Buchholz Plant Introductions (Part 17)

Haruko Buchholz in a Japanese garden

In about 2002 Haruko and I were in Japan visiting nurseries, private plant collections and public gardens. I was charged to find myself in a fabulous world of plants and plant people, while at the same time I was dragging with jet lag and squinting from the fierce oriental sun. Haruko led me by the arm, constantly, and had the thankless task to translate, which involved tolerating my demand for her to be sharp and quick, lest I miss out on important information, such as the spelling of plant names or stories about their origin.

Styrax japonicus 'Momo shidare'

The following winter, packages would arrive at the nursery, with apparently all paperwork in proper order. One item of great interest was a weeping, pink-flowered Styrax japonicus with the (invalid) name of 'Pink Pendula'. The plant might have been known by a different Japanese name, and the gifter was just trying to be helpful with the translation, but I never did learn its origin or prior identification. I remember seeing some stock plants trained to 8' tall while the branches cascaded in a neat, narrow manner. A few years later we propagated the fast-growing cultivar by grafting on the hot callus and by soft-wood cuttings rooted in summer. While not absolutely sure, I supposed that I was the first in America to grow the pink weeper, so I introduced it as such: Momo (“pink”) shidare (“weeping”).

Styrax japonicus 'Momo shidare'

In production Styrax japonicus 'Momo shidare' was problematic with summer cuttings rooting fairly well, but then faltering when potted up a year or two later. The grafts were more successful, more vigorous and uniform, but we always seemed behind on staking because the branch leader was too soft and easily damaged if trained too early, but then could quickly turn stiff and uncooperative. We sold a modest amount for a few years but sales were never strong, I guess because potential customers didn't grasp the meaning of 'Momo shidare'. Maybe sales were slow because we were primarily known for maples and conifers, with the third group of “everything else” often sporadic with too many of one item, and not enough of another. Tiring of the Styrax challenge I decided to sell all my container stock to a different propagator, a larger company who was optimistic about the cultivar's future. Little did I know at the time that the company would take 'Momo shidare' in a different (illegal) direction by renaming it 'Marley's Pink Parasol' and slapping on a patent. That was “illegal” because the snowbell was already out of the barn, for we had marketed it for at least four years prior to the patent. I continue to graft a small number from an old stock plant in the garden under the name of 'Momo shidare', but my small numbers are not a threat to the Big Boys. I chuckle that the American icon, Martha Stewart, likes 'Marley's Pink Parasol' so much that they line her driveway at her (Mt. Kisco-area, New York) garden location. I know where she lives, and I imagine some fun if I could point out that her name is wrong, but she would probably call security and throw me off the property.

Styrax japonicus 'Pink Trinket'

Styrax japonicus 'Pink Trinket'

Another Styrax japonicus was sent to me from Japan a few years later under the name 'Pink Dwarf'. The tree itself forms a dense, irregular shrub to about 4' tall by 3' wide in 10 years, but it easily can be kept more dwarf or shaped into a pyramidal fashion with pruning. Believing that it was new to the American market, I christened it as 'Pink Trinket' in about 2008. It is a delight in May with clear, pink snowbell flowers borne in abundance.

Styrax japonicus 'Snow Drops'

Styrax japonicus 'Snow Drops'

A third Styrax to arrive from Japan was labelled as just 'Dwarf'. It is far more compact than 'Pink Trinket', and the cutie is absolutely loaded with pearl-white blossoms, making a perfect one-gallon flowering shrub in just two years from the graft. It was named and introduced as 'Snow Drops' in 2008, the same time that we introduced 'Pink Trinket'. One of the risks of my plant stories is that I'm likely not correct 100% of the time, where I suppose that I'm growing the “first” or the “largest” of something, but I know that I'm correct most of the time. When I look back at my introductions, or supposed introductions, it's an interesting story of horticultural history, but one where I was lucky more than skilled, where I just found myself in the right place at the right time, and the generosity of others from around the world made a lot of it possible.

Akiria Shibamichi (Right) with Stewartia monadelpha 'Fuji shidare'

Stewartia monadelpha 'Fuji shidare'

Stewartia monadelpha 'Fuji shidare'

Stewartia monadelpha 'Fuji shidare'

One special plant gifter from Japan was Akira Shibamichi, and he – now into his 80s – also received new plants from me. He was fond of my wife Haruko and was willing to share many trees with her, so I just stood back and kept my mouth shut, never wanting to come across as over-aggressive. Better to let Haruko work her subtle magic with the old geezer nurseryman, just as she worked me before. Imagine my delight when a weeping Stewartia arrived at the nursery, labelled S. monadelpha 'Pendula'. Once again, I realized that the name wasn't sustainable (valid) since the Latin 'Pendula' was no longer hoyle for a cultivar designation since the 1950's. And again, I think that S-san's 'Pendula' name was something never used in Japan for the new selection; but, for my part I was just happy with the idea that a weeping Stewartia existed at all, and that here I was, in America, in possession of such an ornamental treasure no matter what it was called. Later I tagged this introduction as 'Fuji shidare' since it was a white-flowered weeping tree. In recent years I use the fantastic cultivar as trading bait with other nurserymen/collectors for their exclusive trees. Our commercial production is still limited, however, since the rootstock itself costs a fortune, and that graft success is never very high. So, 'Fuji shidare' remains a snob plant, all the more because no one else is positioned to supply it.

John Stuart, 3rd Earl of Bute

Stewartia monadelpha

Stewartia monadelpha

Stewartia monadelpha is commonly known as the “tall Stewartia” or the “orangebark Stewartia.” The latter name is obvious, but “tall” is odd because it's still a relatively small tree, almost never exceeding 25' (7.62 m) tall. The Japanese-Korean native's name honors the 16^th century Scottish botanist John Stuart, so you can see that there was a mix-up in the spelling. The specific epithet monadelpha is derived from the Greek words monos meaning “one” and adelphos meaning “brother” in reference to the stamens being united...so typical of the old botanists to epithetize a plant for a minor botanical detail that most of us would never notice. My S.m. 'Fuji shidare' is brilliant in autumn with orange-red foliage, but I think I appreciate it most in winter when I can enjoy the flaky orange bark.

Chionanthus virginicus 'Black Stem'

Chionanthus virginicus 'Black Stem'

Chionanthus virginicus 'Black Stem'

Chionanthus – the “Fringe tree” – is encountered in horticulture with two primary species, retusus from China and virginicus from eastern North America, and I grew both species early in my career. They form large, multi-stemmed shrubs notable for narrow strap-like flowers in June-July. The white flowers gave rise to the generic name, from Greek chion for “snow” and anthos for “flower.” I originally purchased seedlings of C. virginicus, as I preferred it over its Chinese counterpart, and after that initial purchase we would root softwood cuttings in summer from our stock. Our propagants were vigorous and easy to grow, but overall the market considers it a cheap shrub, so we eventually abandoned production to focus on more high-end plants. At one point in my snow-flower affair I noticed one seedling that displayed dark, almost pure black shoots, and my intention was that I would propagate from that one clone only, so it was given a cultivar name of 'Black Stem'. I wasn't familiar with random seedlings of C. virginicus, so maybe the black-stem feature is not all that unique for the species.

Parrotia persica 'Select'

Parrotia persica 'Select'

When I recollect my plant introductions it basically reveals my autobiography, with many trees making only a brief appearance. The same (as with 'Blackstem') occurred with Parrotia persica 'Select', except that it was the foliage, not the stems that looked unique. We discontinued with raising Parrotia persica seedlings and focused on rooting the selected version, a luxurious clone where the fresh spring leaves displayed more prominent purple margins than the type. 'Select' was not a great cultivar name, probably meant to be an in-house description only, except it was never improved upon when the first sales were made. Our market was decent for the “Ironwood tree,” especially since the durable P. persica species is hardy to -30 F, USDA zone 4, and is a tree with fantastic autumn color. At the same time we also grew the more-narrow P.p. 'Vanessa' which was considered more garden worthy, but at Buchholz Nursery it formed a vase-shaped canopy that was still quite large. When P.p. 'Persian Spire' came on the market I recognized that its narrow pillar-shape would be the preferred cultivar for our company, so 'Vanessa' and 'Select' are no longer in production.

Cornus x 'Dorothy'

I'm on record as disapproving of the use of people's names for cultivars, and yet I have done so myself. Dorothy, a wonderful ninety-year-old gardening woman from Vancouver, Washington had a spontaneous dogwood hybrid (between Cornus florida and Cornus nuttallii) in her yard. The tree was lovely in flower, and so was Dorothy, so I propagated it – to her delight – and named it for her. I even thought about dating her, in spite of our age difference, but then I had just met my current wife, and Haruko's flesh and smile proved the stronger attraction. Dorothy has passed away now, but her dogwood remains, and therefore so does she.

Greg Williams

Magnolia 'Kiki's Broom'

Magnolia 'Kiki's Broom'

Sometime in the 1990s, conifer expert Greg Williams of Vermont sent me scions of a Magnolia witch's broom – I think from Pennsylvania – that developed on a large M. x soulangeana, or at least Greg thought that was the host's identity. I skipped the specific epithet when I propagated it because I wasn't certain if it was truly x soulangeana; and neither was Greg. Unfortunately Gifter Greg went reclusive in that decade and never gave me guidance about a cultivar name, so I flippantly chose 'Kiki's Broom' because my young children (half Japanese) were then fascinated with Hayao Miyazaki's animated movie about a cute Japanese pixie-witch who provided a delivery service via a magic flying broom.* Honestly, I never wanted to be the namer of this cultivar – it was neither my duty nor privilege to do so – but I filled the void because customers were impressed with the dwarf, dense shrub when it was covered with blossoms in April. A dozen years later I discovered it was probably the same plant that nurseryman Piet Vergeldt was growing at his nursery in Holland, but one marketed by a different trade name...and who knows if it's now at more locations, each with possibly a different name. For what it's worth, 'Kiki's Broom' probably takes precedence over the other names.

Haruko

Kiki

*Kiki's Delivery Service is a delightful film and easily available. You will fall totally in love with the animated cutsie's character, and I find many similarities between Kiki and my wife, both very loveable.

Davidia involucrata 'Platt's Variegated'

Davidia involucrata 'Platt's Variegated'

Davidia involucrata 'Platt's Variegated'

I propagated, named and introduced Davidia involucrata 'Platt's Variegated' about 30 years ago. It was a big mistake and it showed my complete ignorance about the genus. A large “Dove tree” was growing in the renowned garden of Jane Platt, Portland, Oregon and I was given permission to harvest scions. The leaves were basically green with a great deal of cream-white which did not burn in full sun. I encountered their specimen before I was aware that other variegated Davidias even existed, so I thought it was quite a coup to be the first to introduce the novelty. The problem was that my young plants never displayed the white portions as did the old specimen. Later I learned that flower bracts and a tree's leaves are basically just two forms of the same material, so my young propagules weren't old enough to flower or develop the white leaf color. I apologize to anyone who purchased my non-variegated 'Platt's Variegated'. Those interested in learning more about the purpose of Davidia's flower bracts can access an excellent article which appeared in Arnoldia on February 15, 2001 (Volume 68, Issue 3).

Quercus robur 'Butterbee'

Quercus robur 'Concordia'

An interesting oak seedling arose in our Far East Garden in about 2002 and it featured butter yellow leaves. We were already growing the golden Quercus robur (“English oak”) 'Concordia', but my stock was a considerable distance from the new seedling, and in fact the nearest Q. robur was 'Purpurea'. In the same vicinity of my yellow sapling was a dozen-or-so green arousals, none of which interested me, but I transplanted the yellow one and later propagated and named it 'Butterbee'. We sold 'Butterbee' for about a decade before I admitted (to myself) that it was indistinguishable from the 'Concordia' cultivar, the latter an old selection raised in Van Geert's nursery in Ghent, Belgium as early as 1843. I regretted the 'Butterbee' introduction as unnecessary and inappropriate, but at least I didn't produce many into the trade. A few years ago I was hounded by a member of the International Oak Society – of which I am not a member – that I should (of course) submit a foliage sample, or a plant itself, and a valid scientific description so that it could be “properly registerered.” I didn't feel the need to comply, especially since I had already discontinued the 'Concordia'-look-alike. The oakster persisted so I eventually sent one small plant, of only two that remained at the nursery. I never heard back from him if he received it or not, or any thanks at all for my trouble and expense so I concluded that I needn't bother further with the Oak Society.

Cornus kousa 'Aya saya'

I'll conclude today's blog with Cornus kousa 'Aya saya', a variegated oriental dogwood that I discovered as a seedling in a group of purchased rootstock. It's in various collections now, including European, but the consensus is that it's nowhere the equal to my Cornus kousa 'Summer Fun' (see Buchholz Plant Introductions, Part3). The name 'Aya saya' translates (more or less) to “peaceful beauty” in Japanese, according to wife Haruko, but she squirmed now, as well as twenty years ago when I pressed her for a translation. I reminded her that she named it previously, but she didn't “remember” that event; but I do since I thought it rhymed nicely with my youngest daughter's name, Saya. 'Aya saya' is a wonderful name, but I now concede that the plant itself does not warrant further production. I've said it before: it's unwise to name a plant after a friend or family member because there's no guarantee that either will live up to an accolade.