Betula Bygones

In the April 14, 2023 Flora Wonder Blog I bragged about my birch collection:

Betula ermanii 'Fincham Cream' at Flora Farm

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.

Fincham Hall

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.”

Betula ermanii 'Fincham Cream' in the Humphrey Garden

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.

Betula albosinensis 'Corbin'

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.

Betula albosinensis

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.”

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.

Betula utilis 'Yunnan'

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.

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.”

Betula utilis 'Jermyns'

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.

Betula nana

Betula nana

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.

Betula nigra 'Fox Valley'

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.

Betula pendula 'Trost's Dwarf'

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.

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.

Robert Frost