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
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| 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.
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| 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
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| 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
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| 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.
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| 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.
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| Acer rubrum |
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| Acer rubrum 'V.J. Drake' |
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| 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.
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| 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
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| 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.
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