ritual for me to walk out and admire 'Jubilee'. I think of the word jubilee as a “rejoicing,” and indeed it has a biblical connotation, originating from Greek iobelos, from Hebrew yobhel for a “trumpet” or “ram's horn.” See Levit. XXV:9.

Acer palmatum 'Celebration'

Near the 'Jubilee' stock is a row of Acer palmatum 'Celebration' that I am also enamoured with. The 'Jubilee' photo was taken recently but the 'Celebration' photo (above) was from earlier in May. Of the latter I wrote: “Acer palmatum 'Celebration' was introduced in 2014. It is possibly one of our best introductions ever, with a bright purple-red leaf that stays more vibrantly red than its parent, 'Purple Ghost'. This originated from a group of seedlings that were germinated in 2007, and it has always stood out from its brethren from the same crop.”Jubileeand a celebration have similar word meanings, and it demonstrates that basically I am a happy guy.

Acer palmatum 'Green Tea'

Another Buchholz introduction (2013) is Acer palmatum 'Green Tea', a vigorous upright seedling selection which looks nothing like its parent Acer palmatum 'Amber Ghost'. If anything “Green Tea' resembles Acer palmatum 'O sakazuki', the latter which is described in The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2014) as “Leaves green, turning in autumn to fiery scarlet, probably the most brilliant of all Japanese maples. C 1882.”I still grow 'O sakazuki' but in small numbers because there's not much demand for it any more, and besides 'Green Tea's' foliage is far more interesting in spring, plus equal to the famous 'O sakazuki' for brilliant fall colour. The stout, broad-canopied 'Green Tea' is a man's plant with nothing frilly or wimpy about it. I have stated before that you can never really “own” a tree, rather you just “borrow” it for a period of time. I assume that my original seedling – introduced in 2013 – will outlive me, or I certainly hope so, and thanks for the memories.

Acer palmatum 'Festival'

Another offspring from Acer palmatum 'Amber Ghost' is Acer palmatum 'Festival', a 2012 introduction from seed germinated about 2002. I have good-sized, husky trees of 'Festival' at Flora Farm. I admit that sales are weak as is often the case with “fall-color” cultivars, but what ephemeral spring flower is any more fantastic than the 'Festival' in the fall?

Acer palmatum 'Bloodgood'

You will find Acer palmatum 'Bloodgood' listed in the Vertrees/Gregory maple book. Of course it is, it's probably the most popular Japanese maple cultivar in the world. Surprisingly nobody knows for certain its origin. In Japanese Maples we read that a Carville (1975) suggested that it was a selection from Acer palmatum f. atropurpureum by Bloodgood Nursery, Long Island, New York. Another theory has its origin in Boskoop, The Netherlands, and was propagated by the now defunct Ebbinge and Groos firm. V/G state that “it appears to have been cultivated in the United States since well before World War II.”

For a dozen years or so we have been growing a plant named Acer palmatum 'Bloodgood (Original)', and it was explained to me that the scions came from the original 'Bloodgood' Tree. I invented the new name to keep it separated from our other 'Bloodgood' trees, but my name is not, and should not be included in the V/G book. So, how do they compare then? Well, they look the same, feel the same, smell the same, graft the same and grow the same. They are the same, and I'm only explaining to our customers who purchase our trees the story about the 'Bloodgood (Original)' labels. I think it would be a fun project for the International Maple Society to research the matter, or if I can retire before I die, I might do so myself. By the way, the possibilities of 'Bloodgood's' origin appear in the first edition (1978) of Japanese Maples, so Vertrees himself couldn't solve the mystery. Most likely, though, the cultivar itself, or at least its name, go back to Bloodgood Nurseries, which is claimed to be America's oldest nursery, established in 1790. Sadly, the source of our 'Bloodgood (Original)' scions is lost due to past employee negligence – yes, the “spend-money-to-make-money” kid, so if the gifter is in the Flora Wonder Blog readership please let me know.

Acer palmatum 'Sweet Lorraine'

Nat King Cole

The final cultivar that I'll mention is Acer palmatum 'Sweet Lorraine'. It's a pretty little tree but due to my negligence I don't have a clue as to her seed parent. The original is in a 20 gallon pot in the greenhouse and is about 3' tall by 4' wide in 15 years. As I've said before, those dimensions mean nothing unless one propagates it via tissue culture or from rooted cuttings, then the propagules would be of diminutive size like the mother tree. Fortunately my first grafted trees have nearly reached the mother's size at only 6 years of age, and they are able to shoot out graftable scions. 'Sweet Lorraine': what a name. It came to me from the name of a popular song by Cliff Burwell (music) and Mitchell Parish (lyrics) that was published in 1928. Do yourself a favor and google Nat King Cole/Sweet Lorraine for a beautiful rendition. Or, for you rockers out there, try Country Joe's cover. Oh Baby – Sweet Lorraine!

I've just found joy
I'm as happy as a baby boy
With another brand new choo-choo toy
When I met my sweet Lorraine, Lorraine, Lorraine

She's got a pair of eyes
That are brighter than the summer sky
When you see them, you'll realize
Why I love my sweet Lorraine

Now when it's rainin', I don't miss the sun
Because it's in my baby's smile
And to think that I'm the lucky one
That will lead her down the aisle

Each night I pray
That no one will steal her heart away
I can't wait until that lucky day
When I marry sweet Lorraine

Now when it's rainin', I don't miss the sun
Because it's in my baby's smile
And to think that I'm the lucky one
That will lead her down the aisle

Each night I pray
That no one will steal her heart away
I can't wait until that lucky day
When I marry sweet Lorraine

Brian Humphrey

I correspond with English plantsman Brian Humphrey (VMH). In his most recent email he inquired:

"Are you a member of the IDS (International Dendrology Society)? I think it is something you should consider. They are gradually developing a good website based on Bean [Trees and Shrubs Hardy in the British Isles] and New Trees [Grimshaw and Bayton] with additional information from specialists on a given genera or species. Plus an opportunity for members to submit additional material. It's fairly early days so hard to be sure how it will eventually work out but hopefully it will be the major source of information on woody plants. The Yearbook [IDS] is also packed with interesting information."

Yes, I am a member of the IDS, and have been so since 2006. I always thought I would find time to accompany other members on their very interesting world tours but never found the time. The Yearbook is worth the price of admission alone, and is the type of publication that you never throw away.

Arboretum Trompenburg

Years ago I was visiting JRP van Hoey Smith of Arboretum Trompenburg in Rotterdam and he encouraged me to become a member. After all he was one of the founders of the Society. To join, one must have two members "recommend" you, and since he had an application form at his home he signed it and instructed one to have another member sign it too. That was no problem because I was friends with plantsman Don Howse of Oregon, and I knew because he had been on an IDS trip.

Two weeks later I received a rejection letter because the "rules" are that the two members mustbe from your home country. How petty I thought, and I wrote back a letter which I should have copied but didn't. It was something snarky, asking if I wanted to join a church and one member signed for me and the other signee was Jesus Christ, then that wouldn't be good enough? Maybe I don't want to pay to join your society. I don't know if Headquarters at Hergest Estate Office ever contacted van Hoey Smith, but two weeks later I received a packet with the Yearbookand other stuff, so I considered it a minor victory.

JRP van Hoey Smith

An interesting story about van Hoey Smith is that my wife and I were eating an elk dinner at his home, an elk which he shot himself from his hunting club, a situation where members pay to shoot, and no doubt someone else deals with the details. The meal was wonderful but poor Haruko was pale and not looking happy. It turns out that she was pregnant but we didn't know at the time, and the smell of the meat practically made her vomit.

Flora Farm

I also corresponded – the old fashioned way with written letters – with the late vHS, and a year later I informed him that I had just purchased an additional 60 acres, "so now I finally have room for my oaks." He had visited the nursery three or four times previous and I guess he considered me valid. He wrote back congratulating me: "I don't remember your wife's name, but that doesn't matter; what's important is that you have room for your trees." To this day I tease Haruko that I don't remember your name, that only my trees are important.

Helleborus hybridus #103

Helleborus hybridus #106

Helleborus hybridus #108

There are farmore species growing in my gardens and taking up space in the greenhouses that make us nomoney, more than the number of those that do. For example we have a choice collection of Helleborus, but we have none for sale and they are not – and probably never will be – in our propagation plans. Well, that's the nature of an arboretum: a plant collection that requires time, effort and resources with no return other than enjoyment. Many of the hellebores came from the breeding program of the O'Byrnes of Eugene, Oregon, and they are marketed as their “Winter Jewels.” In other words, seedlings that are all different, some of which have just so-so flowers, but others that bloom with fantastic color patterns. Office Manager Eric picked out the ones he liked (about 6 years ago); we just gave them numbers and then planted them in the original Display Garden. Perhaps the next owner of Buchholz Nursery will choose to propagate, but my conclusion is that we're already late to the hellebore party, and plenty of quality growers are now cranking them out by the thousands. Besides, there's nothing more ugly than hellebore foliage if the plant is not in flower. The genus name is derived from Greek heleinmeaning “to injure or destroy,” and borafor “food” as the leaves, stems and roots are toxic.

Rhododendron daphnoides

Every day I look out from my office window at an unusually large (over 10' tall and wide) Rhododendron x 'Daphnoides', a T. Methven & Sons creation (1868) that was named for its small, recurved daphne-like leaves. We have never propagated it because, well, we're not a “rhododendron” nursery and also because it's commonly available. It took my specimen 35 years to attain its size, and every few years we thin out the inner foliage to make it look more tree-like. Thomas Methven was an Edinburgh nurseryman who was also responsible for the very early-flowering R. x 'Christmas Cheer'. I find it interesting that argument still exists over 'Daphnoides', whether it is a hybrid or merely an unusual form of R. ponticum. I wonder where the largest exists in the world, while I suppose it towers well over my 10-footer.

Chamaedaphne calyculata 'Dew Drop'

My ne'er-do-well neihbor is chamaecranic, i.e. he has a chamaecranial skull, one that is characterized as being low and flat with a length-height index of less than 70. Concerning plants a chamaephyteis a “plant with buds near ground level.” We all know the Chamaecyparis genus – from Greek chamae(low) + kyparissos(cypress) – and chamaiis ultimately from the Indo-European root dhghemfor “earth.” A chamaeleon, then, is a “lion close to the ground.” Anyway, I have a Chamaedaphnecalyculata 'Dew Drop' in the Display Garden, and I bought it sight-unseen from a mail order nursery specializing in unusual species. That was 20 years ago, but I doubt that I would have purchased the ericaceous “Leatherwood” if I could have seen it first. But sure enough, the heath-like flowers are borne on arching stems close to the ground. I have never propagated it because the whitish flowers are tiny, and there's no way that I could ever sell any of it. The monotypic genus has a circumboreal distribution, from northern Japan, to northern Europe to northeastern USA. Interestingly it is usually found in bogs where it forms clonal colonies, but it must receive full sun because the nutrients it requires come from only atmospheric sources. I've never seen it in the wild, but I guess my 'Dew Drop' is a dwarf as it is only 2' tall by 3' wide. It's not particularly showy, in fact I just wandered throughout the Display Garden for the past 15 minutes before I could find it. A BIOplant certainly – of botanical interest only.

Spider caught in a Dionaea muscipula

The setup

The attack

Fight to the death

Mid-day snack

All filled up

We grow a nice collection of carnivorous plants in bog tubs next to the office. I find them thoroughly fascinating but we've never sold any ever. They are easy to grow, in full sun no less, and the only requirement is that they are kept wet...just like they are in nature. Our Venus flytraps, butterworts and pitcher plants are usually a source of wonder for visitors, and we can easily pass ten minutes staring at them, watching the next fly or bug get consumed. Eric photographed an unfortunate daddy-long-legs spider as it foolishly ventured into a Dionaea muscipula (Venus flytrap). In another case a spider had learned to hang out on a Sarracenia blossom, knowing that the plant would attract his next meal. A fly landed and got snatched and overnight you can see its shrunken body with its inner guts sucked into the engorged spider. Children are amazed when you encourage them to look inside the Sarracenia's tube to see the mess of dead bugs, then Eric – really just an adult boy – likes to spook them from behind. I can highly recommend The Savage Gardenby Peter D'Amato for its well-written text and excellent photos.

Acer palmatum 'Sango kaku'

Pinus flexilis 'Vanderwolf Pyramid'

Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Glaucum'

Acer palmatum 'Tamuke yama'

When I lead visitors through the original Display Garden I will often stop in the middle and ask: “Which do you think is the oldest plant in the garden?” Immediately eyes sky upward and I get responses such as the enormous Acer palmatum 'Sango kaku' with its husky but “artistic” trunk. Another will say it's the forest-sized Pinus flexilis 'Vanderwolf Pyramid', or another will suggest the Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Glaucum' especially since it's the tallest tree in the garden. Nope, not 'Sango kaku', that tree is 47 years old to-the-year. The 'Vanderwolf Pyramid'– which no one would ever buy if they knew how large it can get – is about 42 years old. Even one visitor predicted it was the massive Acer palmatum 'Tamuke yama', the throbbing red dome that has reportedly been sighted from space by Russian Putinots. I led that Nostradamus back to the 'Ta-mu-ke mountain” and pointed out that if you look inside the foliage, it's actually a grouping of seven trees, all multiple-grafted at various heights. I cheated to attract extra-terrestrials maybe.

Pseudotsuga menziesii 'Compacta'

Nope – none of the above. We happen to be standing next to a single specimen of Pseudotsuga menziesii 'Compacta' which is only 6' tall by 8' wide in 62 years – give or take a couple. There is nothing remarkable about the dwarf, but it is pretty with bright green new growth in spring. A 'Compacta' is not listed in the literature, and though Krussmann lists 'Compacta Glauca' my specimen is completely green. In the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubswe encounter a 'Densa' cultivar and in Krussmann's Manual of Cultivated Coniferswe do also; and honestly I think my specimen should be thusly relabeled.

Pseudotsuga menziesii 'Compacta'

It was acquired as P.m. 'Compacta' at a now defunct “Rare Plant” nursery in Washington state. I arrived unannounced as it was a retail operation, and wandered around alone but wondered why no one was present. I saw a number of items of interest and all without price tags. Finally a rustic young woman emerged wearing a thin blouse with lactation stains...and with a bawling baby still back in the trailer. I pointed out that I wanted to purchase three or four items and she quickly threw out prices, all unbelievably low because she needed to make some money and she also wanted me the hell off the property. I forget now all that I bought, but I can imagine old Gramps – the owner – scream at his granddaughter: “What! You sold my 28-year-old compact “Douglas fir” for only $30? Damn!” I never risked a return as I feared that the crotchety old coot would take after me. He's long gone, but anyway 'Compacta' still sits in the middle of the garden, taking up space, and I don't remember ever propagating it, or if we did it was only for a few early years.

Lilium wallichianum

Lilium wallichianum presents itself odiferously and lustfully in the advanced summer garden. The above photo was taken in late August for heaven's sake. I don't care what's the plant – even if it's poop on a stick– anything named “wallichianum” is of interest to me for it honors Nathaniel Wallich, the Danish surgeon and botanist who was involved in the early development of the Calcutta Botanic Garden, a destination wherein I sweated profusedly in the late 1970s, but still found strangely intoxicating. I remember a trio of alluring female Indian 20-year-olds all wearing crisp saris and thin, bejeweled sandals that revealed their exquisite subcontinental toes as they strolled past on the palm-lined walkway. They pointed at me and tittered like silly 13-year-olds so I didnt pursue my intial fantasy. Back at the nursery, Office Manager Eric lobbies that we should harvest and pot up the bulbs. I think not because we already take on so many projects that consume our time, and I don't want our quality to decline because we're having too much lily fun. For now the wallichianum tub sits in GH26 as part of the non-profit crowd.

Acer palmatum 'Umegae'

From my office window I see three mature Acer palmatums: 'Sherwood Flame', 'Nuresagi' and 'Umegae'. None of them have been propagated in the past dozen years, although I think I'll send David up the ladder for the latter. I won't bother with the former two because they have both been superceded by improved cultivars. 'Umegae', even though of dubious commercial demand, has unique plum-purple leaves with lime-green veins. The name is pronounced oo may guyand I suspected the umeportion referred to its plum color but I didn't know what the gaemeant. And by the way, the pronunciation of the cultivar name is one of the very few instances where the Japanese language throws you a curve, like enoughdoes in English. For my entire career I thought the name should sound like oo may gay, but my Japanese wife corrected me. Since I was saying it wrong, she said she needed to see the characters before she could tell me the meaning. Anticipating that requirement, I plopped Masayoshi Yano's Book for Mapleson her lap, where cultivars are rendered in English as well as in Japanese. “Absolutely,” Haruko announced, “it means branch of the plum tree,” one of the few times when she has been so decisive. Anyway, 'Umegae' has been cultivated since at least 1882, and every year my 35-year-old specimen produces an abundance of beautiful seed.

Crataegus monogyna 'Flexuosa'

25 years ago I snitched a scion of Crataegus monogyna 'Flexuosa' but I don't remember from where. Now I have one specimen in a container but we never have propagated it since. The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubsdescribes it as “A curious and striking form with twisted branches. C 1838,” which implies that it fares well in Olde England, but my specimen is ugly from July...on. I took the above photos this week and you can see that it has mostly defoliated, and never has it blessed me with any autumn color. That's why I don't propagate it: the last thing I want to see is a crop of ugly brush. I think I'll plant it in dirt at the back end at Flora Farm this fall – maybe it would do better in real soil. I'll report back next year at this time, except that I probably won't because I'll forget.

Saxifraga 'Peter Pan'

Silene davidii

I pride myself to some extent that I allow my employees to indulge themselves in their floral pursuits,

Eric

even if I doubt that it will lead to company profit. If a Hispanic worker wants to grow a couple of pots of chili peppers, for example, I'm happy to donate the pots, soil and greenhouse space to do so. I reason that no one makes enough money toiling for me, not even the mediocre workers, and that every employee deserves an extra benefit or two beyond their paycheck. As long as it is reasonable – which it usually is – go ahead and take home a couple of plants to put in front of your house, or to give to your friends or family, and that policy keeps them from stealing from me anyway. I'm simply promoting the culture that we're all in this together, and let's see if we can happily survive. Sometimes, as with Office Manager Eric, his personal whims actually lead to profit, as with his fascination with “alpine” plants. They have been incorporated into our general mix and that allows me to brag that “the most fun you can have in horticulture can be found at Buchholz Nursery.”

The Flora Wonder Arboretum

So, while I despise the chamaecranical “takers,” the welfare bums, I enthusiastically support those who

My Neighbor

contribute. Space and time...there's never enough of either. Money, or the lack of it, defines the battle between the Flora Wonder Arboretum and Buchholz Nursery. What I have created is my own fault, and I know my employees would prefer a pay raise instead of watching me squander resources on plants that make no money, plants that just take up space. But hey, if anyone in the readership wants to come run this operation please let me know.

My Grandfather's Garden

Quite White

Myriad Shades of Green

Flora's Whimsy

Plump Pyramids

Leaves of Gold

Plants Named for People

Hybrids

Dear Flora Wonder Blog Reader

Spring 2020

Montana

The Specimen Plant Availability

Article 0

Dog Daze

Blessed by The Hands

Geography

Maples in the Morning...

Maples in the Morning...Part 2

IDS

Taking Up Space