Woodbank Nursery, Tasmania

 

Reuben Hatch

My long-time friend Reuben Hatch ditched his professional and domestic duties one winter and visited Tasmania during the last two weeks of January 2002. He published an article Gone to the Devil for Two Weeks.

Therein Hatch writes: “In spite of what a few folks assured me, Tasmania is definitely not located in Africa. But rather it is an island and state of Australia, lying south of Melbourne, separated by the Bass Straight by a distance of 150 miles. The land lies at 41-43 degrees south latitude and is heart shaped. It is 200 x 200 miles, or 40,000 sq. miles, about the size of the state of Virginia...”

Weather can change quickly and it is a bragging right of locals to remind all that Tasmania can get all four seasons in one day. According to Hatch: “All I know is that I had near perfect mountain hiking weather, and I believe that the odds of good weather during plant blooming time, December thru February, are in the hiker's favor.”

Richea pandanifolia

Hatch encountered alpine plants such as Richea pandanifolia, various conifers like Podocarpus and the three species of Athrotaxis (A. cupressoides, A. selanginoides and A. laxifolia) and various grasses and ferns. He had a great time, other than the one temporary predicament of locking his keys inside his rental car, but one can chuckle at such a misadventure with years in hindsight.

I wish I could have accompanied Reuben but I was then a newly-wed with other seeds to sow, but I look forward one day to undertake a grand tour of Australia, New Zealand and Tasmania. Reuben visited a couple of plant nurseries, and he was so impressed with Woodbank Nursery which he stopped at early in the trip that he revisited it on his last day as well. He discussed with the owners, the Gillanders, the possibility of exporting plants to America and they were keen to have the business. To lend more gravitas to the venture, Hatch encouraged me to put in my two cents and bolster his little order. I spent a lot of time with Woodbank's extensive catalogue and concluded that I “needed” quite a few things. The catalogue included two sections: 1) rock garden plants and perennials and 2) trees and shrubs.

So, I placed an order. About three months later, anxious for my plants, I was disappointed to receive a fax from the Los Angeles Inspection Department that all was not well, that one item – can't remember what now – was prohibited, and the US Feds were obligated to save America by rejecting everything. I pleaded that they could toss the offending contraband and send the remainder on to me since it had all the proper paperwork. Back and forth we went, and maybe they enjoyed the drama, but in the end they sent one entire box (out of two) back to Tasmania because the “other” plants had come into contact with the illegal culprit. When the one box finally arrived in Portland it had been opened and pawed through in search of insects or disease, with a number of labels scattered about. I concede that the unfortunate affair was my fault, that I should have checked with the USDA first about all plants, which shouldn't be the job for the shipper. The Gillanders and I worked it out somehow, and a few of the recipients are still with me today.

Agapetes 'Red Elf'

Agapetes 'Red Elf'

Agapetes 'Red Elf'

Twenty years later, as I was going through my basement bookshelves of about 4,000 publications, I rediscovered the Hatch travelogue and next to it was the Woodbank catalogue. Let's take a look at the latter, and you'll see that the Gillanders produced an interesting assortment of floral treasures. One item that I quickly ordered was Agapetes 'Red Elf', which was described as an “evergreen shrub with pendulous narrow red flowers with a green mouth.” Woodbank's nomenclature would suggest that 'Red Elf' is of hybrid origin, but Far Reaches Farm in Washington state suggests that the “attractive cousin to blueberries growing in the trees of Thailand's northern mountains” is the “typical hosseana” species.” I don't know as I'm not a USDA zone 9 (20 F) plant expert, but I remember first discovering the Agapetes genus in the eastern Himalayan foothills at about 7,000-8,000' elevation...where the epiphytic's spring blossoms were strewn across the trail, and I fantasized that the nearby village children had intentionally scattered the flowers to welcome this sweaty American trekker. Alas, I sold very few 'Red Elf' due to its hardiness challenge, but I don't regret having given it a try. A solo arching bush remains in the corner of my GH23, and I always nibble on a berry or two in late summer...and thereby relive my past Asian sojourns. Of course it is arrogant of me to suppose that Nepalese hill-children would adorn my path with the tubular red blossoms, but then the generic name Agapetes is derived from Greek agapetos for “beloved.”

Eucryphia lucida 'Ballerina'

I was touring with a customer in one of our greenhouses and he was impressed to find Eucryphia lucida 'Ballerina', a plant he considered impossible to produce in a container. He wondered where I got my start and I answered “Tasmania.” That was a number of years ago and today I have only one tree left because I too didn't really succeed with it. Cuttings would easily root and grow rambunctiously, but then suddenly go into decline. Maybe they just hated the greenhouse environment, and my one remainder is at least 10' tall but its foliage is far from lucid, so much for the specific epithet. I never had trouble, though, with E. x nymansensis, a cross between two South American species, E. cordifolia x E. glutinosa. For all my trouble it's too bad that 'Ballerina' wasn't in the box that was returned to Tasmania. I should have known that growing it would be a challenge, just as it was to raise a healthy daughter when she danced ballet pre-professionally. A beautiful ballerina, but such a challenge.

Podocarpus salignus

I knew when I ordered Podocarpus salignus that I was getting a non-hardy conifer that would be confined to a protective greenhouse kept above freezing. You could say that I've squandered a large portion of my children's anticipated inheritance with my history of Woodbank-type orders, but it has been one of the privileges of being the boss. Sadly, the heater failed one winter so the southern Chilean podocarp really was a waste of money, but it was fun while it lasted. The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2019) states: “A well-grown specimen creates an almost tropical effect with its lush piles of evergreen, glossy, willow-like foliage. Hardy in the South West when given the shelter of other evergreens.” If I remember correctly the photo above was taken in southern England – was it at Savill Garden? – but as you can see it wasn't supplied with any shelter.

Azalea kiusianum

Azalea kiusianum

Azalea kiusianum in Japan

Woodbank also listed an Azalea kiusianum 'Shoi Pink' but I passed on that since I had already propagated other forms of the species. E.H. Wilson collected the ornamental shrub and Japanese botanist Makino named it, but the cultivar tag of 'Shoi Pink' is obviously nomenclaturally incorrect, what with combining the Japanese language with English. I pressed my wife for the meaning of 'Shoi' but she said she didn't know the word, so I'm guessing it's a place name. As far as the specific epithet kiusianum – yes i before u – it is derived from the name Kyushu, the southernmost of Japan's four main islands where the species is native. It thrives on porous volcanic soils and Haruko found on her Japanese internet photos of wonderful pink swaths in the wild. Flower color can range from white to pink to salmon-red to various shades of purple.

Microstrobos fitzgeraldii

Woodbank lists Microstrobus [sic] fitzgeraldii, an “extremely rare native conifer with fine soft foliage and a very graceful pendulous habit.” It is actually spelled Microstrobos, not...bus, and means “small cone.” It is in the Podocarp family, allied to Microcachrys and Dacridium, and the generic name has a synonym, Pherosphaera* (Hooker). The specific epithet fitzgeraldii honors William Vincent Fitzgerald (1867-1929), an Australian botanist who described five genera and about 210 species of Australian plants.

*Phero means “to bear or carry” and sphaera is Latin for a “ball or globe,” referring to the tiny cones. According to The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs, it is “Usually only found at the foot of waterfalls in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales, Australia.”

Nomocharis aperta

In the Tasmanian box that did arrive was Nomocharis farreri, and as Woodbank describes, a “Bulb related to Lilium with beautiful orchid-like flowers. Pink with spotting in the centre.” It was sold at a high price with a limit of one, but unfortunately mine died after a couple of years, probably from over watering, or possibly from drying out. I could get it again from Far Reaches Farm who describe it as “A rare species from northern Myanmar and adjacent Yunnan.” Of course the specific epithet honors Reginald Farrer who collected it just after the First World War. I didn't take a photo of N. farreri in bloom before mine died, but subsequently I documented the related N. aperta from Far Reaches. The genus is aptly named from the Greek for “pasture and loveliness,” and indeed the F.R. folks say that “Nomocharis in cultivation live in the Summer of Love and welcome without reservation any pollen from any other Nomocharis nearby resulting in hybridity.”

Rhodohypoxis baurii 'Picta'

Another bulb of interest to me was Rhodohypoxis baurii which is commonly called the “red star” or “rosy posy,” an eastern South African native that grows in damp meadows. Flowers can range from white to pink to red and I fell for the white-flowered 'Picta'. The species was named for the Reverend Leopold Baur (1825-1889) who collected in South Africa, and was first described in 1876. The genus name is from Greek rhodon – as is rhododendron – for “rose” or “red,” hypo meaning “below” and oxy meaning “pointed” in reference to the leaves.

Vancouveria hexandra

Vancouveria hexandra

Again, I've never been to Tasmania, but the island and its flora seem about as exotic as you can get. To a Tasmanian plantsman like Gillanders, I suppose the Oregon native Vancouveria hexandra is out of his world. I didn't need to order one because I can go into my woods and help myself for free. It is known as the “inside-out flower” because it looks like the stem is attached to the wrong part of the tiny white blossom, a curiosity that always impresses children. Woodbank describes Vancouveria as “an ideal herbaceous plant for a cool shaded area. Soft fern-like foliage and sprays of white flowers in spring.” I have taken many hikes in the Columbia River Gorge where the rhizomatous woodlander lines the trail along with Dicentra formosana, and one is tempted to nap upon the greenery. Long ago Reuben and I were on such a trail in May. We paused to soak in the fresh colors under the Douglas firs with the hypnotic music of a small rivulet adding to the wonder. I had just returned to Oregon from the other side of the world, from a three-week trip to Bhutan. Reuben asked, “Did you see anything this beautiful in Asia?” I answered, “No,” and a minute later “No, I did not.”

Hobart, Tasmania

To sum up Reuben's travelogue:

“Any complaints? Well a couple. I found that at the deli take-aways where I would order a sandwich in advance of a day's hike, I would have to watch carefully or the attendant would try to slip in some sliced beets. The other thing was I noticed people would occasionally honk at me while driving on the road. It seemed a bit rude just because I would be driving on the right side of the road – just kidding. To sum this all up I can do no better than to quote a lady in a tea shop with whom I had been chatting who said: 'Yehz, ah reckon Tassie is a pretty nice little island.'”