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!