Tall Timbers

Abies nordmanniana

A wet and windy winter storm caused my old “Caucasian fir” (Abies nordmanniana) to topple...hmm, “topple” isn't the way to put it – that's much too elegant – for it came crashing down, and woe to the Rhododendron orbiculare, a Pinus mugo 'Yellow Point', a Tsuga canadensis 'Hussii' and a few other choice plants that were in its path. The 48-year-old Nordmann fir was planted in the original Display Garden along with a couple of Norway spruces (Picea abies), and an Oriental spruce (Picea orientalis). I planted these as 5-year-old fast-growing seedlings (not cultivars) in a group when I wished for a vertical presence in my one-acre flat garden which was totally empty when I first purchased the nursery ground 43 years ago. We cleaned up the mess and saved most of the understory, and time will heal their wounds. I could see, however, that the fir's trunk was riddled with sap-sucker holes, and when the stump was leveled to the ground I could see some rot in the core. The tree limped along as an invalid, and I blame its demise on our 116F scorcher two years ago.

St. Francis

China resting on her Genista pilosa

The seedling grove was a sanctuary in a sense, because the space under the conifers was a cemetery for our family pets, such as China (our German short hair dog), a couple of cats (can't remember their names), a parakeet plus a ladybug that was accidentally stepped on. Thank god we never kept any horses or cows. There was a bench where one could sit to reflect upon the passed souls, but though I walk past the “graveyard” every day*, sometimes a dozen times per day, I never sat in there myself. I figured the critters were at peace with a statue of St. Francis looking over them. One day a new employee walked out of the alcove zipping up his fly; when I looked in I saw that he had squirted on St. F.'s robe. The worker was Hispanic, but of course that doesn't guarantee that he was Catholic, and maybe he was an agnostic heathen who held a grudge against the Venerated Saints. In any case he was summarily canned for his disrespect, but in hindsight he should have been caned as well, then forced to dig his own grave.

*I did the math – I've walked past the cemetery over 100,000 times.

Abies nordmanniana 'Tortifolia'

Abies nordmanniana 'Tortifolia'

Abies nordmanniana 'Tortifolia'

I really don't miss the Nordmann fir since the three spruces have assumed massive size anyway, and they serve their purpose. Besides, we have a good-sized Abies nordmanniana 'Tortifolia' in the Blue Forest that's about 30-40' tall with a broadly pyramidal canopy. It regularly cones like the species with bold, proud erections of light-brown color. The casual observer might not notice anything that distinguishes this cultivar from the type, but if you compare the two, you'll find that 'Tortifolia' displays a slight curve to the needles, and indeed its Latin cultivar name indicates “twisted foliage.” It was discovered in Long Island, New York in the 1920s and I'm happy to grow a specimen in my collection – since I have adequate space – but the 'Tort' selection has never garnered much commercial appeal.

Picea orientalis

Picea orientalis 'Aureospicata'

If the Picea orientalis seedling had also crashed I wouldn't have cried about it either since the Display Garden also houses two 40' P.o. 'Aureospicata', the 'Yellow-tipped Oriental spruce.” They better the type by providing butter-yellow new shoots in spring that contrast nicely with the older, dark-green foliage. I'll admit, though, that the cultivar's spelling gives me pause, and I must always recollect if it's 'Aureospicata' or 'Aureospica', or 'Aureaspicata' etc....one becomes befuddled with these old Latin designations. The cultivar has been in the trade for over 100 years, however described, but it's uncertain who first selected and named it.

Picea orientalis 'Aureospicata'

Picea orientalis 'Aureospicata'

Picea orientalis 'Aureospicata'

The specific epithet of Picea orientalis provides an interesting geo-nomenclatural perspective, one that's “relative,” you could say. The term “orient” is derived from Latin oriens for “east.” But “east” for whom and from where? Many would describe the orient as places like Japan, Korea or China. When I began my career I assumed that Picea orientalis was from one of these countries, but I later read that it comes from the Caucasus Mountains of southern Russia and in northeastern Turkey. At one point for Europeans that was way east, the place where the sun rises. Orior is Latin for "rise," and later oriens meant "east." "It's all relative," Einstein used to say, noting that the Chinese considered their land to be at the center of earth's surface. The term opposite of orient is occident, from Latin occido, "to fall" or "set." Thuja occidentalis occurs in eastern North America, so it's not west for me, but it is a western tree if compared with Thuja orientalis from Japan and China. On the other hand, I fly west when travelling to Japan, to the Land of the Rising Sun, to the Far East. On the one hand is a thumb, four fingers and a pencil.

Picea orientalis 'Lemon Drop'

Another attribute of Picea orientalis 'Aureospicata' is that it cones prolifically, and we have dozens of seedlings with golden new-growth that sprout annually in our Display Garden. Most of these are eliminated with herbicide when small, but we allowed one to develop from under its mother tree. We propagated from the seedling and named it 'Lemon Drop', as I was hopeful that we might have discovered a more-dwarf, perhaps a more-colorful garden-worthy cultivar compared to the mother tree. The jury is still out about my findling, for when grafted onto vigorous Picea abies rootstock, it doesn't behave so dwarf after all. In any case the mother cultivar, along with its progeny, should be sited in full sun for most vibrant color. Fortunately the golden new growth is sustained in full sun without burning because of the preponderance of older green foliage, and by the fact that the new gold usually transforms into green before our century-mark temperatures arrive. I don't know if it will ever amount to any improvement over 'Aureospicata', but if it's deemed more garden-worthy, the catchy 'Lemon Drop' tag is far more commercial than an old Latin name.

Picea orientalis 'Gracilis Nana'

Another sizable presence in the Display Garden is Picea orientalis 'Gracilis Nana', and it has grown so large that the “Nana” moniker becomes ridiculous. In The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2019) it is listed as 'Gracilis' ('Nana Gracilis') meaning that Hillier too drops the inaccurate nana part. They describe it as “A slow-growing, rounded bush of dense habit, eventually developing into a small conical tree...A specimen in the SHHG attained 2.4m (7.87ft) x 1.8m (5.91ft) after 22 years,” and that its introduction was 100 years ago in 1923. I suspect that the original selection – which is on its own roots, of course – is not as large as the Hillier tree. Unless Hillier produced or received a propagule on its own roots, a grafted 'Gracilis' borrows the vigor of the rootstock, in our case on Picea abies, so our 'Gracilis' is already 15.24m (50ft) tall at about 35 years of age.

Picea abies 'Little Gem'

Picea abies 'Little Gem'

The above paragraph is probably unfathomable to the casual reader – if you followed it at all – since it might seem that I'm nitpicking about what rootstock the cultivar is produced on (for just about most plants). But it makes a world of difference for “dwarf” trees, whether they be spruce, cypress, maples etc., and it becomes an important factor when siting it in the garden. Take Picea abies 'Little Gem' as an example. On its own roots it forms a dense low mound with annual growth of 1/2” - 1” (1.27- 2.54cm) per year. If grafted onto Picea abies it will grow four-to-five times larger. Then if one roots the best shoots of the grafted tree you will create a plant that grows much larger than the original. So, years of production of 'Little Gem' can result in the evolvement of a “clone” that's not supposed to be variable (by definition), but where its size dimensions continue to increase. To sum it up: a plant of Picea abies 'Little Gem' offered in commerce in 1975 is not exactly – or even nearly – the same as one for sale in 1995.

Cryptomeria japonica 'Spiralis'

Cryptomeria japonica 'Spiralis'

Every day I gaze out the office window into the Display Garden, and a 35-year-old Cryptomeria japonica 'Spiralis' hogs much of the view, for it is about 38' (11.6m) by 20' (6m) wide. Hillier describes the cultivar, “...as grown in general cultivation it forms a small, slow-growing bush of dense, spreading habit.” If given continued care and irrigation I suspect mine will grow to over 100 feet (30m) tall within the next 50 years, so the old suggestion that it makes for “a good rock-garden plant” belies my personal experience. Since the leaves are spirally twisted around the stems, Hillier (and others) dub it as “Grannies' ringlets,” and a photo above proves the point. Maybe the common name of “Grannies' Ringlets” is appropriate in England, but in America it would be more accurate to call it “Granny's ringlets.” Hillier says the selection was introduced from Japan in 1860, and if so that's only 18 years after the Cryptomeria species itself was introduced to cultivation in Europe. The implication here is that 'Spiralis' was already selected in Japan, and as a cultivar it was introduced to Europe in 1860 by the likes of Veitch, Lobb, Maries or some other plant explorer, and I've always loved the notion that conifers, maples and other Japanese flora consisted of variants that were propagated and nurtured before the Europeans arrived on the scene to “discover and introduce” them.

Cryptomeria japonica 'Rasen'

Cryptomeria japonica 'Rasen'

Cryptomeria japonica 'Rasen'

An even taller-timbered tree is Cryptomeria japonica 'Rasen', where the cultivar name translates to “barber pole” due to its leaves spiraling around the stems. Hillier lists a number of Cryptomeria cultivars, such as 'Rasen-sugi', 'Sekkan sugi', 'Tenzan sugi' etc., but that's redundant redundant because “sugi” is the Japanese name for the genus anyway...so Cryptomeria japonica 'Rasen-sugi' would translate to “Japanese cedar 'Rasen' Japanese cedar.” Despite my previous missive in this blog about slower-growing own-root plants, our 'Rasen' is already over 50' (15.m) tall by approximately 10' (3m) wide at only 18 years of age, and it was propagated by a rooted cutting. It's so vigorous that stem growth actually pushes out from the center of the female seed cone, as if to say, “Get out of the way – don't try to inhibit me with reproduction.”

Cryptomeria japonica 'Sekkan' #1

Cryptomeria japonica 'Sekkan' #2

The above Cryptomeria japonica 'Rasen' was planted where a previous sugi – 'Sekkan' – had been removed because I grew tired of it. As you can see from photo #1 above, 'Sekkan' can be spectacular – when young – for its cream-yellow new growth that actually withstands our humidless summers without burn. It is a spectacular cultivar that is sure to delight...well, until it gets large, that is. I grew tired of our specimen (photo #2) because it was huge and became an eye-sore when the foliage dulled to a sickly, anemic-looking yellow. I don't have one on the place anymore, but I still think it's worth growing if you regard it as a “decimial,” i.e. a tree to replace every ten years; and in that case you could describe its existence as tenuous.

Mourning dove (Zenaida macroura)

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Pendula'

For decades a Chamaecyparis (Xanthocyparis) nootkatensis 'Pendula' was the tallest tree in our Display Garden. However, a specimen of Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Glaucum', though about 12 years younger, now rises as the tallest. Even the aforementioned 'Rasen' has overtaken the “Alaskan Yellow cedar,” but nevertheless the C. nootkatensis 'Pendula' grows to a huge size, at least in my Oregon arboretum. Note its presence in the center (under the rainbow) of our iconic Flora Wonder Blog photo which was taken 21 years ago. Well, it didn't stop growing either, and it seems to be the preferred haunt for mourning dove birds who perch at its top, then who nest on the ground beneath. Coo-coo-coo every morning in spring.

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Pendula'

My grandmother, who was an avid gardener, gave me a gift subscription to Horticulture magazine about 30 years ago. She was anxious to support my career, supposing that the articles would inspire and enlighten me. I expressed gratitude of course, but I allowed the subscription to lapse when she herself forgot to renew it. The rag was tepid at best, both the photography and its written contents, especially when compared to British garden magazines. I do remember one article, however, that went far beyond “tepid” into the ranks of ridiculous. It was written by the (then) editor who therein extolled the virtues of the “delightful nymph,” Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Pendula'. He worked the article around the concept that the slender, “nymph-like” cedar was a better inclusion in a small garden than – he said – the “huge-growing Colorado Blue spruce cultivars.” When I read that “fact,” I immediately marched out into the garden to compare my full-sized Picea pungens 'Bakeri' which was planted only 30' (9m) away from the cedar, and even though they were both of the same age, the nootk was half-again taller and larger. Maybe the editor's experience, as an East coast gardener, led him to his conclusion, but my conclusion was that he was spouting ill-informed nonsense, and thus my subscription terminated.

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Van den Akker'

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Van den Akker'

Anyway, Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Pendula' was discontinued from our production at least 25 years ago in favor of the more-narrow, and far-more garden-worthy cultivars such as 'Green Arrow' and 'Van den Akker'. I have grown some very large 'Van den Akkers', but I have seen others double my size in Washington state landscapes that are probably over 50-years old, since the landscaper V.d.A. placed them in front of corporate buildings where they mellow the concrete and steel structures, and further complement the landscape with their epic architectural forms.

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Green Arrow'

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Green Arrow'

As far as Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Green Arrow', I suppose that my garden contains the tallest in the world, especially since I know that I grow the oldest propagule – from the original mother tree – in the world. Actually I should say: “those” oldest propagules in the world since three of the original grafts are grouped in my Blue Forest section.

Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Glaucum'

Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Glaucum'

I previously indicated that Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Glaucum' is now the tallest timber on the nursery property (if the native southern woods are excluded). Those trees I cultivate are an amazing collection, with a multitude of species from the best corners of the world. It's nothing to brag about because anybody can acquire the same or better. 43 years ago, what is now the Flora Wonder Arboretum was a wheat field with five walnut trees near the house. The walnuts were removed because they're messy trees and the nuts make me sick anyway. But every day I admire my blue redwood, and at 100 feet (30m) tall (more or less) it serves to hold up the sky. My wish is that every tree will outlive me.