This past week I spent some time in
western China studying the flora, but I did so with my butt on the
couch while reading the Guide to the Flowers of Western China
by Christopher Grey-Wilson and Phillip Cribb. The title is somewhat
misleading as the area covered does not extend totally west into
Tibet, Xinjiang and western Qinghai, and according to the parameters
(see above) the area is actually south-central China. The book is
basically an encyclopedia with a short paragraph given to each plant,
and it takes the broad point of view about what constitutes a
“flower” and includes conifers; and you might recall in a blog or
two ago that I too consider conifer cones and pollen structures to be
“flowers” even though many notable botanical institutions and
nurseries do not. Them rong.
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Yunnan Province, China |
The book consists of over 600 pages in
small print and thousands of color photographs by 60 different
photographers, and the depicted quality ranges from superb to
serviceable to absolutely horrible. It's odd that useless pictures
are included since it's a 2011 Royal Botanical Gardens Kew
publication, but I am relieved to know that the paper used came from
“responsible sources.” I learn in the introduction that China, at
about the same size as the United States, contains almost twice as
many species and that 56% of them are endemic to China alone. Imagine
571 species of Rhododendron (409 endemic), plus vast amounts of
Primula, Clematis, Gentiana, Saxifraga etc. The introduction also
reminds us that to collect plants in China without permission is to
break the law, a fact that many western plantsmen find out the hard
way. I have been to the Chinese province of Yunnan, which is included
in the book, but I only took photos and left footprints...well,
except for a little seed deposited in the bottom of my camera bag.
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Rhododendron faberi ssp. prattii |
Rhododendron faberi
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Rhododendron proteoides |
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George Forrest |
Let's begin with Rhododendrons since
the book's cover shows a wonderful photo of R. forma prattii
near the Hailuogou glacier in western Sichuan, a species that is
considered R. faberi ssp. prattii by the Rhododendron Species
Foundation. In any case, I don't grow it but I do have other species
in the subsection Taliensia. R. proteoides is one such, but it
is much smaller and lower, with my 15-year-old specimen hardly larger
than a dinner plate. It bloomed the first year after it was grafted
but never since. R. proteoides is notorious for requiring decades to
flower, but when you graft it onto another species it suspects that
something is abnormal and it decides to bloom before it might
die...sort of like “getting your affairs in order” with people,
but maybe I'm giving plants too much credit. The blossom photo above
is from the Cecil Smith garden, and the late Oregonian Mr. Smith was
equally famous for his generosity as for his excellent garden. R.
proteoides was discovered by George Forrest in 1914 in Yunnan at an
altitude of 12,000-15,000' elevation. In my garden the leaves will
burn unless given afternoon shade, but at least the plant is hardy to
USDA zone 3, or -40 degrees.
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Frank Kingdon-Ward |
Rhododendron wardii is also native to
Yunnan, but at a lesser altitude “in open forests, thickets,
shrubberies and open slopes.” The Flowers of Western China
offers five photos of the species in the wild, all from different
locations, and you can see that the richness of the yellow blossoms
can vary. Frank Kingdon-Ward discovered it in 1913 and he was known
not only for his discoveries but also for introducing the best forms.
Ward (1885-1958) was a botanist, plant collector and author, and I
have many of his books on my basement shelves. He explored in Tibet,
China, Burma (Myanmar) and Assam (northeastern India), and to get to
the higher elevations with the good stuff, he had to slog by foot
through the hot humid lowlands first. Ward led an adventurous life,
once being close to the epicenter of a 9.6 earthquake. He was also a
spy for the British India Office, and was arrested by the Tibetans
for crossing the Sela pass when he was denied permission to do so. In
1923 he moved into a large house on Hatton Road in London where he
built a big rockery, but today the house and rockery are under
London's Heathrow Airport. Alas, he had to sell his house because he
lost too much money running a plant nursery business. I find it
interesting – amusing really – that Ward was successful at so
many endeavors, but that he failed as a nurseryman...especially when
I am apparently the opposite.
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Rhododendron yunnanense |

Rhododendron yunnanense
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Pere Delavay |
I grow – wait a minute, I grew
– Rhododendron yunnanense which the book describes as, “Variable,
erect, often rather sparse evergreen to almost deciduous shrub.”
The species is native to Tibet, Guizhou, Sichuan, Yunnan and even in
northern Myanmar, but the amazing thing is that it is found as low as
3,000' and up to 13,000'. I lost my one plant when we reached ten
degrees in early November a year or two ago, but at least its pixels
live on and thanks for the memories. If I ever acquire it again I'll
pay more attention to its provenance and try to find one from higher
up the mountain. My departed was beautiful in bloom and quite
fragrant and I miss her dearly, as I do an early girlfriend. Many
Rhododendron snobs will tell you that a species should be judged by
its appearance when not in flower, but R. yunnanense was a
plain-jane for most of the year, but then she positively elated me
when floristically showing off in April. The delightful species was
introduced by the French missionary Pere Delavay in about 1889, and
it received the British distinguished Award of Merit as early as
1903. All Rhododendron species can be attractive, but R. yunnanense
was certainly my type of girl, err...plant.
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Primula vialii |
I'll now move on to the Primulaceae
family and discuss my favorite “primrose” species, Primula
vialii. It is also native to northwest Yunnan where I have been, but
since I visited in the fall (1988) I have never seen it in flower in
the wild. Maybe I like it because it has a different kind of primrose
flower – not a “drumstick” or a hybrid kind of flower, but
instead a “spike, red in bud; corolla violet-blue, with rather
narrow, pointed, unnotched lobes” as described in The Flowers of
Western China. My first encounter with the species was at the
Rhododendron Species Foundation – my favorite “home away from
home,” and they feature a large planting in a soggy area where it
thrives. According to my book, P. vialii is “apparently now rare in
the wild,” and indeed I too am not able to keep it alive in the
Flora Wonder Arboretum. It at first survives, then dwindles then
dies...is my experience. I was shocked to find it for sale at the
local box-store garden center for only two bucks a pop, and I assumed
they were produced via tissue culture. I didn't buy any from them –
that would lead to bad karma – and the only reason I go into these
box-stores is to snoop to find out which ill-advised nurseries are
supplying them. Pere Delavay originally discovered the species but
there was some confusion about the name he gave. Later George Forrest
found it (1906), and he concluded that it was new to science, so he
named it P. littoniana. The word primula is the Latin feminine
diminutive of primus, meaning “first” due to Primula's
early flowering in spring. I don't know anything about a Mr. Vial who
is honored with the specific name – perhaps one of France's
recipients of Delavay's plant shipments.
Osmanthus delavayi
Delavay was honored with Osmanthus
delavayi, which was originally classified as Siphonosmanthus
delavayi. He introduced it in 1890, and first discovered it in
the mountains in Yunnan near Lan-kong. Osmanthus delavayi is a
beautiful species eventually reaching about five feet tall by seven
feet wide, and is covered with fragrant white flowers on arching
stems. The evergreen leaves are dark green and attractive, though
only about one-half an inch long, but when the plant is in flower it
becomes totally white for a few weeks. Delavay didn't name the
elegant shrub for himself, but he sent it to a French nursery for
introduction, and I'm not sure if he (D.) was ever aware that he had
been honored. The common name is the “Delavay tea olive.” The
word osmanthus is derived from Greek osme for
“fragrance,” and anthos for “flowers.” The only
short-coming to the plant is that it is only hardy to 0 degrees F,
USDA zone 7.

Prunus serrula
Prunus serrula is the “Tibetan
cherry,” but it should not be confused with P. serrulata. E.H.
Wilson introduced both cherries, the former in 1908 and the latter in
1900. No wonder Wilson was known as “Chinese Wilson.” P.
serrula's name comes from Latin for a “small saw,” the
diminutive of serra saw due to its serrated leaves. The
peeling mahogany bark is a wonderful sight, but best in someone
else's garden. If you use it as a lawn tree and water often you'll
constantly be mowing its root suckers. I can't grow it because I have
a Prunus crud at Flora Farm; I don't know what the disease is or how
it arrived, but I've lost half of an old edible cherry tree, one pie
cherry tree, half of a weeping Prunus mume and I was forced to cut
down an almost dead Prunus maackii. I use all of my energy to take
care of my happy trees, so there's nothing left to deal with Prunus
problems.
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Corylopsis willmottiae 'Spring Purple' |
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Eryngium giganteum |
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Ellen Willmott |
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E.H. Wilson |
*Her life story is very interesting,
and maybe I'll take it up another time. Suffice to say that she had
money and in part sponsored Wilson's expeditions, and because of that
he named the Corylopsis for her, as well as Rosa willmottiae and
Ceratostigma willmottiae.
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Magnolia wilsonii |
Magnolia wilsonii has a blossom as
beautiful as any flower in horticulture, but it remains rare in the
trade. A couple of things against it is that it is not
precocious, that is it blooms when leaves are present. The second
problem is that the blossoms hang downward, and I think I stood on my
head to take the photo above. The species is similar to M. sinensis
which also is located in the zone covered by The Flowers of
Western China, but I learn that M. sinensis has been reclassified
as M. sieboldii ssp. sinensis. What the heck – Wilson introduced
both species in 1908 when he was working for the Arnold Arboretum
near Boston. My oldest M. wilsonii is less than 10' tall – on its
own roots – so it is either very slow-growing or it's not happy for
another reason. M. wilsonii occurs between 6,000' to 10,000' in
elevation in Guizhou, Sichuan and Yunnan provinces. It is considered
Near Threatened by the IUCN Red List and the population is in
decline. That is due to 1) habitat loss and 2) to the use of its
highly aromatic bark for medicinal purposes, known as hou po.
China is catching up to the West in horticulture and if there is the
political will and enough concern for the environment there should be
nothing going extinct.
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Spring cones |
Picea likiangensis
A conifer species that I grew early in
my career was Picea likiangensis, and I was pleased when I saw it
near Lijiang, Yunnan in 1988. My trees were propagated by grafting
onto “Norway spruce,” Picea abies, but the tops performed as if
they were on their own roots. Sales were never great so I
discontinued growing it, content to have just one older tree in the
collection. Unfortunately it fell victim to a wet October windstorm,
and with my other worries we never got around to propagating from the
toppled. I would like to acquire it again, both for the beautiful
cones and for the Lijiang memories. The old town is a UNESCO Heritage
Site with cute cobblestone streets, canals and bridges. It was our
base for jaunts to the nearby Jade Dragon Snow Mountain, as the five
people in my group were there for plants. One member, Fred Nelson,
managed Portland's Forest Park – the largest urban forest in
America. He foolishly got into a drinking contest with our Chinese
chaperone, and the Chinese never lose those. The next day we climbed
to a high elevation and poor Fred lagged behind with a hangover. This
area is peopled by the Nakhi people, a matriarchal society where the
women wear the pants and the men raise the kids. Anyway, that's how
it used to be 28 years ago, but I know many things have changed.
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Meconopsis 'Lingholm' at the Rhododendron Species Foundation |

Cardiocrinum giganteum
Meconopsis 'Lingholm' is a hybrid with
M. betonicifolia as one parent, and this species is covered in the
book, as well as 17 other species. I grew it in a large box with
other plants in GH20, but the Himalayan Blue Poppy was always the
star of the show. It lived for four years before failing, and I
remember its flowers were huge in its final year. I've tried other
'Lingholm' plants in other parts of the garden but they have always
died before blooming. In one case it was thought to be a weed –
since it had no label – and the Buchholz Nursery Roundup crew
polished it off. The aforementioned Rhododendron Species Foundation
has great Meconopsis success with a sizeable patch interplanted with
Cardiocrinum. The only problem is that thoughtless visitors tromp
into them to take pictures on their cellphones. Garden Director Steve
Hootman might be pleased to know that I even yelled at a group –
for all I knew they were going to pick the flowers. Sorry if I ruined
their day, but their kids were wild and loud too, and the
garden is kind of a church for me.
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Bletilla ochracea |
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Bletilla 'Kate' |

Bletilla striata 'Alba'
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Bletilla striata 'Murasaki shikibu' |
The Flowers of Western China
lists three species of Bletilla: ochracea, striata and formosa. They
are easy to grow and plenty hardy in Oregon, and there is nothing
more cute than their blossoms. The plants slowly spread by
underground rhizomatous corms, and just yesterday we divided a few
clumps. Besides the straight species we also have a few hybrids –
like 'Kate' and cultivars such as B. striata 'Alba', 'Kuchibeni' and
'Murasaki shikibu'.* When fully opened the pale lavender flowers have
a bluish-purple lip, and in many ways it reminds me of a miniature
Iris.
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Murasaki Shikibu |
*Note how I spell 'Murasaki shikibu'
with the second name uncapitalized per the rules of Japanese
botanical nomenclature. But maybe I should relent because 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.
Near the Bletilla-Pleione section of
the book is a genus I've never heard of called Phaius. There
are eight species in China, four endemic, and I wonder if they are
hardy in Oregon. I am familiar with about half of all of the species
listed in the book, but I am intrigued by many, like Phaius, from the
half I don't know. I have to concede that many I will never know.
Besides that, I don't even know the price of tea in China.
You write a very interesting blog and I just bookmarked it!
ReplyDeleteThank you!