The Healing Garden

Dr. Back with Magnolia x 'Felix Jury'

 

We have sold plants to Dr. Stephen Back for a number of years, and we've also sold to him indirectly via other wholesale growers to whom we supplied lining-out stock. Dr. Back is a Portlander and currently serves as the director of the Pediatric Brain Injury Laboratory at Doernbecher Children's Hospital. According to his biography, “The focus of Dr. Back's research is in cerebral palsy in relation to etiology* and cellular/molecular basis of cerebral white matter injury in premature infants.” I know nothing about his profession, as I wasn't blessed with his brains, but I'm glad that someone is doing the research. My connection with Dr. B is that he is keeper of the Healing Garden, an ambitious arboretum that he began 10 years ago on considerable acreage at 900' elevation on the west side of Bald Peak in the Chehalem Mountains. The garden has become his cross to bear, but I'm sure that the beauty of the plants provides some solace. Indeed he enticed Eric and I to (finally) visit with the lure of Magnolia x 'Felix Jury' in full bloom, and in the photo above he looks like a rah-rah cheerleader with oversized pom-poms.

*The definition of etiology is cause, origin, such as the cause of a disease or abnormal condition.

Magnolia x 'Felix Jury'

x 'Felix Jury' (AKA 'Felix') is a relatively new hybrid (1984) that resulted from a cross of the large-flowered M. 'Atlas' and M. 'Vulcan'.* It was patented and released in 2004. It is fairly precocious – flowers appear before the leaves on bare stems, and during our sunny visit the perfume was strong and pleasant. New Zealander Mark Jury named the selection for his late father, and fortunately old Felix saw it bloom before he passed.

*Yep, M. x 'Vulcan' is yet another Jury introduction.

Magnolia x 'Black Tulip'

Hardy to USDA zone 5 (-20 F), another outstanding Jury hybrid in Dr. B's garden is 'Black Tulip'. Beware of judging flower color on young trees for they may be more pale compared to the Healing Garden's older specimen. Besides, flower color varies from season to season depending on available light and heat and perhaps other factors. The blossom color this year appears similar to M. x 'Vulcan', a cultivar that I have studied for two decades, and I have dozens of photos over the years that prove my point. 'Black Tulip' seems so dark because the tepals are thick and light does not easily pass through them. I grow 'Black Tulip', but since it's patented I must buy my starts from licensed growers, and then I grow them on for an additional year or two or three.

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Tamariscina'

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Tamariscina'

Microbiota decussata at the Rhododendron Species Garden

Early in my career I was a “juniper slinger” for other companies, meaning that I grew and loaded into trucks thousands of the disagreeable conifers, in particular Juniperus sabina 'Tamariscifolia' (the “tam” juniper). So-named due to its “feathery” appearance, or resemblance to the Temarisk genus (L.), a shrub or small tree in the Tamaricaceae family native to Europe, Asia and north Africa. I hated the smell and skin irritation caused by the tam juniper, and I vowed to never grow even one in my nursery. I knew about a Chamaecyparis lawsoniana cultivar, also coined 'Tamariscifolia', but I only knew it from photos in the literature: it was an old Euro cultivar that I had never seen before. Dr. B said he purchased his “Microbiota decussata” from a dubious source, but he didn't think that was accurate. Clearly not Microbiota, from a distance I instantly identified it as the elusive Lawson cultivar, and upon close inspection it displayed all of the characteristics of C. lawsoniana. What a find – after all these years! According to The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs, C.l. 'Tamariscifolia' is “One of many fine conifers raised by James Smith and Son at their Darley Dale nursery, near Matlock in Derbyshire.” I plan to hit up the good doctor for scions this winter, and, though it would easily root, I'll be sure to graft onto disease-resistant lawson rootstock.

Picea engelmannii 'Blue Magoo' at Dr B's

Picea engelmannii 'Blue Magoo' at Buchholz Nursery

Years ago I grew many species of conifer as seedlings as it seemed to be an inexpensive means to produce plants. For example, for just a few dollars I purchased Picea engelmannii seed and many – too many – germinated. What to do with all the seedlings? Well, eventually I used them as rootstock to graft cultivars of Picea pungens (“Colorado blue spruce”) which were selling well at that time. However, I pulled out a particularly blue P. engelmannii individual and let it grow to a larger size. I became fond of it, particularly in spring with its drooping new growth, and a few visitors noticed it as well. Eventually I named it 'Blue Magoo' and began to grow and distribute it as such. Sales were strong, however my stock plants in the field were plagued by the dreaded moth that lays eggs in the trees' leaders, causing the tops to die. At one point I had only one left, and since a customer wanted to buy that tree, I sold it and left no more on the ark. The extinction occurred about a dozen years ago, and I assumed that it was ultimately lost to horticulture. But, but to my surprise I found it again in Dr. B's Healing Garden. I don't think I will pursue propagation again; I'm just happy to know that my lost child can be found in a loving garden just 20 minutes away from me.

Prunus incisa

Prunus incisa

Prunus incisa

The ornamental cherries were blooming lustfully, and we stopped to ponder a Fuji that billowed with a light pink coloration. Dr. B said that this year it was more pink than ever, not its normal white. I've never grown a Prunus incisa, or “Fuji cherry” so I don't know what is normal. Again, I turn to Hillier for insight: “A lovely Japanese species, generally shrubby, but occasionally a small tree, blooming with great freedom in March [well, April at Dr. B's altitude]. Flowers small, white, pink-tinged in bud and appearing pink from a distance...” Of course, I can't verify that it was truly a Fuji tree, but elsewhere in the garden was another that was purely white. The specific epithet incisa Thunb. refers to the serrated leaf edge which Hillier calls “beautifully tinted in autumn.” I grew slightly bittersweet that my career is nearly over and I didn't find the time or place to indulge much with the cherry-species of Prunus.

Camellia x 'Coral Delight'

An attractive Camellia was growing by the house, and it was loaded with blossoms even though the plant was less than 3' tall. The hybrid (C. japonica x C. saluenensis) is a cross of the Japanese species with a Chinese species, but unfortunately is barely hardy. Xera Plants of Oregon – perhaps Dr. B's source – describe x 'Coral Delight': “The enormous 5” wide opulent flowers are a clear and ringing coral. Showy from quite a distance and the entire shrub is clad in blooms from late January to March. Glossy pointed foliage is handsome year round.” Actually the cultivar has been available for a long time; it originated at Kramer Brothers Nursery of Upland California and was registered with the American Camellia Society in 1979.

Chaenomeles 'Toyo nishiki'

The light apple-blossom color of Chaenomeles 'Toyo nishiki' caught my eye. I didn't know if it was of hybrid parentage, or from a single, straight species. The cultivar name is Japanese of course, and it is commonly called a “Japanese quince,” but on the other hand it is sometimes listed as C. speciosa. Hillier confuses me when he states: “This is the well-known, early-flowering japonica,” but then indicates that C. speciosa was introduced from China in 1796 by Sir Joseph Banks. Anyway, it goes to show my ignorance of the various species of quince...which used to be classified in the Cydonia genus. The name Chaenomeles is New Latin, from Greek chainein + meles for “melon apple” in reference to the fruit. As for 'Toyo nishiki', the latter name usually refers to “variegated,” while Toyo means “abundance” or “plentiful.” I have grown a few quinces in my time, though never 'Toyo nishiki', but I discontinued because my crew and I hated to propagate and pot up the thorny devils.

Acer palmatum 'Aoba jo'

Acer palmatum 'Aoba jo'

The Healing Garden harbors a number of obscure Japanese maple cultivars that I have grown in containers only, often in greenhouses. But I have learned that you cannot fully appreciate them unless you encounter specimens in the garden...grown in real dirt. Such is the case with Acer palmatum 'Aoba jo', which I don't grow anymore due to its lack of commercial appeal. The Vertrees/Gregory publication of Japanese Maples (2009) describes 'Aoba jo' as a “dwarf shrub,” but Dr. B's was already 6' tall by 6' wide, and was closely bordered by other strong bushes. Perhaps he could limb up his dense tree and thin out its interior, but eventually it will need to be moved so as to not be compromised by its overzealous neighbors. The blue-green leaves are “surprisingly large for a dwarf,” says Vertrees, and that it is popular as a bonsai subject. The Japanese word ao has long perplexed me when my wife Haruko states that it means “green” and then she slides into saying that it means “blue.” Well, there's a huge difference between blue and green, but it illustrates that it's difficult to pin-down the Japanese and their language. Ba means “leaf,” and the full name means “beautiful green leaves”...or would it mean “beautiful blue leaves?”

Aoba jo in Honshu, Japan

After writing the above I returned home to try again with the meaning of 'Aoba jo', and Haruko explained that in “old times” the language did not differentiate between green and blue, for to the Japanese brain both colors emitted more or less the same vibe. Hmm...it's tough for this old German to decipher the Oriental mind. Haruko threw me into further confusion when she said the name does not contain the word “beautiful” at all; in fact Aoba jo refers to a famous castle in northeastern Honshu, Japan, not far from the Fukushima nuclear disaster. The castle was built in 1601 on Mount (yama) Aoba, 100 meters above the town below, and the summit area is blessed with hundreds of Acer palmatum. The word jo means “castle,” so even though the area is beautiful, beauty has nothing to do with the Aoba jo name. Perhaps A.p. 'Aoba jo' was found in the castle area, but I don't know.

Acer palmatum 'Kinran' at Dr. B's

Acer palmatum 'Kinran' at Buchholz Nursery

Another maple that impressed me was Acer palmatum 'Kinran' with its coppery-red April foliage complemented with hundreds, or thousands of tiny red seed flowers. Again the foliage was more unusual and vibrant than what I'm used to in my white-poly greenhouses. The Japanese word kinran means “woven with golden threads” due to fall color, but in some years – as the above photo from my nursery attests – the leaves can shine with brilliant orange until leaf drop. I'm often asked what is the autumn color for a particular cultivar, as if there can only be one. I might answer that I don't know or don't remember, as I am exhausted by the end of summer and so are the maples. There are many cases over the years when they just turn to brown, and I'll admit that our lush container culture does not promote the best for autumnal color. We produce 'Kinran' sparingly due to lack of demand, but it sure looked nice in Dr. B's spring garden.

Acer palmatum 'Omato'

The same can be said for Acer palmatum 'Omato', where we propagate a flat of 25 every two or three years. I've said before that I keep a few around because I consider 'Omato' as an old friend – not highly exciting, but still reliably steadfast. Surprisingly I don't even have a prior photo of it in our extensive plant library, so my visit to the Healing Garden will be my first documentation for the cultivar I've grown for at least 30 years. I remember Dr. B's tree to be about 8' tall and nearly as broad, but I never would have guessed its identity without asking.

Acer palmatum unlabeled cultivar ('Sagara nishiki'?)

Acer palmatum 'Sagara nishiki'

Acer palmatum 'Sagara nishiki'

As we approached the house I glimpsed a glowing light green/orange maple shrub through the bushes. I hurried ahead but was disappointed to find no label, and when Dr. B caught up he said that he bought it without identity, but he thought it might be Acer palmatum 'Koshimino', but I knew that was far from accurate. A tiny cell in the back corner of by brain recalled that I had seen this coloration before, and when I got back to the nursery I searched for a photo of the early spring growth of A.p. 'Sagara nishiki' before the yellow blotches and edgings occur on the leaves. What do you think, am I correct?

Acer palmatum 'Katsura'

I was wearing two coats at the nippy altitude, which was too much when the sun came out. While Eric and Dr. B chatted horticulture I kept my eye on a 10' yellow orb in the distance. It was subdued when overhead clouds dominated, but then it would glow brilliantly when sunshine hit it directly. The tree was also unidentified when he planted it, but we both guessed that Acer palmatum 'Katsura' was correct. It toyed with me: hiding, then peeking out, then hiding again when I lifted my camera. The photo I finally settled on sits at about 70% of its potential glow, but it was growing late and I was jittery with hunger.

Arnica montana

Arnica montana

One last plant that played with me like the 'Katsura' was a patch of yellow daisies, the “Wolf's bane” or the “Leopard's bane” or the “Mountain tobacco,” scientifically known as Arnica montana. It has been used for ages as a folk medicine, for its ability to speedily heal tissues and for other ailments, but I'm not really sure what the science supports. The name arnica is of unknown origin, but Linnaeus swiped it from Albrecht von Haller's Enumeratio Methodica Stirpium Helvetiae Indigenarum in 1742.

As we were thanking our host for the wonderful tour, a red-neck in a pickup pulling metal junk in a trailer went speeding through the property, as apparently the neighbor has an easement through the Healing Garden. What a contrast in life purposes. Dr. B had a sour look which was due to aggressive malfeasance by the junk dealer which is currently under litigation. This “neighbor” will never read this blog, so I'm safe to quote from the normally mild-mannered Doctor. “My grandmother was Sicilian, and she said that when someone bothers your family you stab them with a knife, twist the blade, then pull it out and lick the blood.” That was a chilling image, and I'll be sure to never cross Dr. Back!

Tabunoki

Persea thunbergii

I now have Persea thunbergii in the collection, thanks to Steve Hootman of the Rhododendron Species Botanic Garden in Washington state. I had never encountered the hardy avocado until a few years ago when I walked past their specimen which was exhibiting mahogany-red new growth.

Persea thunbergii

I wrote what little I knew about the species in a past blog, and that in Japan it is known as tabunoki. No ki means "of wood" in Japanese, so hinoki is "wood of fire" according to my Japanese wife. I enlisted her to explain the tabu word, and as usual I didn't get a simple answer. I used to wonder if my wife deliberately obfuscates me, i.e. makes things less clear and more difficult to understand...than is necessary. But often she's not sure unless she can see the characters, and even then there can be multiple choices as to a word's meaning.

Persea thunbergii

Persea thunbergii is native to Japan, China, Taiwan, Philippines and South Korea. Haruko thinks – with the assistance of her Japanese internet – that tabu is derived from Korean tong bai for "log boat"...or tamai no ki for "soul," as in a "spirit tree." But then many Japanese believe that all trees have a spirit, and I guess I also feel the same.

Southern Bluebottle (Graphium teredon)

I'm told that the Persea wood is used to make furniture, and also that a powder is made for incense to repel mosquitos. P. thunbergii produces little black, bitter seeds that no one wants to eat, but birds do and they distribute the seed via their poop. The genus is in the Laurel family, similar to the Cinnamomum genus, and indeed the southern bluebottle butterfly (ao sujiageha) is attracted to both genera. In the International Dendrological Society's 2019 Yearbook, mention is made by contributor Marcel Robischon that P. thunbergii "is often used as a rootstock for grafting avocado selections [of the food avocado P. americana*], but also has a traditional use to stupefy fish for catching."

Megatherium americanum

*An interesting aside is that Persea americana, with it's unusually large seed, evolved at the same time as the now-extinct giant ground sloth, Megatherium americanum (meaning "great beast") in South America. The herbivore would eat the entire fruit and the seed would pass through its body whole, and when excreted a pile of sloth fertilizer would nourish the germinated seedling. Megatherium is thought to have gone extinct around 12,000 years ago, coinciding with the settlement of the Americas, and it suggests that hunting could have caused its extinction.

The Tabunoki tree in Ibaraki Prefecture

The Tabunoki tree in Ibaraki Prefecture

In Ibaraki Prefecture, Japan, a Persea thunbergii is said to be between 700-2,000 years old, and the locals worship it as a "fire-stopping" tree, but my wife couldn't really explain that part of the story.

Amentotaxus argotaenia

Again, thanks to Steve Hootman for the Persea tree, and I gifted him an Amentotaxus argotaenia which I have blogged about before here. If anything in this blog is not factual please let me know. The next time I visit Japan I will seek out the great Tabu no ki at Ibaraki Prefecture and try to learn more.

Flora Encounters

 If you look up buchholznursery.com and click on our plants, you'll be able to continue with Explore Our Plant Library. Then, you are warned in lurid red type: “Although our Plant Library contains thousands of interesting and hard to find plants, please understand that we do not necessarily offer all of these for sale. Please consult our availability listings for current stock.” In fact, not all of the plants with photos and descriptions are even in the collection any more, nor were some ever included. Gripers have opined that it makes no sense, that why do I titillate with photos but then not deliver?

Dracaena draco - Never Grown at Buchholz Nursery

Dracaena draco

What happened is the same that occurred with the fantastic horticultural reference book, The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs, which I consult nearly every day. Robert Hillier explains in the Foreword of the 2019 edition (9^th): “The origin of the HMTS was the Hillier Nurseries 1964 Centenary catalogue and the manual was originally intended by my father [Sir Harold Hillier] to list all of the plants grown and offered for sale by the nursery. However, it eventually extended to become a comprehensive record of hardy woody plants available in the temperate regions.” Likewise my photo library morphed into an autobiography, a record of the plants I have seen. That explanation seems consistent with my philosophy previously stated, that one never really “owns” a tree – even if it grows on your property – you merely “borrow” it for a period of time. I doubt that your/my property will follow you/me to heaven either: for it belongs equally to the birds, the bees and the deer that eat the trees.

Trachycarpus fortunei

Trachycarpus fortunei

Today's blog will explore some of my encounters, but just those plants which I have never grown myself. I'm not sure, but maybe that's the majority of entries in the library. Consider Trachycarpus fortunei, a palm tree I have never grown, and one that I never will. I have nothing against it – the trunk and leaves are highly ornamental – but it's just not my kind of tree. The “Windmill palm” has become popular in Oregon's suburban landscapes, and indeed my sister has an old specimen in her landscape, but I don't think it would pair well with my Abies, Acer species, Magnolias etc., so I would never plant one even if it was given to me for free. It's not surprising, I guess, that the palm is now featured in many plantings in the McDonald's burger-joint landscapes in western Oregon, usually accompanied with Phormium cultivars. I suppose the fast-food corporation has deduced that these plants actually whet your appetite for their grub, as if more fun can be had when consuming greasy french fries served under exotic flora.                        Dah                     

                                                                                           Dah Dah Dah         Dah. I'm loving it.

 

Rhododendron jiangangshanicum

Rhododendron jiangangshanicum

I grow a lot of special Rhododendrons in my garden, but my collection pales to that of the Rhododendron Species Botanical Garden in Washington state. There I saw R. jiangangshanicum with a specific epithet that would be a chore to chat about. I don't know where the type specimen was discovered, nor by whom, but jiang means “river” in Chinese while shan is “mountain.” The Yangtse River, the third longest in the world, is known as Chanjiang (“long river”).

Rhododendron indicum 'Kinu no hikari'

Rhododendron indicum 'Kinu no hikari'

Rhododendron indicum's name was coined by Linnaeus, but while the epithet means “from India” the evergreen azalea/rhododendron is actually native to southern Japan, and so naturally I wonder what Carolus L. was thinking, what was his informational source? The flowers can vary, as seen above, and so too Hillier calls it a “variable species with numerous forms.” It barely squeaks by in hardiness in my area so I have never pursued it, however the slightly more benign Washington botanic garden provides a more doable location. The cultivar name of 'Kinu no hikari' is Japanese for kinu (silk) no (of) hikari (light), where Kinu is often used as a girl's name. Kinu - “Keeenuko” - for “little silk,” what a sweet child's name. The photos above were taken at the Pacific Rim Bonsai Collection which is housed adjacent to the Rhododendron garden, and definitely the two provide a double-dose of botanical excitement. Allow a full day to see both, then return at least once a month for at least a full year...then for another and another because you'll never tire of the place.

Acer buergerianum 'Hana chiru sato'

Acer buergerianum 'Hime toyo nishiki'

Acer buergerianum 'Inazuma nishiki'

Acer buergerianum 'Tricolor'

Acer buergerianum is a small deciduous tree that one would suppose is native to Japan – due to a number of interesting cultivars discovered and propagated there – yet actually it originates in eastern China and the Korean peninsula and not to Japan at all. I have accumulated a modest number of these selections, yet I also lack quite a few. I know where to acquire more cultivars, but frankly my career is winding down, so encountering them, if only seeing a particular clone for a few moments, that is enough to satisfy me, i.e. a “borrowed” glimpse is all I need at this point. I should be proud that some of my photos are included in the Vertrees/Gregory Japanese Maples publication (4^th edition, 2009), but some of these selections have never been grown on my property, and in fact I witnessed most at Masayoshi Yano's fabulous maple collection near Nara, Japan. So, don't come to me to find 'Hana chiru sato' because I have never grown one, but I do relish my photo. Likewise, my encounters of A.b. 'Hime toyo nishiki', 'Inazuma nishiki' and 'Tricolor' that are found on my website, these also have never been grown here.

Heinrich Burger

The buergerianum epithet honors Heinrich Burger (1804-1858) who discovered the species while stationed in Dejima Island, Japan, and the honor was bestowed by the Dutch botanist Friedrich Miquel (1811-1871). The lay maple aficionado would probably have preferred to keep the name Acer trifidum which Hooker used to describe the three-lobed leaves. I have read that “the leaves are strongly polymorphic.” (in DeBeaulieu's An Illustrated Guide to Maples), but I don't think any more so than with Acer palmatum and some other Acer species that have given rise to the thousands of cultivars which fascinate us, many selected for their fantastic leaf variations.

R. Hatch

Hebe 'Red Edge'

My friend, R. Hatch, still gardens enthusiastically (at age 86) with his eclectic collection of cultivated individuals. His 1/3-acre landscape is a busy congregation of plants with unusual colors, shapes and textures, and though his ground lacks a theme or an artistic flow, the visitor can keep busy for an hour or two just trying to mentally document all that it contains. A delightfully-colored Hebe caught my attention a couple of years ago – Hebe 'Red Edge' – then I stared at it again for a few moments during last month's visit...and I have to admire and applaud Hatch with his acquisitions, even if all the pieces don't actually mix and match. R. kept the retail label under the little bush because he knew that I'd certainly, at some point, demand to know the shrub's identity, and it read Hebe albicans 'Red Edge'. Hillier (9^th edition, 2019) suggests, however, that we have a “probable” H. albicans x H. pimeleoides 'Glaucocaerulea' hybrid. I don't know the nomenclature, and really don't care at all, but I'll grant that his dwarf, low-hugging treasure provides as much dazzle per square inch as any other cultivated plant.

 

Hebe

Let's see: Hebe can mean a derogatory term for a Jew (as in a Hebrew), but also can refer to the ancient Greek word for “youth” or “prime of life.” I can relate to that, except that it has been quite a while. Hebe was the daughter of Zeus and Hera, and at first she was the cupbearer to the gods and goddesses of Mount Olympus, serving nectar and ambrosia until eventually marrying Hercules. Later she was known as Juventas by the Romans, but one is hard-pressed to connect these ancient ties with what we know now as the New Zealand “figwort.” The figworts are related to the mullein family of Scrophulariaceae, and though Hebe was once classified under Veronica, it is now considered (by Hillier) to be in the Plantaginaceae family (the “plantain family”) in the order Lamiales.

 

Pseudocydonia sinensis

Pseudocydonia sinensis

Pseudocydonia sinensis

Haruko

Samisen player

I've never seen Pseudocydonia sinensis in any Oregon garden, and the first time I saw it myself was at the North Carolina State Arboretum as a bonsai specimen, and a day or two later at the Keith Arboretum as a good-sized tree. It's proof that them easterners appreciate a good trunk when they see one. A separate genus is Cydonia oblonga, the common “quince,” and my welfare neighbor grows one next to his rusty trailer. The word Cydonia is from Greek kydoni which means “quince,” and kydonion malon translates as “apple of Kydonia” (modern Khania) an ancient seaport city-state on the northwestern coast of Crete. The Pseudocydonia produces edible fruit and they become less astringent after periods of frost, and it is also used in traditional Chinese medicine for its antioxidant and antiviral properties. In Japan the Pseudocydonia wood is used for a three-string instrument called samisen, and those constructed with a long narrow neck (sao) are appropriate for kabuki, while a more broad neck is used for puppet plays and folk songs. My Japanese wife is constructed with the long-narrow neck, so much so that I tease her as looking like an alpaca, and also, when her hair is pinned up in a bun, she's like Olive Oil in a Popeye cartoon. Shiverrrer me timbers...arrrgh!

Sorbus scalaris

Sorbus scalaris is a small deciduous tree from Sichuan and Yunnan, China, first collected by E.H. Wilson in 1904. Hillier describes it “of distinct appearance” with leaves “dark glossy green above, grey-downy beneath.” In autumn the leaves change to rich reddish-purple gold and orange, and branches are clad with bunches of orange-red fruits. This “Chinese mountain ash” is also known as the “Ladder rowan” due to the shape of the foliage; indeed the specific epithet is from Latin scala for “ladder.” An interesting fact is that S. scalaris is self-incompatible, meaning that if seedlings are raised then they are likely hybrids with other species. While that strategy prevents in-breeding, one wonders how it manages to spread in the wild.

Clematis montana var. wilsonii

Clematis montana var. wilsonii

I'm not really a vine guy, and I killed the one and only Clematis x cartmannii 'Joe' that I was gifted. When I began my career I visited a neighboring nursery, and I remember when the proprietor showed me a greenhouse disaster, where his Clematis looked dreadful due to some herbicide that he should not have applied willy-nilly. The visuals scarred me to this day and I always held that against the genus. Besides, I'm fortunate to live just an hour away from the acclaimed Rogerson's Clematis Collection, a peaceful garden chock-a-block with hundreds of cultivars and other attractive plants as well. My favorite there is a trellis of C. montana var. wilsonii which Wilson collected in China in 1907. Clematis is the Latin name for the climber and was coined by Linnaeus, from Greek klema for “vine-branch, shoot or twig broken off,” and that from klan, “to break.” It is too late for me to learn about, and then to produce Clematis, and I suppose there are nurseries in the world that specialize in them only, so I'll make no effort to crowd in. The Rogerson collection satisfies me completely, and thanks to all of their volunteers who make my visits so enjoyable.

Pinus montezumae

Pinus montezumae

Pinus montezumae

An incredible Pinus species is the Mexican P. montezumae, a USDA zone 9 three-to-five needle conifer with a wide spreading form and notable for a deeply-fissured trunk. I have only seen the tree in three locations: at the Strybing Arboretum in San Francisco, at the Washington Park Arboretum in Seattle, and also at the Sir Harold Hillier Arboretum in southern England. When I began my nursery 41 years ago a few doctors befriended and supported me; they're all late now. I remember Dr. Corbin of Portland and Dr. Mossman of Vancouver, Washington, showing up at the nursery on a particularly rainy day. Dr. C. was a shrewd businessman as well as a TV-advertising eye doctor, and quite wealthy besides, so it was rather humorous to see him garbed in a Goodwill-level trench coat and topped with his wife's 29-cent plastic shower cap to fend off the rain. He was in his upper 70s at the time, and he certainly could afford a modern rain hat and umbrella. Nevertheless, he dropped off a bag of six P. montezumae branchlets and implored me to transform his dirty sticks into living trees. I despaired at the task: hmm...three-to-five needles per fascicle...umm, my guess was to use a two-needle rootstock such as Pinus sylvestris, and I copulated the Montezumae accordingly. Three grafts unionized, initially at least, and so I could deliver upon my effort. I don't know what ever happened to those trees though, because I never saw them again on either property.

Acer saccharum subsp. skutchii

Acer saccharum subsp. skutchii

Someone called our office a few days ago looking to purchase Acer skutchii, but never has one existed here. The Mexican “Cloud Forest maple” is scientifically known as Acer saccharum subsp. skutchii...so, the southernmost (even into Guatemala) range of America's great “Sugar maple.” I don't know how hardy the species is, but sadly it is Critically Endangered. The native population, in only five locations, occupies an area less than 50 square km. And these five locations are widely spread apart besides. I have read (Global Trees): “Acer skutchii is found in a single ex situ collection at Stephen F Austin University, Texas.” I'm unsure why A. skutchii is absent from DeBeaulieu's An Illustrated Guide to Maples, even as a subspecies. The epithet skutchii honors Alexander Frank Skutch (1904-2004), a botanist, naturalist and author, and prior owner of Los Cusingos* Bird Sanctuary in Costa Rica. Skutch died just eight days before his 100^th birthday.

 *Los Cusingos is named for the red-billed Aracari, a member of the Toucan family.

If you enjoy plants, if you love growing plants, then it's probably best that you don't own a wholesale nursery, because then the Kingdom Plantae foremost becomes a series of crops, Plantae cropii. To freely appreciate the mosses, weeds, bushes and trees you should not be required to tend to them for your living. Let them be, let them thrive, grow crooked or die, let it all exist out of your control. You'll never run out of subject matter: it is estimated that only 15% of the species of plants on planet Earth have been studied to date by mankind...so get with it, you lab-coated nerds!