In
the April 14, 2023 Flora Wonder Blog I bragged about my birch
collection:
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| Betula ermanii 'Fincham Cream' at Flora Farm |
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Betula ermanii 'Fincham Cream' at Flora Farm
|
I
have a modest Betula collection at Flora Farm consisting of a dozen
or so species. Most are named with the same identification when I
acquired them long ago, but I know that the taxonomy has changed in
recent times. For example my wonderful tree of B. costata 'Fincham
Cream'* is not listed in the Hillier
Manual
of
2019, although suggestions are made that a number of B. costata
cultivars actually belong to the B. ermanii group, though the latter
listing does not include 'Fincham Cream'. The RHS Horticultural
Database – the same outfit that produces the Hillier
Manual
– says
B.c. 'Fincham Cream' is a synonym of B.e. 'Fincham Cream'. B. ermanii
is from China, but can also be found on Mount Hakkoda, N Honshu,
Japan, according to Hillier, and Haruko's book has some excellent
photos.
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| Fincham Hall |
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| Leonard Maurice Mason Gravesite |
*Named
from the late Leonard Maurice Mason's arboretum at Talbot Manor, High
Street, Fincham, a village in northwest Norfolk, England. Mason was a
wealthy farmer of 6,000 acres but his hobby was tropical plants such
as orchids, bromeliads and begonias, and later in life he was awarded
the Victoria Medal of Honour. His headstone was adorned with images
of foliage and bears the inscription “A Great Plantsman.”
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| Betula ermanii 'Fincham Cream' in the Humphrey Garden |
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Brian Humphrey
|
To
my delight I received an interesting anecdote from English plantsman
Brian Humphrey, my source for the Betula ermanii 'Fincham Cream':
Dear
Talon
As
always we enjoy your blogs, the latest struck a particular cord with
the reference and pictures of Betula ermanii Fincham Cream.
I
am sure you will have forgotten that I sent scions of this to you
many years ago, but perhaps not the story behind it.
As
you say Maurice Mason was a great plantsman and collector and larger
than life character. When we moved to the east coast from Hampshire
and Hilliers I made contact with Maurice to look round his gardens,
the original at Fincham and a second one (Larch Wood) about 10 miles
away, where he resided.
At
Fincham I found a block of 5 Birch labelled costata and I knew
exactly their origin as seedlings raised at Hilliers and planted at
the old Brentry nursery. Maurice was an important Hillier customer
and Harold Hillier took him round the nurseries personally. I can
just hear Maurice saying "Harold get your people to dig me up
the best five of those". Both had booming voices which resonated
across the nursery!
Many
years later I found the five trees planted out at Fincham. Maurice
was always extremely generous and I took scions from the best of the
five and called it Fincham Cream. Later the RHS botanists decided it
was in fact ermanii and not costata, no surprise there.
We
have a large multi-stemmed tree of it here and as you say it is a
great plant with fine bark and lovely golden autumn colour.
Maurice
was a generous host and in the early days here Julie and I visited
frequently to stock up plants for the garden and subsequent nursery.
He would always say "take what you want". We always got
invited to lunch where Maurice always wanted to reminisce about
`uncle Harold` as he called Harold Hillier. After lunch which was
well washed down with wine we always had a largish glass full of
Scotch Wisky with our coffe. The result was we always left Maurice`s
place completely drunk and had to make a point of collecting what we
wanted before rather than after lunch!
Bestest
to yourself and Haruko
picture
of our Fincham Cream attached
Sadly,
B.e. 'Fincham Cream' is no longer in my production –
because no one would buy it – but it is a wonderful clone and I
frequently admire my single specimen at Flora Farm. As I've said in
the past, I hope that this tree, and all of my trees, will outlive
me.
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| Betula albosinensis 'Corbin' |
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| Betula albosinensis 'Corbin' |
A
similar fate befell one of the nursery's first plantings, a Betula
albosinensis 'Corbin'. I acquired scions from a beautiful tree in the
garden of the late Dr. Corbin of Portland, but nobody would buy that
tree from me either. I tried to promote it to a landscaper who bought
a few things from me in the early days. He waved off the albosinensis
species because it wasn't “white enough,” and he and his clients
would surely prefer the “jack-birch,” now known as Betula utilis
var. jacquemontii. Well, I eat vanilla ice cream too, but I
appreciate many other flavours as well.
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| Betula albosinensis |
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| Betula albosinensis |
The
Corbin tree of Betula albosinensis isn't really worthy of cultivar
status, though it's a lovely tree, but I call it 'Corbin' to
acknowledge the source, especially since I have acquired other clones
of the “Chinese Whitebark” birch, and want to make it perfectly
clear to myself, my employees and my customers what is being produced
and for sale. To further describe it botanically, this selection is
the variety (var.) septentrionalis. This does
not mean that it was
discovered or introduced in September, rather septentrionalis
comes from the Latin septentrion
which refers to the northern regions of its range, as the term means
the “seven plow oxen,” or the seven principal stars of Ursa Major
(the Great Bear) of which Polaris (the North Star) is one. The word
“septentrional”*
is synonymous with the term “boreal,”
which is derived from Boreas,
a Greek god of the North Wind.
*From
septem for “seven” and triones, plural of “trio plough-ox.”
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| Betula utilis |
I
have never seen Betula albosinensis in the wild...or have I? We are
now to identify it as Betula
utilis subspecies albosinensis
and the parent species of utilis
is widely distributed throughout the Himalaya from Afghanistan to
southwest China, and according to Hillier is “very
variable in bark colour.”
My Corbin tree matches the Hillier description: “A
beautiful medium-sized subspecies with glossy to matte green
leaves...the attractive, peeling bark is pinkish to coppery red,
cream when first exposed. Introduced in 1901 by Ernest Wilson.”
The photo of me (above) was taken 25 years ago in the Nepal Himalaya,
at about 12,000' elevation, but I admit that I'm unqualified to
assign the grove a specific epithet with certainty.
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| Betula utilis 'Yunnan' |
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| Betula utilis 'Yunnan' |
I
did collect seed of a Betula in China, and the tree featured glossy
mahogany-colored bark. I assumed it was of the utilis
species, but then I'm not a birch expert. Seed was harvested at about
6,000' in elevation, so a relatively low-land form, and perhaps that
contributed to its coppery color. It was christened 'Yunnan' as I was
in the Lijiang region of Yunnan in the 1980s. I no longer grow the
tree commercially, in fact I don't even have one on the place any
more, but hopefully it continues in others' gardens since I probably
sold a couple hundred before I quit it altogether. My original
specimen (photos above) is no longer at the nursery because it fell
victim to a frenzy of garden thinning since it flopped sideways, at
least as wide as tall. Thanks for the memories though.
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| Betula utilis 'Jermyns' |
Olde
Humphrey also gifted me a start of Betula utilis 'Jermyns'. There
again we have a “cultivar” name rendered with perhaps
over-zealous impunity, i.e. by horticulturists either trying to
peddle “named”clones versus the type tree, or by an honest jamoke
like me who is just trying to keep correct provenance. Describing
this birch previously, I wrote:
“A
start of Betula 'Jermyns' was sent to me about 25 years ago by a
bonafide Englishman, in fact by a former Hillier employee. Back then
the consequences of getting caught with ornamental contraband was
minimal, and certainly no harm ever occurred. The birch was named for
the area of the Hillier arboretum, as Jermyns Lane is the public road
to the south of the garden. The birch was named in 1964, and was
“selected
from a batch of plants of B. jacquemontii from a Belgium nursery.
Almost certainly a hybrid or form of B. utilis...” Well, I guess we
are now to consider the specific classification of jacquemontii as a
subspecies of B. utilis, which puts a whole lot more letters on a
small plant label. Utilis is Latin meaning “useful,” and one use
in its native western Himalayan range is that the paper-like bark was
used in ancient times for writing Sanskrit scriptures and texts.
'Jermyns' is a great tree, but another where sales were never very
strong, and I no longer have it in production.”
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| Betula utilis 'Jermyns' |
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| Betula utilis 'Jermyns' |
The
bark of B.u. 'Jermyns' is not especially remarkable, as compared with
the trunks of all the other named birch cultivars, but my enthusiasm
for the selection is due to its very prominent catkins, and Hillier
describes them as “long
and showy, up to 17 cm.”
The catkins are indeed showy,
and I had a containerized tree in the lush environs of Box Area
Greenhouse 9 whose catkins measured 25 cm (10 inches) long. I was
tempted to write to Hillier, and with a tape measured photo to
suggest they amend their measurement, but I doubted that the English
company would ever concede to any comeuppance from this American
firm.
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| Betula nana |
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| Betula nana |
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| Betula nana |
I
used to sell Betula nana, a dwarf shrub with tiny, rounded leaves. I
don't remember where I got my start, but Hillier refers to it as a
“native,”
but that similar species occur in North America and northeast Asia.
We were selling rooted cuttings at 0.25c apiece back in the early
1980s, and Betula nana was probably our most profitable crop ever.
For every 100 cuttings planted, at least 110 would root, and if you
dropped your pencil in the cutting flat it would root too. Sadly
though, after a few years of fun we had apparently sated the market
and the demand dropped to nearly zero. My (now) ex-wife was fond of
driving the company from her back-seat perch, and she suggested that
we continue to root B. nana – and by the thousands even – and
then I should get to work on promoting their sale. I decided to focus on
what customers were clamoring for, such as grafted maples and
conifers, instead of urging them to purchase what I found easy and
profitable. Only one tree remains at Flora Farm, and it was
top-grafted onto Betula pendula, but now the bush droops nearly to
the ground.
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| Betula nigra 'Fox Valley' |
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| Betula nigra 'Fox Valley' |
Other
birches have come and gone, and those that remain are all planted at
Flora Farm. The only exception are two specimens of “River birch”
planted down next to the creek at our southern woods. They are out of
the way but both lean considerably in search of sunlight. One was
acquired as a supposed dwarf and named 'Fox Valley' and the other had
the cultivar name of 'Little King'. Later I learned that they were
one and the same. Neither receives irrigation or fertilizer but they
have both grown quite large. I find the trunks attractive and autumn
leaves can be colorful as well.
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| Betula pendula 'Trost's Dwarf' |
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| Betula pendula 'Trost's Dwarf' |
Oh
wait, there is still another birch at the nursery, a Betula pendula
'Trost's Dwarf' which is planted next to the office. It is rather
scrappy in form and overall appearance, but it does rise to 10 feet
tall at 40 years of age. The trunk is a dirty white and clad with
moss, while the smaller twigs are festooned with lichen. I have
hundreds of other plants that would look better in its stead, but it
reminds me of the time when I could sell a couple of thousand grafts
per year. 'Trost's Dwarf' was the darling of the Oregon nursery
world, but for a short time only. Customers in America's Midwest and
East coast found that the plant would defoliate by July in their
harsh climates and sales were considered a one-time mistake. I
remember touring a large Oregon wholesale nursery in the mid 1980s,
and next to their main road was a couple thousand 'Trost's Dwarf' in
one-gallon pots. They were sited conspicuously, so as to drum up
sales I supposed. By the next spring the company found that they all
had perished in the winter freeze, and I'm sure the sales staff was
relieved to be done with them, and I'm glad they weren't my problem.
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| Talon, Age 6 |
In
conclusion I remain a fan of the birches even though I'm no longer a
seller
of them. I used to be a swinger
of the birches in my pre-teen days, and I suppose the poet Robert
Frost had this little knuckle-headed Oregon boy in mind when he
penned Birches
in 1915. For those who don't know the poem, I will leave it with you.
If you do know it read it again for you
have changed.
When I see birches bend to left and right
Across the lines of straighter darker trees,
I like to think some boy's been swinging them.
But swinging doesn't bend them down to stay
As ice-storms do. Often you must have seen them
Loaded with ice a sunny winter morning
After a rain. They click upon themselves
As the breeze rises, and turn many-colored
As the stir cracks and crazes their enamel.
Soon the sun's warmth makes them shed crystal shells
Shattering and avalanching on the snow-crust—
Such heaps of broken glass to sweep away
You'd think the inner dome of heaven had fallen.
They are dragged to the withered bracken by the load,
And they seem not to break; though once they are bowed
So low for long, they never right themselves:
You may see their trunks arching in the woods
Years afterwards, trailing their leaves on the ground
Like girls on hands and knees that throw their hair
Before them over their heads to dry in the sun.
But I was going to say when Truth broke in
With all her matter-of-fact about the ice-storm
I should prefer to have some boy bend them
As he went out and in to fetch the cows—
Some boy too far from town to learn baseball,
Whose only play was what he found himself,
Summer or winter, and could play alone.
One by one he subdued his father's trees
By riding them down over and over again
Until he took the stiffness out of them,
And not one but hung limp, not one was left
For him to conquer. He learned all there was
To learn about not launching out too soon
And so not carrying the tree away
Clear to the ground. He always kept his poise
To the top branches, climbing carefully
With the same pains you use to fill a cup
Up to the brim, and even above the brim.
Then he flung outward, feet first, with a swish,
Kicking his way down through the air to the ground.
So was I once myself a swinger of birches.
And so I dream of going back to be.
It's when I'm weary of considerations,
And life is too much like a pathless wood
Where your face burns and tickles with the cobwebs
Broken across it, and one eye is weeping
From a twig's having lashed across it open.
I'd like to get away from earth awhile
And then come back to it and begin over.
May no fate willfully misunderstand me
And half grant what I wish and snatch me away
Not to return. Earth's the right place for love:
I don't know where it's likely to go better.
I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree,
And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk
Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more,
But dipped its top and set me down again.
That would be good both going and coming back.
One
could do worse than be a swinger of birches.
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| Robert Frost |
The female Ginkgo has a stone tablet that reads: On this spot Townsend Harris opened the first American legation in Japan. July 7, 1859. Harris (1804-1878) was a New York City merchant and minor politician who did some business previously in the Orient, and while in Japan he “negotiated” the Harris Treaty which opened Shogunate Japan to foreign trade and culture. According to persistent legend, Harris adopted a 17-year-old geisha named Kichi Saitou – who can blame him? – but she was heavily pressured into the relationship by Japanese authorities, and then was ostracized after Harris' departure. I don't know if the female Ginkgo existed at the time of the Harris affair – somehow it didn't look to be that old. “Kichi” is a provocative name if you ask me. The word ki can mean “tree” and chi chi can mean “female breast,” but Haruko insists that the geisha's name has nothing to do with “breast tree.” It would be a wonderful coincidence if it did, and that a female ginkgo was placed where old Harris did his deeds. Anyway kuchi means “lips” in Japanese, and it's fun to think about kichi's kuchi for this old pervert.
