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| Acer buergerianum 'Michael Steinhardt' |
Two weeks ago I reported that fall
color was finished and that it was the conifers' turn to shine. Well,
not so fast my friend, I was wrong again. I walked past Greenhouse 14
and saw a dangling leaf of Acer buergerianum 'Michael Steinhardt' and
I was instantly mesmerized – a condition that frequently occurs
when one abides with plants. The "Trident" cultivar was
discovered and introduced by Don Shadow of Tennessee and he named it
'M.S.' after a customer with a garden/arboretum in New York. I
photographed the golden specimen in Tennessee in May, and Shadow
claims that it stays golden all spring and summer and does not
burn. My start is still in the greenhouse where it can achieve
longer growth with better propagating wood, but unfortunately it is
not so gold indoors. Many maple selections are like that, where the
golds are not so gold and the reds are not so red in too much shade.
Acer buergerianum
Acer davidii
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| Acer conspicuum 'Phoenix' |
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| Acer palmatum 'Crappy Brown Leaves' |
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| Acer japonicum 'Mai kujaku' |
Acer japonicum 'Giant Moon'
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| Acer japonicum 'Taki no gawa' |
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| Acer japonicum 'Taki no gawa' |
Colorful Acer japonicums continue to
delight, and 'Aconitifolium', 'Giant Moon' and 'Taki no gawa' were
still show-offs. In the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs
short shrift is given to the species, except that japonicums are
"beautifully coloured in autumn" and that they possess
"softly hairy petioles," a description I had to read a few
times to appreciate. For cultivars Hillier lists only
'Aconitifolium', 'Green Cascade' and 'Vitifolium', while
Vertrees/Gregory in Japanese Maples list and describe twelve.
The name 'Aconitifolium' has been used in the West since 1882, and it
was derived from the leaf's resemblance to the genus Aconitum
(monkshood). That is a terrible name, though, and it takes too long
to write out. Far better is the Japanese name 'Mai kujaku', for it
means "dancing peacock," and just picture leaves moving in
a light breeze. I acquired my start 35 years ago as 'Aconitifolium'
and I have always used that name, but since I am nearing the end of
my career I think I will go with the Japanese flow and switch
to 'Mai kujaku'. Besides, precedence should be given to the Japanese
name for their plant, and screw the West. A. j.
'Giant Moon' was selected and named by Buchholz Nursery from a
seedling from 'Mai kujaku' about 2003. The name was due to the
unusually large leaves and the fact that the common name of A.
japonicum is "full moon maple." Neither Vertrees/Gregory or
Hillier mention a japonicum cultivar named 'Taki no gawa' ("river
of waterfall"). Neither does Yano in Book for Maples,
although he lists a palmatum (amoenum), 'Takino gawa'. I have had the
japonicum version long enough to have produced and distributed over
500 "rivers of waterfall." By the way I asked my Japanese
wife if the name was perhaps redundant, for one cannot have a
waterfall without a river. She laughed and said, "We're
Japanese, we always do things like that; maybe it just sounds
better." She thinks it's funny that West tires to figure
out East, but can never do so fully.
Acer micranthum
I am certainly not on a mission to
convert maple enthusiasts to Acer micranthum, but if I was I would
have an easy sell. Hillier calls it "Among the best maples for
the smaller garden." First described by Philipp von Siebold in
1845, it was introduced to Europe in 1879. Its specific name is Latin
for its common name of "small-flowered maple," or "ko
mine kaede" to the Japanese. I like that the "authoritative,
definitive text" (Timber Press) contains a statement in Japanese
Maples, "This tree is one of my favorite snake-bark
maples..." Well, who is saying that, Vertrees or Gregory? I dug
out a 1st edition and find that it was Vertrees. I know
that Peter Gregory favors it too, for I stood next to one with him at
Westonbirt Arboretum, and he gazed at it lovingly like he was looking
at a beautiful woman. One of its charms is the dangling clusters of
tiny seeds which evolve from pink to red in autumn. A good place for
a picnic would be under the tree with a beautiful woman, preferably
Japanese.
Acer caudatifolium 'Variegata' in fall
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| Acer caudatifolium 'Variegata' in spring |
I don't have much experience with Acer
caudatifolium from Japan and Taiwan as it is hardy to only 10 degrees
above 0 F. What is a little troubling is that the species is not
the same as Acer caudatum, for the latter is native to China,
Manchuria and Japan, and is therefore much more hardy. In any case I
was pleased to receive a variegated form of A. caudatifolium from the
Mr. Maple guys from North Carolina, but I wonder about the use of the
Latin 'Variegata', if that name is nomenclaturally valid. Whether it
is or is not, nevertheless my tree was vibrant, and it was certainly
fun to stumble upon it in late November. The specific name is due to
its sharply pointed leaves and was first described by the Japanese
botanist Hayata in 1911. He was a professor at the Imperial
University of Tokyo, and later the director of the Research Botanical
Gardens. Hayata's first name was Bunzo, a name I use for my
9-year-old daughter when she is slow to do something – "Get
with it, Bunzo."
Acer palmatum 'Geisha Gone Wild'
Speaking of Saya "Bunzo," we
set out one evening to flag orders in the Flora Farm greenhouses, and
she knows where just about everything is. The first to flag was Acer
palmatum 'Geisha Gone Wild' in a 7-gallon pot, and she marched
straight for them. She stopped in her tracks, stunned – "Woah,
they're not here!" "Yes they are," I said. She
gathered herself when she realized that they were indeed present, but
that they had changed color. 'Geisha Gone Wild' originated as a
branch sport on the New Zealand introduction 'Geisha', where one
certainly did "go wild." Geisha can be attractive – and
we still propagate a few – but it is an unstable wimp and not very
hardy. Its instability can lead to plants with 100% 'Bloodgood' –
type foliage – and I watched a couple of those for three years, and
never did they resume the "Geisha" form. In another case a
'Geisha' produced a robust mutation that I eventually propagated and
introduced as 'Geisha Gone Wild'. The "wild" form has
proven to be very hardy and shines in full sun and is one of our best
field plants. Oddly the Vertrees/Gregory 4th edition* says
that 'Geisha Gone Wild' originated as a seedling of 'Geisha' –
not true – and that it resembles 'Tennyo no hoshi' – huh?
*I value the Japanese
Maple book, and appreciate the effort it took to produce
it, however I can nit-pick over a number of errors. Even the
publisher, Timber Press, is full of it when they comment, "As a
result of hundreds of years of careful breeding, they [maples] take
the center stage in any garden they are found." I don't think
any cultivar in the book was "bred," rather they were
selected as seedlings or branch mutations, and
there is a big difference between that and to be "bred."
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| Acer palmatum 'Ueno homare' |
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| Acer palmatum 'Koyasan' |
The spectacular Acer palmatum 'Ueno
homare' certainly lives up to its name, with Ueno being a
popular park in Tokyo, and homare meaning "glory" or
"fame." It is attractive in spring also, leafing out early
– like A. p. 'Katsura' – with yellow new leaves edged in
orange-red. With its elongated, pointed middle lobe it somewhat
resembles Acer palmatum 'Koyasan', and what do you know – the
'Koyasan' group is growing next to the 'Ueno homares', for they look
very different in spring and summer. 'Koyasan' was a Dick van der
Maat introduction and I discussed it two weeks ago in Flamboyant
Foliage, November 20, 2015.
Acer palmatum 'Ikandi' in November
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| Acer palmatum 'Ikandi' in May |
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| Acer palmatum 'Ikandi' in July |
One of the most colorfully fun of all
Japanese maples is Acer palmatum 'Ikandi', a seedling which arose
from an A. p. 'Alpenweiss' parent. The photo above shows the original
seedling, but we are already selling larger trees which have added
vigor due to their green understock. New leaves emerge pink with
green veins. Later the pink turns to cream-white, while the green
remains and even expands. By fall, you would never believe what the
foliage looked like back in the spring, but it is interesting too. I
introduced 'Ikandi' in 2012, and even I will admit that the name is
kind of goofy, but our crop of 20" cedar boxes sold out the
first five minutes from the release of our availability.
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| Acer pectinatum 'Mozart' in May |
Acer pectinatum 'Mozart' in November
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| Acer pectinatum 'Mozart' in October |
Acer pectinatum ssp. forrestii is native to Yunnan, China, and its name is derived from Latin pectinatus, or "like a comb" due to small hairs at the leaf margins. I have been in the area where it is native, and I certainly saw maples, but I was/am not sharp enough to be certain what species I was seeing. Fortunately for horticulture, Dutch nurseryman Peter Vanlaerhoven was/is sharp enough, and he raised the cultivar 'Mozart' from wild-collected seed. It is notable for its red trunk with white striations, so it is a great winter tree. Spring growth is fresh with reddish twigs and pinkish leaves. My oldest tree is holed up in a greenhouse but I am afraid to plant it out because I am not sure of its hardiness. I know Dutch nurseries and southern England nurserymen claim that it is plenty hardy. At some point I'll discontinue to contain the top to keep it inside, and 'Mozart' will have to face the real world outdoors. I don't know the reason why the selection received its name, but perhaps there are 'Beethoven' and 'Brahms' cultivars as well.
Cornus kousa 'Heart Throb'
Besides the maples, there are many
other plants clinging to their colorful foliage. Cornus kousa 'Heart
Throb' doesn't seem to ever want to let go of its leaves, but of
course I'm talking about containers in the greenhouse. Was 'Heart
Throb' named for its red flower bracts in June or for its autumn
foliage, as both throb with red? In the book Dogwoods by Paul
Cappiello and Don Shadow, the case is made that 'Heart Throb' is but
a renaming of 'Miss Satomi' and 'Rosabella', and that was based on
DNA work at the University of Tennessee. 'Heart Throb' was named and
introduced by the late Jim Schmidt of Oregon, and I remember him
laughing when he said, "I know what the book says, but I know
that they're two different plants." I don't have any special
inside information and I don't really care, but I like the 'Heart
Throb' name and I liked Jim Schmidt, and I like the cultivar so much
that I planted one along the driveway to my home.
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| Liquidambar styraciflua 'Slender Silhouette' |
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| Liquidambar styraciflua 'Slender Silhouette' |
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| Liquidambar styraciflua 'Slender Silhouette' |
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| Liquidambar styraciflua 'Gumball' |
Leaves still remain on Liquidambar
styraciflua 'Slender Silhouette', an inspiring pillar that was
discovered and introduced by Don Shadow of Tennessee. Autumn leaves
of various colors – including green – are often present at the
same time. You'll never be able to see the original tree which was
growing next to a lake because someone cut it down, but I saw a huge
specimen in Shadow's yard, probably one of the original propagules. I
am a fan of the skinny – I like trees that grow to fifty
feet or more while you can practically put your arms around them. If
you planted the dwarf round L. s. 'Gumball' close to 'Slender
Silhouette' you would have a living exclamation point, proof that
nature can be fun.
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| Stewartia malacodendron |
Stewartia malacodendron is a small tree
from southeast USA and the species received its name from the Greek
malakos for "soft" and dendron for "tree,"
but it is commonly known as the "silky camellia." While it
has gained RHS's Award of Garden Merit it is nevertheless
considered endangered in the wild. Sadly I don't have a photo
of the flower because my one tree isn't old enough, but I have seen
them elsewhere. To my mind malacodendron has the most beautiful
flower in the genus with its soft-white camellia-like blossoms
adorned with purple stamens and blue anthers. Malacodendron is a
small understory tree and is considered by some Stewartia experts to
be difficult to propagate and that it doesn't do particularly well in
a container either. My tree is planted in full sun at Flora Farm and
I cross my fingers that it will prosper. Last winter I grafted 15
shoots from it onto S. pseudocamellia and I achieved 100%...failure.
I may have seen the species in North Carolina two years ago, but it
didn't register with my brain because maybe it hadn't yet leafed out.
Well, I guess there is always color –
or colour – at any time of the year...unless you are blind; but
maybe then your color is black...or is it gray...or white or, what is
it? Could somebody blind please report, I really want to know. I once
picked up a blind hitch-hiker who said, "Yes, we are at my
destination." How he could tell I don't really know, but I
marveled that he could know.
With full disclosure here, I confess
that this blog's photos were taken on November 23rd and
the text was written on November 27th. Now, on December
4th, we are far from those events and everything is either
brown or bare. Old-man Buchholz is also entering into his December,
but dear-wife Haruko suggests that I am barely into my September. I thank her for her optimism.
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