Buchholz Plant Introductions (Part 2)

 

Acer sterculiaceum 'Joseph's Coat'

The previous Flora Wonder Blog, as well as today's and hopefully those in the foreseeable future, are entitled Buchholz Plant Introductions, an attempt for old Buchholz to document those plants that he has introduced (foisted) into commerce. I guess it's my attempt to fess up and come to grips with my successes and failures while I still have my wits about me. I admit that half (or more) of these plants have proven to be useless, redundant or ill-advised, and I can accept any criticism especially now as I near the end of my career. Nevertheless the process was fun and stimulating, and it's proof that if a simple Oregon rustic can make a contribution to the advancement of horticulture...well, it's obvious that anyone with energy and enthusiasm can accomplish the same or better.

Flora

Introducing plants to the trade was never a primary purpose, as economic survival and feeding my family always took precedence. The daily grind to deal with the nursery's welfare, with the plants and the people, was certainly exhausting, but throughout my years I was buoyed up with many wonderful, like-minded individuals, and I readily give credit to My Heroes of Horticulture, both past and present. My muse Flora was exceedingly generous, although she could be a bitch at times, and she'll probably snicker when perennial weeds sprout atop my grave, then shrug it off: “Well, Buchholz was never able to beat them, so now he has gone off to join them, Ha Ha Ha.”

Acer davidii 'Hanshu suru'

I don't have an exact chronology of my plant introductions, because regrettably I did not keep meticulous records. I was casual when I should not have been, but I never imagined that one day it would matter to me. Too late now, and I can only sum up my plant biography based upon memory. I have previously described my involvement as a wandering narrative, with dates and species largely unconfirmable. Events that occurred 20, 30 or 40 years ago blurrr with what took place last year. However, our photo library is useful since photo dates now accompany each digital image.

Last week I discussed maples that were gifted to me by the late Edsal Wood – truly one of my Heroes of Horticulture – but he was actually more of a conifer guy. He owned and operated Bonsai Village out of Canby, Oregon, and he raised thousands of seedling conifers, mostly as a hobby, for he enjoyed finding unusual treasures amongst them. A number of dwarf hemlocks and pines entered the trade through his efforts, but he was mostly known as the generous man who would rather give his findlings to others. Edsal made his living formulating chemical compounds that were often employed to stabilize road surfaces in third-world countries, but then he also produced concoctions that could loosen compacted soil surfaces for other purposes. I never did understand most of that because I was more interested in his plants, not his soil goop. However, one chemical formulation of his that I employed from the beginning of my nursery...even until today is Wood's rooting compound, and I know that many Oregon nurseries have used it successfully as well.

Wood's propagation mixture worked its magic for both deciduous cuttings as well as conifers, and for the most part we employed one-to-ten with water, and if certain plants didn't respond favorably, then the best course of action was to drop those plants. I never could ascertain, however, if one-to-ten meant nine units of water with one unit of hormone, or eleven units total with ten water and one hormone...I doubt if any of my employees ever figured it out either.

Pinus mugo 'Mr. Wood'

Sometime in the 1990s Edsal called me and suggested that I come over to check out some of his seedlings. With aroused curiosity I decided to visit his Village in the afternoon, but like in a bad dream I found myself mired in a string of nursery crises and didn't arrive until 4:05 PM. Regrettably Mr. Wood had already left; he was a regular at the Copper Kettle bar, where they say his 4 PM cocktail always awaited him. I rescheduled for the next day, damning myself the entire way for the folly of two trips. Nevertheless I found the wiry little guy holding a watering hose with a cigarette dangling from his lips. He stubbed the fag and handed me an impossibly miniature pine that was perhaps just two years old, and encouraged me to take it home to “try.” With its blue foliage I assumed that it was a Pinus parviflora, but Edsal insisted it was a P. mugo. I wondered if he had jumped the gun on cocktail time, but I nodded in agreement and took the dink home. It sat in my greenhouse for awhile; then one day I pinched off a fascicle and to my surprise it contained only two needles, and indeed was a blue mugo.

A few years later I decided to propagate the pine, so I gave it the temporary name of 'Mr. Wood'. Eventually I sold or gave some away, so the name has stuck even though I hypocritically advise that peoples' names should not be used for plants. Ten years later I discovered that Wood gave a sister seedling to Larry of Stanley and Sons Nursery, who named his 'Fishhook', as it features a slight curve to the tiny needles. Stanley chose the better name I think, but the point is that they are two distinct clones, even if they look almost identical. The massive tome from the Royal Horticultural Society, The Encyclopedia of Conifers by Auders and Spicer, continues the error by listing 'Mr. Wood', with the synonym of 'Fishhook'. That's not the only mistake in the encyclopedia, nevertheless the publication is a wonderful accomplishment, and I'm proud that a number of the Auders photos are from plants in my garden, where I'm given the location code #13. The treat is to see my trees, my familiar friends from the new perspective of a professional photographer.

The original Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Bonsai' at the Morris Arboretum?

Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Bonsai'

I have made my share of nomenclatural mistakes and wrong assumptions, as I'm sure most collectors have. I named and introduced the weeping dwarf “Dawn redwood,” Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Miss Grace' which originated as a prostrate witch's broom on a full-sized redwood tree. I received scionwood from Professor John Silba of New York about year 2,000 who regularly used me to propagate and preserve rare species of conifers. A dozen years later I received from another source a start of M.g. 'Bonsai' – also a dwarf weeper – and I wrongly stated in a Flora Wonder Blog that it originated from a witch's broom as well. Tony Aiello, then curator at the Morris Arboretum in Pennsylvania, set me straight with the news that 'Bonsai' was of seedling origin, and that the original was gifted to, and currently growing at the Morris. Later when I visited the collection, my primary aim was to document the original 'Bonsai', but I found more than one closely planted, and no signage indicated which was the first.

Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Miss Grace'

The first propagule of Metasequoia glyptostrobodies 'Miss Grace'

Metasequoia 'Miss Grace' has been propagated by the thousands now and in The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2019) it is described: “A small, elegant cultivar with a compact habit and weeping branches clothed with grey-green foliage that turns vibrant orange in autumn. Discovered as a witches' broom. I. 1998.” Its history is interesting I think, because Silba's scrappy scionwood yielded four graft “takes,” and they were potted up and placed in GH27 with labels that said M.g. 'Prostrate WB'. When they were two years old they were accidentally staked upright when my back was turned. “Rong, Rong, Rong” I muttered to myself, “these are supposed to grow low and flat just as the name implies.” I could have de-staked them myself, but I wanted the culprit to do it, to learn a botanical lesson. No one confessed (of course) and I dropped the issue, then a few years later I found the staked originals to be attractively narrow and weeping. I enlisted my new wife, Haruko, to pose for a photo with one of the originals, and though smiling, she urged me to hurry up and click because the pot was getting very heavy. A smiling Oriental woman holding a softly weeping tree gave rise to the name 'Miss Grace'. Two of the other originals were sold long ago, while the third is planted at Flora Farm. The champion, for size anyway, must be my specimen growing in the Display Garden at Buchholz Nursery, and the trunk measures nearly a foot in diameter, and it rises to about 10' tall. It is hemmed in by a magnolia and a large maple, and it's an annual task to keep them pruned away from 'Miss Grace'.

Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Miss Grace'

When Metasequoia 'Miss Grace' was still new to the trade, one of my trees was featured in one of the theme gardens at the Seattle Flower Show. Thousands attend the indoor event which occurs at the end of February, because it's an oasis of cheerful anticipation when the outside world is still dreary. Most of the plants are pushed into growth for a month in a hot house and 'Miss Grace' was in its freshest glory. I was proud that gardeners stood in line to have their photos taken with my specimen, yet I grew irritated because the grubby attendees couldn't keep their hands off my girl.

Picea orientalis 'Aureospicata'

Picea orientalis 'Aureospicata'

The Buchholz Nursery original Display Garden houses two Picea orientalis 'Aureospicata', the “yellow-tipped Oriental spruce.” They are 50 years old and rise to about 40' tall, and 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 identified, but it's uncertain who first selected and named it.

Picea orientalis

Picea orientalis

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 traveling to Japan, to the Land of the Rising Sun, to the Far East. On my right 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.

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis

I'll finish this blog with a final genus, the recently coined Xanthocyparis nootkatensis that we used to know as Chamaecyparis nootkatensis. I stubbornly continue to use the latter name since I have propagated thousands in my 40+ year career, and my customers and employees aren't really interested in nomenclatural adjustments.

I have relayed the 'Green Arrow' origin in previous blog posts, and the following, Another Winter's Grafting Summary, is from February 14, 2020:

“I have produced Chamaecyparis nootkatensis – now named Xanthocyparis nootkatensis – by both grafting onto Thuja orientalis – now named Platycladus orientalis – and by rooted cuttings. Cultivars of the “Weeping Alaskan cedar” are easily rooted and graft “takes” are usually high. I estimate that my small nursery has produced about a quarter million nootkatensis grafts over the course of my career, because for about three decades we supplied lining-out plants for many of America's wholesale growers, some who would order as many as 800 per year. So, I've made a ton of profit with the species, but...a less-than-pleasant aside is that the scions – most of which I have personally cut, and also the thousands that I have personally grafted – smell like a high-schooler's gym socks soaked in cat piss.”

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Green Arrow'

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Green Arrow'

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Green Arrow'

“I was the nurseryman who introduced Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Green Arrow' into the trade, when the discoverer and namer Gordon Bentham of Victoria, B.C. told me about the fantastic tree a year before he died. The nursery where he worked had gone bankrupt and the few plants were being liquidated, so I'm certain that 'Green Arrow' would have been lost to horticulture if I hadn't lucked onto them in the early 1980's. I don't produce many anymore because everyone else does, and about ten years ago I saw about 100 for sale in a Seattle-area garden center that looked great – supplied by a grower I never heard of – and they were retailing for less than my wholesale price. The cultivar is even grown in Europe now, and in The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2019) it is listed as 'A very narrow, medium-sized tree with pendulous branches held close to the trunk. Foliage dark green.' Well, on a foggy Olde English day, and from a distance, you might consider the foliage to be dark green, but on close inspection it is actually gray-blue-green, as evidenced by the photo above.”

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Sparkling Arrow'

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Sparkling Arrow'

'Green Arrow' could possibly be the most widely grown of any Buchholz introduction, and I marvel that its existence occurred by fortunate happenstance. On one occasion I noticed that a twig sported a colorful mutation. Only one variegated scion was produced which I cut and grafted myself. Fortunately I got 100% results – I was one-for-one – and that propagule was eventually named 'Sparkling Arrow'. The RHS encyclopedia lists it as “A narrowly upright, weeping, variegated plant with pendulous branches and foliage that is splashed with creamy white. In ten years 2.5x0.7m. Originated in 2001 in Buchholz and Buchholz Nursery, Or., USA.” It has proven far more garden worthy than the old 'Variegata' (syn. 'Albovariegata'), the latter which was known since 1873 in Germany. 'Sparkling Arrow' is more narrow and less likely to revert than the old variegated European clone, plus it has a more modern and catchy cultivar name. The original graft is growing in the Short Road section at Buchholz Nursery, and is approximately 35' (10m) tall in 2023. It has formed a beautiful pillar only a couple of feet wide, but beware of unscrupulous or ignorant propagators who indiscriminately use less-vigorous side shoots. Those cuttings can root or graft as well, but the resulting offspring will likely not grow as narrow.

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Laura Aurora'

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Laura Aurora'

Another nootkatensis introduction is 'Laura Aurora', and the RHS describes: “A slow-growing upright plant. Foliage variegated with yellow and green. In 10 years 1.2 x 0.6 m. Found in 1984 by Talon Buchholz, Or. USA and named after this daughter.” One should be careful about naming a plant for a family member as it's not very stable – my daughter is stable, but not the plant. I keep a few around for old-times' sake but I discontinued production years ago, nevertheless it shows up in various conifer books, and I have seen one growing in a Dutch garden.

Concerning 'Laura Aurora', I wrote in The Whence from January 25, 2013:

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Laura Aurora'

“I have a sketchy record about naming cultivars, as I have used English names, Japanese names, and sometimes multi-language names, which is nomenclaturally illegal. I was taken to task by a European dendrological expert for naming a dwarf, variegated "Weeping Alaskan Cedar," Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Laura Aurora', that I shouldn't use "Laura," an English name, he supposed, and combine it with the Latin "Aurora." I thought the criticism was entirely unfounded. The name Laura originated in Latin Europe, and was derived from the "Bay Laurel" plant, or Laurus nobilis, which in Greco-Roman times was used as a symbol of victory, honor or fame. The name Aurora originates from the Latin word for "dawn." So "Laura Aurora" is hoyle, dammit, with a nice ring to it besides. With its yellow variegated foliage, the cultivar is bright and cheerful, the same as my daughter Laura.”

Thus concludes Buchholz Plant Introductions (Part 2). Readers may grow weary of my saga, as if I am overly boasting about my accomplishments, and believe me, we still have a long way to go. But it is a belated project for me before the history is lost, as I view these introductions as my biography, the good, the bad and the ugly, just like the rest of my life.