My Curious Assemblage

John Tradescant the Elder

John Tradescant the Elder (1570s-1638) and his son (the Younger) were English naturalists, gardeners, travelers and plant collectors. After a number of assignments the Elder was employed in 1630 by King Charles I to be Keeper of His Majesty’s Gardens, Vines and Silkworms at the Queen’s Oatlands Palace in Surrey. As if that wasn’t enough responsibility he and son also maintained their own botanical garden in Lambeth, on the south bank of the Thames, and from there introduced many plants into English gardens.

Musaeum Tradescantianum

Tradescant’s compulsion to collect included an accumulation of curiosities of natural history and ethnography which were housed in his large house known as "The Ark." The rare and strange collection became the first museum open to the public in England, the Musaeum Tradescantianum. The contents therein were divided into natural objects (naturalia) and manmade objects (artificialia). Items ranged from bird’s nests from China to Edward the Confessor’s knit gloves.

The Flora Wonder "Ark"

I suppose I would have steered clear of the Ark, as I grew up with a hoarder of a mother with her thousands of knick-knacks. But of course I have done the same with my naturalia, the Flora Wonder Arboretum. I would have greatly enjoyed to spend a day at the Tradescant’s flora collection, listening to their stories about how each and every tree was acquired, and certainly they would likewise marvel to spend a day at my place, which is a veritable freak-show of nature. Let’s take a look at how I might have entertained them:

Pinus mugo 'Mr. Wood'

Pinus mugo is the “Mountain pine” native to central and western Europe, and in horticulture it is considered easy to grow and problem free. Often they are produced as seedlings and there must be millions dotting the landscapes of our low elevation habitats. They appear in many shapes and sizes but are usually considered dwarf, and the vast majority are green in colour, somewhat boringly so. A wonderful exception to the rule is P. m. 'Mr. Wood', a miniature with oh-so-tiny powder blue needles that curve slightly around the shoot. I was given the original seedling by the late Edsal Wood of Oregon, as he thought it was something I would like "to try." I thanked him for his generosity, but when I returned home I carefully examined the needles and found that they were indeed in fascicles of two per the species. I honestly don't know what happened to the original seedling, if it is alive at all, and it's embarrassing that the curiosity has escaped my attention. The first graft (with Pinus sylvestris as rootstock) is planted near the office, however, and after 25 years it is a congested bun approximately 2' tall by 3' wide. I would be bankrupt if all of my plants were as slow as 'Mr. Wood'. I don't produce many, and I suppose the handful I propagate from time to time serves as a tribute to the late plantsman, certainly not to produce funds for my retirement portfolio.

Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Glaucum' in the Display Garden

Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Glaucum' at Bedgebury Arboretum

The tallest tree in my original Display Garden – though not the oldest – is Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Glaucum', and besides the blue foliage, when the type is normally green, is the narrow form. My specimen has always been narrow, but it appears even moreso as it continues to ascend. I enjoy my blue exclamation point (!) which is now about 70-80' tall at 35 years of age. Blue or bluish "Giant redwood" seedlings are not uncommon, but I find it remarkable that 'Glaucum', according to The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs, was selected just seven years after the genus itself was discovered in 1853.

Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Pendulum'

Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Pendulum'

Likewise, Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Pendulum' was an early introduction (in 1863), and Hillier describes the cultivar as "A tree of unique appearance often assuming the most fantastic shapes, but usually forming a narrow column with long branches hanging almost parallel with the trunk." Fantastic indeed, as in the druid-like trio that used to preside at the eastern border of the nursery, and they allowed me to use their image on a 1990 Flora Wonder publication. I'm not a religious person, at least formally, but visiting the looming creatures in the evening, just before dark, would inspire awe and reverence from my children who would squeeze my hand extra tight and remain silent. Heaven only knows what dreams they had later in the night. Alas, the group no longer exists – I sold them – because they had changed as they aged, as we all do, and they became less remarkable.

Larix kaempferi 'Diana'

Larix kaempferi is the "Japanese larch," a large deciduous tree that was introduced by J.G. Veitch in 1861. 'Diana' was a selection discovered in Germany in 1974 and it features bizarrely contorted branchlets. I once met a German woman who worked at the German nursery whose boss had discovered and named 'Diana', so she was pleased to see it in my collection. Apparently the boss discovered it randomly growing in a German forest. I had no reason to doubt her story, except – wait a minute! – why was a Japanese species growing in the Deutschland woods? I saw the girl again the following morning so I demanded an explanation. She said that Larix kaempferi was preferred over the native Larix decidua for reforestation as the former grew more straight and fast, so fraulein was off the hook after all. Not to be outdone, however, a Larix decidua cultivar similar to 'Diana' was discovered and introduced by Uwe Horstmann at his Schneverdingen nursery, and it entered into the trade as 'Horstmann's Recurved."

Poncirus trifoliata 'Flying Dragon'

Poncirus trifoliata 'Flying Dragon'

Poncirus trifoliata 'Snow Dragon'

Poncirus trifoliata is known as the "Japanese* bitter orange," and I challenge anyone to actually eat one. Nomenclaturally, we're to drop Linnaeus's genus name (from Latin pomum for "fruit" and citreum for "citron"), as it is now classified as Citrus trifoliata. By whichever name, I always thought it would make an excellent hedge due to its formidable thorns which would surely keep the neighbor's brats out of your yard. Historically we have had success rooting the selection 'Flying Dragon', which is supposedly more compact and contorted than the type, but I have not had much success with rooting the variegated form, 'Snow Dragon', which I could sell tons of if I had them. Last year I cut 30 scions of 'Snow Dragon' and handed them to my ace grafter, Juana, and we got 100%.....failure, all 30 died. We'll try again this winter by putting the grafts on the hot-callus pipe. I won't leave much of an inheritance for my children because I squander company resources on similar fool's errands such as grafting variegated oranges.

 *Actually it is native to northern China.

Nyssa sylvatica 'Zydeco Twist'

Nyssa sylvatica 'Zydeco Twist'

Another contorted curiosity is Nyssa sylvatica 'Zydeco Twist' which fortunately we graft with great success, where the scions and rootstocks practically jump onto each other. N. sylvatica is an East Coast species, ranging from southern Canada down into Mexico. Generally it is considered a weed tree by plantsmen in that region, but no one can deny its fabulous autumn foliage. Nyssa, named by Linnaeus for a water nymph in Greek mythology, seems like it would be a cinch to root, kind of like a Salix, but no success at Buchholz Nursery. The common name of "tupelo" comes from the Creek Indian words ito for "tree" and opilwa for "swamp." Oddly N. sylvatica ("of the forest") is also commonly known as the "black gum" or the "sour gum," although no part of the plant is gummy. The gum moniker is possibly used to contrast it with the "sweet gum" (Liquidambar styraciflua), with whose range it often shares, and the Liquidambar does produce an aromatic resin. The origin of the word zydeco is not certain, but possibly from Creole French pronunciation of French les haricots ("the beans"), part of the title of a popular dance tune, Les haricots ne sont pas sales. When spoken in the Louisiana Creole French it sounds like "leh-zy-ee-co-nuh-sohn-pay-sale." Literally it means "the snap beans aren't salty" which implies "I have no spicy news for you," due to the speaker's lack of energy. There are other theories, but zydeco music (Swamp pop) involves a swaying movement like the plant's stems.

Acer platanoides 'Rezek'

Acer platanoides 'Rezek'

Acer platanoides 'Rezek'

Sometimes certain plant selections attract attention because they are ugly, or at least so strange that the visitor is dumbfounded as to its identity. One such is Acer platanoides 'Rezek', a seedling of "Norway maple" that was gifted to me by the late Ed Rezek of New York state. Its crinkled leaves are so warped that no one can call them attractive and I've heard comments like "Wud ya spray it with?" In spite of its appearance I could sell lots of them, except for me they are difficult to propagate. The shoots are so stout that one would need a hatchet to perform a side graft, and for some reason our chip buds failed the one year we tried that method. I'm on record as against naming plants for people, but I so-named the Rezek seedling, which arose spontaneously in his garden, because I knew he had given other freak seedlings to other plantsmen, one which was given the nice name of 'Curly Lamp Post'. What is strange is that Mr. Rezek couldn't identify the Norway maple seed source in his neighborhood. Another A. platanoides look-alike I named 'Carlton' because it originated in the old Carlton Nurseries seedbed where they grew thousands each year for understock. The propagator told me that he would occasionally find the slow-growing wrinkled forms but he assumed they had no value. One year there was a plant group touring Buchholz Nursery, and I identified one visitor as Keith Warren, the former new product manager for a large shade-tree company, a plantsman who certainly knows maples. I led him to the 'Rezek' and quizzed him on the tree's identity, keeping my foot in front of the label. He gave up, and confessed that he couldn't even recognize it as an Acer. To date one has never produced seed which would have been the giveaway.

Acer palmatum 'Fairy Hair'

Acer palmatum 'Fairy Hair' was the first of all Buchholz maple introductions, and it originated from seed on an Acer palmatum 'Scolopendrifolium' growing in the garden of the late Dr. Corbin of Portland, Oregon. The original seedling was sold about ten years ago, for which I have no regrets because the recipient was a New Jersey hobbyist who would love the treasure as much as I. As I've said before: you never truly own a tree, you merely borrow it for a period of time. Parting with the original was made easier because I grow two offspring that are grafted onto vigorous Acer palmatum rootstock, and these two (first) propagules are both twice as large as the mother tree.

A red Acer palmatum 'Fairy Hair'?

'Fairy Hair' is surprisingly tough, and the half-dozen or so planted out in the gardens have survived near 0 F winters and up to 116 F degrees of sizzling heat in full sun. To date, not one plant has ever reverted, and believe me, lots of plants revert at Buchholz Nursery due to our lush greenhouse growing environment. I have germinated seed from our largest specimen in the collection, and about fifty that sprouted showed typical Acer palmatum foliage, but three others display the 'Fairy Hair' thread-like leaves. Seed has developed again this summer which I'll harvest, and I'll confess that I'm hoping for a red-leaved version of 'Fairy Hair'.

Colobanthus quitensis

Colobanthus quitensis

One plant that I have described before is Colobanthus quitensis, and it belongs in my "cabinet of curiosities" because it is one of the only two flowering plants found in Antarctica (the other is a damn sedge – Deschampsia antarctica – which I wouldn't want anyway), and furthermore I don't think any other American nursery has ever seen or grown the Colobanthus. Thus, with my pretty "Antarctic pearlwort" I can boast that not only does Buchholz "Grow Plants from the Best Corners of the World,” but that "Buchholz Produces Plants from All Seven of the World's Continents!" Colobanthus produces tiny pale-white-to-yellow flowers that would be easy to miss unless you know to look for them, and in Oregon they have adjusted to flowering in our spring. I'm not sure which months they flower in their frigid native haunts, but I assume from November to March. The plant grows to about 2 inches tall (5 cm) and is placed in the Caryophyllaceae family as is the moss genus Sagina which it resembles. Not surprisingly, Colobanthus has been much studied recently and you can find scientific reports on the internet, and the evidence is used to advance or to detract one's particular position on Climate Change. Colobanthus is not perfectly easy to grow, and I suspect that we either overwater or underwater them, which: I'm not certain; and then we have the added drama of the non-attentive crew gouging them out of their pots and throwing them into the weed bucket. I lament that the employees could have a lot more enjoyment instead of merely drudging their way through the work day, that one can receive more positive stimulation with an appreciation of the plants…versus getting hopped up on energy drinks. C'mon: it could be more our nursery, not just my nursery.

Acer saccharum 'Monumentale'

Well, that's just an appetizer of the oddities that inhabit the Flora Wonder Arboretum. Long ago a woman worked for me who was very involved and enthusiastic about our plants. She brought her husband out for a visit, as he was an outdoors-Oregon-nature kind of guy, and she wanted to show off the wonderful assemblage. The next day I asked her what Hubby thought about the nursery; she solemnly reported that he didn't like it because "nothing was normal." Yep – I guess he was right.