Friday, July 29, 2016

The Hunt for Portland's Notable Trees




I was in a Portland bookstore a couple of weeks ago and noticed a new and updated edition of Trees of Greater Portland by Phyllis Reynolds. The book – yes, I bought it – features the largest of many species, along with a couple of other notables, and best of all: their addresses. The photographs are serviceable-to-poor, but of course they're poor for there is always a car or power pole or street sign in the way. That actually makes the photographs more interesting, for the behemoth trees look more bizarre and other-worldly as they sprout out of the concrete and shove themselves against the sides of buildings.



























Acer macrophyllum on Greeley Ave
























Quercus garryana on 29th Place


Quercus garryana at Flora Farm


So, if you want to see the largest Acer macrophyllum in Portland you go to 6733 N. Greeley Ave. The largest Cornus kousa is at 2381 NW Flanders St,* and the champion Quercus garryana is at 4620 SW 29th Place. Concerning the oak, my wife entered the address into her smart phone and a woman's voice took us right there. As soon as we entered 29th, straight ahead and up the hill was the massive oak, and I needlessly uttered, “There it is.” Those who have been to my home know that I also have a huge Quercus garryana, and though my tree is certainly taller, the 29th specimen appears to be more wide, with the trunks' circumferences about the same. The Portland oak was spread in front of a nice home, and I noticed that some of the lateral branches were secured by cable to the center of the tree. My oak does not receive such lavish care and some of its laterals have crashed down, most horribly three years ago over our driveway, just 20 seconds after my wife drove under. By coincidence I arrived home a minute later to find my shocked Haruko standing still with her mouth open and tears in her eyes.

*Flanders is the name of a character on The Simpsons, and indeed the Portland creator of the TV show was inspired by the street's name.




Another feature of the Trees of Greater Portland is nine walking tours, each with a map and a list of trees that you will encounter. In some cases you will discover the champion, but most of the time it's just notable trees – many over 100 years old. Again, these huge elms, oaks maples etc. look preposterous in their settings, kind of like Flora was amusing herself in their placement. The value of a street map with a list of accompanying trees is that you can identify the various species of elms (Ulmus), a genus I don't know much about. I could compare the “Dutch elm” (Ulmus x hollandica) with the “Siberian elm” (Ulmus pumila), and also the “Wych elm” (Ulmus glabra) and the “American elm” (Ulmus americana). Similarly with the maples, and even though I grow Acer rubrum, A. pseudoplatanus, A. saccharum, A. saccharinum and A. platanoides at the nursery for understock, I would be hard pressed to identify the various species as they loom overhead in their urban setting.

The author cites a 2002 Portland State University study that claims 26.3% of the city is covered by trees. She continues, “As I write this, Urban Forestry is in the process of documenting all 236,000 street trees in the city: the species, size, exact location and health.” Ms. Reynolds also reminds us of the benefits of urban trees – which all of us already know – and that they increase the value of a house up to 21%. Another statistic is that “The replacement value of Portland's tree canopy [in 2006] was valued at $5 billion.” I have questions about that figure, for how does one “replace” a 100-year-old oak? With a $50 (wholesale or retail?) tree from a nursery as the largest size available? The $5 billion figure sounds to me like a university analysis from a tenured professor with his cadre of graduate students, an amount that no one is able to verify.

Grandfather with map


In any case, my Grandfather and I met in NW Portland, not far from our usual Forest Park walk, to take one of the nine walking tours. Here are familiar streets with old houses and no parking, but when I drive them I can only half-notice the trees out of concern for safety, so it was nice to finally walk the 'hood. We must have looked like two old out-of-town bumpkins, for we were the only ones without piercings or tattoos. My partner consulted the map while I carried the list of trees. He would say something like, “On the next corner is tree #7,” and I would respond, “Ok, we're looking for a Japanese maple.”


























Acer palmatum at Kearney St


We initially encountered an Acer palmatum, which actually was not very impressive, so I was beginning to question our fool's errand. We looked it up and down but kept our thoughts to ourselves. Then, just twenty feet away was a very good-sized maple, The tree we were looking for. Wow, that was a notable specimen. At 2367 NW Kearney St. the residence was virtually hidden by the palmatum, with most of the windows blocked from receiving any light. Reynolds reports that the house was built in 1907, and surmises “Because this is a large, classic specimen, it was probably planted not long after the house was built.”



























Ulmus glabra


As I said before I know very little about the elms (Ulmus), except that U. pumila was the most dwarf of the lot. That's not surprising since it is native to Siberia. According to the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs, Ulmus glabra – “glabrous, without hairs” – is commonly known as the “Wych elm” or the “Scotch elm.” Apparently the Englishmen at Hilliers don't honor the politically correct designation of “Scot's elm” instead of “Scotch elm,” but I guess the 2014 Manual was published prior to the Scots vote to stay in the union. The common name wych is a prefix, a variant of “witch,” which is probably derived from Germanic “wik,” to bend. The word elm is also of Germanic origin, the Proto-Germanic elmaz is derived from the Proto-Indo-European helem. Until my walk with Grandfather I suppose I had never seen the glabra species except for the well-known cultivar 'Camperdownii'.



























Ulmus x hollandica


Ulmus x hollandica is the “Dutch elm,” and it is a natural hybrid of U. glabra and U. minor. It is the principal elm of Germany, the Netherland, Belgium, France and England, so I must have seen it plenty of times except that I didn't know what I was looking at. The dreaded “Dutch elm disease”* was first reported in 1918 in Britain, and by the 1930's the landscapes were devastated. Well damn to the Dutch some might say, except that they weren't at fault, and the name is due to “the fact that early work on the disease was carried out in the Netherlands...not that it originated there” (Hillier). In case if the Portland specimen perishes, at least I'm happy to have seen it.

*Caused by the fungus Ophiostoma ulmi, and then later by an even more aggressive species, Ophiostoma novo-ulmi. Spores of the fungus are transmitted from diseased trees to healthy trees via the elm-bark beetles, Scolytus scolytus and Scolytus multistriatus.






















Ulmus americana

Ulmus americana at Overlook Park


The most impressive elm was certainly Ulmus americana, commonly known as the “White elm,” and according to Hillier the common name is due to the “ash-gray bark,” and that the species is “a large, vigorous, attractive tree...with a wide-spreading head of graceful branches.” Along this northwest Portland street the canopy was not wide-spreading, but later in east Portland in the middle of Overlook Park I experience a grand specimen that was growing under no constraints. It proudly displayed its classic form, and I don't think that I have ever seen any deciduous tree more wonderful. Who planted it and when? – the Reynolds book doesn't say, except that U. americana is native to central and eastern North America, not to Overlook Park, Portland. It was Linnaeus who first described and named the species in his Species Plantarum, published in 1753.

Careful on the road, Gramps.


My 81-year-old Grandfather likened our excursion to a treasure hunt and was really getting into it; for my part I was worried that he was overly absorbed with his map when crossing streets. If he got run over by a car I would have to continue without his help, and we were less than half way on our hunt.

Pyrus calleryana


I'm not a fan of Pyrus calleryana, the “Callery pear,” but I do admit that this cultivar's narrow crown is advantageous for street-tree use. It is also one of the most abused of urban trees as city planters install them at odd times – like August – with a little green water bag for survival. The bags are then removed for next year's plantings, and the poor pear never receives supplemental irrigation again. My home-town of Forest Grove, Oregon has been guilty of this stupidity, and to make it worse, the abuse occurred on the main entrance into town. Anyway, the Portland tree looked ok, if a little stunted, because its earth-box was only two feet in diameter. My gripe with P. calleryana is its flowers: they are a dull dirty white and smell of rotting fish, and besides the species is invasive. Calleryana was named for the Italian-French Sinologue* Joseph Callery (1810-1862) who sent specimens from China to Europe.

*Sinology is the academic study of China involving their language, literature and history.

Magnolia grandiflora


I am not particularly in love with Magnolia grandiflora either. The tree has a “fake” look, like the glossy green leaves were manufactured in some Chinese factory full of pollutants and dubious DNA. I am without it in the Flora Wonder Arboretum, and, like the “windmill palm” (Trachycarpus fortunei) the Magnolia just wouldn't fit in. The Portland tree displayed a few blossoms, and I have seen it elsewhere with flowers in late October. Grandfather offered that he has seen it in the wild (North Carolina) with leaves so large that they were reminiscent of Rhododendron sinogrande. Well, if pressed, he would have to admit that they are not nearly so big. In any case, the residents of this Hoyt Street house must enjoy the delightfully fragrant flowers and would not trade their tree for anything else.

Romneya coulteri


Though not mentioned in Reynolds' book, we encountered a single flower of Romneya coulteri, the “California tree poppy.” It is also known as the “Matilija poppy” since it can be found in the Matilija Canyon of southern California, which was perhaps named for a Chief M. who lived in Ventura County. Romneya is a rather brushy perennial, but the showy white flowers – which look like fried eggs – are the largest of any plant native to California. The genus would be doubtfully hardy at my nursery, but its survival in Portland is absolute proof that Republican policies have caused Global Warming.




























Platanus x hispanica


Char Chinar


Platanus x hispanica (of Spain) is considered a hybrid between P. occidentalis – North America and Mexico – and P. orientalis, though Hillier suggests that it might be just a form of the latter. It's difficult to see from the photo but the flaking bark is attractive, and I recall it to be somewhat orange. I learned – working in a Dutchman's nursery – to hate the “Plane tree” since the hairs from the leaves and fruits cause one to cough, and I would suppose that long-term exposure could lead to serious bronchial problems. There is a 500-year-old P. orientalis planted at Kos, Greece, and it has been suggested that it was planted from a succession of cuttings from the original. It is known as the Tree of Hippocrates, under which the “Father of Medicine” taught. And at the Athenian Academy, outside Athens, there was a sacred grove of planes where the students listened to the masters and where the Peripatetics practiced philosophy. I would think that the students' coughing would interfere with their attainment of knowledge. P. orientalis can be found as a street or plaza tree, and in China I have seen old specimens in Kunming and Beijing. I also remember seeing four large trees growing on an island on Dal Lake in Srinagar, Kashmir; they were known as Char Chinar, but I didn't know at the time that they were Oriental planes.



























Aesculus hippocastanum


There were a number of Aesculus hippocastanum, or “Common horse chestnut” on our tour. They were magnificent to be sure, but Portland no longer permits their planting because falling nuts are a problem for pedestrians in autumn. When in flower they make a beautiful show, but all parts – seeds, leaves and flowers – are toxic. The genus name goes back to Latin for “a variety of oak,” where oak is defined as a type of tree that grows in northern parts of the world and that produces acorns. The origin of the common name “horse chestnut” is not certain. One theory is that the mark left by the leaf stalk after its fall resembles a horseshoe with seven dots, looking like the heads of seven nails. Another theory is that the nuts are used in Turkey for curing horses of pulmonary diseases. The problem with that theory is that they do not. The best use of horse chestnuts is in the game of conkers, a British children's game where a nut is threaded onto a piece of string. The kids take turns striking each other's conker until one breaks. I first learned of this game in England at the Westonbirt Arboretum, for signs were announcing a tournament the following Sunday. Sadly I missed it because at that time I was already in Holland.






















Acer saccharinum


A notable “Silver maple,” Acer saccharinum, stood at the corner of 23rd and Kearney, but it was impossible to photograph the entire canopy; however, standing beneath the monster one could understand how it received its common name. Its bole nearly filled its 4' x 5' earth plot, and it's truly a wonder that the tree survives, but indeed it looked healthy and vigorous. I wish an urban forester could explain the physical details of how these city trees function, how such a restricted rootspace can adequately nourish the tree.

Acer saccharum


Linnaeus named and described A. saccharinum in 1753 for its sugary sap, then in 1785 Quaker botanist Humphry Marshall named the “Sugar maple,” Acer saccharum, similarly due to its sugary sap. Did Marshall know the botanic name of the Silver maple? Portland's Sugar maple was majestic, though it grew with a slight lean, and I'll be sure to revisit in fall to check out its color.

Acer rubrum



Acer rubrum 'V.J. Drake'
Acer rubrum 'Vanity'




























The city is chock-a-block with the “Red Maple,” Acer rubrum, and I suspect there was once a shady closed-door deal between a certain nurseryman and city hall. Probably what one sees are cultivars, selected for their narrow forms, but the Reynolds book simply lists them as A. rubrum. The species – also named by Linnaeus in 1753 – is unmistakable in early spring for its deep-red flowers on leafless stems, but according to DeBeaulieu in An Illustrated Guide to Maples, it was named for its red fall color. I have grown only one A. rubrum in my life, 'V.J. Drake', but it quickly outgrew its place and I cut it down. I assumed that I would acquire another later but never have. Oops, I just realized that I currently grow A. rubrum 'Vanity', a cultivar that gardeners either love or hate.

Acer platanoides


Acer platanoides is the “Norway maple,” and it received its specific epithet by Linnaeus due to its casual resemblance to Platanus, the “Plane tree.” The Portland tree appeared to be a seedling-grown straight species, unlike the purple-leaved platanoides cultivars you frequently see in other neighborhoods. Really, though, platanoides is nobody's favorite tree, and I suppose it's because it just gets too large. I remember back to the 2002 Maple Symposium in England where one of the speakers was a passionate Finnish professor of forest genetics who bemoaned the threatened status of the Norway maple in Europe. After her one-hour speech someone in the audience from New York popped off with, “You can have all of ours that you want since they're now considered invasive in many states.” The stunned professor stood silent with a drained face, appalled that someone could so casually dismiss her life's work, and I and others dropped our heads in embarrassment.























Acer pseudoplatanus


Another huge species was Acer pseudoplatanus, and its branches hovered onto the other side of the street. Since Linnaeus named A. platanoides for its plane-like appearance, it's odd that he repeated it again for A. pseudoplatanus. I remember asking the English maple guru, Peter Gregory, if he knew of a rootstock species compatible with Acer nipponicum. He responded that maybe pseudoplatanus would work, for it “accepts most everything,” even species that belong to a different section. I tried but received 100% failure. I mentioned earlier the DeBeaulieu book, and on page 300 is a photo of Mrs. van Hoey Smith standing next to a fantastically huge A. pseudoplatanus trunk, and another photo of a huge tree from Yorkshire, England. The species is native to central and southern Europe and the Caucasus, so the England tree was an old introduction.




























Tilia platyphyllos


Betula pendula


Well, I left out a lot of other wonderful species, such as Liquidambar styraciflua, Juglans nigra, Tilia platyphyllos, Betula pendula and more, but with the map we were able to find almost everything. We couldn't find, though, an Acer japonicum, and I wondered if it had died soon after publication. In any case, as my Grandfather and I headed back to the car we encountered a few impressive buildings which were probably as old as some of the notable trees. We retired to a local coffee shop, both of us feeling content with our treasure hunt.









Thursday, July 21, 2016

Specimen Plant List

I recently finished compiling our specimen plant list, a process that requires me to methodically visit every section and greenhouse. I must count the potentially saleable and then decide how many of them I want to part with, keeping in mind future propagating needs and where smaller sizes might be etc. I've done it for years because no one else wants or can do the job, but it takes many days to complete the task. I want prices to be fair and to thrill customers with the value of what they receive. Thanks to the internet some of the retail outlets inform their customers when the Buchholz truck will arrive so they can be the first to pounce. I'm hesitant to brag because my good fortune can end instantly due to wars, acts of God or the whims of the gardening public.

Kniphofia 'Orange Vanilla Popsicle'
Acer palmatum 'Shaina'


























Picea pungens 'Hartsel'





















Corylopsis spicata 'Golden Spring'


I have said before that I group our plants into three categories: 1) maples, 2) conifers, and 3) everything else. For many of you everything else is the most interesting, and the specimen list can include the largest Davidia involucrata 'Lady Sunshine' for sale in the world, all the way down to Kniphofia in a #1 size pot for $8.50. Particularly nice is a crop of Corylopsis spicata 'Golden Spring', and the soft yellow foliage complements anything that is red – such as Acer palmatum 'Shaina' – or with blue, such as Picea pungens 'Hartsel'. The Corylopsis – with leaves like Corylus (hazel) – features sweet yellow flower racemes on nearly precocious branches, and the foliage color remains vibrant as long as the plant is well sited with morning sun and afternoon shade. Sadly, unlike other members of the Hamamelidaceae family, the Corylopsis usually do not display extraordinary autumn color, at least not at Buchholz Nursery.
























Cercis canadensis 'The Rising Sun' 




Acer campestre 'Carnival'


I like Cercis canadensis 'The Rising Sun', the patented “redbud” selection with cream-yellow foliage that didn't burn on our 100 degree June day with no humidity. Its sun-resistance reminds me of Acer campestre 'Carnival' which also remains vibrant under such extremes. We are very good growers of 'Carnival', keeping our plants pruned and compact to better show off the foliage color. 'The Rising Sun' benefits from top-twig pruning so that it does not excessively gangle, and there again you are best off with a Buchholz plant.

Davidia involucrata 'Lady Sunshine'


The Davidia involucrata 'Lady Sunshine' never stay on a sales list long because customers visiting early in the season always speak for them. Of course they do as it is one of the very best of the variegated trees ever, and just as with 'Carnival' and 'The Rising Sun' it withstands extreme sun remarkably well, and our 100 degree day in early June didn't faze my garden-planted specimen at all. So often with these dazzling white-variegated plants, the longer that they are established in the ground the better they can tolerate intense heat. Really, it's funny that the stereotype for (western) Oregon's weather is that it rains all the time, and even jokes and songs allude to that assumption. But if you lived here you would know better – we scorch – and our herbage does not receive the nurturing benefits of high humidity. In other words, we are more akin to Phoenix than to Chicago or Boston when it comes to high-heat plant trials.




























Ilex crenata 'Dwarf Pagoda'


Another other plant is the likable Ilex crenata 'Dwarf Pagoda', but there's sadly little or no profit to it. I think the #6 waist-high crop – for only $62.00 each – was started via rooted cuttings in the mid 1990's. It's a wonderful evergreen plant that doesn't take up much room in the garden so I keep growing it, but it's sobering to realize that I'll be in my 80's before this summer's cuttings reach a decent size. We keep them in the greenhouse for winter protection, and another gripe is that the indoor environment causes them to grow skinny, but maybe that's actually a good thing.






















Ilex serrata 'Koshobai'


Speaking of Ilex, we're also offering I. serrata 'Koshobai'. The cultivar name means “peppercorn,” and I demonstrated in a previous blog that the red fruits are so small that you can practically fit 50 onto a dime. My 'Koshobai' start came from the late Jim Cross, an East-coast grower of exceptional plants. For a “dwarf” – as most would call it – I find it to grow quite fast, and the three that I planted in front of my house with adequate space for the remainder of my life...have already grown into each other. Berries ripen in October and last well into the new year, and a pot of 'Koshobai' on the dining table at Thanksgiving and Christmas is a Buchholz tradition.























Rodgersia 'Bronze Peacock'


I had an old brownish-green Rodgersia in the garden but it never impressed me. When it finally grew over the path I had my excuse to rip it out, and I largely forgot about the genus until years later when I encountered Rodgersia 'Bronze Peacock' in another's garden. The patented selection can only be purchased from Terra Nova Nursery – which we do – and so far we have sold out every season. Terra Nova hypes it as “the darkest foliage of any Rodgersia” and that the thick and glossy leaves “can't be ignored.” They provide a lot of information on their website concerning watering needs, flowering time, USDA hardiness, landscape value and such, and I even learned that Rodgersia is a member of the Saxifragaceae family. But what irks me about Terra Nova is that they never reveal the species, or the parents if it is a hybrid, just as they don't for most of what they sell. Why not? Are they intentionally keeping that a secret, like some cooks who never give out a recipe? In any case the Asian genus was named for the American Admiral John Rodgers who commanded an expedition in the 1800's to China and Japan were R. podophylla was collected.

Acer japonicum 'Aconitifolium'

Acer palmatum 'Hino tori nishiki'


The Van der Maat daughters
Terra Nova fancies that the leaves of Rodgersia look like the tail feathers of a peacock, and now that marijuana is legal in Oregon we are liable to get a lot of other “far out” connections with plants and their names. I always thought that Acer japonicum 'Aconitifolium' – bad name – was redeemed by its Japanese name of Maiku jaku, or “Dancing Peacock.” That I can accept more easily than the peacock of Rodgersia. Continuing into the realm of birds is Acer palmatum 'Hino tori nishiki', a cultivar that features bright red foliage in spring. The Japanese hino tori means “firebird” in English and I suppose that the nishiki part refers to its changing from red to green by summer. I don't know, but I suppose that simply 'Hino tori' would have been a better cultivar name. Nevertheless we sell tons of them, so who am I to quibble about the name? It was selected and named by Dutchman Dick van der Maat of The Netherlands, a good guy who is proud not only for his maples, but also for his two daughters. Dick thrives in the teeming crowd of Boskoop nurseries where one must excel just to survive.

Acer palmatum 'Beni yubi gohon'


Since I have just priced every #6-size or larger maple in the nursery, it means that I have checked all of the labels. Why do I have so many of this, but so few of that? Occasionally I will discover one loner – like 'Red Falcon' in a #7 pot in some obscure corner of the nursery and then I must decide if I want to sell it or not. Are there smaller ones somewhere in the pipeline? Do I care if it's the last one? 'Red Falcon' originated in New Zealand at a nursery – bankrupt more than once – that was notorious for mislabeled plants. I bought some Acer palmatum 'Beni ubi gohon' from them, which should be yubi not ubi. The correct name translates as “five red fingers,” except that their plants were not true to name. Not that their version was a bad maple, just that it was not korrect. Their sales rep sighed because he heard like stories from other customers, but after all he was just the middle man. The powers back in New Zealand had bushes to sell, so to hell with Buchholz's “opinion.” Half a year later the rep came up with the brilliant name of 'Red Falcon', but I didn't get my money back for the rong plants. So you see, I don't really care if I sell the last so-called 'Red Falcon'.























Acer sieboldianum 'Kumoi nishiki'


Acer palmatum 'Purple Ghost'
Acer palmatum 'Amagi shigure'



























Sales were great the previous five years for Acer sieboldianum 'Kumoi nishiki' so I keep producing my modest numbers. I've experienced it before, though, that strong sales for a number of years can suddenly evaporate to nothing. Acer palmatum 'Kasagi yama' was very popular the first fifteen years of my career before my own 'Purple Ghost' effectively eliminated the desire for 'Kasagi yama'. Now I sell more A.p. 'Amagi shigure' than 'Purple Ghost' because it is more new and dazzling, even though the former is a weaker grower. What is possibly better than all of the above is one of the seedlings that I am trialing, or the one from someone in Japan or Europe.




























Acer shirasawanum 'Autumn Moon'


Acer shirasawanum 'Autumn Moon' was not listed in the Vertrees Japanese Maples first edition, but it made its appearance in the 1987 second edition*, and that's about the time I acquired my tree which is planted next to the office. It is thriving perhaps because its roots feed off of the nearby septic system, and now it has a beautiful canopy 13' tall by 15' wide. For the most part you don't – or shouldn't – stake your way to a nicely-shaped shirasawanum, but rather you prune. The species has the propensity to grow sideways with crisscrossing branching, and if you don't like the way it looks, then prune it and prune it hard. I suppose that our 3-gallon 'Autumn Moons' are a year older than at the competition's and yes, ours cost more, but the trunks on a Buchholz maple are of a better caliber of caliper.

*It was his own introduction, and the original seedling emerged via seed from Acer shirasawanum 'Aureum', known originally as Acer japonicum 'Aureum'.

Acer shirasawanum 'Moonrise'


We also grow Acer shirasawanum 'Moonrise', a Carl Munn winner that also came from A.s. 'Aureum' seed. I think that 'Moonrise' is superior to 'Autumn Moon', at least in Oregon, for it withstands full sun better. Also 'Moonrise' features red new growth that adorns the older yellowish leaves, and the combination is so stunning that the three trees I planted along my driveway greatly impress my wife's non-plant friends...who are stunning themselves. I thought it might be best to cut back on 'Autumn Moon' production, due to my personal preference, but it turns out that we sell the two in fairly equal numbers. Both are well-named, aren't they?
























Abies koreana 'Ice Breaker' in welsh pots


For the first year we will be selling plants in a “welsh pot.” Hopefully we won't offend anyone from Wales, but a welsh pot is basically a skimpy one-gallon pot. It has the same diameter as a one-gallon, but it is only two-thirds as deep, and it is perfect for dwarves such as Abies koreana 'Ice Breaker', Abies pinsapo 'Horstmann', seedlings from 'Mikawa yatsubusa' etc. And yes, they are generally less expensive than the same thing in a one-gallon. Besides, the welsh is a cute product.























Dryopteris sieboldii 


I don't know why it took me so long to offer ferns, but we have recently added a few, and they are perfect complements for Japanese maple cultivars. The gardening public is probably not familiar with the botanic names and can't tell a Dryopteris from a Polystichum, but the common name of “Japanese wood fern” for Dryopteris sieboldii is something that can be remembered. Previously I was intimidated by ferns because there are so many species and I considered my brain being too jammed to absorb new names and general fern knowledge. But just as it is with maples, sukoshitzutsu (“little by little” in Japanese) I now know a few and I can understand how fern expert Sue Olsen, author of Encyclopedia of Garden Ferns, got into this wonderful group of plants. It's interesting that her late husband, Harry, was a maple expert, and you can see many of his photos in Japanese Maples by Vertrees and Gregory. “Fern Lady” and “Maple Man” could perhaps be characters in a children's book, and maybe when I finish this blog I can create a story.

Abies concolor 'Hosta La Vista'

Abies concolor 'Candicans'


I don't want to give short shrift to the conifers for we still grow thousands of them. One attractive Abies, or “true” fir, is Abies concolor 'Hidden Lake WB', which developed as a witch's broom mutation at the Hidden Lakes Arboretum in Michigan. Recently I was told that it was renamed 'Hosta La Vista' because it sits high in the tree and has a view of a bed of Hostas beneath. I groaned when I heard the new name, and just as with vanity license plates I think there should be a committee to review the proposed name. The concolor species can be difficult to grow in the wet winters and soggy soils of western Oregon. After a dozen-to-twenty years I cut them down as they begin to look scrappy, which was the fate of the once-beautiful 'Candicans' in the photo above.

Pinus koraiensis 'Gee Broom'


The original witch's broom at Gee Farms


I was told by Gary Gee, the finder of Pinus koraiensis 'Gee Broom' – which we grow lots of – that its name has been changed to 'KG', or is it 'Kay Gee'? In any case, it is an excellent dwarf with soft blue-green needles, and it's easy to grow and tolerates full sun. It is listed on our specimen availability under its old name until I stand corrected with the spelling – perhaps someone in the Flora Wonder readership can advise. We've had 'Gee Broom' long enough for it to prove that it's a worthy garden plant, unlike so many of the witch's broom conifers that can fall open as they age.*

*Examples of poor dwarves in Oregon include Abies concolor 'Birthday Broom', Picea glauca 'Cecilia', Larix laricina 'Newport Beauty' and Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Drath Hexe'.

Pinus parviflora 'Regenhold Broom'


One of my favorite of the miniature pines is Pinus parviflora 'Regenhold' which actually should be 'Regenhold Broom'. It was discovered by Ron and Judy Regenhold as a witch's broom mutation on Pinus parviflora 'Glauca' in Cincinnati, Ohio, For us it is very tight and compact, growing a little more wide than tall. Sometimes those “spreaders” can surprise you, when after a number of years they develop leaders, such as with Abies nordmanniana 'Golden Spreader'. We propagate 'Regenhold Broom' by grafting onto potted 4-year-old Pinus strobus, and then it takes an additional 5 years to fill out a 6” wide #1 container. For any who can't appreciate my patience and effort to produce such choice garden plants then I can recommend a couple of box stores for you to shop...and you can continue with your boring life.