From time to time my wife Haruko pulls
a rabbit out of the hat and amazes her friends, her children and/or
me. Me, definitely the other day when she furtively handed over a
plastic art-tube with who-knows-what inside. Haru then shied away in
the Reverse-Oriental-Back-Step as if the content was of no certain
value, where I could decide whether to keep or throw away.
What happened is that we were
eliminating nearly 50% of our household stuff – kid's books, old
clothes, furniture etc. since we had to empty out our three upstairs
bedrooms because we wanted to dump the old carpets and replace them
with wood floors. Once the old was gone and we were woodenized we
were all filled with satisfaction and Haruko and I declared that even
if we lived here only a few months further, the expense was worth it.
So: out went this to the
dumpster, out went that
to Goodwill, and some of the other
went to my older children. We are now much more happy, or maybe more
accurately: relieved.
Ok, so what's about
the mysterious old art-tube, one of the few things that she brought
from Japan when we married? I unrolled the paper scrolls from inside
and was overwhelmed to discover her landscape-architecture project
from the Tokyo University of Agriculture where the students were
charged with the task to find and to photograph a number of trees –
all from the same distance away – so that they could compare and
choose the best tree for each situation. Haruko dilligently presented
photos of all of the trees in question – for the professors only
accepted certain species as valid – but she went much further by
also sketching each one in ink next to her photograph. Needless to
say, the creepy, tired old professors were stunned by her
accomplishment, energized by a student so committed to doing her
best, so that they eventually elevated her to more complicated
projects...such as documenting the weeds of Chiba Prefecture –
which I tease her about to this day.
Anyway, there were
a couple dozen trees that she drew which – to me anyway – reveal
her special delightful perspective. Let's take a look at some of
them, some of those species that are officially accepted for public
use in Japanese landscapes.
First,
to my surprise (and to some derision) was Cedrus deodara
which I have seen aplenty in Tokyo. Haruko actually assumed that it
was a Japanese native since it is so-often used. I said no! – the
species is native to the Himalaya, not Japan. How interesting that
with the large number of conifers native to Japan that deodara is
what the establishment prefers. It grows well, at least in Tokyo and
for me in Oregon, though both are far different environments from the
drier western Himalaya where I have seen it in the wild.
Another
surprise was the preference of the eastern USA species Cornus florida
over the Japanese/Chinese native Cornus kousa. I saw a number of C.
florida in Tokyo in late Novemeber used as street trees, and they
were in their autumn glory and looked completely healthy. Just
because Haruko attended the Tokyo University, I presume the school's
other graduates practice their landscape trade in all parts of Japan,
from northern Hokkaido all the way south to Kyushu. I have no clue,
Haruko neither, if C. florida does well in the very northern or the
southernmost extremes (3008 km, 1869 miles apart). Actually I know
very little about the flora of Japan – in
Japan
– but I could prattle forever about how the flora fares in western
Oregon, or at least at Buchholz Nursery.
 |
| Pinus thunbergii |
Of
course Pinus thunbergii was a required species, the Japanese native
“black pine.” It is totally unremarkable if you look at the
canopy only, but for me the tree's torso – the trunk – is what I
admire the most. It plates fantastically whether you are encountering
a 30-year-old tree or some of the hundreds' year old specimens. I'll
say that in Japan the trunk is more dark – hence: “black pine”
– than the trees you see in America, but I would advise you to not
completely trust my observation. Somewhere in Japan is the oldest P.
thunbergii but unfortunately I don't know of it; but I would board
the next airplane if somebody promised to take me to it. The species
is named for Karl Peter Thunberg, a Swedish botanist/physician and is
native to coastal areas of Kyushu, Shikoku and Honshu, Japan and also
South Korea. It is called gomsol
in Korean, heisong
in Chinese, and Kuro
(dark) matsu
(pine) in Japanese. P. thunbergii var. corticata is popular with
bonsai aficionados, with corticata
(from Latin corticatus)
meaning “having a cortex” or “covered with bark or a barklike
substance.” Ok – let me retract what I wrote earlier about the
unremarkable canopy – it is actually fantastic in many natural or
garden settings for its raw, wild form, and is especially provocative
for white, newly-emerging candles in spring.
 |
| Cinnamomum camphora |
Hmm...let's
see, what about Haruko's Cinnamomum camphora, a tree I've never
grown? It is native to “Tropical Asia and Malay peninsula to China
and Japan,” according to The
Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs
(2014), but if from Japan one suspects that would be Kyushu. A
mystery to me is what is the specific identity of the Cinnamomum in
the watercolor and sketch above. These are the work of Yusuke
Nagamine, my wife's father from Miyazaki Prefecture, Kyushu. He was a
powerful Tokyo banker, and when he retired he took up painting –
joining a club, going to museums etc., so it shows the family's
talent from top to bottom. If not C. camphora, the tree would be C.
japonicum Siebold
ex Nees,
but other than admiring the genus, I know little else about it. I
presented the question to Haruko and she said C. camphora,
definitely. It was her father's favorite tree in his city and I think
it was growing next to a bus stop where the riders could wait in the
shade. In Kyushu the evergreen is called kusunoki.
I've
never seen nor heard of Quercus phillyreoides, but according to
Wikipedia “It
is evergreen, withstands frost and can be grown in hardiness zone 7.”
Furthermore: “The
Japanese use the Q.p. or “ubame oak” to produce binchotan, a
variety of vegetal activated carbon.”
The value of binchotan is that it is a white charcoal (bincho
zumi)
that's traditionally used in Japanese cooking, and dates back to the
Edo period. I don't know – I don't see any ornamental merit to the
species, and I rather suspect that perhaps Japanese botany professors
develop certain biases concerning natives as if the species needs a
championist, and that is why Haruko was required to portray it.
Haruko
did a good job in her sketch rendering of Dendropanax trifidus, a
species little used in the West and probably a plant you do not know,
but that shouldn't be because of a hardiness issue. Dendro
is from Greek for “tree” and panax,
from Greek panakeia
means “all healing” (hence panacea).
It was named by Linnaeus because he was apparently aware of its use
in Oriental medicine, and the ginseng relative is in the Araliaceae
family. My interest in it is because we have the related Oplopanax
horridus in the Pacific Northwest, a spiny beast known as the
“Devil's club” or “Devil's walking stick, “ a shrub that you
definitely don't want to scramble through. The Dendropanax is known
as kakuremino
in Japanese and is traditionally used in moss gardens (roji)
which lead to a tea house (chasshitsu),
because of its simple, unassuming nature. I guess that's why we don't
see it much in America – our people want a more colorful bang for
the buck, but the Dendropanax leaves are glossy and the green flowers
are followed by black berries.
I
don't know what to make of Haruko's Osmanthus asiaticus Nakai,
what species that could be. You will find it listed on the internet,
as when some Japanese scientists were scrutinizing chemicals in the
bark, and you can even find photos of it with its dainty white
flowers, but neither Hillier, Krussmann or Bean list it, so it must
be an outdated name for one of the other Asian species, some of which
I grow. Haruko got out her Japanese field guide which was her
authoritative text in college which includes O. asiaticus, so she was
totally playing by the rules when she drew her trees. The Japanese
common name for Osmanthus with white or pale white flowers is gin
mokusei,
as gin
means “silver;” kin
mokusei
would be the name for the species with yellow-orange flowers such as
O. fragrans f. aurantiacus, and a large plant of the latter could be
smelled all across her university campus. After all, the genus name
Osmanthus
is from Greek osme
meaning “fragrant” and anthos
meaning “flower.”
Haruko's
landscape architecture department encouraged the use of Laurus
nobilis, the “Bay laurel” from the Mediterranean region which The
Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs
(2014) describes, delightfully, as “the laurel of the ancients,*
now grown for its aromatic foliage and for its usefulness as a dense,
pyramidal, evergreen shrub or tree.” Wow! – “the ancients,”
how exciting is that? The genus contains only two species – the one
from mid-earth, nobilis
– and the other, azorica,
more
tender, from the Canary Islands and Azores (Hillier, 2014).
Supposedly, its best use is for, as Hillier says: “good hedges;”
as it “stands clipping well.” The plant is commonly used in
Mediterranean cuisines, both from the berries and from pressed leaf
oil, and the wood gives off a nice smoke flavoring, but – you might
want to know – it is a common addition to the Bloody Mary, one of
the best all-time-drinks.
*Basically, Apollo had the hots for the river nymph Daphne. She
begged Eros (Cupid) to be free of him so he changed her into a laurel
tree. Apollo didn't completely give up for he was found resting on
his laurels.
We
grow Styphnolobium japonicum 'Pendula', but back in Haru's college
days it was known as Sophora japonica. In fact early editions of
Hillier
list Sophora japonica and there was no mention of Styphnolobium at
all. The weeping form 'Pendula' can be found in a number of European
arboreta, and when I first encountered it at Wespelaar in Belgium
labeled Styphnolobium I had an urge to race into their office and
announce they had a label mistake. I buy, sell and collect plants as
much as anyone, but I always seem to be absent when it comes to
nomenclatural changes. Funny that they stuck with (almost) the same
specific epithet when the “Chinese scholar tree,” or “Pagoda
tree” is native to China, not Japan, and indeed it was once
scientifically known as Sophora sinensis Forrest.
Sophora
is a more attractive name than Styphnolobium and comes from the
Arabic sufayra,
a tree in the Sophora genus. Styphnolobium was kicked out of the
Sophora group because it doesn't produce nitrogen fixing bacteria.
Two
plants I can't stand, Aucuba japonica and Fatsia japonica, are
nevertheless popular in Japanese landscapes. For both genera there's
an endless amount of variegated cultivars. I remember from 16 years
ago in Japan visiting a plant collection of about an acre where
everything – every
damn plant
– was variegated. That was the collector's thing I guess, and he
even had a peony with variegated leaves. Eventually he sobered up
because Haruko reported that he grew tired of it and sold off all the
plants. The botanic name aucuba
is a corruption of the Japanese word aokiba
which means “blue tree”* while Fatsi it is yatsude,
meaning “eight fingers” due to the eight leaf lobes.
*“Ao”
means green today but in old times it was used for both blue and
green. Ki means “tree” and ba means “leaf.”
I wished that I would have had a crystal ball to know that Haruko
would eventually come into my life, probably I would have been more
patient and less intense. We really have fun together, and she is
famous in the community for her humor, besides being sweet and kind
and helpful to all. She is a wonderful mother to our two children,
plus a positive link to my older three children, and maybe most
impressively, a cherished “second mother” to many of Forest
Grove's young kids and teenagers. She is well-known and loved. When
she announced to her Tokyo professor that she wanted to do a year's
internship in America, he was uncertain and asked “why?” She
answered, “to learn more about plants.” Again, he wondered why? –
in other words: we have our landscapes, both potential and those
already existing, and we have our prescribed list of plants...so why
do you need to investigate further? Thankfully she came to America
anyway.
So,
why did a Tokyo banker's daughter develop such an interest in trees
and landscapes? The answer is that she and her sister were sometimes
caretakers for two young children who had down syndrome. Haruko
observed that they were gleefully happy in a park setting running
among the trees, and she could see that parks were no accident, that
someone decided what to plant and where to plant them. Haruko's
parents were supportive of her America aspirations but her father
admonished her to not “go there and get married.” She insisted
that it was the last
thing she would ever do. Well, we're twenty years later...
Anyway,
I'll definitely keep her sketches; in fact hopefully I can be buried
with them.
