Flora Wonder Blog

Mark Bradford
Let's Walk to the Middle of the Ocean

I was in New York City, Boston and Connecticut earlier this month and now I am back in rainy Oregon. Whenever I take a "business" trip I always manage to fit in as many art museums as possible, for art is my second greatest passion after plants. Er...wait a minute: wine, women and song are up there too. Anyway, I spent a blissful morning at the Museum of Modern Art (MoMA), while my wife and children went window-shopping on Madison Avenue.

Lee Krasner
Untitled

Mark Rothko
No. 3

Jackson Pollock
One Number 31

Mark Rothko
Slow Swirl at the Edge of the Sea

Betye Saar
Black Girl's Window

Maria Martins
The Impossible, III

Fernand Leger
Woman with a Book

Amedeo Modigliani
Reclining Nude

Pablo Picasso
Three Musicians

Paul Klee
Around the Fish

Paul Klee
Cat and Bird

Vasily Kandinsky
White - Soft and Hard

Henri Matisse
Female Nude

Matisse
Dance (I)

Henri Matisse
Goldfish and Sculpture

Henri Matisse
The Moroccans

Henri Matisse
The Piano Lesson

Henri Matisse
Music (Sketch)

Francis Picabia
It Has to Do with Me

Marcel Duchamp
Network of Stoppages

Pablo Picasso
Woman Plaiting Her Hair

Pablo Picasso
Vase of Flowers

Pablo Picasso
Repose

Georges Braque
Soda

Juan Gris
Still Life with Flowers

Piet Mondrian
Composition in Oval with Color Planes 1

Pablo Picasso
Guitar

Vincent van Gogh
The Starry Night

Andre Derain
Bridge over the Riou

Andre Derain
Bathers

Edvard Munch
The Storm

James Ensor
Tribulations of Saint Anthony

Henri Rousseau
The Dream

Paul Cezanne
Chateau Noir

Paul Cezanne
Pines and Rocks

Paul Cezanne
Still Life with Apples

Paul Gauguin
Washerwomen

Paul Gauguin
The Seed of the Areoi

Georges-Pierre Seurat
Grandcamp, Evening

Georges-Pierre Seurat
Evening, Honfleur

Paul Gauguin
Still Life with Three Puppies

Vincent van Gogh
Portrait of Joseph Roulin

Jasper Johns
Tantric Detail I

Paul Cezanne
The Bather

Pablo Picasso
Boy Leading a Horse

Umberto Boccioni
The City Rises

Stanton Macdonald-Wright
Synchrony

Florine Stettheimer
Family Portrait, II

Henri Matisse
The Rose Marble Table

Fernand Leger
The Mirror

Gerald Murphy
Wasp and Pear

Alexandra Exter
Theatrical Composition

Baroness Elsa von Freytag-Loringhoven
Dada Portrait of Berenice Abbott

Gustav Klimt
Hope, II

Frantisek Kupka
Mme Kupka among Verticals

Vasily Kandinsky
Picture with an Archer

August Macke
Lady in a Park

Marc Chagall
I and the Village

Gustav Klimt
The Park

Ernst Ludwig Kirchner
Street, Dresden

Oskar Kokoschka
Hans Tietze and Erica Tietze-Conrat

Jean-Michel Basquiat
Glenn

Andrew Wyeth
Christina's World

View from the cafeteria

My brain was exhausted with art overload, and even in the cafeteria I looked across the courtyard and the side of the building became "modern art."

Pablo Picasso
Les Demoiselles d'Avignon

Before my scheduled rendezvous with my family I wanted to take one more look at Picasso's Demoiselles, certainly the museum's signature work, but I did so from the back of the crowd. The living people and the painted people interacted like actors in the same performance. And what do the ladies do at night when the people go away? The answer requires a dream.

Recently I was invited by the New York Botanic Garden to say a few words at the dedication of the Judy and Michael Steinhardt Maple Collection, as a number of cultivar specimens – though relatively young – came from Buchholz Nursery to complement the existing 70-year-old maple trees already in place. Not only that, but the venerable botanic garden was coincidentally celebrating its 125^th anniversary, hyped as NYBG/125. Obviously I was honored to supply specimens for their newly refurbished maple section of about five acres...that was made possible by the generosity of the Steinhardt family.

Maple ceremony attendees

Judy and Michael Steinhardt

Maple planting ceremony

The ribbon-cutting ceremony featured plastic shears for the photographers before real ones were handed to Mr. Steinhardt to actually cut the ribbon. Mr. S. wasn't particularly careful with the sharp tool and his wife quipped that he had never held a pair of shears before in his life. Then later at a tree planting ceremony he was accused of not having enough dirt on his spanking-new shovel, and then in his zeal some soil was tossed into his wife's shoe.

Acer sieboldianum

Acer nipponicum

Acer henryi

Some older maples in the garden were three Acer sieboldianum and I imagine they are spectacularly colored today. A single specimen of Acer nipponicum from Japan was a surprise to see, and it was also bearing seed. I pointed out that there was no known rootstock compatible with nipponicum and they might want to collect the seed, but then I was told that the NYBG had no propagating department. I used to grow a single specimen of Acer henryi but it became too large for its space and it was removed, so I envied the allowance given to New York's A. henryi. In leaf it could be mistaken for Acer triflorum, although the flowers and fruits of the two species are very different. Furthermore A. triflorum features exfoliating bark while A. henryi is smooth, and henryi is in the section negundo and triflorum is in the section trifoliata. Acer henryi was named by botanist Pax in 1889 for the Irish plant-hunter Augustine Henry who discovered the species, but it was first introduced in 1903 by E.H. Wilson when he was working for the Veitch Nursery firm.

At noon we were served a great lunch in an old historic stone mill house, and afterwards the botanic garden luminaries thanked the Steinhardts for funding the garden development. My speech was brief, for I was but the rustic wildcard from Oregon, and I pointed out that I admired a world-class botanic garden for planting and promoting cultivated variants– cultivars– in their effort to display to the public the incredible variation in some plant species, in particular with Japanese maples. Then, as I've done before, I recited my stock opinion that Japanese maples are like pretty girls: who ever tires of another one?

In 2002 I attended the International Maple Society conference at Westonbirt Arboretum in England, and a prominent Canadian botanist dismissively waved his hand and commented that “certainly we have enough maple cultivars;” like: who needs to add any more. At the NYBG I asked my two beautiful daughters to briefly stand, then to sit back down. Then I mentioned that they were both born – or introduced – after 2002. The point was that the world didn't need either of them from the botanist's point of view, but that the world is certainly better off that they were hybridized after all.

Deanna Curtis

And the same is true with maple cultivars. Deanna Curtis, the Curator of Woody Plants, wrote about individuals in the collection, that "Acer palmatum 'Manyo no sato' has leaves patterned in lime-green and purple," while those of 'Ikandi'– a Buchholz introduction – and 'Aizumi nishiki'“unfurl in a carnival of pink, white and green.” Ms. Curtis, in the dedication pamphlet, concluded that, “Today the expanded Judy and Michael Steinhardt Maple Collection combines classic maples with new introductions. It is the perfect place to appreciate the beauty and diversity of these trees in every season.”

Acer griseum at NYBG

Abies squamata

Pinus bungeana

Deanna kindly ferried me and my family through the Garden, both before and after the dedication via a six-seat golf car, and she zoomed energetically through the collection. We paused briefly at a colorful tree trunk and I took photographs. But as to the botanical identity – I've been confused a few times before – was it an Acer griseum or a Pinus bungeana?...for they can look so alike...and throw Abies squamata into that mix as well. I think that a botanic garden should plant Acer griseum, Pinus bungeana and Abies squamata all next to each other, to both confuse and to entertain the gardening public about the similarities of the various trunks, and I think I should begin with my own. Fortunately I photographed the label, and I was reminded that we were all looking at Acer griseum, the Chinese “paper-bark” maple.

Enid A Haupt Conservatory

Kiku display

Butterfly mum

Kengai display

Chrysanthemum 'Lava'

The giant conservatory was a fun place. Small-flowered Chrysanthemums were trained to resemble bonsai, or kiku in Japanese. The difference was that they were grown from cuttings just eight months ago. One was trained to resemble a swallowtail butterfly while others were cascading in the kengai (overhanging cliff) style. The white Chrysanthemum behind us was started in October, 2015, and the single-stemmed specimen featured 210 flowers. I don't know much about 'mums except that they make their appearance in the autumn, and usually they are grown as tight buns in pots, something to put next to the front door. A “spider” chrysanthemum called 'Lava' caught my eye however, and at first I took it to be a Dahlia, and I pondered if the C. genus was as wonderful and complex as is the Acer.

Calathea 'Royal Standard'

Costus speciosus 'Variegatus'

Gomphrena globosa

Theobroma cacao

Unknown fern

Other plants in the conservatory were colorful, although I knew little about them. Calathea 'Royal Standard' is commonly called a “prayer plant,” while Gomphrena globosa is the common “globe amaranth.” Costus speciosus 'Variegatus' was the “crepe ginger” but it is not very hardy coming from tropical Asia. I couldn't find the label for the fern, but nevertheless it gleamed in the sunlight. Theobroma cacao, the “chocolate tree,” was in flower and the blooms sprout from the trunk and branches. The genus comes from tropical America but its name comes from Greek theo for “god” and bromafor “food.”

Picea pungens 'R.H. Montgomery'

Nell and Talon

Back outside was a scrappy blue spruce, and if I heard correctly it was the original Picea pungens 'R.H. Montgomery'. I used to grow both 'Montgomery' and 'Globosa' but I could never tell them apart, and really neither are good long-term conifers in Oregon, or at least not at my nursery, and the specimen in New York didn't look very impressive either. The good Colonel Montgomery was a well-known accountant who wrote more than 40 books about accounting practice and tax laws. Montgomery spent his last years in Florida where he enjoyed his 83 acre Coconut Grove Palmetum. He was survived by his lovely wife Nell who out-lived him by 37 years. I imagined that if Nell enthused so greatly about palms, she would have absolutely gushed with excitement over my Japanese maples...and that perhaps I could have posed with her in front of 'Ikandi' or 'Geisha Gone Wild' in a white suit.

Abies pindrow from Buchholz Nursery

Looking for the label

Deanna Curtis was well-prepared for my visit, having researched plants in the NYBG that came from Buchholz Nursery. We drove past a good-looking Abies pindrow that was a 2003 accession from Buchholz Nursery, and I begged her to stop the golf cart so I could take a photo. Just as I pressed the shutter an old man jumped into the frame. Another time I was told that a Podocarpus was from me as well, and a gardener was enlisted to search for the label. He indeed found the name but I have already forgotten it.

The old Mertz Library

I couldn't pass up the opportunity to visit the old library, for it was displaying Rachel “Bunny” Mellon's collection of books and manuscripts. She collected drawings, prints, painting and sculpture on the subjects of horticulture, botany, natural history etc. – all things connected to the natural world. I didn't notice the no photography sign at the entrance, but was soon scolded by security and I put my camera away. Anyway, you can see a few items that the collection contained, and I suppose I would have surrounded myself likewise if I had been given the chance. Which is maybe why I have gathered a collection of plants – they are of equal beauty as Mellon's objects, and a whole lot cheaper to acquire, and everybody is invited to take photos of them.

Todd Forrest

Our time was short at the NYBG, too short, and if I was younger I might apply for a position as an intern or gardener. One must touch the plants and observe them in all seasons – to sweat under them in summer and to freeze next to them in winter – to really appreciate them. Many thanks to Todd Forrest, the Vice President for Horticulture and Living Collections, and to Deanna Curtis, the Curator of Woody Plants, for making my visit possible and most enjoyable.

Iroki Garden

A few days after the NYBG event we took a train north and then picked up a zipcar to drive to Mt. Kisco. Our destination was Iroki Garden – the “garden of surprises,” which is own by the same benefactors, Judy and Michael Steinhardt. Cathy Deutsch, who has been to Oregon and has purchased plants from me, led the tour along with her 3-year-old daughter Arden.* The cute tyke was fussy at first, and I could tell that she didn't really want her mother's attention spent on a bunch of Oregonians. It didn't take long for my wife and daughters to win her over, however, and she eventually concluded that we could actually be fun. I admit that I don't have much use for children under the age of three – and that includes my own kids – but Arden was a sweetheart and she did a good deal of the guiding of us.

*Cathy majored in English literature. Arden was part of a forest north of Stratford-upon-Avon, the setting of Shakespeare's As You Like It.

Iroki is a zoo as well as a plant collection. Dear Arden was quite familiar with the set-up, and she demonstrated just how one rides the tortoises and then cuddles with Whinny – or Winny – or Winnie – the goose that pooped on the initial step into the aviary. Of course A. eventually stepped into the mess and C. had to deal with that, but she did do with such motherly grace...that Haruko fell completely in love with her, in love with both of them. I thought I was hilarious with tagging the dumb fowl as “Winnie the Poop,” but no one laughed. At the beginning of our visit, Cathy offered that she didn't attempt to get too involved with the animals, implying that she had enough to do without them, but clearly Daughter A. did not agree and she exhibited a familiar rapport with the critters. Again, we wanted to adopt the kid and take her home with us; but since that won't happen we would love to meet her again one day, perhaps when she is a teenager or a beautiful 20-year-old.

Arden making music

Harumi and Haruko in the "living room"

Iroki is unlike any other garden I have seen. It is formal at times, but then also wild. There are hundreds of Japanese maple cultivars but they blend in nicely with the native flora. Lots of room for kids to run around, and in fact it seemed like the grounds were designed to please children. One quirky feature was a huge stick construction, and Cathy announced – from a distance – that we could climb up it if we wanted. I didn't see how that was possible at first, and the idea seemed like a lawsuit waiting to happen, but little Arden headed up a ramp and we all caught on. Halfway up was the “living room” where one could make music by swatting the bamboo tubes, and Arden gleefully showed us how.

Paeonia obovata

Iroki is not a Japanese word, or if it is my wife doesn't know it. Iro is “color” in Japanese and ki means “wood.” Chamaecyparis obtusa – hinoki– is hino (fire) and ki(wood), but she insists that iroki does not go together like that. Indeed, a name of mystery; and the “garden full of surprises” was more fun than I could have imagined. Fun to be three years old again.

About one-half mile from my house at the road-edge to a wheat field is a portable sign with the above message, so the farmer either didn't remember how to spell remember, or else he was just short one m. Personally I don't think anyone should be prodded into voting because the vote-by-mail in Oregon is so easy and simple that if you don't automatically do it then I don't want you weighing in on the candidates and issues anyway.

Later he will use his forum to announce a motorcycle event, a gun and knife show or to implore us to use caution because school is beginning etc. I'm not necessarily against any of his messages, but I asked Seth – who takes the same route – why this guy feels compelled to give us his opinions. Seth replied, "Oh, you mean like you do with your blog?"

Touchè.

I was in the Boston area last month and I was very excited to finally visit the Arnold Arboretum. The layout was designed by Frederick Law Olmsted and in my opinion he did a heck of a job. The arboretum was named for James Arnold (1781-1868), a Massachusetts whaling merchant, and its mission was to increase knowledge of woody plants through research, and then to pass on the knowledge through education.

Sorbus sargentiana

Juniperus chinensis var. sargentii

Magnolia sargentiana var. robusta

Charles S. Sargent

E.H. Wilson

The Arnold was established in 1872 and Charles Sprague Sargent was appointed director. Sargent is honored with botanical names such as Sorbus sargentiana, Rhododendron sargentianum, Juniperus chinensis var. sargentii, Magnolia sargentiana var. robusta and others. I am particularly interested in the institution because the great plant hunter E.H. “Chinese” Wilson was lured away from the English Veitch Nursery firm to collect for the Arnold, and then to work there. Sadly, Wilson and his wife died in a car accident in 1930.

Fagus sylvatica

Saya with Fagus sylvatica

The collection contains about 4,000 taxa* on 281 acres. Buchholz Nursery – even excluding Flora Farm – has grown at least 4,000 taxa also, but on one-tenth the acreage. The difference is that I abandon many if they don't sell, and secondly, my plants are miniature compared to the humongous specimens in the Arnold. We parked our car near the Fagus entrance, then worked our way to the oaks, and the overwhelming impression for me was just how large the trees were. One Fagus displayed two lower branches that swept out at an incredible distance, and I borrow my daughter's photo of it.

*Taxa is plural of taxon, and it's a group of one or more populations of an organism or organisms believed by taxonomists to form a unit.

Quercus alba

Quercus x exacta (imbricaria x palustris)

Quercus shumardii var. schneckii

Joseph Rock and Saya

I took photos of the trees with giddy excitement until my camera reported that my photo card was full. Damn – I took too many pictures of the Statue of Liberty and atop the Empire State Building back in New York, but not to worry because my wife had my backup camera in her pack. The only problem was that she had previously raced ahead with daughter Harumi for the bathroom in the visitor center. At the last second Saya looked at me, took pity I think, and decided to stay back with me. So there we were, Saya and myself, in the oak section. We had worked out a tree-encounter system where I would stand back and take a photo of a huge tree, and Saya in her energetic youth would run up to the label, then back to me to report: “Queerkus owlba” or “Queerkus x exacta” or “Queerkus shumardii var. schneckii” etc. We even discovered that the renowned plant-hunter Joseph Rock was still alive and roaming through the arboretum and he graciously posed with Saya.

But again, my camera wasn't working after that and I wanted to record all of the wonderful specimens. In some respects I was happy that my camera card was full, that I could then wander freely throughout the collection without an assignment. I don't know why, anyway, that I feel compelled to document all that I see, and I confess that it is an obsession that would possibly benefit with therapeutic counseling. On the other hand, at my age, I might never return to the Arnold again, and I desperately wanted to track down my wife. We agreed to meet at a pond down the hill, so Saya and I took a cross country short-cut. In spite of the arboretum map depicting a pond, we never did find it. So: no pond,* no wife, no camera; but at least I still had Saya. Dear Saya, thanks for staying back with me.

*No pond because the East Coast was experiencing a drought, and the “pond” was indeed there, but empty.

Hmm: no camera, no wife. The wife wasn't so important I reasoned, and that eventually we would meet back at the car. And – oh well – so much for recording the Arnold, and I would continue to enjoy the park without purpose. Near the Hunnewell Visitor Center Saya and I took an obscure narrow path through the trees, and to our astonishment there was Haruko and Harumi walking towards us. What a miracle, how impossible! I scolded Haruko – “Don't ever abandon me like that again!” As to the backup camera I discovered that it had no power. I was too casual and I should have checked it before. Was I in a dream? I finally made it to the venerable Arnold Arboretum, then find that I am paralyzed. Last week I had a dream that I was searching for my car at night at my daughter's school, but it just wasn't there. I was sick with worry. Then, still in my dream, I realized that I couldn't find my car because I was in my car. Relieved, I woke up.

Buchholz in front of the Hunnewell building

We arrived at the Hunnewell building which I had seen before in photos. It was designed by architect Alexander Wadsworth Longfellow Jr. – what a great name – and was constructed in 1892 with funds donated by H.H. Hunnewell. Harumi wanted to take my photo in front of the building with her cell phone. Hey, wait a minute, we have a camera after all!

Phellodendron amurense var. amurense

I'm not a gadget guy, not at all, and I trusted Harumi with her phone camera better than myself. Actually we had fun. I would direct her into position while looking at her screen...wait for the large Indian family to pass...ok, take it. I thought we did particularly well with a beautiful Phellodendron amurense, the Amur cork tree from northeast Asia.

Overall, though, my photos don't do the Arnold justice. I subscribe to Arnoldia, the magazine of the Arnold Arboretum, and it often contains outstanding photos of their collection, especially since they can take them at all seasons. Well, we had a train to catch, and our brief stint would have to suffice. Our New York/Massachusetts trip was wonderful, and all four of us will have lifetime memories.

Below are a few more plant photos from the Arnold...

Acer henryi

Metasequoia glyptostroboides

Betula schmidtii

Juglans regia

Ulmus parvifolia 'Pendens'

Cornus kousa

Platanus x hispanica

Quercus lyrata

Quercus x sargentii (prinus x robur)

Acer mono

Roger Gossler

Well-known plantsman Roger Gossler was interviewed last Saturday on a local garden radio show, In the Garden with Mike Darcy. The subject was color in the garden, and Roger enthused about bark, berries and colorful leaves. Viburnum dilatatum from Japan was mentioned as a wonderful autumn plant, and Mike – who occasionally dumbs down to serve the audience – asked Roger what was the common name. Roger didn't know, but it is the “Linden Viburnum” because the leaves resemble the Tilia (lime) genus, and I had the answer in 10 seconds...coming from Roger's book The Gossler Guide to the Best Hardy Shrubs. C'mon Rog, read your own book!

Viburnum dilatatum 'Variegated'

I don't produce dilatatum, for no matter how "wonderful" it is, it is still considered a cheap shrub with a relatively low “shelf-life,” meaning that it gets large fast and there is no market for its large size. Besides, the genus is notorious for susceptibility to SOD (sudden oak death) and it is also a magnet for root weevils. The specific name dilatatum– given by Carl Peter Thunberg – comes from Latin dilatatusmeaning to “spread out,” and in time the bush can hog a lot of lateral space. In any case it is wonderful if the neighbors grow one, and you can look at it over the fence.

Sambucus racemosa 'Sutherland Gold'

Virgil

Iceman Ötzi

I have read that Viburnums are shrubs or trees in the Caprifoliaceae (honeysuckle) family in Hillier's Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2^nd edition), but by the 2014 (8^th edition) the genus has been moved into the Adoxaceae family. Other members include Adoxa, Sinadoxa, Tetradoxa– which I know nothing about – and Sambucus, which I do know something about. I grow a few cultivars of the latter in the gardens, and S. racemosa is native to my woods on both properties. Evidence accepted for the botanic move would bore you stiff, as it does me. My late grandmother used to make Sambucus (elderberry) jam and my late father made elderberry wine, and both were very tasty. As for Viburnums, Englishman John Lindley called them “a miserable food for savage nations.” Though Native Americans were no more savage than the English, they used Viburnum for food, medicine and tea. Also called “arrow-wood,” the Neolithic Iceman Ötzi, found frozen in the Alps in 1991, was carrying arrows made from V. lantana. The Roman Virgil (70-19 BC) wrote of lenta viburna, with lenta meaning “pliant” or “flexible” and viburna perhaps meaning a “path,” and indeed Viburnum branches usually do bend easily.

Viburnum bitchiuense

Another Vib from Japan is the species bitchiuense which was first described by Makino, the Father of Japanese Botany in 1911. I grow one in the Flora Wonder Arboretum, and it forms a medium-size shrub with a garden-worthy narrow upright habit.Light pink flower clusters appear in April and they are pleasantly fragrant; some other V. species actually stink, especially when brought into the house. The suffix ense refers to a place of origin in botany, while Bitchiu (or Bishiu) belongs to the “mountain-front circuit,” comprising eight provinces in ancient Japan.

Viburnum x bodnantense 'Dawn'

Commonly found in Western gardens is V. x bodnantense, the hybrid between V. farreri and V. grandiflorum. According to Hillier, “A splendid hybrid first raised at the RBG Edinburgh in 1933 and later at Bodnant, N wales in 1935.” So even with war looming in Europe, British gardeners still had time to breed bushes. 'Dawn' is vigorous and fairly hardy (USDA zone 6) and it produces fragrant flowers from October to November. When I alluded earlier to Vibs stinking up the house, I was thinking of 'Dawn'– somehow it smells ok out of doors, but not so inside and my wife tossed a bouquet into the trash after just a few hours. One 'Dawn' grew too large for its place in the garden so I cut it down. It refused to die and sent up new shoots which flowered; so every couple of years we play the chainsaw game.

Viburnum carlesii

William Richard Carles

V. carlesii is the Korean viburnum, a small deciduous shrub with a round form. Flowers appear in May and are sweetly scented; a blind man would assume he is smelling a Daphne. They are pinkish when in bud, but they open to snow-white in full flower, and later the fruits evolve from red to black. V. carlesii was named by botanist Hemsley for William Richard Carles (1849-1929) who collected plants in the 1880's in Korea. He was actually the British Vice Consul in China from 1867 to 1900, but he made a couple of trips into the Korean interior and sent the loot back to the Royal Botanic Garden. Carles wrote Life in Corea, the first account by a Westerner who actually set foot in the region. The wonderfully fragrant “Korean spice bush” was named carlesii unbeknownst to the plant hunter, and what a nice honor.

Viburnum davidii 'Longleaf'

Armand David

Viburnum davidii is a low-spreading Chinese evergreen shrub that was named for the missionary Armand David, and it was introduced into Europe by E.H. Wilson in 1904. The cultivar 'Longleaf' is more vigorous than the type, and my largest specimens are 2' tall and 6' wide at 16 years of age. V. davidii blooms in June, but the dull-white flowers are nothing special in my opinion; nevertheless it received an Award of Merit for its flowers in 1912 and again in 1971 for its turquoise-blue fruit. Since the berries are not very plentiful, one could say that it is primarily planted for its glossy green leaves and that it serves a utilitarian purpose. Sadly, in America, it is often put into parking-lot spaces without irrigation, and little brats and their tattooed moms trample on the poor things. My well-behaved children were taught at an early age to never take a shortcut through the flora, that if people did that at my nursery I would go bankrupt and they would be put into foster care or worse.

Viburnum furcatum

I've never grown V. furcatum, but I would if I ever saw one for sale. I think the photos above were taken at Arboretum Trompenburg in Rotterdam on a rainy October day. Hillier says that it flowers in May, which I have never seen, but that flowers resemble a lacecap hydrangea. I would grow it for the rich-purple autumnal hue even if it never flowered. Hillier deems the species to be of “elegant charm; an excellent woodland plant.” It is commonly called the “forked Viburnum,” as furcatum is derived from Latin furcatus for “forked,” and it is native to Japan, Korea and Russia.

Viburnum lantanoides

V. lantanoides is a New England native commonly called the “Hobble bush,” and it thrives in woodland conditions. This shrub can grow to 12' tall and the pendulous branches take root where they touch the ground. They present obstacles for walkers, hence the common name. Flowers are white to pink and appear in May-June and the fruit is a red drupe* that turns to black when ripe.

*From Greek dryppa for “overripe olive.” In botany it is a fleshy fruit with thin skin and a central stone containing the seed – as in a plum, cherry, almond or olive.

Viburnum plicatum f. tomentosum 'Mariesii'

Charles Maries

What was once V. mariesii is now encumbered with the current name of V. plicatum f. tomentosum 'Mariesii'. V. plicatum is the “Japanese snowball bush,” while forma tomentosum is commonly called the “doublefile viburnum.” The specific epithet comes from the Latin plicatum meaning “pleated” or “folded,” referring to the leaf veins, while Latin tomentosum means “woolly” due to fine hairs on young stems and leaf undersides. The cultivar honors the English plant-hunter Charles Maries (1851-1902) who toiled in Japan, China and Taiwan for the Veitch Nursery. Maries was prolific and discovered over 500 new species* which he introduced to England. Back to the bush, 'Mariesii' is noted for white flowers borne on horizontal branches. Give it plenty of space as I have seen specimens about 12' tall by 15' wide.

*Some of Maries introductions include:

Abies mariesii

Abies veitchii

Abies sachalinensis

Acer davidii

Acer maximowiczianum

Actinidia kolomikta

Cryptomeria japonica

Daphne genkwa

Enkianthus campanulatus

Pseudolarix amabilis

Abies mariesii

Abies vietchii 'Glauca'

Abies sachalinensis

Acer davidii

Acer maximowiczianum

Actinidia kolomikta

Cryptomeria japonica

Daphne genkwa 'Hackenberry Group'

Enkianthus campanulatus 'Showy Lantern'

Pseudolarix amabilis

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Viburnum plicatum 'Popcorn'

Viburnum plicatum 'Kearns Pink'

Viburnum plicatum f. tomentosum 'Pink Beauty'

V. plicatum 'Popcorn' is a show-off in May-June and our 5' compact specimen can be seen from a long distance away. According to Hillier it is a “particularly fine selection, producing a profusion of flowers earlier than other f. plicatumcultivars, and that its foliage remains “fresh throughout the summer.” I don't grow V.p. 'Kearns Pink' but I was impressed with it at Shadow Nursery in Tennessee a couple of springs ago. The “pink” was faint and I wonder how it compares with a Gossler favorite, V.p. 'Pink Beauty'– which remember is a lacecap variety – versus the snowball shape of the 'Kearns Pink' flower.

Viburnum opulus 'Nanum'

Viburnum opulus 'Leonard's Dwarf'

Viburnum opulus 'Aureum'

V. opulus is known as the “European cranberry bush” and it is native to such diverse locales like Europe, NW Africa, Asia Minor, the Caucasus and central Asia. It is a deciduous shrub, except that my V.o. 'Nanum' is perfectly green today. When I first acquired it I wasn't aware of how poorly it flowers, and the bush in the photo above has had twenty years to prove itself. 'Leonard's Dwarf' is a much faster cultivar, but it is planted behind the pond and I don't recall ever seeing it flower. Maybe its blooms are sparse also. V.o. 'Aureum' is my favorite of the cranberry bushes. I have sited it perfectly: enough sun for the foliage to be a strong yellow, and enough shade so that the leaves don't burn.

There, there you have a blog on Viburnums, something a week ago I thought I would never write. I don't think I have ever propagated or sold a Viburnum in my entire career. It is far from my favorite of all woody plants, but a few in the genus are nice additions to the landscape. I suppose the main reason for the Viburnum blog is to tease Roger about forgetting the common name when he was on the radio show.

By the way I didn't make up the joke about "Viburnum when you can mulch them?" That originated eons ago along with "There are two certainties in life: death and Taxus." I know, nurserymen should stick to their day jobs.

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 tropicalrainforest (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 amgetting 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

Fall harvesting

Our allotment of dry days in the fall is never enough. One wonders whether to plant, work on weed control or to dig and harvest. We accomplished some of all three, but this year's autumn effort went to an unusual amount of planting, not only into the fields for future capitalistic sales, but also into the gardens...to keep them interesting and relevant. Why does all of the new stuff, or the marginally hardy have to stay holed up in the greenhouses where there's never enough space anyway? The overall fiscal management of Buchholz Nursery would probably be better off in more capable hands instead of with me who enjoys the gardens (apparently) more than turning a profit. Most plants that went into the ground would have been in demand and could have been sold at a profit, and if the employees knew that fact they would probably rebel and demand higher wages or my ouster.

Styrax japonicus 'Evening Lights'

Ok then, what were some of the highlights that got stuck into the dirt instead of into my retirement account or into higher wages? One plant that I have been itching to get planted is Styrax japonicus 'Evening Lights', the Japanese “snowbell tree” with purple leaves instead of the typical green. The tree photographed above was taken at Oregon's Sebright Gardens, and its attractive vigor inspired me to finally plant one of my own, kind of like a counter-punch to their wonderful place. Spring's white campanulate blooms appear more luscious as they dangle among purple leaves compared to the normal green. What a great name too: with cream-white lantern-lights glowing in the darkness.

Acer macrophyllum 'Mocha Rose'

Acer macrophyllum 'Santiam Snow'

Acer macrophyllum 'Golden Riddle'

In the Quercus section at Flora Farm I repositioned an Acer macrophyllum 'Mocha Rose', for it would eventually have collided with a Pseudotsuga cultivar. Then, on its flanks we planted Acer macrophyllum 'Santiam Snow' and A. m. 'Golden Riddle'. So let's see what happens. 'Mocha Rose' is proven and wonderful, and even plant-dumb truck drivers will lumber out of their rigs to inspect and ask about it in April-May. It will still look good in June before turning chocolate – not burnt though – in July after a few 100 degree F days. Heritage Seedlings of Salem, Oregon introduced the variegated A. m. 'Santiam Snow' and they say that it does “fairly well” in full sun in the summer. I suspect that my newly-planted specimen will burn like hell the first year, and then less so in subsequent years. And I predict the same with the yellow-leaved 'Golden Riddle'. If I live long enough I will witness all three of these macros' canopies growing into each other, and that will be a small price to pay for a long life.

Quercus garryanas at Flora Farm

Hamamelis x intermedia
'Strawberries & Cream'

Garrya elliptica 'James Roof'

The “Quercus” garden at Flora Farm is so-named because it is dominated by three 100 year plus Quercus garryana, two of which appear in the photo above. The section is about 50' wide by 500' long, so I can cram a lot of trees into it. Whenever my wife or I head to an eastern destination from our home we take the route along FF Quercus so I am very mindful about what I plant there. Even though we have been married since ancient history, I still strive to please and entertain her. What would Haruko like to see on a cold but sunny February day when she drives to the grocery store? I know – how about Hamamelis x intermedia 'Strawberries and Cream'? Or perhaps Garrya elliptica 'James Roof'? We're only two months away from their flower show, and the anticipation keeps me going on these cold winter days.

Stewartia x henryae 'Skyrocket'

Acer palmatum 'Beni shigitatsu sawa'

Stewartia x henryae 'Skyrocket' replaced a dead Acer palmatum 'Beni shigitatsu sawa'. The maple was healthy and happy for at least 25 years. Two summers ago it produced an inordinate amount of seed – hundreds of thousands maybe – and they were absolutely beautiful. Then this past spring only 10% of the tree leafed out with the rest dead, and since I don't run a plant hospital it was edited entirely. 'Skyrocket' had spent its entire life inside Greenhouse 20 where I was trying to push the best scionwood, but with my dismal propagation results year after year I'm giving up on putting it into cultivation. It was selected from seedlings raised at Polly Hill Arboretum in Massachusetts, and with its narrow form it has obvious garden potential. The x henryaehybrid occurred spontaneously at the Henry Foundation for Botanical Research in Pennsylvania and was first described in 1964. I hope that whatever afflicted the maple won't harm the Stewartia because it is the only 'Skyrocket' I have.

Crinum 'White Queen'

We planted a group of Crinum 'White Queen' in our Far East garden. They were also hanging out in GH20, and we supposed that at some point we would divide them and become purveyors of Crinum. I don't know why but they never really thrived indoors, and the flopping strap leaves took up a lot of room. 'White Queen' is a Luther Burbank cross using Crinum x powellii 'Alba'x Crinum macowanii. Crinums are known as “Cape lilies” (from South Africa) and not surprisingly are in the Amaryllidaceae (amaryllis) Family. The name crinum originates from New Latin, coming from the Greek word krinon meaning lily.

Zephyranthes candida

Like Crinum, Zephyranthes candida is another bulb and it is commonly called a “Rain lily.” It is also in the Amaryllidaceae Family and ranges from the southern USA all the way down to Argentina. Its name is derived from Zephyrus, the Greek god of the west wind and anthos meaning “flower.” Zephyranthes was on our sales list for two years in a row, and to date no one has ever bought even one, so that is why we put some into the garden. Fortunately we didn't grow too many, but there are a few still left if you would like one at no charge. They are only marginally hardy in Oregon, but you can put it into your GH20.

Osmunda regalis

I only had one Osmunda regalis, and it was given to me by Roger of Gossler Farms Nursery. We planted the “Royal fern” down by the pond because this deciduous plant is native to bogs and stream-banks in Europe, Africa and Asia. Roger has a vigorous specimen in his large – non bog – garden and every time I visit he enthuses about it, and for all I know he maybe eats it in his salads.* The name Osmunda is possibly from Osmunder, a Saxon name for the god – excuse me, The God Thor; furthermore it is possible that Osmunda evolved in the southern continent of Gondwana, but nevertheless a fossil has been found in Sweden. Sue Olsen in Encyclopedia of Garden Fernslists a number of species of Osmunda and one, claytoniana, “is one seriously old species with fossil records, found in the Antarctic, dating back 200 million years to the Triassic era, the longest continuous life span of any living fern.”

*Osmunda regalis is said to taste like asparagus.

Acer palmatum 'Ikandi' in spring

Acer palmatum 'Ikandi' in summer

There are a number of maple cultivars that have never seen the ground at Buchholz Nursery, and they have only lounged in the benign atmosphere in our containers and greenhouses. But before I get too enthusiastic about them I need to test them in the out-of-doors “real world.” Acer palmatum 'Ikandi'– a Buchholz introduction – really impressed me this past spring and summer at Flora Farm, and so I planted a couple more at the nursery, with one located at our company's entrance. I was (most) pleased that the New York Botanic Garden in the Bronx planted one also, and their woody plant curator, Deanna Curtis, describes it as “unfurling in a carnival of pink, white and green.” Just wait until it becomes established in their climate and soil, and I predict that all visitors, in the spring and fall especially, will want to acquire one. Really I like it, and don't think that I mention it in the Flora Wonder Blog to promote myself or my company, although it is great if I can accomplish that as well. A seedling from Acer palmatum 'Higasayama'– which seemed to be an improvement over the parent, was raised at Baltzer's Nursery in Oregon and was named 'Alpenweiss', and then a seedling from 'Alpenweiss' was selected and named 'Ikandi' at Buchholz Nursery. I look forward to one day germinating seed of 'Ikandi' to see how much further we can take her desirable attributes.

Acer sieboldianum 'Seki no kegon'

Acer sieboldianum 'Seki no kegon' was planted into the original Display Garden with enough room for about five years. After that it will have to be pruned hard for the rest of its life, or dug and moved elsewhere. Who knows, maybe someone else will own the nursery at that point? The cultivar is billed as a “weeper,” but really it is a spreading “archer” that vigorously grows sideways, and then the long branches do fall downward. According to the Nichols brothers at MrMaple.com – and yes, they're retail so buy something from them! – “The name 'Seki' comes from the family name of Mr. Kazuo Seki who originally found this phenomenal tree. 'Kegon' comes from the famous cascading waterfall 'Kegon-no-taki'.” Apparently it was discovered in 1970, and when over 30 years old it stood only 10' tall. I graft ours on the compatible Acer palmatum and list 'Seki no kegon' as hardy to USDA zone 5. At Mr. Maple they go one better and use Acer sieboldianum rootstock, so their trees can withstand cold of -30 degrees F (USDA zone 4). My original tree grew to 3' tall by 7' wide in only eight years, and while I was sorry to part with it, it is now happily growing at the wonderful Iroki Garden in New York state.

Acer buergerianum 'Michael Steinhardt'

And speaking of Iroki, the garden is owned by Michael Steinhardt, and in our Long Road section I planted Acer buergerianum 'Michael Steinhardt', a cultivar discovered and named by Don Shadow of Tennessee. As you can see the cultivar features golden leaves, and Shadow reports that it doesn't burn in full sun. The photo above is of the original tree, and I was giddy with excitement when Don gave me a start. Now that I have five progeny one will be tested in an Oregon summer. 100 degrees in Tennessee is different than in Oregon – we have less humidity so many of their golden plants take the heat better than here.

Iris douglasiana

In my Grandfather's garden is a patch of Iris douglasiana which was spreading enough so that he could spare some starts for me. It is a common perennial wildflower native to the coast of southern Oregon to central California. It is a variable species that usually produces purple-blue flowers from April to June, but I prefer the milk-white form. My favorite place to see Iris douglasiana is at Point Reyes National Seashore north of San Francisco, but hang on to your hat as it is perpetually windy there. I overheard a park ranger tell a group of students that Point Reyes was the most biologically diverse location in the USA, which takes into account the marine life as well as that on land.

Abies koreana 'Vengels'

Abies koreana 'Nigrans'

Along the main road into the nursery we planted Abies koreana 'Vengels'. I have had larger ones than the 3' tree we planted, but I sold them a couple years ago...then instantly regretted it. The cultivar is slow and compact, but not dwarf, and the main feature is the skinny bracts on the narrow gray-green cones. You can see from the photos above how 'Vengels' differs from the type. I received my start as scionwood only, and I never had read or heard about the cultivar, or why it was selected. I had a couple of 4' trees in wood boxes. I walked past them one spring day and was amazed to see a crop of cones, and then it was obvious why it was selected. I assume the cultivar was discovered in Europe – they love Abies koreana there – but I don't know who or what Vengels is. Please: help from the Flora Wonder readership!

Styphnolobium japonicum 'Pendulum'

Somewhere along the way Sophora japonica 'Pendula'– in the Leguminosae family (Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs 5^th Edition) – was changed to Styphnolobium japonicum 'Pendulum' in the Papilionaceae family (Hillier 8^th Edition). It is rarely seen in America for some reason, but many of the European plant collections contain it. It is commonly called the “Weeping Japanese Pagoda tree” and it makes a neat mound. Hillier calls it “picturesque” and “an admirable lawn specimen, also suitable for forming a natural arbour.” The species is “native to China, but widely planted in Japan.” The reason the species is known as the “pagoda tree” is because they were often planted near Buddhist temples. It was introduced to Britain in 1753 by the nurseryman James Gordon, and one specimen at Kew is one of the original five planted in 1760.

Liriodendron tulipifera 'Little Volunteer'

A Liriodendron tulipifera 'Little Volunteer' was planted in the Upper Gardens at Flora Farm, and it replaced a Magnolia that wasn't faring well. Again, I don't run a plant hospital. In any case the replacement is also a member of the Magnoliaceae family, and 'Little Volunteer' is a more compact form of an otherwise huge species. The “volunteer”* part is because that is the state nickname of Tennessee, the location of the finder at Hidden Hollow Nursery. It is estimated to grow at 1/3 the size of the species and should make a good street tree, except Liriodendron is notorious for dripping aphid juice. It is said to bloom in midsummer, but when I visited the Neubauers at Hidden Hollow in May I took the flower photo above.

*The nickname originated during the War of 1812 when thousands of volunteers from Tennessee played a prominent role, especially during the Battle of New Orleans. Then during the Mexican War, the Secretary of State asked for 2,800 volunteers and got 30,000 respondents. Maybe they just like to fight.

Daphne odora 'Maejima'

Maejima Island, Japan

Daphne and Apollo

I put another Daphne odora 'Maejima' into the ground to keep it away from potential customers who visit the nursery and want to buy the few containers that I have. I bought ten from another nursery so that I could propagate and sell them also. Then a good customer came along and wanted all ten – groan – so I parted with five, thus reducing my cutting stock in half. The customer in question has a knack for finding my newly acquired – and not for sale – stock plants that are never put on the sales list, and since she is a happy good-looking female I usually relent. Daphne odora is an evergreen shrub with glossy foliage and deliciously-smelling winter (February-March) flowers. In Korea the plant is called churihyang, meaning “a thousand mile scent.” There are other variegated Daphne odora cultivars such as 'Marginata' and 'Aureomarginata', but 'Maejima' displays the most impressive variegation of all. The specific name odora was given for obvious reason, while the generic name Daphne is derived from the Roman myth of the nymph who was turned into a laurel bush – which is Daphne-like – to escape Apollo's amorous advances. Maejima, according to my Japanese wife, is a beautiful island located between Honshu and Shikoku in waters known in Japan as the “Inland Sea.”

Cornus florida 'Autumn Gold'

The late Dennis Dodge asked me if I would like scions of Cornus florida 'Autumn Gold', and the truth is that I didn't particularly want them. The reason is that the floridaspecies is susceptible to the anthracnose disease which afflicts the East Coast dogwoods, and so for my entire career I chose to produce only the kousa species which is more resistant. But Mr. Dodge was a well-known plant connoisseur with a taste for the very best. In short, I'm now glad that I accepted the scions because my 'Autumn Gold' starts have turned out to be wonderful trees. The white flowers don't impress me very much as they are not very conspicuous against the light green foliage, but the autumn color can be outstanding, ranging from bright yellow to purple-red. I planted a specimen at Flora Farm last year, and a month ago we shoe-horned another into the Display Garden. Thank you Mr. Dodge.

Again, I kind of wonder why I was in such a frenzy to jam more bushes into the garden, especially when less can appear to be more in a tasteful landscape. I have not created world class gardens even though they are filled with world class plants. My scapes are admittedly “too busy,” but what else can a hortiholic do?

I was looking on the nursery book shelves for an inventory of notable trees from my hometown of Forest Grove, Oregon – but I never did find it. However I did discover A Descriptive List of Woody Plants by Brian and Julie Humphrey, two English plant experts whom I keep in touch with. They visited me twenty-some years ago at the nursery and I visited them about fourteen years ago at their nursery in Suffolk. We used to trade scions and cuttings back when the consequences of getting caught were minimal, and though Brian still offers to send me whatever I want, I have to decline these days.

Viburnum plicatum 'Summer Snowflake'

What I find unusual about the Humphrey couple is that they actually do read the Flora Wonder Blog – every word of it – and I know because they are not shy to point out my errors. Recently I ventured into a blog about Viburnums, a plant genus I don't really know that well, and my photo and B.S. about V. xbodnantense 'Dawn' was clearly not, and instead I was depicting V. plicatum, probably 'Summer Snowflake'. I bought it retail I think as 'Dawn' but I don't remember where as it was twenty years ago. I don't mind taking chances in the blog, even if I am sometimes rong, and I appreciate to be told so. Not to sound arrogant but I don't produce the blog for you, or at least not primarily. I like to keep my brain active and I have learned a lot in the research for the stories.

Abeliophyllum distichum 'Pink Star'	Juniperus squamata 'Chinese Silver'
Acer davidii 'Serpentine'	Liquidambar styraciflua 'Moonbeam'
Acer rufinerve 'Albolimbatum'	Liquidambar styraciflua 'Silver King'
Betula costata 'Fincham Cream'	Magnolia 'Atlas'
Betula 'Edinburgh'	Magnolia 'Joe McDaniel'
Betula ermanii 'Mt. Apoi'	Magnolia kobus var. stellata 'Chrysanthemumiflora'
Betula jacquemontii 'Inverleith'	Nyssa sinensis 'Autumn Blaze'
Betula luminifera	Picea breweriana 'Fruhlingsgold'
Betula utilis 'Forest Blush'	Pieris 'Firecrest'
Betula utilis 'Jermyns'	Pieris 'Havila'
Betula utilis var. jacquemontii 'Doorenbos'	Pieris japonica 'Compact Red'
Betula utilis var. jacquemontii 'Grayswood Ghost'	Pieris japonica 'Humphrey'
Calocedrus decurrens 'Berrima Gold'	Pieris japonica 'Little England'
Cornus alternifolia 'Argentea'	Pinus cembra 'Aureovariegata'
Cornus 'Porlock'	Pinus mugo 'Ophir'
Cotinus 'Grace'	Pinus strobiformis 'Foxtail'
Cupressus lusitanica 'Glauca Pendula'	Pinus sylvestris 'Corley's Dwarf'
Cupressus macrocarpa 'Wilma'	Pinus sylvestris 'Edwin Hillier'
Cupressus sempervirens 'Green Pencil'	Pinus sylvestris 'Inverleith'
Daphne acutiloba	Pinus sylvestris 'Nisbet's Gem'
Embothrium lanceolatum 'Norquinco Valley'	Pinus wallichiana 'Densa Hillii'
Halesia monticola 'Vestita'	Prunus cyclamina
Hamamelis intermedia 'Barmstedt Gold'	Sinojackia rehderana
Juniperus communis 'Oblonga Pendula'

Seth is able to sort the Master Plant List by source, so 47 times we came up with the name Humphrey. Two names are fictitious – Pieris japonica 'Humphrey' and 'Little England'– because I had to call them something after a careless employee lost the labels, and they are both still in the garden.

Magnolia kobus var. stellata 'Jane Platt'

I don't remember what I sent to England, with the exception of Magnolia kobus var. stellata 'Jane Platt'. In the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2014 edition) the authors give specific rank to both kobus and stellata, a practice I should probably adopt if for no other reason than to make garden labels more simple. Of 'Jane Platt' Hillier says “Named from a plant grown as M. stellata 'Rosea' in the garden of Jane Platt in Portland, Oregon, USA, this form has very profuse deep pink flowers with up to 30 tepals.” Jane Platt and her husband are no longer alive, but they really kept an excellent landscape that plant snobs still love to visit. Unlike my busy gardens, Jane designed with class and elegance, and she truly was an artist with her grounds. M. 'Jane Platt' was actually named by Magnolia expert Roger Gossler, for he was convinced that the pink blossoms were much deeper in color than any 'Rosea' he had ever seen.

Davidia in the Platt garden

Davidia involucrata 'Platt's Variegated'

I also named and introduced a tree from the Platt garden – Davidia involucrata 'Platt's Variegated', for my start came from a tree in the bottom portion of their garden. I don't produce it anymore because it needs some age before the cream-white appears, and in fact the “variegation” is nothing more than an abundance of half-half bract/leaves.

Acer rufinerve 'Hatsu yuki'/'Albolimbatum'

Back to the Humphrey list, I received a start of Acer rufinerve 'Albolimbatum', and later from an American grower A. r. 'Hatsu yuki', only to find out years later by maple author Peter Gregory that they are one and the same. I don't produce it under either name anymore because sales were weak, and furthermore a significant portion of my original start has reverted back to total green. Still I like it and it has plenty of room to grow, and the fall color is usually outstanding. Acer rufinerve was first described by Philip von Siebold in 1845, and the specific name is derived from rufus for “russet red,” referring to the color of the hairs on the leaves, flowers and seeds. Hatsu means “first” in Japanese and yuki is “snow.” We had a young male intern from Japan named “Yuki,” but his characters did not translate as “snow;” nevertheless we called him “Snowboy.”

Acer davidii 'Serpentine'

Acer rufinerve and Acer davidii are both in the section Macrantha. The latter was named after Armand David (1826-1900), the French missionary and botanist. The davidii species was first introduced into England in 1879 by Charles Maries while he collected for the Veitch Nursery. Since it occurs over a large area in central and western China it can vary in appearance, and three great plant hunters – George Forrest, Frank Kingdon-Ward and E.H. Wilson – also sent versions of the species back to Europe. Mr. Humphrey provided my start of the cultivar 'Serpentine' and he describes it: “A small growing form...with half size rich green leaves which produce excellent yellow/orange autumn colour and light elegant 'snake bark' branches.” We propagate it by grafting onto Acer davidii or Acer tegmentosum, the latter being the more winter hardy of the two. It will also root by soft wood cuttings under mist in July. For me 'Serpentine' can get off to a crooked start with either method of propagation, and one learns that you can't stake away a “dog-leg” trunk, so you prune, prune, prune, and you'll eventually end up with a dense attractive tree.

Betula costata 'Fincham Cream'

I've never been a “swinger of birches” like Robert Frost, but I have been a seller of them in the past. Today a few of the birch cultivars from Humphrey are growing nicely at Flora Farm in the Betula section, in an area of about an acre so they have plenty of room. B. costata 'Fincham Cream' is a favorite and my specimen has an impressive trunk. Seth groans because he has to store the many photographs of it that I seem to take every winter. The costata species is native to northeast Asia and Humphrey describes it as a “smaller growing species than many and therefore is suitable for the smaller garden.” I agree that 'Fincham Cream'“has white bark with a hint of cream, excellent golden yellow autumn color,” but my specimen is already huge – grafted onto B. pendula – so I don't know about the “smaller garden” promise.

Betula apoiensis 'Mount Apoi'

Is it Betula apoiensis'Mount Apoi' or B. ermanii'Mount Apoi'? Hillier describes apoiensis as “a variable shrub, closely related to B. ermanii...and that it is found on Mount Apoi, Hokkaido Japan growing with Pinus pumila.” It is a stretch to assign cultivar status to 'Mount Apoi' as it was raised from seed collected on said mountain, and I wonder how it differs from the type when the species is described as “variable.” My specimen from Humphrey – also grafted onto B. pendula – is quite attractive but it is planted way too close to the aforementioned Davidia involucrata 'Platt's Variegated'. Do I let them grow into each other or intervene and remove one? Ah, the gardener's dilemma; so this winter we will propagate both so progeny of each can stay on Noah's Ark. I suspect the birch will remain because a few years ago an attractive Chinese female botanist was touring the nursery – and seldom do the intellectuals know much – but from a distance she asked “Is that Betula apoiensis?” I was shocked, and asked “hhhow did you know?” She replied that she did a dissertation on the genus. I had fantasies that we should marry and procreate biological geniuses, one of whom would take over the nursery and provide me with an exit plan.

Another birch from Humphrey was B. luminifera, and I write was because I have it no more, and I can't remember if the scions ever did grow for me. What a fantastic specific name though, and Hillier refers to its “lustrous” leaves and the “shining reddish brown bark.” Humphrey accounts that “This comparatively rare species was collected in the wild by Roy Lancaster on his expedition to Mt. Omei [China] 1980.” As with girlfriends for a playboy, when the years pass you just can't remember who or what came, then went. My Master Plant List – over the years – contains more no mas than what is here today. I have no regrets, though, for that is the way of this world: far more species have arrived – then disappeared – from this Earth than what exist today. Office manager, Eric Lucas, told his 27-year-old son that he was “lucky to be alive.” The dubious youth, who ishappy, still wondered what was his father's rationale. The answer is that something could have gone wrong along the way – along the so many ways– such as an ancestor dying from a lion attack, or from disease during the Great Plague or from being shot as a horse thief. Any little thing could have screwed up the lineage and so...no you. Anyway, no luminifera either.

Calocedrus decurrens 'Berrima Gold' in Arboretum Trompenburg

Calocedrus decurrens 'Berrima Gold'

Speaking of luminescent, Calocedrus decurrens 'Berrima Gold' came to me first from Mr. Humphrey, but of course I would have eventually acquired it anyway. It was selected at the Berrima Bridge Nurseries in Australia and Hillier adequately describes it as “A slow-growing form with orange bark and pale yellow-green foliage, tipped with orange in winter. Ultimate height uncertain.” It is incredible when seen combined with the scarlet red of a ladybug. As far as its height, I have never seen one taller than the wonderful specimen at Arboretum Trompenburg in Rotterdam and their specimen – perhaps because it is growing in some shade – is far more tall and narrow than the chubby squatters I grow in Oregon. Understand, however, that not everything is so glorious about 'B' Gold', for it is a notoriously untransplantable tree in my experience, so we keep them in containers from day one.

Cornus x 'Porlock'

Cornus x'Porlock' forms an attractive little tree, however I have no market for the hybrid (C. capitata x C. kousa) because my customers either 1) don't know it or 2) assume that it is not winter hardy. Of the two species in the cross capitata is the wimp as it is native to lower elevations in the Himalaya and China. 'Porlock' is semi evergreen in Oregon, but I would prefer that it would just go ahead and lose all leaves because as winter advances they become more unsightly. The creamy white flowers are nice but I wouldn't call them wonderful, however the strawberry-like fruits last for a couple of months in fall and they are most ornamental. An ex-employee who was afflicted with ADHD thought he should cut down my specimen at Flora Farm because something was causing the trunk to crack and peel. I responded “No way!” and asked him if he wanted to cut down all of our Acer griseums too? 'Porlock' was a natural hybrid occurring in the garden of Norman Hadden in West Porlock, Somerset in the 1950's, along with another hybrid seedling named 'Norman Hadden'.

Cornus alternifolia 'Argentea'

Cornus controversa 'Variegata'

Cornus controversa 'Variegata' at Arboretum Trompenburg

Humphrey also provided my start of Cornus alternifolia 'Argentea' which was rarely seen in the trade at the time. The species is from eastern North America but I don't think it is much used in landscapes. The small-growing silver-variegated 'Argentea' is in much demand however, although when young they can have awkward branching. Again: prune, prune, prune. There is the inevitable comparison between 'Argentea' and the similar Cornus controversa 'Variegata', with the latter being more vigorous and larger growing. Since I am a nurseryman trying to make a living I prefer crops of the variegated controversa, but easily sell out of both species anyway.

Cupressus macrocarpa 'Wilma'

Cupressus macrocarpa at the Strybing Arboretum

Humphrey describes Cupressus macrocarpa 'Wilma' as one of the best of the yellow-foliage forms with a “compact upright habit.” One sees tons of 'Wilma'– or a similar cultivar – in festive wrapped-up pots at Christmas time, and I suppose they are produced by the millions somewhere. I even saw them for sale in a tiny flower kiosk in Tokyo. I always keep a few plants around and they're easy to sell – though hardy to only about 10 degrees F – but the problem is that 'Wilma' originated as a sport on 'Goldcrest' and it can revert back to mother's less fluffy appearance. Cupressus macrocarpa is the “Monterey cypress” native to a small coastal area in mid California. In the wild they are windswept and picturesque, but in cultivation – like in San Francisco's Strybing Arboretum – they can grow to an enormous size. Perhaps the most despised of any conifer is the hybrid xCupressocyparis leylandii which has C. macrocarpa and Xanthocyparis nootkatensis as parents, an example where the offspring is less attractive than the two pure species.

Liquidambar styraciflua 'Silver King'

Liquidambar styraciflua 'Silver King' was new and exciting earlier in my career, but now it is firmly established in the trade so we don't propagate it anymore. Humphrey writes, “Edges of the leaves are distinctly margined creamy white. Grows well and quickly forms a very attractive variegated tree. Autumn colour causes the leaves to flush pink and purple.” What is remarkable is that 'Silver King' can withstand full sun in Oregon's hot dry summers, including the 108 degree F (42 C) scorcher we experienced a few years ago.

Liquidambar styraciflua seed

It would seem appropriate to group Liquidambar in the maple family (Sapindaceae) due to its maple-like leaves. Hillier puts the genus in the Hamamelidaceaefamily in his 2014 Manual, while other know-it-alls put it in the Altingiaceae family. The latter is a lonely family for it consists of a single genus Liquidambar with about 15 recognized species. The word Liquidambar refers to its sap, and comes from Latin liquidus and Medieval Latin ambraor ambar. The specific name styraciflua also refers to its sap, and it is commonly called the “American sweetgum.” The fruits are fascinating to me – and I also sold them to area florists as a youth. They contain small seeds within their terminal spikes and they remind me of a miniature version of a medieval weapon. Commonly these are known as “burr balls,” “gum balls,” “space bugs,” “monkey balls,” “bommyknockers,” “sticker balls” or “goblin balls.” The “monkey ball” wouldn't hurt if I threw one at you – they are fairly airy.

Pinus sylvestris 'Edwin Hillier'

Pinus strobiformis 'Foxtail'

I didn't do so well with Humphrey's conifer scions. If Pinus cembra 'Aureovariegata' and Pinus sylvestris 'Corley's Dwarf' ever lived I have no memory of them. Perhaps there's a section of the nursery where I have never been. I did like Pinus sylvestris 'Edwin Hillier' but nobody would buy the blue Scot's pine and I don't even have one in the garden. I did see it at the Hillier Arboretum and I recognized it from far away. I thought that Pinus strobiformis 'Foxtail' was nice – and what a good cultivar name – but again, nobody will buy them.

Pinus mugo 'Ophir'

My favorite of the conifer starts is Pinus mugo 'Ophir' and it is still in production. It is a golden dwarf that emits a beautiful glow, especially in winter. There are other golden mugos that are perhaps more intensely yellow, but 'Ophir'* looks best, at least in my garden.

*Ophir is a biblical land of uncertain origin, possibly southern Arabia or eastern Africa, from which gold was brought for Solomon. 1 Kings 10:11.

If you have actually read this far, you noticed that I jumped back and forth with quotes from Hillier and Humphrey, which is not surprising since Brian Humphrey used to work for Hillier. He is retired from his own nursery now, but still enjoys his garden, and he is writing a book on propagation. Lucky him – he's retired, but I am just tired.

The new year will be here soon...er, wait a minute -- we're already a week into it.

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

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

Contest closes at 12pm, Wednesday, January 11th, 2017 and the winner will be announced at 4pm, Wednesday, January 18th, 2017.

Good Luck.

Mount Rainier

Tilia cordata

Sorbus sitchensis

Quercus frainetto

Marmot Twins

Acer palmatum 'Mon zukushi'

Costus speciosus 'Variegatus'

Chrysanthemum 'Lava'

Acer davidii 'Hanshu suru'

Cornus 'Porlock'

Parodia magnifica

Paeonia obovata

Quercus shumardii var. schneckii

Acer palmatum 'Ogi tsuma gaki' #1

Rodgersia 'Bronze Peacock'

Hoh Rainforest #1

Acer palmatum 'Manyo no sato'

Leucothoe keiskei

Acer palmatum 'Ikandi'

Oxydendrum arboreum 'Chameleon'

Acer nipponicum #1

Mukdenia rossii 'Karasuba'

Acer palmatum 'Mikawa nishiki'

Water Lily

Phellodendron amurense var. amurense

Quercus alba

Acer palmatum 'Tiger Rose'

Hoh Rainforest #2

Cercis canadensis 'Hearts of Gold'

Acer japonicum 'Emmett's Pumpkin'

Ginkgo biloba

Acer micranthum

Crataegus crusgalli 'Inermis'

Acer sieboldianum 'Kumoi nishiki'

Parrotia persica

Populus tremula 'Erecta' #1

Populus tremula 'Erecta' #2

Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Jade Prince'

Hoh Rainforest #3

Cladrastis kentukea

Lake Crescent

Acer palmatum 'Ogi tsuma gaki' #2

Morus alba 'Chaparral'

Parrotia persica 'Persian Spire'

Hoh Rainforest #4

Gleditsia triacanthos 'Christie'

Acer palmatum 'Christyann'

Acer x 'Hasselkus'

Hamamelis intermedia 'Diane'

Liriodendron tulipifera 'Emerald City'

Acer caudatifolium 'Variegata'

Hoh Rainforest #5

Cedrus deodara

Acer rubrum 'Redpointe'

Ginkgo biloba 'Pendula'

Acer palmatum 'O sakazuki'

Parrotia persica 'Vanessa'

Acer pictum 'Usu gumo'

Rhododendron luteum

Acer shirasawanum 'Aureum'

Acer palmatum 'Satsuki beni'

Cornus florida 'Autumn Gold'

Salvia microphylla 'Hot Lips'

Acer japonicum 'Yama kage'

Hoh Rainforest #6

Ginkgo biloba 'Autumn Gold'

Taxodium distichum 'Peve Minaret'

Acer palmatum 'Bloody Talons'

Tilia platyphyllos

Washington County Scenery

Acer nipponicum #2

Pseudotsuga menziesii 'Toledo Weeper'

Rhododendron proteoides 'Cecil Smith Form'

Coastal Snag

Rhododendron 'Airy Fairy'

Hoh Rainforest #7

Acer saccharinum

Quercus garryana

Sempervivum 'Gold Nugget'

Icy Road

Trochodendron aralioides

Pterostyrax hispida

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Van den Akker'

Paeonia 'Sonoma Halo'

Kniphofia pauciflora

Ulmus americana

Zantedeschia 'Edge of Night'

Quercus kelloggii

Pinus nigra

Clouds

Maria Martins: The Impossible, III

Pablo Picasso: Les Demoiselles d'Avignon

Snow event at Buchholz Nursery

Looking at my Master Plant List I wonder if I have a plant genus beginning with every letter of the alphabet. Then further I'll see if I can find the generic name origin. I was holed up at home over the weekend, fretting about snow and freezing rain, and listening to the weather lady enthusiastically describing our “wintery mix” evolving into a “wintery mess.” Indeed it all unfolded just the way she described, and now on Monday I am all alone at work with the crew preferring to stay in their beds. Least I slip and fall outside I'll keep my fire burning this morning inside with my books.

Acanthus spinosus

A is for Acanthus. It is derived from Greek akanthos, a “prickle,” as some species feature spiny foliage. With Acanthus spinosus the specific name also refers to the foliage. I have had one in the garden for years, and every summer it sends up 3-4' flower spikes. This eastern Mediterranean perennial's leaves have lent their shape to the carved motifs used to decorate the capitals of Corinthian columns.

Bergenia 'Angel Kiss'

Bergenia 'Pink Dragonfly'

B is for Bergenia, a genus of spring-blooming perennials which display purple-red leaves in fall and winter. They were named for Karl August von Bergen (1704-1759), a German physician and botanist by fellow botanist Conrad Moench, the latter who also named the plant genus Echinacea. I have seen Bergenia in the Himalaya – probably B. ciliata – growing on drippy mossy cliffs, but what I grow and sell are patented hybrids, where the originator keeps it secret as to the hybrids' parent stock.

Parodia magnifica

Theophrastus

C is for cactus, from Greek kaktos, a name used by Theophrastus (371 BC - 287 BC) for an unknown prickly plant; but now cactus has been dropped as a generic term and is just the English name for members of the family Cactaceae. The “cactus” shown above is Parodia magnifica, a native to southern Brazil just like our intern Rodridgo.

Delosperma basuticum

D is for Delosperma, from Greek delos to “manifest” and sperma for “seed.” The species above – basuticum – comes from South Africa's Drakensberg Mountains and amazingly is hardy to USDA zone 4, or -30 degrees F. Delosperma are commonly called “ice plants” due to hairs on the leaf surface that reflect light in such a way that they appear to sparkle like ice crystals. Flowers come in a kaleidoscope of unreal colors, such as purple, yellow and white, and it's not really a plant that I want in my garden even though I can appreciate the genus in another's (perhaps cactus) garden. I think the basuticum photo was taken in southern California at the Huntington Botanic Garden.

Echinacea purpurea 'Ruby Star'

E is for Echinacea, and I mentioned earlier that the German botanist Moench named it even though all species of the “coneflowers” are native to the United States. The generic name is derived from Greek echinos for “hedgehog” due to the prickly flower heads. The same company that provides my Bergenia also peddles lots of Echinacea and while I have a few in the garden, I have resisted the urge to grow them for sale. I have never taken Echinacea as medicine like the hippies do to boost their immune systems and alleviate pain. Great Plains Indians used it for headaches, snake bites, sore throats, stomach aches and tooth aches. It is also claimed that Echinacea can relieve anxiety, which might be helpful for me because I'm always worrying about one thing or another.

Fuchsia magellanica var. pumila

Ferdinand Magellan

F is for Fuchsia which was named after Leonard Fuchs, a 14^th century German botanist. There are probably thousands of Fuchsia hybrids, but I'm content in my garden to only grow the hardy F. magellanica var. pumila which comes from Chile and Argentina. The specific name is for the Portuguese explorer, Ferdinand Magellan of course. My plants die back in winter, so I prune them to keep the shrub less unsightly. When my daughter was five she would attach a Fuchsia blossom to her earlobes with scotch tape. Now that she is thirteen her ears are pierced for the real stuff, but in my opinion – which she and no one else wants – the Fuchsias were far more beautiful.

Gaultheria tricophylla

Gaultheria shallon

G is for Gaultheria, an ericaceous genus that commemorates botanist and physician Dr. Gaulthier of Quebec. Both of my properties contain Gaultheria shallon, and the specific epithet is an old Native American name. The common name of salal was from the Chinook Jargon, a pidgin trade language developed in the Pacific Northwest. Shallonwas a native word recorded by Lewis and Clarke as shelwel or shellwell and it was used both as food and medicinally. G. shallon was introduced to Britain in 1828 by David Douglas, and I'm sure he tripped on plenty of it as he tromped through the Oregon woods. My favorite Gaultheria species is tricophylla (hairy-leaved) for its brilliant berries. The photo above was taken in the Indian Himalaya at about 12,000' where it crept only a few inches above the ground.

Hemerocallis 'Moon Traveler'

H is for Hemerocallis, from Greek hemeros for “a day” and kallos for “beauty,” and of course they are known as “daylilies” as their blossoms only last one day. I don't care for this Asian genus nearly as much as I do the true Lillium genus, but Hemerocallis is so easy to grow and tough that one must give it due respect. One characteristic of the thousands of hybrids is that they are frequently given goofy names like 'So Excited', 'Holy Mackerel', 'Root Beer', 'Russian Rhapsody', 'Moon Traveler' and the like. Please....

Illicium anisatum 'Red Leaf'

Illicium parviflorum 'Florida Sunshine'

I is for Illicium, and the name is derived from Latin illicio, to attract or allure, referring to the aromatic perfume. I. anisatum is from Japan and China and its bark was and is used as incense, and a synonym for the specific epithet is I. religiosum. I couldn't pass up an Illicium parviflorum 'Florida Sunshine', and I ordered it from Plant Delights Nursery based on their fanciful description: “As the weather cools in fall, the leaf color brightens to screaming yellow[emphasis mine] then becomes a near parchment color by midwinter. During the same time, the upper stems take on a brilliant red cast, contrasting vividly with the leaves.” They claim that 'Florida Sunshine' is hardy to USDA zone 6, -10 degrees F, but so far I have kept my plant in the protective confines of GH20.

Jovibarba heuffelii 'Gold Bug'

By Jove!

J is for Jovibarba, or “the beard of Jupiter.” Ten years ago I didn't grow a single cultivar and now we have a nice collection. I'll admit that I still can't tell a Jovibarba from a similar genus, Sempervivum, without the label. The specific name heuffelii was named for Johann (Janos) Heuffel, a 19^th century Hungarian physician. The best part about both Jovibarba and Sempervivum is the 100% propagating results, and I think children should get into the act for wholesome fun. That's better than spending every waking hour with their digital gadgets.

Koelreuteria paniculata

K is for Koelreuteria, a flowering tree in the Sapindaceae family, the same family as my beloved maples. The Asian genus was named by Erik Laxmann, a Finnish-Swedish clergyman, explorer and natural scientist for German botanist Joseph Gottlieb Kolreuter (1733-1806). I had a Koelreuteria paniculata between the house and a Thuja hedge. It grew too large and the only solution was to cut it down, though I was sad to do so. But every few years a seedling will sprout from within the hedge and lean out towards the road. I never replaced the big tree, so I could say that I don't grow it any more, except for my little visitors frequently peeking out from the hedge.

Lapageria rosea

Lapageria rosea (albino form)

Empress Josephine

L is for Lapageria, the Chilean bellflower vine. The single species in the genus is rosea, although albino flowers can develop. The scientific name honors the Empress Josephine Lapagerie of France, Napoleon's wife, because of her devotion to botany. She was the first to grow it in Europe, taken to France by one of the Empress' botanists. I purchased or was given a start by Sonoma Horticultural Nursery in California, and eventually I had a dozen vines that were staked in one-gallon pots. They grew to five feet in height and bloomed every years. I thought they would look nice in our cute 7” cedar boxes, which are hardly any larger than the 6” diameter one-gallon pot. They resented the move – they are known to be difficult – and every one of them stood pouting for three or four years, refusing to prosper but choosing not to die either. Also they stopped flowering, so eventually I made myself feel better by dumping the lot.

Mammillaria geminispina

Mammillaria aljibensis

M...mmm. There is no shortage of generic plant names that begin with “m.” I could go with Magnolia, named by Linnaeus in honor of Pierre Magnol, a professor of botany and medicine at Montpellier in the 16^thcentury. Or perhaps with Mahonia, named for Bernard McMahon, the nurseryman who served as curator for the plants collected by the Lewis and Clark Expedition. But no – I think I'll go with Mammillaria due to its double “m's,” appropriately from Latin mamma for the “breast,” or mammilla for a “nipple” due to the tubercules found on many species. Linnaeus first described it as Cactus mammillaris in 1753, and most of the “pincushion” species come from Mexico but I have also seen them in Arizona. My wife keeps a few Mammillaria on the kitchen window sill and they bloom and thrive with her total neglect, and I think it might be steam from the stove that nourishes them.

Nepenthes species

Helen of Troy

N is for Nepenthes, a fascinating carnivorous tropical perennial. The name is from Greek meaning “without care,” alluding to a passage in the Odyssey where Helen drugged the wine so as to free the men from grief and care. According to Linnaeus: “If this is not Helen's Nepenthes, it certainly will be for all botanists. What botanist would not be filled with admiration if, after a long journey, he should find this wonderful plant. In his astonishment past ills would be forgotten when beholding this admirable work of the Creator!” Linnaeus first published the name Nepenthes in 1737 when describing N. distillatoria from Sri Lanka. Interestingly monkeys have been observed to drink from Nepenthes, and they are commonly called a “pitcher plant.”

Oxalis bowiei

Oxalis tetraphylla 'Iron Cross'

Oxalis corniculata

Oxalis stricta

O is for Oxalis, the name coming from Greek oxis and means “acid” due to the acidity of the leaves of many species. At its best some Oxalis species are wonderful rock garden and woodland perennials. I like O. bowiei for its flower and O. tetraphylla 'Iron Cross' for its foliage, but at its worst it is a bane to the nurseryman and gardener. I am afflicted with two species, O. stricta and O. corniculata, both pretty in their own right, but impossible to get rid of. I have even been known to throw plants away unless I can bareroot them to remove the pest, but even at that a piece of root might remain to sprout again.

Paeonia lutea

Paeonia lutea var. ludlowii

Paeonia lutea var. ludlowii seeds

Paeonia delavayi

P is for Paeonia and was named after Paeon, a physician of ancient Greece who used the plant medicinally. I grow P. lutea and P. lutea var. ludlowii in our gardens, and this past fall I put the red-flowered P. delavayi near my home road so my family could enjoy it. Other than that I steer clear of the genus because my grounds have a Peony crud – a virus I guess – and after a few years they decline then die.

Quercus garryana

Q is for Quercus, and thank goodness because I have no other plant that begins with a “q.” Quercus is Latin for “oak tree.” In Old English oak was acfrom Proto-Germanic aiks. In other European languages it was ek in Old Frisian and eik in Old Norse. Old Norse was the language of Iceland but there are no native oaks, and eikjust referred to a “tree.” I'm always bragging about my huge 300-year+ Quercus garryana, the main reason I bought Flora Farm thirteen years ago. But after every snow and ice storm event, as we have just had, I gingerly open the front door to see if it is still standing, then I happily report back to my relieved wife.

Rudbeckia 'Goldsturm'

Olof Rudbeck the Younger

R is for Rudbeckia, named after Olof Rudbeck (1660-1740), a Swedish botanist who succeeded his father as Professor of Medicine at Uppsala University. Why does that sound familiar? One of his students was Carl Linnaeus who eventually named the genus for father and son. Rudbeck's greatest accomplishment was that he fathered 24 children (with three wives). His sister, Wendela, married Peter Nobelius, and from them descends Alfred Nobel, founder of the Nobel Prizes.

Sciadopitys verticillata

John Gould Veitch

S is for Sciadopitys which comes from Greek skias for a parasol and pitus for a “fir” tree according to one source, or Greek sciado meaning “shadow” and pitys meaning a “pine” from another source. The specific name verticillata is fairly common in botany and means “with whorls.” Old Linnaeus had nothing to do with naming the genus* as it was first introduced to Europe by John Gould Veitch in 1860. However, if you go back far enough Sciadopitys was more widespread in the Northern Hemisphere and fossils have been found in coal formations in Germany. The Japanese know the genus – with only one species – as koyamaki.

*It was Philipp von Siebold who first described Sciadopitys.

Tulipa humilis 'Lilliput'

Tulipa bakeri 'Lilac Wonder'

T is for Tulipa, commonly called tulip. Its name is a corruption of the Persian word thoulybanor tulipant for a “turban” which the flower is supposed to resemble. Tulipa is a genus in the Liliaceae family and consists of about 100 species with thousands of cultivars. We had a nice collection of dwarf species tulips that we showed off in our pumice stones, and what a perfect way to “container” grow them. I walked by them one day and was shocked to find that every bulb had been dug and eaten by squirrels.

Uvularia sessilifolia

U is for Uvularia and the name comes from Latin uvula for the “palate” due to the hanging flowers according to one source. Another source says it is Latin uvula for “little grape” because grapes hang down. The grape theory seems a stretch, and besides every ear-nose and throat doctor knows about the palatine uvula that hangs down from the soft palate in the mouth. So, I don't know I guess – and I should have used U is for Ulmus.

Viola 'Silver Star'

Viola 'Dancing Geisha'

V is for Viola and that was the ancient Latin name for a violet. It was perhaps derived from Greek ion for violet. Some Viola species are perennial and some annual, and just as with the Oxalis species mentioned earlier, some are weeds that you definitely don't want. We have a bad one – I don't know the species – but it is very difficult to remove from containers, and outside the spray crew thinks that it's a species that I have chosen to grow. The garden pansy is a hybrid form of Viola and I admire the incredible array of colors that are available in spring in the garden centers. By the way, neither Saintpaulia(“African violets”) nor Erythronium dens-canis (“dogtooth violets”) are related to the true Viola.

Wisteria species

Wisteria floribunda 'Variegated'

Caspar Wistar

W is for Wisteria and the name was bestowed by botanist Thomas Nuttall in honor of Caspar Wistar (1761-1818), except that Nuttall screwed up the spelling. Wistar was an interesting character as an American physician and anatomist, but botany was not his forte. Besides medicine he was elected to membership of the American Philosophical Society, and on the resignation of Thomas Jefferson in 1815 he served as president until his death. He also served as president of the Society for the Abolition of Slavery, so I wonder what Jefferson thought about that! I have two cultivars of Wisteria, both given to me by Guy Meacham of PlantMad Nursery, but I'm scared to plant them out because the genus can dominate, so I keep them in a greenhouse and prune heavily.

Xanthocyparis vietnamensis

Fortunately the Chamaecyparis nootkatensis name has been changed to Xanthocyparis nootkatensis, for it is the only X I have since I sold my last Xanthoceras sorbifolium. The change was prompted by the discovery of X. vietnamensis in 1999 in the limestone mountains in northern Vietnam, and so far it has been found in only one location in an area of less than 50 square kilometers. It is making its rounds in western collections, and the photo above was taken at the Rhododendron Species Garden in Washington state. I hope someone will harvest the cone I discovered at the top of their small bush, and then give me an offspring. Or, please stick some cuttings because its cousin X. nootkatensis roots relatively easy.

Yucca rostrata 'Sapphire Skies'

Y is for Yucca which is from Spanish yuca and it is of unknown origin, but it could be from a Native American name since the genus is found in western North America. Linnaeus named the genus, but perhaps by mistake, for yuccais the Latinized version of the Caribbean plant cassava, Manihot esculenta or tapioca. Huh?

Zea mays 'Tricolor'

I'm growing weary of this plant alphabet project, but at least I can finish with Z for Zea which is an old Greek name for a “kind” of corn. Zea mays is an American grass whose fruit we all love to eat, so you would assume that mays is derived from the Indian name of maize, first domesticated by indigenous peoples in Mexico about 10,000 year sago. I have seen corn in Mexican and South American markets, usually displayed for sale alongside their grubby little potatoes, but one must admire the aboriginal people to accomplish such impressive food development.

Personally, I met a girl in college whose name was Mia Hays. She was vivacious and cute and totally above my level. I watched her from afar for I was only 17 (she 19) and I was wet behind the ears – so dumb – but I loved her immensely and especially the sound of her exotic name which now reminds me of Zea mays. I don't know whatever happened to her – perhaps she is still growing corn with her grandchildren on a California commune – but now she must have gray hair like me. One thing I am certain of is that Mia - Zea doesn't remember me, but I'll never forget her.

Winner: Ginkgo biloba 'Pendula'

Runner-up: Mount Rainier

We have a Buchholz photo contest winner! The photo of Ginkgo biloba 'Pendula' received the most votes, one more than runner-up Mt. Rainier. Lisa from Washington state was selected at random and she will receive her prize in a few weeks.

The photo was taken in our Waterfall section and it dependably colors every autumn. 'Pendula' is a poor cultivar name as it does not really weep, but rather just spreads.

Buchholz favorite, Hoh Rainforest

Thanks to all who participated, even though my favorite didn't win.

Sammy

Some women are beautiful, even stunningly so, but they might not be particularly cute*...and vice versa. Our family's cats, two sisters, were cute as kittens, but now they're just cats. Sammy our Wonder Dog was cute as a puppy, and he's actually still pretty cute after nearly eight years old.

*The word cute originated as an abbreviated form of “acute” and meant “cunning” or “quick-witted.” Don't get cute with me, now.

Haruko

I wasn't very impressed with my wife (Haruko) when I first met her, which is odd when you consider that she was a healthy well-formed Japanese woman of twenty two, and I was an old (single) codger in my upper forties. Eventually I watched her interact with other people and she was always smiling, always happy, and so was everybody else. She displayed a cute personality with a child-like – but not childish – sense of wonder and enjoyment with the world. I don't know why I was initially blind to her because she was the very definition of cute, then and even more so today, and I would much rather have a cute and happy wife than a classically beautiful one.

Acer shirasawanum 'Kawaii'

Anyway, when you first encounter some plants they make you smile. They're cute – cute as a button. When Haruko first saw an unnamed maple seedling – likely a palmatum-shirasawanum hybrid – she exclaimed, “Ahh kawaii,” Japanese for “loveable,” “cute” or “adorable,” and thus the seedling received its name. The orange-red of the 'Kawaii' leaf glows in certain settings, but you would never consider it deep or dazzling. If I have any complaint with 'Kawaii' it's that it is slow and gangly when young – it takes a number of years before you can achieve a full bush...which will likely be more wide than tall. Recently a customer complained that his 10-gallon tree for $80.00 was way too small, way too small for the price. He was right, except that it was at least three years older than our other $80.00 10-gallon maples. I never overreact with just one complaint and I'll continue to grow a few 'Kawaii' even though they're not really profitable for me, and as far as I know it is the first and only red shirasawanum “laceleaf.” It was named and introduced by Buchholz Nursery, however we did not discover it. That would be Jim Baggett of Corvallis, Oregon, in his open garden with his seed coming – if I recall correctly – from Acer shirasawanum 'Palmatifolium'– itself, a likely shirasawanum-palmatum hybrid. For what it's worth, the seed of 'Kawaii' rises above the foliage, per the shirasawanum species.

Pinus leucodermis 'Schmidtii'

Theodor von Heldreich

One person remarked – I think in a Conifer Society publication – that Pinus leucodermis 'Schmidtii' was the most wonderful of all dwarf conifers. I felt sorry for him with his limited view. True, it is a lustrous green ball that especially shines in the winter garden, but I invite you to examine one as I have, and I wonder if we'll both conclude that it's “useful” rather than “wonderful,” that perhaps it is even a little boring. Certainly it is not cute, at least not to me, and it would never be the bride of my conifers. I use the cultivar name found in the trade, although the original plant was found in the Czech Republic in the wild in 1926 by Eugen Smidt, not Schmidt. Hillier in Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2014) lists it as 'Smidtii', and furthermore that the specific identity is not leucodermis(“white bark”), but is more appropriately that of heldreichii. The latter name is for German botanist Theodor von Heldreich (1822-1902) who was a good friend of Charles Darwin, and who discovered seven new genera and 700 new species of plants, a tenth of which bear his name. In any case, I still grow lots of 'Schmidtii' and they sell well and they are easy to grow, except a little slow.

Pinus parviflora 'Bonny'

A far more interesting pine than 'Schmidtii' for me is Pinus parviflora 'Bonny'. This choice little imp features tiny gray-blue recurved needles, and a slow, compact upright habit. There are lots of dwarf parviflora buns or squat buns, but none as cute as 'Bonny'. Please note that 'Bonny' is notthe same as the larger broad, Pinus parviflora 'Bonnie Bergman'. Bonnie, Bonny or Bonne is a girl's name which means “pretty” and it was derived from Middle French bonne for “good,” as in a good and beautiful girl. Bonny is related to Latin bonus meaning something good that is more than what was expected or required. Pinus parviflora 'Bonny' is a bonus in a rock garden, trough or container, and it will grow to 3' tall by 2' wide in 10 years.

Pinus mugo 'Mr. Wood'

Another cute pine is the diminutive Pinus mugo 'Mr. Wood', and it too features tiny recurved blue needles. A seedling was given to me about twenty years ago by the late Edsal Wood, a very generous plantsman with an eye for the unusual. He grew thousands of seedlings, in particular hemlocks, but he gave away the fun stuff because he made an adequate living with his Woods' Rooting Hormone – which we still use – and other chemicals. I honestly thought Edsal was mistaken when he handed me the mugo for it more resembled a very refined Pinus parviflora. It was only three inches tall in a little pot, but when I got home I pulled off a fascicle and indeed it consisted of two needles, not the five of a parviflora.

Years later I came across a Pinus mugo 'Fish Hook' that was introduced by Larry Stanley of Stanley and Sons Nursery of Oregon. Some conifer aficionados insisted that 'Mr. Wood' was just a renaming of 'Fish Hook', and shame on that Buchholz cad for doing so. But rong! It turns out that Edsal gave another (sister) seedling to Larry about the same time, and while they are similar, they are absolutely two different clones. I'll take my hat off to Larry for he chose the better cultivar name, and I'm always harping against using a person's name for a cultivar. But I never intended to name mine 'Mr. Wood'– that was just a temporary code name so I could keep track of it. At some point I gave away or sold a few, so with the horse out of the barn the name must stick.

Rhododendron 'Pink Snowflakes'

I think that 'Pink Snowflakes' is the cutest dwarf Rhododendron that I grow, even though I have other cultivars that are far more dwarf. Tiny flowers are about 1 1/2” across and colored soft pink with darker pink spotting, and when in bloom one young (male) plantsman called it a “chick magnet,” as you could easily attract girls with it as with a cute puppy. The parentage is R. racemosum x R. moupinense and it is hardy to about 0 degrees F, USDA zone 7. 'Pink Snowflakes' has been around for a long time – hybridized by R.W. Scott in 1968 – but for some reason it is seldom commercially available, maybe because it is so dwarf. Our oldest (12-14 years) is only two feet tall by one and a half feet wide and it is planted in our converted basketball court garden. It is even attractive on this rainy January day because of its swelling red buds, and I'll bet that there's at least two hundred of them on the small bush.

Ilex x 'Rock Garden'

I never thought of Ilex x'Rock Garden' as being “cute.” It is a diminutive dense evergreen with a very slow rate of growth. After about twenty years my original plant finally produced berries, and this year the basketball-sized specimen is adorned with about 25 of them. So it's a cute plant after all. Hollies are dioecious (separate male and female plants), so x'Rock Garden' is female and requires a male pollinator for fruit production. My x'Rock Garden' grows in isolation, quite a distance away from any other holly, so I wonder how the male gets the job done. The parentage is complex and involves I. aquipernyi (itself a hybrid of I. aquifolium) native to England, and I. pernyi native to China and I. integra native to Japan, China and Korea. If you're young and see one for sale you should buy it; but also buy a statue of a cat to accompany it, for when it finally berries you don't want the damn birds to devour the fruit.

Salvia x jamensis 'Hot Lips'

I am not a Salvia kind of guy, and I know very little about the usually tender genus with at least 800 species. But there is a hybrid, x jamensis, (S. greggii xS. microphylla), that was discovered near the village of Jame, Coahuila, Mexico and it has resulted in a number of cultivars. Definitely cute are the flowers of 'Hot Lips', and the 5' bush blooms prolifically throughout the summer. My friend Gerald gave me my start, and he has one himself planted out in his Vancouver, Washington garden. 'Hot Lips' is barely hardy in Oregon, and we've already plunged to 3 degrees F this winter, and I keep mine in GH20. I'm curious how his will fare as he gardens with more reckless abandon than I do. He is older is one reason, and also his garden is overplanted anyway, and he can stand to have a few less plants.

Abies koreana 'Alpine Star'

Abies koreana 'Ice Breaker' is not cute, not at all, even though it is impressively dazzling. I don't think most of the dwarf Abies – which usually originate as witch's broom mutations – are cute. One exception is Abies koreana 'Alpine Star'; and what a great name as the white buds twinkle against the dark foliage like tiny stars in the night sky. My start came via a circuitous route that maybe originated in Europe. It is also possible that 'Alpine Star' was an American introduction which which was sent to Europe by someone, and then it came back to America again. Did you follow that? Some collectors or growers assume that if they see a plant in our photo library, then we must have it for sale. Not so. In one case I took a photo in Deurne, The Netherlands, but I didn't grow that plant. A year later someone in Boskoop, The Netherlands, requested that I send him a start. That type of thing occurs at least once a year.

Bletilla striata 'Kuchibeni'

Bletilla striata 'Murasaki shikibu'

Bletilla x yokohama 'Kate'

Bletilla ochracea

The Bletillas have all died back to the ground, and when the leaves reemerge in spring the uninitiated gardener will have no clue about the pretty orchid flowers that are to follow. Their charm is that they are small, but an established clump can bloom for months and show off with hundreds of flowers. Bletillas are terrestrial orchids with about ten recognized species, and in recent times new hybrids and cultivars are appearing on the market and they're blessed with alluring names such as 'Chinese Butterfly', 'Kuchibeni' (red lips), 'Sweet Lips' and 'Murasaki shikibu'.* Visitors to our gardens are particularly taken with B. xyokohama 'Kate', a hybrid of B. striata 'Big Bob' with B. formosana. Bletillas are much easier to grow – at least in my garden – than the literature would suggest. They are supposed to excel in a woodland setting with afternoon shade, but here they thrive in full sun with irrigation. They are also easy to grow in containers, and we use the same potting soil and fertilizer that we use for our maples and conifers. I predict that some day there will be hundreds of cultivars just as we have with Japanese maples.

*I'll repeat the explanation of Murasaki shikibu's name from a blog written in February of last year:

Murasaki Shikibu

“Murasaki (purple) refers to the heroine of the old The Tale of Genji and to the book's author, Murasaki Shikibu. Both are fake names used in the Heian period (794-1185) because it was then considered vulgar to address people by their personal name. The real name of the author is lost, and Murasaki was the heroine she created, and Shikibu after her father's official rank. In olden times, and even today, the Japanese use a lot of smoke and mirrors when dealing with each other. In old Japanese poetry the relationship between the deep purple of the violet and the lavender of the wisteria led to the revered name Murasaki. Thanks to wife Haruko for the explanation, and maybe she should be writing the Flora Wonder Blog.”

The generic name honors Luis Blet, an 18^th century Spanish pharmacist and botanist.

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Butterball'

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Rezek'

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Maureen'

I think Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Butterball' is a cute bun, more so than the similarly-growing green bun cultivars. It seems to have a cheerful attitude, a sunny disposition, and a group of them always draws admiration from Buchholz Nursery visitors. I first became aware of 'Butterball' when I saw it growing at Linssen Nursery in Holland, but I received my start from the late Dennis Dodge of Connecticut. It was originally discovered and named by the late Ed Rezek of the USA, for he liked to germinate the seed from other dwarf hinokies, and he is also known for 'Maureen' (after his wife), and a very tight green upright – given to me as a seedling – which I never got around to officially naming...except to call it 'Rezek'. Everybody loves the plant when they see it, except they must wonder why I “named” a plant as 'Rezek'. Compared to the thousands of C.o. 'Nana Gracilis' grown every year, 'Rezek' is more impressive with a more tight, chiseled appearance. 'Butterball', 'Maureen' and 'Rezek' illustrate the wide array of offspring that can result from just one mother tree.

Dianthus 'Inshriach Dazzler'

Dianthus 'Blue Hills'

Dianthus 'Dainty Dame'

My grandfather

The Dianthus genus consists of cultivars that are undeniably cute, especially the little miniatures. The genus name comes from Greek dios for “heavenly” or “of Zeus” and anthos for “flower.” Christians believe that the first Dianthus bloomed on earth when Mary wept for Jesus as he carried his cross. Dianthus are commonly called “pinks” as some species do flower that color. It is uncertain why they are also commonly called “carnations,” but one theory is that it is from Latin caro for “flesh” as in the incarnation of Christ. Another theory is that it is a corruption of coronation due to the crown-like look of the flower petals. My (real) grandfather was a large masculine man – he was the starting guard for Penn State in the Rose Bowl of 1923 – yet he regularly wore a carnation from his garden on his lapel. We grow and sell Dianthus individually in our “alpine plant” group, or combine them with maples and dwarf conifers in our troughs and pumice gardens.

Felicia amelloides

Years ago I had a pot of Felicia amelloides in GH20 since the species is only hardy to USDA zone 9. It was mighty cute when in flower, and then later I realized that I couldn't find it anymore. How could it disappear? Did it die and an employee throw it out? Or did a visitor or employee love it as much as I did and take it home? If I saw one at a garden center I would probably buy one again, inspired by the photo above of a nice specimen taken in southern California a few years ago. The amelloides species is evergreen and is native to South Africa and its specific name refers to its aster-like (amellus) flowers. I don't know who named the Felicia genus – one source suggests it was named after Herr Felix, mayor of Regensburg on the Danube about 1845. Another possibility is that it is from Latin felix meaning “happy,” which is the origin I prefer as it is a cute, happy-looking plant, or rather it makes the viewer happy when looking at it.

Globularia cordifolia

Another cute daisy is Globularia cordifolia, a miniature evergreen shrub from central and southern Europe. It forms a dense mat with tiny spoon-shaped leaves*, and some companies champion its use as a groundcover that you can step on. I wouldn't do it when it is blooming, however, as the globe-shaped flowers rise a few inches above the foliage.

*Cordifolia means “heart-shaped” leaves, but I like the “tiny green spoon” description better.

Leptospermum scoparium 'Kiwi'

There are dozens of other plants that define “cute,” but I'll finish with Leptospermum scoparium 'Kiwi', a dwarf form with tiny crimson flowers. The species is known as Manuka or the New Zealand Tea Tree. It is not at all related to the common tea, Camellia sinensis, but got its name when Captain Cook and his crew used the aromatic leaves to make a “tea,” believing it would protect them from scurvy...which didn't work. Instead they should have sought out Manuka honey, produced by bees pollinating the Leptospermum, for its nutritional content is up to four times that of normal flower honeys. 'Kiwi' makes a wonderful container plant, but too bad it is saddled with the difficult generic name of Leptospermum, a Greek word from Leptos for “thin” and sperma meaning “seed.” Also it is only hardy to USDA zone 8, or 10 degrees above 0F. Don't let that stop you, though; it is attractive enough that you can buy a new one every year.

Back to Haruko – all who know her find her to be cute. I won't be around but I can imagine her at 90 – an obaachan– still making people happy.

As with women I like to look at plants with a narrow form, the former because it indicates good health and the latter because they don't hog space in the garden. In the old days (pre 1950's) some cultivars were named Fastigiata due to their narrow upright habit, and the origin of the word comes from Latin fastigi which meant “height.” We commonly call fastigiate trees “skinny” and that word – skinny – is an adjective for “resembling skin,” or meaning “lean” or “emaciated.” As a noun the skinnymeant “the truth,” as in “the naked truth,” or “nothing but the facts.” So this blog will be the skinny on the skinny.

Picea pungens 'Iseli Fastigiate'

One narrow Colorado blue spruce received the name Picea pungens 'Iseli Fastigate' or sometimes 'Iseli Fastigiata'. Since that occurred around 1980 the Fastigiata name would be invalid, but I guess Fastigiatewould be ok, and indeed that is how it is listed in the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs. The Iseli part is the name of the Oregon nursery that introduced the cultivar, and regular Flora Wonder Blog readers already know that I find using your name for a plant is poor form. At some point the same clone was introduced from Washington state as 'Blue Totem'. I used to grow both but kept them separated in case proof that they were really different should present itself. I still keep a few 'Blue Totem' around but I usually sell them in small sizes. Our recent foot of wet snow is the reason as (some) plants grow too fast in Oregon and that much snow splays them open. Another problem with the cultivar is that blue spruce is susceptible to attack from the blasted pine shoot moth (Rhyacionia buoliana), originally a bane from Europe. The creature lays its eggs in the leader of the tree and the larvae kill the top, and later in summer you'll notice brown where blue should be.

Pseudotsuga menziesii 'Fastigiata'

Pseudotsuga menziesii 'Fastigiata – once known as Abies douglasii 'Fastigiata'– has been known since 1858, although there could be more than one clone. Our trees display blue foliage which indicates that they are probably var. glauca from the Rocky Mountains, but the 'Fastigiata' name stands since rules against its use were not in place in 1858. If you tromp through Oregon woods long enough you're bound to find fastigiate Douglas firs as well as weeping forms and dwarves. You must be careful though because I know places – like Idaho – where at high elevation all of the trees are narrow, and if one of those skinny trees was transplanted to a low elevation it would grow more broadly.

Abies lasiocarpa 'Hurricane Blue'

Abies lasiocarpa

The same is true with Abies lasiocarpa. A favorite place for me to see the species is in the Indian Heaven Wilderness of Washington state, and trees there can soar to a hundred feet in height and be less than ten feet wide. Some landscape supply companies buy wild harvested “Alpine firs” from sketchy collectors and their “mountain” look – the trees, that is – is very appealing...until they eventually adjust to their new environment and grow out of the narrow form. Another problem for A. lasiocarpa in the lowlands is that they don't really want to be here because it gets too hot and they miss their clean mountain air. We grow a number of dwarf or extra-blue cultivars and they can be nice for a while, but I think most are not long-lived in most American landscapes.

Taxus baccata 'Green Column'

Taxus baccata 'David'

The “English yews,” Taxus baccata, have a number of skinny selections and they provide an evergreen vertical accent in the landscape. I hesitate to prostitute the blog with a sales pitch, but for you customers you might notice that our sales availability does list a number of choices, and of course they are well grown and fairly priced. But wait! If you order today...

The English yew is actually native to much of Europe and even to Iran and it was described by the Greek Theophrastus who noted that the evergreen preferred shade and grew slowly. Taxus is the Latin word for yew, and it shares the same root as toxic as the seeds are poisonous and bitter. In Spanish yew is tejo, in Russian tis, in Italian tasso and in Portuguese teixo. The specific name baccata is Latin for “bearing red berries.” In Iran, the tree is known as sorkhdar, meaning “the red tree.”

Deutzia gracilis 'Nikko'

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Gracilis'

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Nana Gracilis'

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Bess'

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Golden Pillar'

Gracilis means “slender” and was derived from Latin gracile. There are a number of times that it is used in horticulture, for example Deutzia gracilis 'Nikko' where it's the leaves that are slender, and maybe also the branchlets. Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Gracilis' is more narrow than the type and features outspreading branches like arms wanting to hug you. It was imported into Europe from Japan in 1862 by Philipp von Siebold. Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Nana Gracilis's' name implies dwarf and narrow, but they don't always grow that way, as in the 30-year-old specimen in the photo above. In fact the growth habits of the hinokies can vary greatly, and a lot of that has to do with where the cutting was taken. By far my favorite green obtusa is 'Bess', and the plant in the photo above is about 50 years old (6' tall) and was given to me by the conifer expert John Mitsch. For golden obtusas with narrow forms we grow 'Golden Pillar' and 'Gold Post', but occasionally you need to prune off an errant arm that has mutated.

Cupressus sempervirens

Cupressus sempervirens 'Swane's Gold'

Cupressus sempervirens is the “Italian cypress,” a species that Hillier calls “The cypress of the ancients.” It thrives in hot climates with horrible soil, and in those conditions a tree can reach 50' tall and you can still practically put your arms around it. It is not uncommon in Oregon landscapes, but after our record snow two weeks ago many now have some wanging horizontal branches. I doubt that they are broken and by summer they will raise themselves vertically again. I used to grow the dwarf cultivar 'Green Pencil', but in my well-watered garden it just grew too fast. With only one specimen left in the garden, I forgot to tie it up and a snow storm ruined it. I asked myself why I was keeping a plant that I had to tie up every year so it was dumped. A fast-growing golden cultivar originating in Australia is 'Swane's Gold', sometimes incorrectly listed as 'Swane's Golden'. When new to America it was billed as a “dwarf” but I have seen specimens in California nearly 30' tall.

Fagus sylvatica in the Arnold Arboretum

Fagus sylvatica 'Dawyck Gold'

Fagus sylvatica 'Dawyck Purple'

Fagus sylvatica 'Red (or Rohan) Obelisk'

“European beech,” Fagus sylvatica, can grow to enormous size both in height and width, and I saw some monsters last fall at the Arnold Arboretum. While they are not suitable for a modern landscape, there are a few selections with narrow forms. F.s. 'Dawyck' originated at Dawyck in Scotland in about 1850, and it is columnar but can broaden at maturity. 'Dawyck Gold' was a seedling that was probably pollinated by the golden-leaved 'Zlatia' and was raised by the late van Hoey Smith in 1969. 'Dawyck Purple' is similar, except pollinated with a purple beech. The above information was gleaned from the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs. My favorite of these columnar beech is 'Red Obelisk', a cultivar that Hillier doesn't list. Instead he describes 'Rohan Obelisk' which is probably the same (and correct too) as a “Narrow, upright habit with irregularly lobed red-purple leaves.” My oldest of the 'Dawyck Gold' cultivar is about 23 years and is already 40' tall with a trunk over 2' in diameter. I didn't anticipate such gusto and at some point I'll probably have to remove it, and I regret that no one warned me about its potential size when it was small.

Liquidambar styraciflua 'Slender Silhouette'

Liquidambar styraciflua 'Slender Silhouette' is an amazing pole and it was discovered and introduced by plantsman Don Shadow of Tennessee. Apparently it was growing in the wild near a railroad track but then later someone had cut it down. Railroad employees? Or perhaps by someone who didn't want anyone else to propagate from it? In any case it is a fast-growing selection that can reach 15-20' tall in 10 years in my nursery – either in a container or in the ground with irrigation. I'm surprised that it was never patented – but I'm glad it was not – because it is so narrow as to be very useful in small modern landscapes. At Flora Farm I have also planted a family of seven near the public road because I like to show off with unusual trees, even if only one in a hundred motorists cares. This past fall they were very impressive with purple, orange and yellow leaves, and all three colors could be present on the same tree.

Malus 'Crimson Spire'

Twenty five years ago I received a catalog from Stark Bro's Nurseries in Missouri – or from the state of misery as the locals guffaw while slapping their knee. Anyway the company specializes in fruit, nuts and berries, all portrayed in delicious color. I think that was the first time that I saw columnar apple trees being offered. What a fantastic concept I thought, and one could grow a couple in their small back yard, or keep them in pots on the deck. It seemed like the best invention ever, and I ordered three each of 'Crimson Spire', 'Emerald Spire', 'Scarlet Spire' and 'Ultra Spire'. All thrived at the nursery, bore fruit, and never missed a beat when all were transplanted to Flora Farm. There was already a half-acre orchard there, planted by the previous owner. We eat apples from early fall to mid winter, and somewhere I've got a map telling me what the 30 or so varieties are. We can't eat everything – maybe my family gobbles one percent of them – and then I manage to give away another percent. They attract deer who take ownership of the orchard and I don't really want them around. They eat, then lay down, then eat again...then get up to poop before sauntering away. One destructive male ruined some young maples in the Upper Gardens before he retired to sleep some more. I don't know anything about apples and I don't know what rootstocks my Spires are grafted onto. My fruit often has blemishes and worms but I do nothing to prevent it. I do admire a well-tended commercial orchard, however, and I wonder why I became a maple man instead of an apple grower. Certainly growing food is more noble?

Acer palmatum 'Tsukasa Silhouette'

Acer palmatum 'Tsukasa Silhouette' was introduced in Kokobunji, Japan by Yutaka Tanaka, and was named by Don Shadow in 2008. “Tsukasa” is the name of Tanaka's nursery, and as you have seen previously, Shadow likes the name “Silhouette,” but of course it's improper to name a cultivar in two languages. If you do, you won't go to jail, but know that you have messed with International Code of Nomenclature. The cultivar is in the trade now and one American nursery claims that it will grow 18-20' tall by only 5' wide. Perhaps with narrowing pruners, as Tanaka himself does. In Oregon – or at least in my nursery – our trees are far more broad. I would love for an independent nursery to propagate 100 trees, and give half of them to the Midwest nursery and one half to me. Then in ten years we'll go visit each other and compare the sizes. In other words I think the narrowness is exaggerated, but heck I might be rong. In any case 'Tsukasa Silhouette' is a pretty green-leaved tree with outstanding orange-to-red autumn color.

Parrotia persica 'Select'

Parrotia persica 'Vanessa'

Parrotia persica 'Persian Spire'

Parrotia persica, the “Persian Ironwood” tree was uncommon in the trade when I began my career. I grew some from seed and one particular tree displayed foliage a little more attractive than the others, or so I convinced myself. There seemed to be more purple to the edge of the leaf than the others, and later I would root from the one tree only and I called it 'Select'. I could sell a couple hundred liners per year, but nobody ever got too excited about it. Eventually the cultivar 'Vanessa' from The Netherlands became available. It was billed as a narrow columnar form. That's true, but 'Vanessa' is not all that skinny and my oldest tree is 30' tall by 20' wide. By the way it will be blooming crimson flowers in two weeks. Anyway we quickly sold our last 'Vanessas' with the appearance of a far more narrow cultivar, 'Persian Spire', introduced by JLPN of Oregon. We must buy liners from them as they have patented the selection. Parrotias are easy to grow with no problems for me, and one is treated to a fantastic show in autumn with yellow, orange, red and purple coloration. At maturity the trunk presents an exfoliating patchwork of color, so I appreciate my trees the most in fall and winter unlike with most deciduous species. Parrotia was named for the German Friedrich Parrot (1791-1841), a naturalist who probably repeated everything he heard.

Populus tremuloides 'Mountain Sentinel'

I bought a few Populus tremuloides 'Mountain Sentinel' but the selection is patented so I can't propagate them. My purpose was to plant seven specimens parallel to the public road that also has the 'Slender Silhouette' family. The view from the road looks down at the Upper Gardens, and I thought that these skinny aspens would color fantastically gold in fall without really blocking the view down into acreage below. Again, I planted them for myself since I like sentinels, but also for the bicyclists and motorists. The occasional joggers labor up the steep road with grueling agony on their faces, so I don't think they appreciate what I plant. After the golden fall color the silver-gray trunks gleam in winter, and the trees look just as interesting without leaves as with them. I don't know what their ultimate height will be – one seller says 35' tall by 8' wide – but I'd bet money that they can exceed 35'.

Pinus mugo 'Aurea Fastigiata'

Pinus nigra 'Arnold Sentinel

Pinus sylvestris 'Glauca Fastigiata'

Many Pinus species have cultivar selections noted for narrow forms. Pinus cembra has 'Algonquin Pillar' (not that narrow), P. contorta has 'Fastigiata' (not that narrow), P. leucodermis has 'Satellit' (not that narrow), P. mugo has 'Fastigiata' and 'Aurea Fastigiata' (not that narrow) etc. All of the above are good garden choices, but the skinny is that they're not really skinny. Pinus nigra 'Arnold Sentinel' falls apart in Oregon's winter and we discontinued it years ago, and the same is true for Pinus sylvestris 'Glauca Fastigiata'.

Pinus strobus 'Stowe Pillar'

Pinus strobus 'Bennett's Fastigiate'

Probably the best species for narrow pines is P. strobus, but forget about the old cultivar 'Fastigiata', for it can grow tall and wide, especially since its is subject to snow breakage. One East Coast nurseryman used to sell 'Fastigiata' in 5-7' sizes, but he never pointed out that the huge and ugly tree planted in the back was 'Fastigiata', because if he did no one would buy his young trees. Fortunately we now have some better choices. One would be P. s. 'Stowe Pillar' which was discovered by Greg Williams in the snow country in the Northeast. Another cultivar superior to 'Fastigiata'– much more compressed – is P.s. 'Bennett's Fastigiate'. Though a poor cultivar name, this selection was found by William Bennett who also discovered P.s. 'Bennett OD' [Oculis Draconis], 'Bennett Clump Leaf' and 'Bennett Contorted'. I don't know who is or was Mr. Bennett, but I also once grew his 'Clump Leaf', where the five needles per fascicle were fused into just one. It was a curiosity but no one bought it, and not one remains in my collection today.

An acquaintance of mine was in the military and was stationed in Okinawa. At a bus stop he noticed the locals standing in a perfectly straight line as they waited for the bus. How orderly, how impressive he thought, because in other Asian countries the commuters would be pushing and mobbing for the bus door. Then it dawned on my friend that they were all standing in the shade of a power pole as it was an extremely hot day. And that's the skinny.

Sciadopitys verticillata

We're racing – occasionally staggering – down the home stretch of our winter's propagation. The rooted cuttings are 95% finished...or maybe we're totally done after all. I don't know if we'll do any Sciadopitys this winter or just skip them. We get a fair amount to root though they take their time, but the problem is that the center bud rots out, and a new one will not develop even if the original cutting stick has roots. It can stay in that suspended state for years – green but with no new growth ever to appear. The umbrella whorl traps water and perhaps they are misted too often; but before they root they have to have mist. If I was younger I would rig up a fog system or at least experiment with alternative methods, but since I'm long in the tooth now it is easier just to skip a year.

Eric Lucas tending the cuttings

Another problem is that we no longer offer custom rooted cuttings to other wholesale growers, whereas twenty years ago we produced a couple hundred thousand every year. We discontinued for two reasons: 1) it was a lot of work for small profit and 2) due to the recession in about 2009 many long-time customers went bankrupt or at least gripped about their finances, so orders were either canceled or never placed. Good, good for Buchholz Nursery, and now we just produce cuttings for ourselves, and other surviving nurseries will just have to find them elsewhere. But since we attempt to root only 10 percent of what we used to, we don't have a “propagator” anymore. We have ladies who cut and plant the cuttings, but that's all they do. They want absolutely no responsibility for the crop – like setting the mist based on day length and temperature, or checking the bottom heat temperatures...or checking to see if the boiler is running at all. Consequently Eric Lucas, our office manager, is also the de facto propagation manager. He knows that even if all of the cuttings die he won't get fired.

Pinus mugo 'Carsten's Winter Gold'

Pinus koraiensis 'Silveray'

Calocedrus decurrens 'Berrima Gold'

I would guess that today we are 88% finished with our winter grafting, the propagation method that is and always has been our primary means of producing plants. I generally juggle three rootstocks at the same time, so today we finished the two-needle pines with Pinus mugo 'Carsten's Winter Gold' grafted onto seedling “Scot's Pine,” Pinus sylvestris. Also Pinus koraiensis 'Silveray' was spliced onto Pinus strobus rootstock – both compatible five-needle pines. Then we also began to bestow upon our five hundred Calocedrus decurrens seedlings the golden cultivar, 'Berrima Gold', and we'll also do some 'Maupin Glow', the variegated green-gold “Incense cedar” discovered in central Oregon.

Juana at her grafting station

It can be a drag to stand under the fluorescent lights and graft all day. Juana can typically perform 550-600 grafts per day if all is prepared and set up for her, and I suppose that doing two or three different kinds of plants helps relieve her monotony. I know that for me it does. I hate cutting the prickly two-needle pines – since I can't and have never used gloves – so mixing into the day's scions some softer five-needle pines is a blessing. Furthermore the prickly pines are usually dwarves that dwell at ground level, and as I age that's a further and farther distance to reach.

Thuja plicata 'Whipcord'

Thuja orientalis 'Franky Boy'

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Butterball'

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Chirimen'

Tomorrow we'll tackle the Thuja standards. In the trade a “standard” is a straight trunk that's usually one-to-three feet tall with the desirable cultivar top-grafted. It doesn't matter whether or not I like plants presented that way – and I usually don't – nevertheless our customers do. So on Thuja plicata rootstock we'll attach the arching thread-branch Thuja plicata 'Whipcord', and after about five years of growing we'll have a Dr. Seuss-like creature. The same with Thuja orientalis 'Franky Boy' which will be attached to straight trunks of the “Oriental arborvitae.” Finally Chamaecyparis obtusa dwarves will be top-grafted onto Thuja occidentalis 'Smaragd' trunks. 'Green Cushion' and 'Butterball' make for cute standards, and for the past couple of years we have also been producing the relatively new 'Chirimen' that way.

The goal is to have what no one else grows, and then when they finally copy you, you have moved on to something that they haven't thought of yet. My nursery career has been a sprint, with about 13,500 days (so far) working for myself and my family (ies). Mine is a small company where the primary objective is to financially survive, and believe me I always run scared. The young, smarter nurserymen are always nipping at my heels...and it reminds me of what I did thirty years ago when I stole customers from the sleepy hicks who preceded me.

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Nana Lutea'

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Aurora'

We also have Thuja occidentalis 'Smaragd' in 3 1/2” pot for low grafting, and the primary candidates are the dwarf Chamaecyparis obtusa cultivars. This morning in the rain I cut 'Nana Lutea', 'Aurora' and 'Gold Post', the latter being a new compact narrow-upright. Every one of these has also been rooted earlier, and they will eventually grow into salable plants, but the grafts on the more hardy and sturdy arborvitae rootstock gives them a couple of year's head start over those cutting grown. So why not grow all the hinokies via grafting? The answer is that it is a more expensive process and one usually grows the grafts to specimen size to recover that extra cost, whereas with cuttings we can sell a pot that's three or four years old for three or four dollars. Besides, the same stock tree that yields thirty good scions can also supply us with maybe 200 (smaller) cuttings.

Microbiota decussata at the Rhododendron Species Botanic Garden

Microbiota decussata

When I decide what to graft onto Thuja I first look at our MPL (Master Plant List) to see what my choices are. I don't graft any Thuja onto Thuja, as they all can be propagated adequately by cuttings. But I have to remember that there are also other genera that are compatible with 'Smaragd' such as Microbiota decussata. This conifer from Siberia is related to Juniperus and was first discovered in 1921. A nice specimen ( or specimens) can be found at the Rhododendron Species Garden in Washington state (shown above), and I suspect they are on their own roots. Microbiota does root easily but they do poorly in container culture and it's probably due to overwatering or the excessive summer heat in a black plastic pot. With the 'Smaragd' roots however, Microbiota is quite easy to grow.

Cupressus cashmeriana at Buchholz Nursery

Kew Gardens Conservatory

Another surprise is how compatible Cupressus cashmeriana is with 'Smaragd'. I can't explain why, but early in my career I learned that the two make a perfect graft union, whereas the old Thuja occidentalis 'Pyramidalis' does not. It seems odd that the “Kashmir cypress” is cultivar specific with Thuja, because it really shouldn't make any difference. 'Pyramidalis' is not even in the trade anymore, and good riddance since it is inferior to 'Smaragd' (AKA 'Emerald Green'), but if I had a few pots I would graft cashmeriana onto 'Pyramidalis' to prove to you the difference in graft unions. Always considered tender, a large specimen of C. cashmeriana can be found in the Kew Gardens conservatory. Hillier in Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2014) mentions that it grows outside in their arboretum in southern England and was 10m tall at 30 years old. The Manual points out that the foliage is a “conspicuous blue-grey, in flattened sprays,” and so it is the same clone that I grow. Hillier continues, “Some recent introductions have green foliage and appear hardier.” I was surprised that C. cashmeriana grew outdoors at the JC Raulston Arboretum in North Carolina, and it survived a low of 7 degrees F a few winters ago. I should have studied it more closely for foliage color, as I now wonder if they grow the green form which is supposedly more hardy.*

Cupressus cashmeriana at the JC Raulston Arboretum

*I asked Tim Alderton, Research Technician at the Raulston. He replied:

Talon,

I remember your visit. The specimen you saw is no longer with us. It froze out the following winter when we reached the lower single digits. It appeared to be the blue-grey form to me, but we had no others to compare it to. The parent of that plant came from cutting that we received from Juniper Level Botanic Garden in 2002. The one you saw was grown from a cutting in 2008. When they grow, they grow very quickly into a sizable plant as it was over 10' tall when it died four years later.

Tony Avent maybe able to tell you where he received his start years ago.

Sorry that I can't be of more help,

Tim

Sciadopitys verticillata 'Gold Rush'

Sciadopitys verticillata 'Green Star'

Sciadopitys verticillata 'Mr. Happy'

We had a handful of Sciadopitys that were seedling grown, and last year about half of them were of graftable size at six years of age, and the rest of them this year at seven years. Unlike with our rooted cuttings Sciadopitys with the bud rot mentioned earlier, the grafted plants never get the problem. Out of twenty or so cultivars of “Umbrella pine” that we have I choose to produce just two now: 'Gold Rush' and 'Green Star'. Customers always want to buy the few 'Mr. Happy' that they see in the nursery, but I am discontinuing its production because it is not reliable. I've come to that conclusion after twenty years of messing with it. At its best 'Mr. Happy' is spectacular, but I have also experienced some that have reverted to mostly green. And even worse, some have become predominantly yellow and those can burn. Perfect are the half and halfs with green and yellow, and if the majority of ours grew that way then I would continue to propagate it. Anyway the reliable 'Gold Rush' and 'Green Star' are in high demand and I can sell out without any problem. Oops! – actually there is a problem, for our record snow broke some branches on specimens that sold on our first day of availability, and we were just waiting to ship this spring. So we'll see what they look like when the truck is actually here.

Metasequoia glyptostroboides

Larix gmelini 'Tharandt Dwarf'

Ginkgo biloba

Geeze – propagating: There is never a guarantee that one's effort will be rewarded with success. I've whined in previous blogs that I experience gut-wrenching insecurity throughout the entire process, and in spite of thirty seven years of relative success, I still fret about the current crops. I obtain some relief, however, when I walk through the deciduous conifers grafted six weeks ago in GH18B. The Metasequoias and Larix scions are swelling – as they do every year at this time – and before long we'll have to sell or pot up the damn things so they don't over-crowd with new growth and rot. Likewise the Ginkgo scions look active, and I'm reminded that we also grafted them at about the same time. The deciduous conifers – and that would include Ginkgo – are easy and reliable to propagate, and our success with them helps to fund the trickier stuff that we do...

Stewartia monadelpha 'Pendula'

...for example, a long-time customer (15 years) showed up the other day and wondered about the story with our Stewartia monadelpha 'Pendula', about why they were never on our specimen availability. Groan – I explained how hard they were to propagate and that rootstocks cost a fortune and that 10% grafting success was the best that we ever achieved blah blah blah...and that if I ever did sell them it would be a few years later when they were worth many hundreds of dollars...and that these were likely the very first in America – from Japan – and that my Japanese wife – beautiful at age 25 – sweet-talked the old Japanese nurseryman into sending me a start when he never intended to do so at the beginning of our visit. Our long-time (male) customer said, “But I noticed that two were flagged for sale.” Ohhh...he was right! Out of ten plants I did flag two – though I didn't really want to – for a Seattle customer. Ah – I explained to him – ah ah, well actually she's better looking than you. There, there you have the truth.

Pinus aristata 'Lemon Frost'

Pinus bungeana 'Silver Ghost'

The page above is one out of about 15 which gives you an example of what we graft and in what numbers. With some we would have done more if scions were more plentiful, such as Pinus aristata 'Lemon Frost' and Pinus bungeana 'Silver Ghost'. I got my start of 'Lemon Frost' from Don at Porterhowse Farms about eight years ago and I didn't want to abuse it by cutting too much. It is a slow-growing bristlecone with a light dusting of gold on the needle tips, but certainly not a very profitable pine to grow. One problem is that there's not a good rootstock to use for P. aristata – none of them are really compatible unless you could find P. balfouriana or P. longaeva seedlings which I've never seen offered for sale. We have used P. strobiformis in the past, and then this year P. strobus. Most of the 18 grafts will take, but then the scions will just sit there on their nurse stock, with only 4 or 5 actually taking off to produce healthy growth.

Healthy Pinus bungeana cultivar on left and unhealthy on right

The Pinus bungeana 'Silver Ghost' is another story, where I used to do a couple of hundred each year, but in the past few years I have cashed out on my older stock trees, so all I could do was scrape up 32 scions from one tree left in the Conifer Field. As with the 'Lemon Frost', 'Silver Ghost'– and all P. bungeana cultivars – also do not have a perfect rootstock. Over the years I would guess that only 60% of the grafts that take will ever make it to the 6-7 or 8-year size. Some will die at the one-gallon pot size, and some others will “live” but be perpetually off color. After a couple of years of watching these struggle I'll finally issue the edict for their removal. For those that stay green and healthy there is a ready market, if the foot of snow doesn't smash the brittle branches before harvest.

These examples illustrate why I worry so much, why success is not a given. And also why I am not wealthy in the nursery business. Sometimes people interpret that for me to mean that I put up with my chosen livelihood because I love plants, and have a passion for what I do. Probably not as much as you think. There comes a point where financial security sounds a lot better than watching pines struggle.

Yesterday I walked around the neighbor's bankrupt nursery. I was uninvited but no one was around. It was a chilling experience to see hoop after hoop full of distressed plants with a healthy crop of liverwort covering the tops of every pot. Euonymus, Prunus, Berberis, Hibiscus etc. – all “cheap” plants relatively easy to produce. When times were good they made more money than I did; when times got bad they went under. Maybe my life's course wasn't such a bad decision.

I have read a couple of English nature books recently and I thoroughly enjoyed both of them. The first was The Natural World of Winnie-the-Pooh by Kathryn Aalto, “a walk through the forest that inspired the Hundred Acre Wood.” I somehow skipped Winnie-the-Pooh as a child; I thought the Honey-Bear was kind of boring. When I was about twenty a sweet girlfriend referred to me as Christopher Robin, which I took to mean that I was an earnest and good boy, but that I was also kind of simple. Then a few years ago the animated Pooh film arrived in theaters which was highly regarded. I agreed: it was cute and clever and I enjoyed it as much as the kids.

Saya's Pooh slippers

My eleven-year-old is a solid Pooh fan with Pooh slippers, a Pooh pillow and a few Pooh stuffed animals, and all of that is fine except that I cringe that the materials were processed in China. Anyway the book was her birthday present, and while some of the natural history of the Hundred Acre Woods – which is actually the 6,000 acres of Ashdown Forest in southeast England – might be above her, I have found that it is better with children to aim high rather than low.

I devoured the second book, Landskipping by Anna Pavord, with giddy excitement as I am familiar with her other works such as The Tulip and The Naming of Names. She celebrates the British landscape and the book is subtitled Painters, Ploughmen and Places. To those of us who have visited Britain – somewhat wild with Wales on the west and Anglia on the east – and then the rugged north of Scotland, we are finally soothed with plowed fields, stone walls and luscious sheep-cropped meadows in the south and central of England. Pavord loves the landscaped fashioned by the “hand of man”* as much as any wild place, in fact while climbing in the Scottish Highlands she feels “terrified, pulverized by the force of the mountains, ecstatic,” and realizes that “living on a high like that can't be sustained.”

Garden in Shoreham

The Flock and the Star

*Pavord writes about the English painter Samuel Palmer (1805-1881), whom I had never heard of before. I investigated further – since the internet can be a fabulous tool – and read a quote from biographer Rachel Campbell-Johnston that Palmer was “part of a group that gathered around William Blake,” and that he painted with “mad splendour which makes you think of Van Gogh.” At other times Campbell-Johnston imagines Palmer “sketching out a poetic landscape where the peasants were plump and happy, the orchards full of apples and the sheep obligingly biblical.”

Sugar Loaf Mountain

While Pavord loves the “hand of man” on the landscape she classifies golf courses as “not useful.” She says: “There is nothing life-enhancing for a plant or animal on the average green or fairway. As an environment, a golf course is a fascist state. And a thirsty one.” Pavord is a wonderful wit and I'd love to spend a day with her, and wouldn't it be wonderful to hike together up her Sugar Loaf Mountain on the Welsh-English border where she grew up. It takes two hours to climb to the top, a route she had taken with her mother “hundreds of times,” and the last climb with her mother is movingly described in the last paragraph of Landskipping.*

*The word landskip is no longer in general use. It is now considered a “British regionalism,” and first appeared from Dutch “landschap” for a “view or prospect of natural inland scenery, such as can be taken in at a glance from one point of view.” (OED)

Picea glauca 'Pendula'

Quercus garryana

These two books prompted me to look at my Flora Farm, perhaps through the eyes of my children who have spent their entire life living on a country property filled with their old man's trees. Talk about a fascist state! – with bushes lined up in rows and metal labels pronouncing botanic names in Latin. When daughter Harumi was two – almost three – she would walk around the gardens with her mother and point to the labels and ask, “what's that?” “what's that?” Mom explained that the labels were the trees' names, and soon Harumi could spout “Picea glauca Pendula” when I pointed in the direction of said tree, or “Kurkus garrana” when I pointed at our giant oak. Naturally I was proud but my older children were certain that I had brainwashed her.

Upper Gardens at Flora Farm

Flora Farm is sixty acres and consists of the Upper Gardens, the West Hills, and the wild lands down by the Tualatin River. The lower property floods in winter and along the water edges the blue herons and the white egrets mate, in the water the ducks dumbly quack and the geese loudly squawk. Flocks are always coming and going. Hummingbirds begin darting around the Mahonias in November and don't finish until February, and when leaves fall from the maple trees we can see their tidy little nests, for they prefer to zoom in and out of maple foliage rather than prickly Mahonia.

Saya hiding in the Upper Gardens

What it must be like for a child to grow up in the country; I never had such good fortune growing up in the suburbs. The children especially love to kick the can and play hide and seek until dusk turns to dark, especially if an ambitious adult like my son or their mother Haruko joins in the fun. They don't care if the fir they hide behind is a common species from Oregon, or the highest altitude Abies squamata from China (16,000'). They are careful however – more so than their friends – and are aware of the importance of labels and irrigation drip lines.

Field crops at Flora Farm

With plants a nurseryman can color his scape, choosing to plant blue conifers next to a road of yellow trees for example. I am free to plant whatever I want, but I realize that I am only borrowing time.

The mighty oak at Flora Farm

I bought the property because I liked its feel. On the east side the land dropped gently for a quarter mile from the public road to the river, and on the west the hills extend all the way to sunset. Two huge Pseudotsuga menziesii were already growing before the White Man robbed the ground from the natives, and my beloved Oregon oak was already large when George Washington was president. Nothing was virgin about the land however, it had been cleared and managed by natives for years. In more recent times strawberries was a popular crop (in the 1950's and 60's), but that petered out when cream-puff legislators decided that school kids like me were being abused with the hard labor. Ha to that! The strawberry patch, where you were rewarded solely by your effort, was a better life classroom than anything within four walls.

Wheat

Crimson clover

Broccoli

The land during my ownership has produced wheat, clover, broccoli and corn before I stuck ornamentals into the dirt, and the local farmer used it rent free, because farming is not profitable enough now if the vegetable grower has to farm and pay rent. The neighborhood lands are filling up with vineyards; Oregon is world-famous for its pinot noir and I wonder if one day my trees will be cleared for grapes.

Eastern morning sky

I agree with Ms. Pavord – I really wish I could call her Anna but she is ten years my senior – that the best time to view a landscape is in the morning or the evening, when the light travels sideways. The Japanese have the term shakkei which refers to “borrowed landscape,” meaning that a garden or landscape can continue and include the hills or clouds beyond. My good neighbor to the east – Grace, the owner of Blooming Nursery – has some large Douglas firs on her property. Who owns them? Certainly not me as I don't possess the deed to their plot. Grace knows about them and is probably happy they exist, but I don't think she appreciates them as much as I do. Between the trees I know where to look for Mt. Hood, and in some respects I feel like I “own” that too. The sky, the trees, the mountain – they're all for me, and looking east, what a great way to begin the morning.

Exotics and natives at Flora Farm

The fields and gardens at Flora Farm are filled with exotics, but the perimeters consist of Oregon's native flora, the trees and brush that house bugs and birds and mammalian critters. Some will lament that I didn't devote all of my land to natives, but I could never have made a living that way, and besides none of my exotics are invasive or have in any way harmed the native fauna.

Afternoon light at Flora Farm

Afternoon rainbow

We set an all-time record for rain this past February, and not only that but it averaged 10 degrees colder than normal. The fog pierced into our bones, and on some days the gray hell didn't lift and we never warmed. But not always. Today, February 28^th I have returned home from the nursery and my lands are awash with 5:30 PM light. Two chicken hawks sit at the top of the pie-cherry tree and further to the east arcs a worthy rainbow, not quite as brilliant as I sometimes see, but still I feel like I'm getting my money's worth.

Accipiter cooperi

I think our raptors are the Cooper's hawk (Accipiter cooperi), sometimes called the quail hawkbecause of their rounded torsos. I don't know how long they live, but every February-March for the past 14 years they conduct their business in my backyard; sadly I have never seen where they nest. Oddly the males are smaller than the females and they have a higher-pitched voice. As with humans – though human men are usually larger – the chicken hawk males are said to be submissive to females and will listen for reassuring call notes when the females are willing to be approached.

Quercus garryana

Annual Tualatin flood

Lichen species

Anyway let's get past the amorous hawks and go down to the brushy banks of the Tualatin River to see what is growing. There are many scrubby oaks (Quercus garryana) that line the river, none of them nearly as stupendous as my prize a quarter-mile uphill from the river near my house. Nearly every year our bottom lands flood and the oaks can stay submerged for three to four weeks without harm. I sometimes wonder if the weight of the biomass of lichens, moss and ferns is greater than the pure wood itself. Scientists say that the gray lichen does not harm the trees, that oaks are strong due to dense, entwined wood cells. After all, the two natives have evolved together for several million years so they apparently don't mind each other's company. Further away from the river in my Upper Gardens the lichen has begun to cling to my Japanese maples as well. I wished it wasn't present for I prefer the clean look on maple branches, but lichens are said to be an indicator of good air quality and they are used as food, shelter and nesting material for squirrels, birds, deer, bats, wasps and butterflies etc.

Toxicodendron diversilobum

OK then, everyone loves the oaks – so go hug an oak. But be sure you know what you're getting into, because frequently the presence of the Quercus implies that you could be stepping into poison oak (Toxicodendron diversilobum). Since they are so often found growing with each other one wonders if they share a symbiotic relationship, or if the birds just eat the ripe fruits and then shit them out while sitting in the old oak tree. Poison oak is nasty stuff and a huge percentage of country children wander into it. Their bodies will rash horribly – and I mean everywhere– and they will miss school for at least a week but without any fun. I know as I have been a victim, with my last outbreak when I was a teenager on a fishing trip. I suppose that most sufferers eventually develop an immunity to the poison – the urushiol– but it affects everyone differently. Office manager Eric Lucas' mother, a tough country gal, was burning brush on her property and threw the poison oak branches onto the fire. Eric's father warned her that what she was doing was not safe, but it turned out that the poison from the smoke didn't bother her at all but it disabled him. My children are smarter than I was at their age for they have learned to identify poison oak, and the dog is kept on a leash when they're down by the river so that the kids don't unwittingly pet him and get infected.

Symphoricarpos albus

Another plant that occurs in the same vicinity is the “snowberry,” also known as “waxberry” or “ghostberry” due to the white glossy fruit. Its botanic name Symphoricarpos is derived from the Greek word symphoreinmeaning “to bear together” and karpos for “fruit,” referring to the closely packed berries. The species on my property is albus for obvious reason. The genus is in the honeysuckle family (Caprifoliaceae) and is native to western North America. Birds can disperse the seeds – two per drupe – but the plant also sprouts anew from its spreading rhizomes, and I have one particularly large thicket near my river pump. Native Americans used the plant as a medicine and a soap, and sometimes for food. I've never eaten a fruit, probably because of a story I read twenty years ago when a group of Japanese children were visiting Oregon and went hiking in the Columbia River Gorge. One girl took a fancy to the snowberries and popped one after another into her mouth. She became horribly ill and had to be rushed to the hospital to be induced to vomit. Basically I have taught my children to eat nothing from the woods if I am not around...not that the box grocery store is necessarily a great source for food either.

Arbutus menziesii

Arctostaphylos nevadensis 'Ponchito'

There are a couple of madrones at the wood's edge, and they lean out from the Douglas firs and stretch southerly for the sun. I entered Arctostaphylos menziesii into our website to see which photo I would use. I didn't understand why nothing came up so I entered menziesii. Up popped Arbutus menziesii, and of course that is what I was after. I was momentarily confused because they're both in the Ericaceae family and both feature white urn-like flowers. Arctostaphylos is not native to my property, but we have successful plantings of A. nevadensis and A. uva-ursi. Arbutus was introduced to England by David Douglas in 1827, and hopefully his first sighting of the reddish-brown bark wasn't marred by some lover carving his initials into the trunk to impress his girlfriend. The name Arbutus is Latin for “strawberry tree,” for Arbutus unedo, a Mediterranean species. The Arctostaphylos name was given to the genus for the circumboreal A. uva-ursi for plants found in Europe. The name is from Greek arktos meaning “bear” and staphyle meaning “grapes” in reference to bears eating the fruits, and indeed the common name of the genus is “bearberry.”

Acer circinatum

Acer macrophyllum

Of the three Acer species native to Oregon – A. circinatum, A. macrophyllum and A. glabrum – only the former two grow on my property as natives. I did plant one specimen of A. glabrum next to the woods so I could claim to grow all three, but the closest native stand of A. glabrum (ssp. douglasii) that I know of is at Wahkeena Falls in the Columbia River Gorge forty miles away. Neither my “vine maple” nor “big-leaved maple” species form attractive trees, and there are hundreds of the latter, and I guess that it's from too much floral competition, or perhaps from the annual flooding. I have been tempted in the past to plant some A. circinatum cultivars, such as 'Burgundy Jewel' down at the river, and maybe also an A. macrophyllum 'Mocha Rose', and then I could admire them from my deck a thousand feet away. But that would be a project for a younger man with more energy and time, and I doubt that Flora would in any way be impressed.

Fraxinus latifolia

I suppose my least favorite tree at the river is the “Oregon ash,” Fraxinus latifolia. It leafs out early, and that will be only six weeks from now, but the foliage color is an unimpressive light gray-green. The trees' structure is rather scrappy, usually with a lot of broken limbs, although a few do soar to about eighty feet tall. Even as firewood the ash is decidedly secondary to that of oak. I know they serve a purpose for wildlife and to stabilize the river banks, but under them too will be found the dreaded poison oak. The ash always look stressed, and by August's end the foliage turns to a dirty yellow, but in the right afternoon light it's not so bad. F. latifolia is the only ash species native to the Pacific Northwest, one of sixteen species in the United States, and the genus is a member of the olive family (Oleaceae). The flowers are dioecious (with male and female flowers on separate trees), and the fruit is a single samara which hangs in dense clusters. The specific name latifolia means “with broad leaves” – not a name I would have chosen – but the botanist Nuttall originally named it Fraxinus oregona. The generic name Fraxinus is Latin for “ash,” and derived names include fresno* in Spanish, frene in French, fassino in Italian and fraxosin Greek.

*Fresno is the largest city in California's Central Valley, a hell-hole where days exceed 100 degrees F seemingly all summer. It was named for the abundance of ash trees lining the San Joaquin River and an ash leaf is featured on the city's flag.

Cirsium arvense

“Canada thistle,” Cirsium arvense, is also a bane to my lowlands, and it has been present throughout my ownership. It is a plant in the Asteraceae family, but since it is not native to Canada no one knows how the common name came about. The generic name Cirsium is derived from Greek kirsos which means “swollen vein,” and related plants from this genus were used as an herbal remedy to relax swollen veins. The specific name arvense means “of cultivated fields,” and the thistle shares it with other weeds such as “bindweed,” Convolvulus arvensis. Seeds are attached to a cotton-like pappus as photographed above, and the system is perfect for wind dispersal. Why the thistle is so problematic is that its seed can survive in soil for up to twenty years, and also that a single plant can develop a lateral root system with a twenty-foot spread in a single season. Besides, root pieces can break off in cultivation so the infestation can grow worse. The local farmer used to grow corn in this area and the presence of thistles posedhim no problem, but he has been away for five years and I notice the invasion is getting worse.

Cornus sericea

Cornus sericea 'Hedgerows Gold'

Cornus sericea (syn. C. stolonifera), our native “red osier* dogwood” has developed into impenetrable patches of red stems up to 12' tall in my soggy eastern woods. Certain cultivars, with red or yellow stems are used in horticulture, and we also used to grow the rambunctious 'Hedgerows Gold', but it required a lot of space or constant pruning. The flowers of the species are quite boring, small and dull white, and the fruit is also small and rather unornamental. The specific epithet sericeameans “silky” due to the texture of the leaves. I don't have a problem with this native since it stays in place and away from my exotics, and of course it's part of the greater ecosystem that has evolved along the Tualatin River. And if I ever take up smoking I know I can copy Native Americans who smoked the inner bark in a mixture with the bearberry to improve the taste.

*The name “osier” is from Latin ausaria for “willow bed.”

Salix species

I really don't know much about “willows,” botanically identified as Salix, except that at least one species (or hybrid) grows on my property. Today its catkins are noticeable because they appear before the leaves, and cut stems can be brought indoors now and they are described as “pussy willows.” At Flora Farm an emptied maple field was neglected without any cultivation, and after three years I had willow bushes at least 10' tall. We pruned them to the ground last fall and we'll try to eliminate them this year, but I regret that money and effort is required to keep farmland free of scrub when there is no profit to be made. Nature certainly has an urge to dominate my lands, and who knows, maybe she'll eventually get the best of me.

Pseudotsuga menziesii

At higher elevation on the northwestern banks of my property are a number of impressive specimens of Douglas fir, Pseudotsuga menziesii, where I would guess that each tree is 150 years old. They are far out west from my home and the thought has occurred to me that logging them would provide a nice retirement income. I would hate to cut them though, and would prefer to sell the property intact one day. Besides, the government would suddenly appear with hands out for a “timber tax.” Oregon's leeching liberals have never helped me with anything and so I resent that my life's efforts and achievements are something for them to pocket. They have also proposed to meter and tax me on the water from my well, as if they had anything to do with installing and maintaining it. It used to be that a man “owned” his property if he held the deed, but now the state has decided that we're only “renting” it from them, for after all where else would their pensions come from?

Maybe I should look at it their way too, since the White Man didn't consult, and just took away the Natives' lands before I entered the scene, so it never really has been “mine.” The resident coyotes yip and holler at night beneath my house, a chilling reminder that they are weighing in too.

For the first three years since the founding of Buchholz & Buchholz Nursery I had a few plants for sale – rooted cuttings and 1-year grafts – and they were listed on a single sheet of paper which was folded in thirds and mailed to potential customers. Those were the years (1980-1983) before the world had email or fax machines. My first real catalog was a cute little thing with two staples and consisted of twenty pages. It was distinguished by the artwork of friend Elizabeth Bishop, and I always loved it when I could exchange my plants for her art.

The cover of the 1984-85 Wholesale Catalog shows a stooped old geezer hand-in-hand with a young child, and it sure looks like we are walking past a “mountain hemlock,” my favorite conifer. Wait! What? – who is the “me” in the “we” – the child or the old man? I was told that I was both, that the leading and nurturing of the child is like a nurseryman tending to his young plants. And also Ms. Bishop projected that I would have a life-long affair with my trees, with nature. Right: now I am old, but perhaps not as serene as the old duffer.

I miss the catalog days, as now all business is conducted on our website. The old catalogs seem more personal and friendly than looking sideways at a computer monitor. I don't Kindle – or whatever it's called when you read a book on a device, because I would rather hold print on paper. I'm the kind of guy who prefers to annually kill a real tree at Christmas rather than reuse an artificial tree, though the latter would be more simple and cost effective.

Abies balsamea 'Nana'

Let's look back at what I was selling thirty-some years ago. I was able to peddle the “Dwarf balsam fir,” Abies balsamea 'Nana' as rooted cuttings for $0.25 apiece, and I made good money on them as nearly everything rooted. I described it then as a “slow growing dwarf with dark green needles.” Now, on our website, I elaborate and advise that it is “perfect for a rock garden.” I should rethink that comment because I have since seen an old specimen about 4' tall by 7' wide. In Oregon the balsamea 'Nana' also prefers PM shade to look its best. It's not that it burns – if given adequate moisture – but the lush green color bleaches out as soon as we reach 100 degrees. Once considered a staple of dwarf conifers, one seldom sees them for sale, at least not in Oregon retail nurseries. I sold my last 'Nana' pot a couple of years ago, and nothing remains in the nursery landscape either. Actually that's sad because I remember how pretty the fresh green spring growth was in contrast with the old dark green needles. I hate how “business” often gets in the way of fun, and I think I'll seek out the fir again and put at least one back into the garden.

In 1984-85 I was gaining momentum with maples, listing 57 species and cultivars for sale, with the vast majority being Acer palmatum cultivars. For some reason author, collector and maple guru J.D. Vertrees took an interest in me and helped me to acquire the beginning of my collection. $3.75 was a lot to ask, I thought, for 'Aoyagi', 'Butterfly', 'Higasayama', 'Orido nishiki' (now 'Oridono nishiki'), 'Sekimori' and others as a 1-year graft, but customers willingly forked over their payments. The Vertrees Japanese Maples book was in print and my wholesale customers and the gardening public went into a frenzy, much as the Europeans did with the tulip in the 1600's. My prices were sober, however, with the stalwarts such as 'Bloodgood', 'Viridis', 'Garnet', 'Crimson Queen', 'Ever Red' etc., those that would be grown commercially by the thousands...as it would turn out, and those went for $2.50 for a 1-year graft.

Acer palmatum 'Red Filigree Lace'

I had not acquired Acer palmatum 'Red Filigree Lace' by 1984-85, a delicate laceleaf that Vertrees enthused about in his 1978 first-edition of Japanese Maples. I think that was about the time that nurseryman John Mitsch of Oregon sold stock plants to Iseli Nursery, also of Oregon. Then we heard that someone snuck in at night and stole a few. Eventually another Oregon nursery was offering 'Ruby Lace' which was identical to 'Red Filigree Lace'. Hmm. I bought a start of 'Ruby Lace' and in 1984-85 I was selling grafts for a whopping $5.75. About eight years later when I compared the two “cultivars” side-by-side I dropped the 'Ruby Lace' charade and changed my labels to the proper 'Red Filigree Lace'. I grow the latter today, but not so many because they are so slow, and are often one-sided. The largest 'Red Filigree Lace' in the world is planted near the Buchholz Nursery office and it stands 11' tall by 7-8' wide. Maple enthusiasts are stupefied by its size because it would seem to take a couple of hundred years to grow that large. I readily confess, however, that I “cheated,” that I grafted fifteen or so scions into the top branches of an old 'Bloodgood' specimen about 30 years ago, so I created my big monster in record time.

Betula albosinensis var. septentrionalis

I could sell birches in the early years, but I doubt that now anyone would buy them from me. I first discovered Betula albosinensis var. septentrionalis – which I misspelled with an m in the catalog – in the garden of the late Dr. Corbin of Portland, Oregon. He was a connoisseur of large-growing birches, and fortunately he owned a large estate on which to house them. Nevertheless the birch canopies would merge into the large Magnolias that he also collected. The tops of the Betula were scrappy but the orange-pink exfoliating trunks were attractive. Corbin's was a garden I would not have wanted, but at least his large trees afforded a good deal of shade in the summer. I have a small section at Flora Farm that is named FFCorbin. It contains a couple of specimens of Magnolia 'Caerhay's Belle', the starts of which came from the doctor's garden, plus a number of Japanese maples that his daughter wanted to get rid of so she could plant plum trees in their stead.

Cedrus libani 'Pendula'

Cedrus libani 'Green Prince'

I see that we listed Cedrus libani 'Pendula' and 'Nana' in 1984-85. I was never certain of the species with the 'Pendula', whether it was deodara or libani, but I bought it as the latter from a reputable conifer nursery in 1980 when it was already eight years old. The original is still here; in fact my parking spot at the nursery is right next to it. I came to learn that one had to be careful with the 'Nana', for some nurseries were selling it as if it was the same clone as 'Green Prince'. After I successfully segregated my stock trees – 'Green Prince' was more dwarf with darker foliage – I got rid of 'Nana' never to propagate it again. I wasn't selling grafts of 'Green Prince' in 1984-85 because I was building up my scion stock, but would do so soon thereafter. I may have the largest 'Green Prince' in the world, but I didn't create it by “cheating” like I did with the 'Red Filigree Lace' mentioned earlier. My specimen is about 45 years old and it has matured into a broad pyramidal tree, much more formal than the “irregular-shape” often described in the literature.

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Wisselii'

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana rootstock with Chamaecyparis obtusa scions

I see that we were selling 1-year grafts of Chamaecyparis lawsoniana cultivars, and this was before the development of C. l. 'DR', or the disease resistant clone from Oregon State University that we currently graft onto. In 1984-85 we used Thuja occidentalis 'Smaragd' which prevented the Phytophthora lateralis problem on the lawson species, and while the grafts would “take” and “live,” all of the cultivars – even the dwarves – would greatly outgrow the rootstocks. With the larger growing cultivars such as 'Wisselii', one needed serious staking to keep the concoction from tipping over in winter storms. The only C. lawsoniana-on-'Smaragd' remaining in the garden is one specimen of 'Minima Glauca', a boring selection (from 1863) with compressed blue-green foliage. For what it's worth, one can also graft lawsoniana cultivars onto non-disease-prone Chamaecyparis pisifera, but with the same top over-growth as with 'Smaragd' rootstock. Least anyone in the humid Midwest or East Coast gets too excited about lawsoniana cultivars, even if a perfect rootstock existed, the tops might not be too happy growing there anyway. Kind of like with me: I have been to the Carolinas in the spring and in the fall and I thought I was almost in heaven, but I know that if I was ever stuck there in the summer I would rather die.

Juniperus squamata 'Blue Star'

In 1984-85 I had a catalog and plants to sell, but what I didn't have was money. After the down payment on my (empty) property and an annual mortgage due, I had no money to buy pots, fertilizer, media etc. I worked full-time for other nurseries then came home at night to pot seedlings and graft plants. Yes, I spent long hours outside with a headlamp, but at least I was spared stupid programs on TV. But I did scrounge up enough money to buy 300 'Skyrocket' juniper, 4' tall in one-gallon pots at a dollar each.* The juniper nursery was facing hard times and the owner must have been puzzled why a start-up nursery would have a market for junipers that he couldn't sell. What he didn't know was that we would top graft them, and we would sell a one-gallon liner (for $3.50) of Juniperus squamata 'Blue Star', J. horizontalis 'Wiltoni' and J. procumbens 'Nana, all of which was a new concept, a new product for the nursery industry. Later we would grow thousands of top-grafted juniper for other wholesale growers, and even today many continue, though likely with smaller numbers. There was little profit for us with the enterprise because they required a lot of labor, room and stock trees, and we discontinued the practice in about 2000.

*Actually the experience was the first time that I was cheated in the nursery business. After the agreed price of one dollar each (on Saturday) my (then) wife arranged a truck (on Monday) to pick them up, and she had to go into their field and load herself. When she returned to their office to pay, after being fully loaded, she was told that the price was $1.50, and that news was delivered by the secretary as the owner had slipped out the back. My wife fumed and began to unload, but was told she had to do it back out in the field to avoid an additional handling charge. A week later another nurseryman intervened, for he wanted some top-grafts too, so we got them for one dollar after all. An interesting side bar to the story is that the cheater was “religious” – he sang in his church choir. A saying became popular with others who also dealt with him, since his last name was Gold, that “All that is Gold does not glitter.”

Pinus pinea

Pinus patula

I see that we were listing many hardy pines as 1-year grafts, but for some reason we were also offering Pinus pinea seedlings – the “Italian Stone Pine” – in pots for $2.50. The only market for the zone 8 species (10 degrees F) was California, and perhaps I fancied that some rich Californian would want to lay out his own Appian Way. The biggest problem was that the pine seeds were cheap – $5.00 maybe – but that all one thousand germinated. I potted one hundred and threw the rest away, and we actually were able to sell about half. When they got too big for the pots they were transplanted in one-gallons. They all perished outside in a cold winter because we had too little room at the Inn. The same poor-production planning also occurred with Pinus patula, the “Mexican weeping pine,” where too many germinated and most were thrown out. The zone 8 P. patula does survive in Oregon winters when grafted onto hardy Pinus sylvestris, and my Grandfather has a beautiful specimen in his garden with the Scot's rootstock.

Pinus parviflora 'Aoi'

Everyone loves the Japanese Pinus parviflora species, and in 1984-85 I was listing 'Glauca' at $2.50 each, and it was popular enough that I sold about 500 grafts (with P. strobus as rootstock). I also had obtained stock of the “new” P. p. 'Adcock's Dwarf' and I was able to sell grafts for $3.50 each. Actually there was nothing “new” about 'Adcock's Dwarf' for it originated as a seedling in the Sir Harold Hillier Garden in 1961 and was named for the propagator Graham Adcock. What I liked best about it is that grafts took nearly 100%; what I didn't like is that the cultivar would develop a needle drop in April due to our wet springs. New healthy growth would quickly follow, but imagine explaining thatto your garden-center customers every year. So we discontinued 'Adcock's Dwarf' for better-behaving (and more blue) dwarf cultivars such as 'Aoi', 'Blue Lou', 'Kobe' etc.

Pinus parviflora 'Adcock's Dwarf'

For years I did keep a large specimen of 'Adcock's Dwarf' in a wood box even though we were no longer selling young plants. This specimen was grafted at about 2' tall on a vigorous P. strobus rootstock. Within twenty years it had formed a ball about 6' tall by 5' wide. The eminent – some would say arrogant – JRP van Hoey Smith was visiting one day when he saw that the label on my pine said 'Adcock's Dwarf'. He spat and sputtered and could barely contain himself because I obviously had a mistake, that 'Adcock's Dwarf' could never grow so large. If there was to be a debate I could see that it would be one-sided, so I just thanked him for setting me straight. Later that winter he sent me “correct” scions, and I grafted a few and grew them along side my “rong” scions, and of course they were identical. One could learn an important lesson about plants with this experience, that growing conditions in Oregon might be superior to The Netherlands for certain plants. Also, a “pushed” – watered and fertilized – pine in a container might grow twice as fast as yours in the ground at your European arboretum. And finally, maybe Buchholz with his German ancestry is twice as capable of growing pines than any Dutchman. Ok...the last statement was blasphemous and I didn't really mean it.

Ulmus glabra 'Camperdownii'

A tree that has always fascinated me is Ulmus glabra 'Camperdownii' and I have blogged about it before.* The cultivar is a disaster if topped-grafted on any rootstock because the contorted top will outgrow and consume its feeble trunk. Grafting on ground level is better, but you'll always be fighting rootstock suckers. Therefore, I reasoned in 1984-85 that one should root 'Camperdownii' and then train it up to the desired height so it could form its dome. The elm roots, but only a few come away vigorously while others just sit there with small leaves and no new growth. Propagators hate half-assed crops, and we would rather that most thrive or that all die. I eventually tired of my crummy crop and decided to dump them rather than to nurse them along.

*One can learn more by typing Camperdownii in the white search box on the home page of the Flora Wonder Blog, but finish this blog first.

Paging through past Buchholz literature is like stumbling upon one's old high school yearbook. Who was I then and what was I doing? Mainly, I think, I was just trying to survive.

Helleborus hybridus '#106'

I was tempted to brag about our early blossoms – some Rhododendrons, Narcissus, Helleborus and Lindera obtusiloba flowers can all be seen from the office window. But I shouldn't give the Flora Wonder readership the impression that all is sunny with birds and butterflies flitting about. In fact today the employees are braced against the wind and rain in their raincoats and hoods, and only body size and shape gives you a hint of who's beneath.

Thuja orientalis 'Franky Boy'

The foliage is dripping wet on the trees and shrubs, and the pots and boxes are heavy for the crew as they wrestle them into trucks usually bound east. A nice order for a good customer in Pennsylvania is already staged and we hope the truck for it shows up tomorrow morning as promised. I notice that he has Thuja orientalis 'Franky Boy' on order, a cheerful thread-leaf dwarf that I first saw at the Kools Nursery in Deurne, Holland. The cultivar was selected out of 3,000 seedlings of 'Elegantissima' by Tree Nursery Frank of Austria in about 1990, then introduced in 1999 according to the Dutch Conifer Society's Promising Conifers Part 1. One wonders why anyone would plant so many 'Elegantissima' (selected 1858) seedlings – to what purpose? As you see I still stick with the Thujaname for the genus, when I should probably comply with the current Platycladus("with broad or flattened shoots") designation. I like to be correct and Ican easily change, but remember that I have employeesand many customerswho can barely keep up with it as it is.

Picea pungens 'Dietz Prostrate'

Picea pungens 'Procumbens'

The order contains two spruces that he'll never tell apart should he lose the labels – Picea pungens 'Dietz Prostrate' and Picea pungens 'Procumbens'. Both display good silver-blue needle color and both grow equally low to the ground (with occasional leader pruning, at least at my nursery). The latter has been around for a long time (1910) and is also known 'Glauca Procumbens', and if 'Dietz Prostrate' is a newer introduction it never needed to have been named. Neither should be confused with 'Glauca Prostrata', a more rambunctious selection that is also more likely to throw up a leader.

Picea abies 'Gold Drift'

Besides being a retail nursery, our customer also does complete landscape jobs. Perhaps he will combine Picea abies 'Gold Drift' with the ground-hugging spruces, as yellow and blue plants enhance each other. 'Gold Drift' is a vigorous selection, growing just about as fast as the common "weeping Norway Spruce," Picea abies 'Pendula', and to call it a dwarf would be wrong. Growers claim it tolerates full sun, and if seen from a distance they are correct; however at Buchholz Nursery a 100 degree day will cause a little scorching, even when the specimen receives adequate moisture. But if grown in shade, as we do our stock plants, the foliage color is pale green. Even though 'Gold Drift' is a fairly new introduction, I already have one staked at 8' tall. I'm also tempted to plant another without a stake and let it ramble low to the ground.

Abies nordmanniana 'Golden Spreader'

Abies nordmanniana 'Golden Spreader' originated as a seedling in the Shoots Nursery in Holland in the early 1960's, and in spite of the name all old specimens will develop a leader and become nicely-shaped pyramids. Unlike 'Gold Drift' our fir does notburn in full sun, and another bonus is that it stays fairly yellow in the shade. "Golden Glow' might have been a better name because the color is particularly rich in winter, and I would have to put it in my top 10 of all dwarf conifers. I enthuse about 'Golden Spreader' because I just returned from a hike out to the Blue Forest to measure it, and it shines even in the gloomy rain.

Picea abies 'Perry's Gold'

Also headed to Pennsylvania is Picea abies 'Perry's Gold', but today the foliage is dull green and it will be about a month before the new golden foliage pops. In its prime the tree will be entirely yellow, and that will last for about three weeks before it gradually goes back to green again. Young plants spread sideways but we prefer to stake ours, and once a plant gets the idea of growing upward you don't need to continually stake. The original tree was impossible to miss as it grew along a roadside in Vermont. Arthur Perry gave scionwood in the early 1990's to Greg Williams of Kate Brook Nursery, who propagated, named and introduced the plant to the world. About six years ago I saw 'Perry's Gold' (incorrectly 'Golden') in a retail garden center in Boskoop,The Netherlands. Also for sale was two of my introductions – Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Miss Grace' and Picea breweriana 'Emerald Midget', and it's fun to see how quickly cultivars can spread around the world.

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Confucius'

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Golden Pillar'

I'll mention one last golden conifer – Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Confucius'– a broad intermediate-sized pyramid. It was a 1984 introduction from Duncan & Davies Nursery in New Zealand and we used to buy plants from them until they went bankrupt. Prior to 'Confucius' we grew 'Aurea Nana', and though similar the latter was more likely to burn. I'll confess that we grow less 'Confucius' than we used to, the reason being that 'Gold Pillar' and 'Gold Post', two selection as stunningly colored, but more dwarf and narrow.

Acer palmatum 'Orangeola'

Acer palmatum 'Sherwood Elfin'

Our customer has always bought lots of maples, so apparently he feels they are fairly priced. The 10-gallon Acer palmatum 'Orangeola' goes for $88, but so does the smaller 'Sherwood Elfin' which is at least three years older. The point is that I make less profit – maybe even none – on some cultivars versus others. 'Orangeola' has become very popular since it was introduced by Happy Hollow Nursery of Oregon in the 1980's, though its corny name was bestowed not by the nursery, but rather by a plant "rep"– one of those middle-men who could make a living with plants without getting their hands dirty, or at least not dirtyfrom soil. The dwarf 'Sherwood Elfin' received its name because it was a chance seedling from 'Sherwood Flame', and each displays about the same maroon leaf color. For some reason I have never staked the 'Elfin', but for my next crop I think I should probably try some that way.

Acer palmatum 'Corallinum'

Even the slow-growing Acer palmatum 'Corallinum' is faster than 'Sherwood Elfin', but for us it is a little more difficult to graft. Our stock is usually in containers in the greenhouse, and about mid-September the thin shoots are hard enough for scionwood. Our first and largest specimen grew into an oval shape that was about 8' tall. It was in the office planting and could be seen from out the window. The afternoon light through the pink-red leaves could be spectacular, but alas the tree was sited too close to the road. I fretted for its safety year after year, witnessing a couple of close calls from new UPS drivers. What insurance company would believe that it was worth over a thousand dollars? But then I probably had a two thousand dollar deductible. Vertrees in Japanese Maplesreminds us that the name Corallinumhas been incorrectly used for the cultivar 'Sango kaku', as the latter translates from Japanese meaning "coral tower." The late plantsman Sir Harold Hillier scoffed at the mistake and described the two cultivars "as different as cheese from chalk."

Acer pseudoplatanus 'Eskimo Sunset'

A couple of Acer pseudoplatanus 'Eskimo Sunset' are on the order, not that the larger-growing species with the gaudy leaves fits into every landscape situation. Besides all of the color on the top surface of the leaf, the rich purple undersides reveal themselves as they wave in a spring evening's breeze. I first saw 'Eskimo Sunset' in about 1994 in the Vertrees garden, a short time after he had passed. It was a wimp in deep shade with almost white leaves, standing only a couple of feet tall. The label read 'Eskimo Sunset', which is why I still use that name even though other maple experts believe it should be 'Esk Sunset'. A year later I got a start from another source and Buchholz Nursery has propagated quite a few over the years. Since I've had it for over twenty years it is surprising that it has taken us until a couple of weeks ago to sow seed from our oldest specimen. Our primary objective is to obtain rootstocks to continue propagation, but who knows what else might sprout?

Acer palmatum 'Kandy Kitchen'

Acer palmatum 'Shaina'

A couple of Acer palmatum 'Kandy Kitchen' will be a colorful addition to someone's landscape. I've been growing the cultivar for about twenty years, and on the one hand it is just another dwarf red witch's broom maple, but still it is a little different from the many others. It originated as a mutation on an Acer palmatum f. Atropurpureum and was discovered by Joe Stupka of Pennsylvania. It is distinguished by bunched pink leaves at the twigs' tips which will be greenish if grown in shade, followed by throbbing scarlet foliage in the fall. I suppose the standard for the witch's broom dwarfs is 'Shaina' ("beautiful" in Yiddish) which was discovered by Richard Wolff of Red Maple Nursery, Pennsylvania, in the early 1980's. I wish that a group of young plantsmen from various parts of the country (or world) would undertake a witch's broom trial, where 'Shaina', 'Kandy Kitchen', 'Fireball', 'Elizabeth' etc. could be evaluated. Actually it would be nice to have a red leaceleaf and a red upright evaluation too.

Acer palmatum 'Hubbs Red Willow'

Everybody likes Acer palmatum 'Hubbs Red Willow', a bushy tree with deep purple bamboo-like leaves and I even planted one along the road to my home. Unfortunately the name has been misspelled as 'Hupp's Red Willow' and that is probably because there exists a 'Hupp's Dwarf'. The Huppsare prominent nursery peoply from Oregon while Hubbs(without the apostrophe) was named for Elwood Hubbs from New Jersey. Simply 'Red Willow'would have been adequate without the need to commemorate Mr. Hubbs, just as the similar 'Beni otake'("red bamboo") is sufficient without including the finder's name (Edsal Wood). Anyway our customer will soon receive two 'Hubbs Red Willow' in 20 gallon pots and they look very nice.

Acer palmatum 'Helena'

We'll also ship a couple of Acer palmatum 'Helena', a cultivar that most of you don't know. Its charm is subtle although its foliage color (as with women's moods) changes greatly throughout the year. Leaves are emerging as I write and they are coppery pink and orange. Later they'll go through a light green phase with dark margins, and then they'll be mostly deep green by summer. Fall color ranges from yellow to orange to red. This compact tree was selected by Dick van der Maat of Boskoop, Holland, and I was fortunate to see it in his nursery in the autumn about ten years ago.

Bergenia 'Angel Kiss'

Maples, conifers...a few Cercis and Fagus comprise this customer's order. The only exception is Bergenia 'Angel Kiss', a perennial that you might be surprised we grow. I tell new customers that we grow three groups of plants: 1) maples, 2) conifers and 3) everything else. Bergenia certainly falls into the latter category, yet it is the type of plant that combines well with the other two, and that is the criteria for us growing it. In any case we're sold out of 'Angel Kiss' for this year. What distinguishes this hybrid are snow-white flowers that emerge above the foliage in spring, then as they age they evolve to a light pink hue. The leaves are dark glossy green with lighter green veins, and then in autumn they turn to delicious dark red-purple. Our colorful garden clumps lasted throughout most of the winter, and only a month ago did we prune them back. If you have nothing better to do you can rub the leaves of Bergenia together, for the sound they make has yielded the common name of "pigsqueek." The genus was named for Karl August von Bergen (1704-1759) a German anatomist and botanist, and the honor was bestowed by botanist Conrad Moench in 1794, too late for Bergen to brag about it.

Your damn blog!

This blog has been written for a month, but to type, organize photos and post it is always difficult in the mad spring shipping season. Seth is on a short fuse this time of year and he has been known to snap about "your damn blog!" I gently remind him, "It's ourblog Seth, it's ourblog."

Rhododendron 'Pink Snowflakes'

The last two weeks of April, and the first into May, are by far the most stressful for this nurseryman. The reason is that I fret about frost. We are so exposed, with orders sitting out waiting to ship, and I look at the weather forecast, sometimes more than once per day. Tonight, for example, the low is projected at 34 F (1.1111111 degree C), with “a passing shower or two.” Earlier this “spring,” 34 F was predicted and we got to 31. Fortunately, at that time there was less new growth, especially on maples, but it did smudge the blossoms on Rhododendron 'Seta' and 'Pink Snowflakes'.

Bleached leaves of Acer palmatum 'Scolopendrifolium'

Watching the forecast

In the early 1980's we plummeted to -26 F on May 5^th, and though the maples' new growth was reduced to mush, the nursery was fairly new and not so much was lost. Another May 5^th we exceeded 100 degrees and some maple cultivars, such as A.p. 'Scolopendrifolium' had every cell of chlorophyll bleached out. For my money, I'll take excessive spring heat over numbing frosts. Nature hands to us each of our days, and she has shown me in my career many weather records, all of which cost me money. The extremes delight the pretty weather lady on TV, and she is comfortably paid whatever the temperature. Perhaps I should cuddle up with her and she can caress the worry from my brow.

Acer mandshuricum

Acer triflorum

Roy Lancaster

The first maples to leaf out in the garden are a couple of tri-lobed species, Acer mandshuricum and Acer triflorum, and both come from the same brutally cold areas in northeastern Asia. It seems odd that they are the first to leaf out, and one would suppose that the opposite would be true. By studying leaves alone you might be hard pressed to tell the species apart, and for me the main identifying feature of triflorum is the birch-like exfoliating gray bark, whereas mandshuricum has a dark-brown and rough bark without much exfoliation. Since these species leaf out the first, they decide to also color in the fall the first, around mid-September in my Oregon garden. Acer mandshuricum was first described by the botanist Maximowicz in 1867, and a specimen was already in Kew Gardens in 1904. Surprisingly the Acer triflorum was a later introduction and didn't reach Europe until 1923. Both species can be found in arboreta and snob gardens, but seldom does the typical home gardener plant one; indeed we only sell a small handful each year. Various plantsmen display a curious tendency to champion their favorite trees, and maybe these Johnny-maple-seeds – like Roy Lancaster of England, actually accomplish some good, but I am a rather jaded entrepreneur and at this point I don't really care who grows what.

Acer griseum

Davidia involucrata

I feel compelled to mention another maple in the trifoliata section, Acer griseum, which takes a little more time to leaf out and so I worry about it less for spring frosts. It is native to central China at altitudes between 5,000 to 6,500' and was introduced to cultivation by E.H. Wilson in 1901 while he toiled for the Veitch Nursery firm in England. Wilsons' primary objective on his Chinese plant-hunting venture – as demanded by old-man Veitch – was to find and acquire seed of Davidia involucrata, and to “not waste his time on anything else.” But it turned out that the griseum – the “Paperbark maple” – was to become far more popular ornamentally. Take my hometown of Forest Grove, Oregon, for example, a sleepy berg of 20,000 souls. You will find griseum used as a street tree, but I've never even seen one “Dove tree,” Davidia involucrata. 37 years ago, when I started my nursery, that wasn't the case, and the A. griseum was also quite rare. In the ensuing years, urban forestry planners and homeowners discovered how tough and beautiful was the griseum species, and that was accompanied by the success of nurseryman, especially in Oregon, to germinate and produce the species by the many thousands… when previously they were considered difficult. Consequently the “value” of griseum has declined – quite substantially – where I could sell a 5”caliper tree for about $350.00 twenty five years ago, and today it will only be about $170-190.00.

Acer japonicum 'Giant Moon'

Outside the Acer japonicums don't leaf out any sooner than the palmatums, but inside the greenhouses they sure do. 'Giant Moon' is in full fat leaf and already the 3-gallons are crowding each other. They have husky trunks and will need potting up soon. I have to remind the crew that they'll need additional water – the plants that is – and even though some have worked here a decade or more, the transition from winter to spring irrigation remains a novel concept. The disconnect with the needs of the plants irks me, like we're making no progress, but attentive plants people are in low supply and most with skill already own their own nursery. I can stand at the end of a 100' greenhouse and tell you what needs water on any given day of the year. If the tree doesn't prosper then neither do I, and as you can tell: I fret about more than just frosts.

GH18 Maple grafts

Juana grafting

This time of year I love to wander into GH 18, our maple liner house. Our ace propagator, Juana, beams with pride when I tell her once again she did an excellent job. We grafted about 24,000 Acer last summer. A few will put on some new growth if done early but most sticks remain tight throughout the fall and all winter. It's actually a worrisome sight in winter with a multitude of things that can go wrong, such as heater failure, wind storms, record snow, wars, acts of god etc. So, when you finally see a high success percentage of gaily arrayed scion colors it is a joy to visit them daily.

Acer palmatum 'SnowKitten'

Juana asked me last September when would we graft Acer palmatum 'SnowKitten'– the new variegated mutation from 'Mikawa yatsubusa'. I cut all of the scions and apparently she was getting anxious, and I already know that she would like to take one home once we have a chance to build up our stock. 'SnowKitten' is a terrible name for a maple but that's what we are stuck with, and I too had observed our possible scion source for the previous two months. A two-gallon pot, my original start, and eight little one-gallon propagules from the original was all that we had for scionwood, and none of it looked very good. I determined that it wasn't worth the effort and we'd just skip a year. Juana disagreed, and she looked me straight in the eye in challenge, a situation I actually liked. So, I told her to go ahead and cut the scions and graft as many as she could. I must impress upon the reader that she had absolutely nothing to work on with, and yet I just went and counted 31 cute healthy plants. If anyone is in need for some extra loaves and fishes, Juana can probably pull it off.

Acer palmatum 'Fairy Hair'

Also quite impressive was our “take” on Acer palmatum 'Fairy Hair', where not only did we achieve a fantastic 99% (seemingly) success rate, but the scions have bolted with unusual vigor. 'Fairy Hair' used to be named 'Fairyhair'– one word – and since it was my introduction I can spell it anyway I want. But when it was listed in the Vertrees/Gregory Japanese Maples book, liberty was taken to alter the spelling. I shrugged and went along with the change since Timber Press would probably not issue a recall to correct the mistake. At one point we had endless scion wood for 'Fairy Hair' so I began to cash out on the stock plants. They easily sold and I guess I got carried away, for the following season I was hard pressed to find good scions. That was about five years ago but now we're back to a good supply. One hundred plants in GH 11 in 7 gallon pots had a wonderful growing year and they shot multiple shoots between 18-24” long. These were cut into about three scions each with the soft tips thrown away. Juana did her magic and now we have a crop growing like weeds.

Acer palmatum 'Fairy Hair'

The largest 'Fairy Hair' in the world is planted (in full sun) along the main road into the nursery. A frost probably wouldn't harm it as the leaves have not yet fully emerged. Planted next to it is probably the largest Acer palmatum 'Mikawa yatsubusa' in the world, and it is very muchin leaf. In the past we would cover it with plastic when lows were predicted, but that was such an effort for its large size that now we do nothing. I know that a hard frost would render it unsightly for a few months, but by July it would push out new growth and look fresh again. Of course, I would require a three-month vacation from the nursery during Mikawa's recovery.

Acer shirasawanum 'Autumn Moon'

Acer shirasawanum 'Moonrise'

The Acer shirasawanums are generally the last of the “Japanese maples” to leaf out as evidenced by our original – and now too large for its place – 'Autumn Moon' planted by the office. I was given this tree in a one-gallon pot years ago by a sweet woman who has long since passed. What was her name – Marjorie? Anyway, she was the sister of Del Loucks, he who has introduced many cultivars into the trade. His sister also had her foot in the Vertrees door and so she was one of the first to acquire 'Autumn Moon'. It was raised by Vertrees as a seedling from Acer shirasawanum 'Aureum' and selected in 1978. Thousands of 'Autumn Moon' have been produced over the years and I have been responsible for many of them. Another seedling selection from 'Aureum' was discovered and named 'Moonrise' by Carl Munn of Oregon, but surprisingly it was never mentioned in the latest (4th edition, 2009) Japanese Maples. Many growers prefer 'Moonrise' as it perhaps withstands full sun better than 'Autumn Moon'.

Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Kools Gold'

One can always worry about other plants freezing besides Japanese maples. A crop of Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Kools Gold' was photographed in mid-April a few years ago. Some had already been shipped but some still remained at the nursery. They were hit with 29 degrees F one night and a day later all I could do was groan. Every plant's new growth reacts differently to frost, and the dazzling delicacy of 'Kools Gold' didn't fare so well. We potted them up and hid them in the back somewhere and by July they looked great again.

Picea glauca 'Daisy's White'

Picea glauca 'Pixie Dust'

Picea glauca 'Alberta Blue'

The “Alberta spruces,” Picea glauca var. albertiana 'Conica' display about a quarter inch of vulnerable new growth at this time. Keep in mind that not all cultivars of Picea glauca – the “White spruce” – are dwarf compact pyramids designated as var. albertiana, and 'McConnal's Gold' would be an example of a regular sized upright tree, except one that features cream-yellow new growth. But it is the var. albertianas that have pushed new growth while the other forms are still biding their time. 'Daisy's White' is fun now after spending nine months of gray-green boredom. The diminutive 'Pixie Dust' is spotted with opening buds, but it's the second flush later in spring that will show off in yellow. 'Alberta Blue' is covered with a hint of light blue in mid-April, but by summer we'll be reminded that all blue Alberta cultivars can revert to portions of green – at least all have at Buchholz Nursery.

When I worked for a large container nursery in the 1970's they were known for growing many hundreds of thousands of Albertas, indeed acres and acres. It was my job to turn on the irrigation in the middle of the night to stir up the air to keep the spruces from freezing…and it worked. I guess I was a better employee then than an owner now, or at least then I had more energy, because now I don't water at night. Well, except for my middle-of-the-night trip into the bathroom.

Another problem with frost is the action we must take with our irrigation systems. At 31 degrees no pipes will break, but at 28-29 degrees some will. To prevent damage, we drain the system and open valves, a task that takes a good man about two hours. Then it's another two hours – maybe the following day – to reactivate the system should we need to water. The off-on undertaking costs close to $100, but then repairing pipes is even more expensive. Of course, the weather forecasts are just are just an approximation of what might occur, but every day of the year I'm tuned into them.

Earlier I fretted that the temperature was predicted to be 34 F (in Portland) with frost in outlying areas. My whole life has been lived in an outlying area. We closed all the greenhouse doors but we didn't drain the irrigation. It was a balmy 36F when I got to work the next morning and I was most pleased, so it appears my fret* was unfounded.

*Fret is from Old English fretan, meaning “to devour.” You could say that fretting is something that “eats away at us.”

Brian Humphrey from England, a well-known plantsman/nurseryman – and seldom is one man both – is writing a book on propagation. He asked me to look at the maple grafting part in case I “see any mistakes which should be corrected.” The twenty pages I reviewed couldn’t have “mistakes” because it was merely discussing various methods and observations about maple propagation – and there really isn’t a right or wrong way. I did learn a few things and got some ideas to try at my nursery, and it wasn’t the first time that Brian has shared his plant knowledge with me.

The following is my response to some of the topics that he brings up, but I won’t take the liberty to reveal his part – you’ll have to buy the book yourself.

Acer x 'Purple Haze'

You mention the “remarkable” hybrid A. x ‘Purple Haze’. It arose in an outdoor seed bed of Acer griseum, and was noted for larger leaves with purple undersides. I sent plants to Europe 12-15 years ago, to Cor Van Gelderen and maybe others, and I was trying to receive confirmation that it really was a hybrid. I was hoping that “science” would look at it and make an official determination. I heard nothing further until the Maple Society Convention in Belgium in 2011. Generally half the attendees at these events are botanists, and the other half are simple rustics such as myself. I have witnessed that most of the academics defer to Piet de Jong, that he is considered the highest authority on Acer. He smugly claimed that that the hybrid was “impossible,” that ‘Purple Haze’ was simply a variation within A. pseudoplatanus. Interestingly the griseum-appearing leaf colors a fantastic orange-red in autumn, and I’ve never seen an A. pseudoplatanus do that.

Acer x 'Sugarflake'

Acer x 'Cinnamon Flake'

More ornamentally worthy than ‘Purple Haze’ is Acer x ‘Sugarflake’ and if it’s a hybrid (saccharum x griseum) then it is another cross between different sections. De Jong also dismissed that as a hybrid, and was certain that it was just a variation of Sugar maple. Of course he has never seen a ‘Sugarflake’ specimen, and I wonder what he would make of the (somewhat) exfoliating trunk which reminds me of x ‘Cinnamon Flake’ (griseum x maximowiczianum).

Thirty years ago seedling availability of Acer griseum was rare, so I propagated the paperbark onto Acer rubrum. One of the original grafts still grows in front of the house of the late Dr. Corbin of Portland, Oregon. The union is still smooth and the top and bottom were the same size the last time I saw it, but of course of very different color. Occasionally a rubrum sucker will try to form, and the family has been instructed to rub them off when small.

Acer griseum 'Narrow Form'

I once had a seedling of A. griseum that was notably narrow, and I thought that if we propagated it would make a perfect street tree. When my specimen was about 15’ tall, a customer – and now I can’t even remember who it was – begged and begged to buy it. I didn’t want to sell it but eventually I relented. Before shipping I harvested a few apical scions and grafted them on the only rootstock I had – Acer rubrum. A few grafts took and all of them have proceeded to grow as regular griseums, and none of them exhibit the narrow form. If you look at Buchholz introductions on our website you’ll notice Acer griseum ‘Narrow Form’. I don’t propagate it at all anymore because its not at all narrow.

Acer nipponicum

I have grown a few Acer nipponicum, but always as seedlings. I once asked Peter Gregory if he knows of a suitable rootstock and he suggested that I try Acer pseudoplatanus “because it accepts almost everything.” My grafting resulted in 100%... failure, and I have never wasted my time again.

Acer pentaphyllum

I notice that the suggested rootstock in Cor Van Gelderen’s table for Acer pentaphyllum is Acer pseudoplatanus. I have never tried that because I achieve good success with Acer rubrum.

Acer buergerianum 'Angyo Weeping'

Acer campestre 'Carnival'

Acer circinatum 'Baby Buttons'

Acer shirasawanum 'Moonrise'

In the section on Summer Grafting – “Some recommend that for species other than A. palmatum summer grafting should be delayed until September.” I don’t know why to wait if the wood looks ready. Last August we had success with Acer buergerianum, campestre, circinatum, conspicuum, japonicum, macrophyllum, palmatum, pentaphyllum, pictum, shirasawanum and sieboldianum. Admittedly the x conspicuum ‘Phoenix’ grafts were only about 50%. It was our best year ever and my propagator will be getting a raise. Of course I know that next year could be our worst ever, and I’m sure no one will want to return the extra money. The point is that you canhave good success with various species without “waiting until September.”

My success rates with grafting in October is that the earlier the better. I think I it is probably weather related, with some Oregon Octobers being cold and gloomy and others being warm and sunny. We really like to finish by mid-September. I was surprised to see Vergeldt in Holland grafting on October 20 one year. He used low plastic tubes with bottom heat and kept the grafts dripping with sweat. The rootstocks were pruned harshly with no foliage remaining, so there was no chance of them catching mildew or other disease. After 20 days, the grafts were uncovered and Vergeldt’s son implied that they would have good success, of course depending somewhat on the cultivar used. Two days later I flew home and copied the Dutch method as best as I could, but my results were poor. I couldn’t duplicate the feel of a Dutchman’s greenhouse – my humidity and light are so different in Oregon.

Saya deleafing scions

I prefer to deleaf all scions – it just keeps the operation cleaner. I have experimented with keeping leaves on and that works as well, but it puts me in a bad mood to walk past a withered moldy mess. Besides I have grown closer to my youngest (now 11) daughter when we deleaf scions in the evening after dinner. She is fast!

Acer palmatum 'Japanese Princess'

Acer palmatum 'Ikandi'

We had some empty spaces on our hot pipe after grafting Fagus, Quercus, and other species. We had about 200 rootstocks from failed summer grafts and on Feb. 20 I cut scions of Acer palmatum ‘Japanese Princess’ ‘Ikandi’ ‘Alpine Sunrise’ and the new ‘Bloody Talons’. All scions came from stock in the greenhouse and on Feb. 20 they were just beginning to swell. They were kept on the hot pipe for 20 days and now, two months later, we see that nearly everything is vigorously growing. I have had the opposite results before too. We keep our rootstocks in their pots and do no “drying off.” We don’t dry off our summer rootstocks either. What I don’t like about the hot pipe – we call callus tube – is that we must graft about 3” above on the trunk so that the union is at the heat source, when I would much prefer to have my grafts as close to the soil as possible.

I have “stick-budded” before, but I don’t like it because the scion-rootstock size disparity means that I have to keep the plant for an extra year or two before the cultivar catches up, so they are not suitable to sell as one-year grafts. Years ago a Chinese woman competitor propagated all of her maples via stick bud. Her product looked wimpy and vulnerable compared to a normal side graft and I took a lot of her business away.

On the other hand my sister lived in the woods near the Oregon coast, and Acer circinatum grew wild just past her lawn. For fun I stick budded a couple dozen red laceleafs on her vines and some actually took. They were never very vigorous because she didn’t top the circinatum rootstock; nevertheless it was an odd sight to see red in her green jungle.

Acer circinatum 'Little Gem'

Juniperus squamata 'Blue Star'

I was surprised to see the mention of A. circinatum ‘Little Gem’ as a candidate for top grafting. If palmatum rootstock is used the vine cultivar – whether a witch’s broom or an upright grower – will outgrow the rootstock and the product will always need the support of a strong stake. I find this also true with palmatum cultivars that originate from brooms such as ‘Shaina’ or ‘Kandy Kitchen’. Other dwarves or spreader palmatum cultivars such as ‘Little Princess’ or ‘Japanese Princess’ seem to be ok top worked, although stem colors seldom match. Whether with conifers or maples, as well as with other plants, what happens to the rootstock of a top graft can vary greatly. Some stay skinny forever and some expand significantly. If you graft a Juniperus squamata ‘Blue Star’ (witch’s-broom origin) atop a J. scopulorum ‘Skyrocket’ the ‘Blue Star’ seems to act as a bottle stopper and the stem fattens up nicely. Abies koreana ‘Ice Breaker’ works but Abies koreana ‘Blauer Eskimo’ does not. I suppose the species of rootstock in question is a factor too.

Years ago the propagator at Monrovia Nursey wanted to visit because he had heard that Buchholz did well with maples. I didn’t keep anything secret from this southern California university graduate of horticultural science. A week later I requested a visit to their propagation department and after a lot of hemming and hawing from the Higher Ups, I was finally granted permission. Boy, did we do things differently! Their rootstocks were about 2/16-3/16” caliper growing in 2” by 2.5” deep “rose pots.” I wondered how often they would need water on a hot day. Their crew performed side veneer grafts with leaves still on the rootstocks, so the scions started out in a good deal of shade. The propagator admitted that they had to frequently reduce the top foliage which was a very labor-intensive task. By contrast we use 3 9/16” pots with a rootstock caliper of about ¼”. Our container’s volume is about 8 times larger that Monrovia’s and of course they take up more room in the greenhouse but at least we don’t have to constantly prune.

Monrovia had already finished a few thousand grafts, and I was shocked to see their full-time watering man with a small wand and with very low water pressure going up and down the pots. Each pot would be covered at least ten times before it was sufficiently wet, and great care was taken that nowater ever touched the grafted union. They kept up this practice for about two months before the grafts were deemed safe for overhead water. What a boring job their hand-watering must have been, and I think that the irrigator was a university graduate too.

At Buchholz Nursey we care less about the ingress of water into the graft, and sometimes our overhead is turned on one day after the graft was made. However we use large 8 x 3/8 x 0.20 budding stripes and begin wrapping ¼” above the graft union and end ¼” below. We leave no gaps in the budding strip, nor do we seal the top. This method works for maples and conifers, and because it does we’ve never experimented with any other way, although I am aware that many nurseries in Europe and America secure their grafts differently.

Total removal of rootstock in April

We head back the rootstock on our summer grafts at least once, and perhaps twice for those grafted earliest. In the spring, (about the first of April in the greenhouse) when the scions show a couple of inches of new growth the rootstock is completely removed, leaving one bud set on the rootstock above the graft.

Considering using 2-year scionwood – and larger scions – it is not a practice at Buchholz Nursey unless the 2-year wood is the only type available and large enough. But I have seen obscenely large 2 or 3-year scions used in England (Peter Catt) with apparent success. I understand one of the goals of horticulture is to “improve” on nature and to speed her up so that we can sell the product more quickly. I probably will experiment this summer with larger scions, but I wonder if my graft percentage will go down.

I know that Vertrees recommended drying off rootstocks (1978) at least with A. palmatum. My first years I did as told, but eventually I stopped because I couldn’t see the value in it, and actually there seemed some danger in the endeavor to adequately rewet the pots. Always keep in mind that the solo propagator has the freedom to experiment and follow his inclinations; those with employees inevitably compromise and often adopt practices where the employees will do the least amount of harm.

We overwinter summer grafts in frost-free greenhouses, but some experimenting on temperature lows might be interesting. 15 years ago we had 18,000 laceleaf and ‘Bloodgood’ grafts in a greenhouse that collapsed under heavy snow. It was a custom-graft project where the customer owned all the rootstocks and provided all of the scions. Throughout the night the grafts were exposed to 3-5 degrees of frost, then early in the morning the plants were transferred to an above-freezing greenhouse. We threw out 168 plants that were broken at the graft, but everything else looked ok. That spring we were pleased with our normal 90-something percent success rate, and I was glad that I never bothered the customer (Ekstrom Nursery) about the incident.

1 gallon Buchholz maple

Competing nurseries usually pot up their one-year grafts into 1-gallon pots one year after grafting. They are watered and fertilized heavily and kept in warm poly houses. They are staked onto bamboo where some whips achieve 3’ of growth. The following spring they are shipped to garden centers as a plant slightly less than two years old. At Buchholz Nursery we don’t stake *Acer palmatum cultivars – we prune instead – and keep them an extra year. Our 1-gallon pots are more husky with greater caliper. These days the competition charges between $10-12 for their one gallon pots; we charge between $14-16 for ours. Admittedly their system is more profitable, but I am more proud of my plants. Furthermore, when growing the gallons on to larger sizes, our future plants will have more impressive shapes than the pushed-whip method.

Acer palmatum 'Ryu sei'

*An exception would be A. p. ‘Ryu sei’ where we want height first. When they are as tall as we want, then they are topped to form a well-branched umbrella shape.

One of the best aspects of horticulture is that you can rub shoulders with some of the greatest plantspeople and learn from their experience. There have also been times when dumbshits teach me a thing or two. I don’t know where I fall that continuum, but at least I’ve been able to make a living.

MoMA

New York Botanic Garden and Iroki Garden

Remeber to Vote.

The Arnold Arboretum

Viburnum When You Can Mulch Them?

Return to the Olympics

Fall Planting

Plants from England

Buchholz Photo Contest

The Alphabet of Plants

Photo Contest Winner

Cute as a Button

The Skinny on the Skinny

Winter Propagation

Flora's 'Scape

My Native Flora

The First Buchholz Catalog

It's Still Winter

The Fret of Frost

Brian Humphrey on Maple Propagation