 |
| Acer palmatum 'Sweet Lorraine' |
 |
| Cornus florida 'Ragin Red' |
 |
| Acer palmatum 'Lily L' |
Earlier in September I presented a
number of plant photos, Summer Sights, that I encountered in
July/August (2022). The theme was that old Buchholz drags himself
through another hot spell – 90s F and 100s F were the norm, not the
unusual – but still the gardens held numerous floral treasures. I
don't know if my employees found any joy to accompany their arduous
assignments, as they seemed preoccupied with survival primarily, and
they must wonder how a seed pod, a cone or a mid-summer flower can
intrigue me. Well, I had better find some entertainment with my
plants and their parts, because I too find drudgery in most of my
wholesale nursery activities.
 |
| Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Van den Akker' |
 |
| Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Van den Akker' |
The photolog started out with a
Chamaecyparis nootkatensis cultivar ('Van den Akker') which I have
propagated and sold for approximately 25 years. The above “couple”
resides at Flora Farm, the spill-over arboretum of Buchholz Nursery,
and after about 20 years in the ground they finally smooched...and
they were probably relieved to get it over with. Another 'Van den
Akker' has been dubbed my “ballerina” tree due to its zestful
pose, but I know that in a half-dozen years from now its exuberance
will evolve into a specimen more subdued, or at least different.
 |
| Chamaecyparis nootkatensis |
 |
| Chamaecyparis nootkatensis |
I continue to label and sell the
propagules of “Alaska cedar” as belonging to the Chamaecyparis
genus even though Hillier in the Manual of Trees and Shrubs
(2019) alerts us to see Xanthocyparis nootkatensis for the
(newly) correct identity, while others suggest that Callitropsis
nootkatensis is the moniker that takes precedence. I'll admit that it
seems (to this simpleton) that it's more Cupressus than
Chamaecyparis anyway, and the other generic designations only
confuse my employees and customers. Of course I have a desire to be
current and correct with nomenclature, but I have propagated
literally thousands of them – yeah tens of thousands of them –
under the previous name of Chamaecyparis nootkatensis, and I
prefer to finish my career as such. Botanists usually have no
experience propagating and selling trees, turning a profit that is,
but I completely understand their penchant for getting the name
right. I suppose that if there was a resounding consensus on the
proper name – Xanthocyparis versus Callitropsis
versus Chamaecyparis versus Cupressus – I would make
the tedious effort to comply.
 |
| Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Van den Akker' |
 |
| Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Pendula' |
Perhaps of interest is that
nootkatensis, by which ever generic name, is fairly easy to
root by cuttings in winter, and I suspect that late-summer's wood
would work as well, Most growers in the trade, however, prefer to
graft onto Thuja orientalis rootstock, and if you don't achieve at
least 85-95 percent you've had a bad year. If the “Alaska cedar”
is compatible with Thuja orientalis (AKA Platycladus orientalis),
one is tempted to also graft upon Thuja occidentalis, because how
would that be much different? Well, the grafts will “take” on the
occidental rootstock, but not very well, and after a few years the
combination is doomed to failure. I once saw a field of about one
thousand, with T. occidentalis 'Smaragd' as rootstock, and at five
years of age about half were outright dead, with the remainder soon
to follow. But, but to complicate matters, at Buchholz Nursery at
least, most nootkatensis cultivars prosper with Thuja orientalis as
rootstock, and my oldest specimens (of 'Pendula') are approximately
45 years of age and still vigorous. But for some reason 'Van den
Akker' does not perform as well from a graft compared to the
others. I can't explain why, and though it is probably just my
individual experience, I don't want an unnecessary fight so we just
grow 'Van den Akker' on its own roots. Maybe the preferred rootstock
would be the same genus and species, but in my experience the
nootkatensis rootstock is less adaptable and hardy in container
culture compared to Thuja orientalis. If I won the lottery – which
I won't since I never play – I imagine that I'd never sell “Alaska
cedar” again, and instead devote myself to rigorous, empirical
research to determine the most favourable rootstock. As it is now,
though, my capitalistic leanings guide my efforts, and greater plant
knowledge would require a true plantsman and not this hum-drum
nurseryman. Actually, due to the rank cat-piss-smell of
nootkatensis foliage, if I won the lottery I would abandon the
species altogether.
 |
| Hibiscus syriacus 'Meehanii' |
 |
| Hibiscus syriacus 'Meehanii' |
 |
| Hibiscus syriacus 'Meehanii' |
My July-August photo review featured
Hibiscus syriacus 'Meehanii', and before you conclude that the
Latinized cultivar name (ending in ii) is invalid, be aware
that it was coined in about 1867 – according to Hillier – so
today's nomenclatural rules didn't apply back then. Hillier
furthermore confesses that no date is known when H. syriacus was
first Europirially cultivated, but that the east-Asian species was
found in England as early as the late 16th century. The
specific epithet syriacus would indicate that it is native to
Syria in the Near East, but actually it was widely introduced
throughout Asia, and the specific name was bestowed because it was
collected from gardens there. No doubt that irks the Koreans for it
is their national flower, and the name also occurs in the South
Korean national anthem. There it is known as mugunghwa which
means “eternity” or “inexhaustible abundance.” The generic
name Hibiscus is derived from Greek ibiskos meaning
“marsh mallow” – no, not “marshmallow.” A Hybiscus of
unknown name grew next to the entrance to my daughter's grade school,
and it seemed to be continually in bloom from early summer to late
fall. We would greet the tree in the mornings as we walked into the
school, “Hi Biscus!” – and daughter S. still remembers the
generic name ten years later.
 |
| Nothopanax/Metapanax delavayi |
 |
| Nothopanax/Metapanax delavayi |
 |
| Nothopanax/Metapanax delavayi |
I keep one pot of Nothopanax delavayi
in a protective greenhouse, though I've never propagated nor sold a
single tree of it. I have a mental block anyway about the myriad of
panaxes: Nothopanax, Neopanax, Metapanax, Tetrapanax,
Pseudopanax etc., but my most recent Hillier edition (2019) no
longer lists Nothopanax and goes with Metapanax
instead. M. delavayi, claimed to be a more elegant species
than the Chinese M. davidii, is native to S.W. China and Vietnam.
Hillier relates that Metapanax was introduced in 1981 by “the
Sino-British Expedition to the Cangshan, Yunnan (China). The common
denominator in the entire affair is the suffix “panax”
which means “all-healing” in Greek, a word that shares the same
origin as “panacea,”* and one that was used for the genus
because Linnaeus was aware of its wide use in Chinese medicine.
*from Greek pan meaning “all”
and akos meaning “remedy.”
 |
| Nothopanax/Metapanax delavayi |
The Metapanax genus – if it's winter
hardy for you – is an elegant, large airy shrub or small tree,
quite attractive for its mahogany-coloured new growth, followed by
green fruits in spring that mature to black by autumn. I enjoy my one
plant of a panax for its ornamental value and I don't have the
energy or curiosity to understand it further...except that the common
medicinal herb Panax ginseng (Korean ginseng), P.
notoginseng (South China ginseng) and Panax quinquefolius
(American ginseng) are used in the cuisines and medicines of China
and Korea and “New-Age” America. Nothopanax (or Metapanax) is an
evergreen shrub, one of those bushes that you maybe wish was flat-out
deciduous because it can appear rather disheveled in winter. But for
me, I admire the leafy remnants that cling to the stems all the way
through July before they drop away. I consider my one plant to be a
BIO plant, i.e. of “Botanical Interest Only,” because I
know that its sales at my nursery would be weak...to only a few plant
nerds who are addicted (as am I) to esoteric plant experiences.
 |
| Acer macrophyllum 'Mocha Rose' |
 |
| Acer macrophyllum 'Mocha Rose' |
 |
| Acer macrophyllum 'Mocha Rose' |
 |
| Acer macrophyllum 'Mocha Rose' |
25 years ago I ordered 100 Acer
macrophyllum seedlings from an Oregon grower (Drake's Crossing
Nursery) to be used as rootstock for A.m. 'Seattle Sentinel' and A.m.
'Kimballiae'. Presumably these seedlings were under some level of
scrutiny by the supplier before their harvest, and indeed 99 out of
the 100 were vigorous green germinants that would support and nourish
my two ornamental cultivars. Glaringly obvious was one deviant
seedling, however, that stood out from the green group, one that
pleasantly surprised me with its shiny rose-coloured leaves. I could
see that it wasn't normal from the beginning, for even in bud the
protective sheaths were reddish in colour, not the typical green of
the species. I visited the seedling every day throughout the spring
to note its progress, and by June I could determine that it was
certainly unique. Eventually the seedling was planted at the nursery,
and each spring many non-plant observers (such as casual friends,
truck drivers and even my own employees) would notice and comment
upon the tree with such strange shrimp-pink foliage. By summer the
rose colour gives way to light brown, an attractive (non-burnt) hue
that effectively mellows into the landscape. A visiting friend,
Harriette, wife of my late
best-friend Reuben Hatch – admired my specimen one early May
morning, and wondered what on earth was going on in my landscape.
Happy that she noticed my maple seedling, I revealed that it was a
“selection under observation,” but one that had never been given
a cultivar name. She flippantly suggested 'Mocha Rose' to honour the
rose coloration in spring that is followed by a light mocha colour
later in summer. So “Mocha Rose” then, the name stuck, though in
hindsight the name should be 'Rose Mocha', to better describe the
color progression. That truth was inconsequential to Harriette who
decided that the better name was 'Mocha Rose'. To be sure, I have not
propagated many, as the macrophyllum
species (hardy to USDA zone 6, or -10F) is not perceived to be hardy
for the majority of our market, and that ultimately it will grow too
large for most garden placement. I won't argue any of that because
customers are always right
even when they are not...but just for the record, 'Mocha Rose' grows
at only 1/4 to 1/3 the rate of the species. Highly ornamental are the
dangling seed panicles, but thus far the resultant offspring are
coloured reddish green and are of no particular interest.
 |
| Stewartia malacodendron |
 |
| Stewartia malacodendron |
 |
| Stewartia malacodendron |
 |
Stewartia malacodendron 'Beni suji'
|
Stewartia,
the genus, and all of its species and hybrids, are considered “snob”
plants, i.e., species of deciduous trees and shrubs that
grace...well, snob gardens. The flowers are usually small, but
elegant, and they appear in late summer when other trees and shrubs
have quit their purpose. My favorite for flower and fall color must
be the southeast native S. malacodendron. Hillier describes it as “A
beautiful shrub with white flowers with purple stamens and bluish
anthers in July and August.”
In my greenhouse setting, the flowers actually mature as early as
June, for in greenhouse culture it will bloom six weeks ahead of
those out in the garden. Don't suppose that the epithet malacodendron
referes to a “bad (mal)
tree,” but rather to a “soft tree,” and its common name is
“silky camellia” due to the texture of the flowers. If you
examine the undersides of the leaves they also support silky hairs.
The malacodendron flowers are exquisite and simply beautiful with
rich purple centered within the pearl-white petals. I saw the
exciting new cultivar S. malacodendron 'Beni suji' in Japan in 2019
which features reddish streaks that radiate from the center.
Nurseryman Akira Shibamichi knew full well that I would covet the
selection, but I played it cool and pretended to be only moderately
interested. Twenty years before he gifted me a weeping form of
Stewartia monadelpha which was apparently nameless at the time. Now
named 'Fuji shidare', it has become a wonderful addition to the
Buchholz oeuvre. I wonder if I'll be around long enough to eventually
add 'Beni suji' to my garden.
 |
| Camassia leichtlinii 'Alba' |
 |
| Camassia leichtlinii 'Blue Danube' |
In
my waterfall section at the nursery a grassy perennial makes its July
floral appearance, Camassia leichtlinii, with cultivars 'Alba' and
'Blue Danube'. For a northern West-coast native it is surprising that
the specific epithet honors Max Leichtlin (1831-1910), a German
horticulturist and botanist. The species is commonly known as the
“Great Camas,”
“Quamash”
and “Quamasia,”
and in fact my Grandmother finished her final years in Camas,
Washington, on the bluff above the Columbia River where the
wildflower thrived in moist, but well-drained soils. Commonly called
by Westerners the “Camas lily,” the previous occupants of the
Columbia River area harvested the bulbs from open grasslands (or
prairies) and ate the bulbs either roasted, boiled or eaten fresh.
Furthermore, the Natives maintained their prairies through the use of
fire, a practice that was abandoned by the conquering Europeans.
Native families “farmed” their plots by aerating the soil with
digging sticks and removing unwanted species. One should be cautious
about consuming the bulbs that contain so much fiber however, for the
men on the Lewis and Clark Expedition gorged on camas and salmon in
Nez Pierce land, with the result a digestive disagreement. So while
they were “sweet and good to the taste,” Clark became nauseous
and reported, “I
am verry [sic] sick to day and puke which relieve me,”
and some of his men were sidelined for an entire week. The Native men
were known to sit around the campire and happily eat the bulbs while
producing great amounts of flatulence, which would seem like fun to
me if accompanied by a couple of beers.
 |
| Zenobia pulverulenta 'Raspberry' |
 |
Zenobia pulverulenta 'Raspberry'
|
When
I see my one last specimen of Zenobia pulverulenta 'Raspberry' in
bloom, I feel bittersweet that we no longer propagate the ericaceous
shrub. The semi-deciduous to deciduous bush is native to southeast
USA where it thrives in similar conditions as suits the Camas lily –
moist but well-drained. The cultivar name 'Raspberry simply refers to
a clone with attractive reddish fall colour, not to be confused with
'Raspberry Ripple' where the white flowers are flushed with
raspberry-pink. Botanist David Don, for some reason named the genus
Zenobia
for the queen of Palmyra, present day Syria where it would be
virtually impossible to grow in the Arabian desert. Zenobia is a
lyrical feminine name, even though it is Greek in origin and means
“life of
Zeus,”
or more likely “born
of Zeus”
which makes more sense to describe the beautiful and intelligent
ancient queen. Nice story, but ultimately our sales were weak for the
last entry in our Master Plant List, so I didn't succeed to convert
many to continue it.
 |
| Abies procera 'La Graciosa' |
 |
| Abies procera 'La Graciosa' |
I'll finish this blog with an August photo of Abies procera 'La
Graciosa', a narrowly weeping selection of the “Noble fir.” The
specimen is approximately 30' tall and rather scrappy, but it looked
great as a silhouette in the evening August sky. Doves, pigeons and
occasionally a red-tailed hawk love to perch at its top, keeping
guard over the nursery.
Great pictures
ReplyDelete