Buchholz Plant Introductions (Part 9)

My confessional continues, an attempt to document the multitude of plant introductions that have sprung from my green loins. Plenty of them have proven to be better forgotten, nevertheless one can occasionally find them in American arboreta, private nurseries and gardens, where a grower or two might champion the introduction for its few qualities.

But then there is a sizeable portion of the Buchholz plant introductions that are currently very popular and have been produced by the thousands from around the world.

Of course there exists the inevitable third group, the inbetweeners that rise well above the duds, but that are not garden-center favorites. In this category are many useful and attractive plants that serve good purpose, even though I sensed at the time of introduction that they would never become best-sellers.

Acer circinatum 'Sunglow'

Acer circinatum 'Sunglow'

The original Acer circinatum 'Sunglow'

Today's blog will discuss maples only, and I'll draw out examples from all three groups. The so-so introductions can include all of the Acer circinatum cultivars, because the West Coast's “Vine maple” species does not perform well in most of the summer-humid portions of the United States, which is mostly where we ship our plants. They're even problematic in our Oregon growing conditions because they can attract powdery mildew, and unless you have a significant crop – which I never do – you don't get around to applying fungicide to a few scattered individuals. That's a shame because a very impressive introduction, A.c. 'Sunglow', can look fantastic if well-sited in moist, well-drained loam and some afternoon shade. For the 'Sunglow' entry Vertrees/Gregory in Japanese Maples begins by calling it “This distinctive cultivar...” and ends by concluding “It is very different from any other A. circinatum cultivar...” Actually it is not, as it is similar to A.c. 'Sunny Sister', a sister seedling.

Acer circinatum 'Sunny Sister'

Acer circinatum 'Sunny Sister'

The late Floyd McMullen of Portland, Oregon had selected about seven of these unusual A. circinatum seedlings which he generously gave away to plant friends. I acquired one and called it 'Sunglow' in about 1994, then another in about 1998 which I named 'Sunny Sister', but I don't know what became of the rest of them. The original 'Sunglow' is planted in full sun in the nursery's Short Road section and, since it struggles somewhat by mid summer*, it is only 6' tall by 8' wide at 30 years of age. The original 'Sunny Sister' was sold long ago, but an early propagant still hovers in the Blue Forest. It handles the full sun much better than 'Sunglow' and it currently rises to 10' tall and stretches to 15' wide. Both originals were of the same age, from the same batch of vine seedlings that the amateur McMullen was playing with. Sadly, Mr. M. passed before I acquired two of his seedlings and I was never able to meet the man, but he was survived by his wonderful wife Kathleen who was sharp and beautiful, and she taught piano lessons well into her 90s. The handful of times that I met her, she was pleased to hear that I admired and named two of her husband's seedlings, as if that somewhat brought him back to life.

*We all struggled when we reached 108 F (42 C) last week.

Acer circinatum

Acer circinatum 'WB Hoyt'

Peter Gregory with Acer circinatum 'WB Hoyt'

Acer circinatum 'WB Hoyt'

Acer circinatum 'WB Hoyt'

Neither of the previous two Vine maples will ever be commonly grown, not even in Oregon gardens, but the avid Northwest plantsperson can certainly find a place for them, especially in a collection that features or promotes the use of natives. Probably lost to obscurity, though, is a dwarf that originated from a witch's broom at Portland, Oregon's Hoyt Arboretum. I was alerted to its existence by the conifer guru from Vermont, Greg Williams, who was visiting Oregon nurseries and gardens in about 1995. It took me some time to locate the broom on my own, for it occurred low to the ground amongst the weeds and leaf litter, and I confess that upon my rediscovery I was a little disappointed with the mere glob of congested foliage. Nevertheless I snitched a few sticks and labeled the grafts with 'W.B. Hoyt', a code name that was never improved...because frankly it wasn't deserving of a more inspired name. The world of maple cultivars already included Acer circinatum 'Little Gem' which was sourced from a witch's broom discovery in Stanley Park, Vancouver, British Columbia about 40 years prior, and 'W.B. Hoyt' added no discernable improvement. Furthermore, the Hoyt broom got mixed up somewhere along the way with the aforementioned 'Sunny Sister', and that screw-up either occurred at my nursery or from one of my customers. 'W.B. Hoyt' should be totally green, but the one that was accessed by the Hoyt displayed the orange new foliage of 'Sunny Sister', but I never knew whence they sourced it. I wonder if the true 'W.B. Hoyt' exists anywhere anymore, but I certainly don't have it. I regret that it was possible my company fouled the nomenclature and contributed to its demise, but at least I have a photo of the late author/friend Peter Gregory gleefully admiring the broom. I explained to him that I further observed, after at least a decade of visits, that the broom and the parent tree leafed out at least 3 weeks apart from each other, and that they also displayed their fall color about three weeks apart as well. Now, I have forgotten which event occurred first, the chicken or the egg?...err, the mutation or the parent. I cannot return to ascertain the chronology because the last time I revisited the phenomenon, the parent tree and its mutant broom had both disappeared, and Martin Nicholson, the Curator of the Hoyt revealed that it had died, and now they have installed a minor Syringa collection in the A. circinatum's stead. I gloomed that it was a lost opportunity to demonstrate the marvels of horticulture, maybe some explanation to the public – children I hoped – about the Origin of Species. No, not species, but of cultivated variants. The further lesson is that nature's whims, such as a witch's broom mutation, might possibly be short-lived, you never know. Maple expert Peter Gregory was here one day, then gone the next...just like the 'W.B. Hoyt'.

Acer circinatum 'Baby Buttons'

Acer circinatum 'Baby Buttons'

Another Acer circinatum witch's broom that niggled along in our production was A.c. 'Baby Buttons', and I still have a nice specimen at Flora Farm, and a couple more at the nursery in containers. It is far more dwarf than the others, but unfortunately it is prone to branch die-back, not uncommon amongst many broom-origin plants. The mutation was spotted along I-205 by an ex-employee, and it's amazing that the volleyball-sized broom was noticed at all, since autos speed along at 65-75 MPH on the interchange. One supposes that millions more aberrations occur in the wild that no one documents or propagates, just as a man or woman might ponder what would have happened if a different “fish in the sea” was chosen instead of the One that we ended up with. For me A.c. 'Baby Buttons' resides halfway between the so-so and dud level, but when happy it is a cute little gem, so I don't regret its inclusion in the pantheon of Buchholz plant introductions. Last propagated about 5 years ago and just so you know, I've given up on it.

Acer griseum

Acer griseum

Acer griseum

In my 43 years of nursery ownership I have seen Acer griseum, the “Chinese Paperbark maple,” go from being considered rare and highly sought after to ubiquitous and commonly used as a street tree, and not always on the best of streets either. The use of A. griseum was initially limited because the seed was considered difficult to germinate. Growers such as Mark Krautmann of Heritage Seedlings, Oregon, figured it out and I have seen his crops of thousands of healthy sprouts thriving in his greenhouse environment. Mark began by planting out an allee to source his seed, and now the mature specimens are very impressive, or at least they were ten years ago when I saw them last. Krautmann doesn't hurry the germination process, rather he imitates what happens in nature. The seed is dumped in wooden barrels and left to simmer for a couple of years among rotting leaves and well-drained soil, then they are planted into plugs where they grow straight and tall. Before seedlings of A. griseum were plentiful, I grew my first trees in a more laborious manner by grafting onto Acer rubrum, for which it is surprisingly compatible.

Acer griseum 'Susanna'

Acer griseum 'Susanna'

I've grown a couple of Acer griseum “cultivars,” one skinny and the other fat. The fat-boy was named 'Susanna', and the original tree features a broad canopy. It was a chance seedling growing at Susanna Farm Nursery, a long-time customer of ours from Maryland. I've never encountered the species in the wild so I don't know how unusual 'Susanna' is, but its form and peeling bark is most impressive in winter. I have one planted at Flora Farm, now about 12 years old, so I'll have to be patient to see how it develops.

Acer griseum 'Narrow Form'

Acer griseum 'Narrow Form'

A batch of Acer griseum seedlings purchased from Heritage led to the discovery of one tree with a particularly narrow canopy. It never received a formal cultivar name beyond me temporarily calling it 'Narrow Form'. I watched the individual for a number of years, and visiting plantsmen would enthuse over the unique find. One autumn in a moment of weakness I relented and agreed to sell the original, but I first grafted some apical shoots so I could continue with the “cultivar.” To my dismay, however, the propagules did not resume the narrow form, they grew just like any other A. griseum, or at least when young. One was kept at Flora Farm in the maple section, but it's clearly not as narrow as the original. Of course I regret parting with my discovery – I guess I had a payroll to meet – but maybe it's good to be done with wasting my time on a clone that doesn't live up to its name. Sadly I don't remember who was the original's customer so I can't report on its progress, and I'm just left with a bittersweet memory.

Acer campbellii

Acer campbellii was named for the English explorer and botanist Archibald Campbell and it is native to Himalayan foothills up to 9000', and as is typical of these Asian mid elevations, the species is only barely hardy in Oregon (USDA zone 7). I have seen it in the wild – probably – but then I haven't been trained in botanical tree identification. I remember a Makalu trek in Nepal where the maple species were just beginning to leaf out, and the spring shoots were colored a delicious mahogany-red. Twenty five years ago I was given an A. campbellii seedling from the late, eclective propagator and grower Bill Janssen of Washington state. I didn't want it really because it wouldn't be commercially viable, that much I was certain. Besides, Janssen was known to be horticulturally challenged at times with his plant ID, so I wasn't sure what I was getting.

Acer campbellii 'Exuberance'

Acer campbellii 'Exuberance'

My Acer campbellii – if that's really what it was – prospered in my greenhouse but I never trialled it out in the garden. When a few customers saw and admired it I began propagating, and conveniently the species is compatible with Acer palmatum. However attractive it was, sales were still weak because it was perceived to be borderline hardy, and that it was a species that grew too large to fit into most gardens. For years I kept just a couple of plants at the nursery, and the handful that we propagated went to California garden centers. Fresh spring leaves are wildly marked with cherry-red, then mature to a bronze-red with prominent lime-green veins. For me this maple overflows with joy and enthusiasm, hence 'Exuberance', a word that originates from Latin meaning “an overflowing supply of milk from the udder of a cow or goat.”

Acer tataricum

Acer tataricum

Acer tataricum subsp. ginnala

Acer tataricum subsp. ginnala

The Amur River

The same Mr. Janssen who gifted me the Acer campbellii seedling also played around with seed of Acer tataricum subsp. ginnala 'Emerald Elf', and he presented me with a seedling he believed was even more dwarf than the parent. The little 5-year-old bush was less than attractive when I received it in August but I warmed up to it when it flamed to brilliant red that autumn. Now, at about 25-30 years of age, it has been growing in the rockery of the nursery's Blue Forest and currently measures 3' tall and wide. It looks healthy and the tiny leaves shine, and our recent 108 F scorcher didn't bother it at all. About 10 years ago I passed it on my way to get cuttings of something else and I noticed that it had sprouted a number of 1-2” shoots, but never before had it behaved so enthusiastically. On a whim I stopped and harvested about 50 cuttings, and to my surprise they all rooted. Now, propagating is easier since we can source the cuttings from more luxurious greenhouse-grown plants, but as I approach my career's end we have abandoned most summer cutting production altogether. I cannot compare my 'Little Elf' to the seed parent 'Emerald Elf' as I've never grown the latter. Fall color can be intense but it seems to last only a couple of days before the leaves turn brown and drop, and I suspect that no Buchholz employee, past or present, could tell you where the original is planted. Acer tataricum is native to southeastern Europe and southwestern Asia, while the subspecies ginnala extends from China, Japan, Korea to eastern Siberia, hence its common name of “Amur maple.” The Amur River is the world's 10^th longest river at 2,761 miles (4,444 km) and is known in Chinese as Heilong jiang, or “Black Dragon River,” and at the end of its course it empties into the Strait of Tartary.

Acer palmatum

All of the maples discussed thus far in this blog have been either mildly successful commercially or complete failures, not that the plantsman necessarily judges the worthiness of a tree by how it fares commercially. The common denominator for their limited success is that none of them are Acer palmatum cultivars, as that's the species that Buchholz Nursery has built itself around and comprises about 90% of our maple sales.

Acer palmatum 'Yellow Cascade'

Acer palmatum 'Yellow Cascade'

Acer palmatum 'Yellow Cascade'

I'll finish this Part 9 with two Acer palmatum cultivars that are very popular with our customers: A.p. 'Golden Falls' and 'Yellow Cascade'. Both originated as seedlings from A.p. 'Ryu sei' in about 2008, and they resemble the mother tree with its compact weeping habit. We germinated about 1,000 seedlings and approximately 20% displayed the pendulous characteristic, while the remainder were normal-palmatum uprights. Out of the 200-or-so weepers, two featured yellow foliage and were set aside to observe, while the remainder were labelled 'EX Ryu sei' and sold as random green prostrate seedlings.

Acer palmatum 'Golden Falls'

Acer palmatum 'Golden Falls'

The slower of the two selected seedings is A.p. 'Yellow Cascade', but not by much. In August the foliage of both appears light green, but in early spring the 'Yellow Cascade' emerges with a soft yellow color, while 'Golden Falls' is a strong orange; similar but different, like two lovely sisters. We produce the 'Golden Falls' in the greater number, at least for now, and I look forward to harvesting seed from it should it oblige, and wouldn't it be incredible if a red weeper sprouted?

Haruko with the Queen's Green Canopy Plaque

Queen Elizabeth

I was honored last fall to participate in The Queen's Green Canopy, the Platinum Jubilee of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth. She served her country for 70 years and as a final tribute she promoted the planting of thousands of trees. The aim was to encourage everyone to plant “the right tree in the right place, at the right time, so they continue to thrive for generations to come.”

Planting the Queen's tree with Patrick Franklin of Bartlett Tree Experts

Robert Barlett (Right), Owner of Bartlett Tree Experts 

I chose to plant a 7' weeping specimen of Acer palmatum 'Golden Falls' and the plaque to mark the tree was provided by Bartlett Tree Experts, the new custodians of the Flora Farm arboretum.

Geraint Richards with Acer palmatum 'Golden Falls'

Two weeks ago I was pleased to host Geraint Richards at Flora Farm. He is the Head Forester to the Duchy of Cornwall and to His Majesty The King, so of course he was instrumental in launching The Queen's Green Canopy. Mr. Richards was delighted to meet the 'Golden Falls' maple (and revealed that King Charles adores Japanese maples). My tree was declared “the furthest one away from England,” and for me it symbolizes my journey through life, with “Plants from the Best Corners of the World.” 

Buchholz Plant Introductions (Part 8)

I'm defining a Buchholz plant “introduction” as anything that was sold by me first, even those selections that were quickly or eventually discontinued for one reason or another.

Indian Heaven Wilderness

Reuben Hatch in Indian Heaven Wilderness

Indian Heaven Wilderness

Traditional huckleberry harvest

I was a regular on the trails in Indian Heaven Wilderness in southwest Washington, and at least once a year I would accomplish a grueling hike with my partner Reuben Hatch, and our favorite time was early-to-mid September, with our treat the fantastic fall color of the native Vaccinium species – twelve altogether in Oregon and Washington. More than visually rewarding, the wilderness produces ripe huckleberries that are treasured by today's backpackers, and they were an important source of food for Native Americans since time immemorial. My favorite species for consumption was the aptly named Vaccinium deliciosum, and I would pop the tiny huckles into my mouth one at a time and savor the sweetness, while Reuben's method was to take longer to gather a full handful and then stuff them down his pie-hole. The ritual gave him goosebumps; we were two old geezers happy in berry heaven. Sadly Reuben passed away a year ago...and I don't know if I'll ever return, as if it would be an affront to his memory if I was to visit alone.

Abies amabilis 'Indian Heaven'

Abies amabilis 'Indian Heaven'

Indian Heaven Wilderness comprises 20,784 acres on a forested plateau (5,000') dominated by Abies amabilis (“Pacific silver fir”), Abies procera (“Noble fir”), Abies lasiocarpa (“Subalpine fir”) and Tsuga mertensiana (“Mountain hemlock”). One year, about 2004, as we drove near the trailhead I spotted something white on a fir tree, I shouted for Reuben to stop and backup. He grumbled but did as instructed, for I had discovered a variegated portion on an Abies amabilis. It wasn't the ideal time to collect scions but it was now or never, and surprisingly a couple grafts took. The subsequent propagules grew but on each of them the non-variegated portions dominated, so I was careful to propagate the variegated twigs only. I sold a small number of grafts for a couple of years, but I soon concluded that the cultivar – which I named 'Indian Heaven' – would not be predictably variegated so I jumped off the wagon and discontinued production. Unsurprisingly, that situation is usually the case, that these glimmering promises don't pan out, and I now regret selling any of them to anybody.

Abies amabilis 'Indian Gold'

Abies amabilis 'Indian Gold'

In about 2010, as Reuben and I were exiting from a later Indian Heaven berry-fest, I spotted a golden top on another Abies amabilis, and by then my friend knew the drill, namely pull over and let Buchholz harvest some scions, which I accomplished by jumping up to grab a golden branch and with a Swiss-Army-Knife I procured my desired shoots. Again, when we propagate any discovery it must be accompanied with a final identification name, and 'Indian Gold' was my choice. Unfortunately it was not stable either, and when the solid gold portions were propagated the needles would burn in full sun. So, another strike-out that was discontinued, but perhaps a few 'Indian Heaven' and 'Indian Gold' still exist somewhere, though I don't grow either anymore.

Abies koreana 'Nanaimo'

Abies koreana 'Nanaimo'

Ok, 0 for 2 so far, but a third Abies proved to be a mild commercial success – Abies koreana 'Nanaimo'. It is described in the RHS Encyclopedia of Conifers: “A compact, narrow pyramid with outstanding violet cones produced at an early age. In ten years 180 x 120 cm. (6 x 4 ft.). Introduced before 1991 by Buchholz & Buchholz Nursery, OR. USA.” That's right – it was produced before 1991 and I guess that date is based on the RHS author's first encounter with the “cultivar.” I collected scions from a compact Abies koreana at the Green Thumb Nursery in Nanaimo, Vancouver Island, B.C. Canada in about 1984, and I also came home with a couple of older stock plants. The late German owner, Gerhard Gerke, was a lover of unusual conifers and we instantly bonded, probably because the old nurseryman was delighted to engage with anyone from the Fatherland's diaspora. His compact “selection” was marketed as merely Abies koreana, but I tagged it as 'Nanaimo' because I was already collecting and propagating other cultivars of Abies koreana. Later, when I was able to visit various German nurseries in Europe, I discovered that the Deutschlander's love of Abies koreana was quite evident, and that a number of cultivars and hybrids were popular in Euro gardens. The species tends to cone prolifically, especially on young trees that are spaded from the ground the previous winter, and equally exciting is that a number of blue-foliaged forms and dwarves from witch's brooms have been developed. Nanaimo city is a picturesque seaport on the southeastern coast of Vancouver Island and was called by the natives Sne-ny-mo for a “gathering place” for a “big strong tribe.”

Abies procera 'Silver'

Abies procera 'Silver'

Abies procera 'Silver'

Early in my career I purchased a couple hundred seedlings of Abies procera, our native “Noble fir,” and I chose those sourced from a particularly blue-needled location. Out of the batch was one with exceptionally silver-blue foliage and thus I coined the cultivar 'Silver'. The species is highly esteemed in western Oregon and Washington, but unfortunately does not fare well outside of its Western haunts – even though hardy to -20 F, USDA zone 5 – so the nobles were a tough sell to my customers in mid-west and east-coast locations. I learned that reality the hard way and I have shied away from the species and its cultivars ever since.

Young Saya in the Noble patch

Abies procera was introduced to Europe by botanist-explorer David Douglas in 1825 under the name Abies nobilis, and indeed it is a most noble and stately fir, and is the tallest member (in the world) of the Abies genus. Alfred Rehder of the Arnold Arboretum in Boston changed the nobilis name in 1940 to procera, which is Latin for “tall,” because the nobilis name was previously employed for another tree. In any case the species is the preferred Christmas tree for the Buchholz family, and it surprises friends that I acquire a cut tree from a family farm, “Since you [I] grow so many trees yourself, why not just dig one from the nursery.” Well, the harvested tree feeds a family that produced them for a specific purpose, and besides, the going rate for an 8-10 year-old Christmas tree noble is about $60-$80, and I'd be bankrupt if I invested a decade to produce a tree for so little.

Abies procera

Abies procera

In Englishman K. Rushforth's Conifers is mention of Abies procera forma glauca Rehder that “covers the forms with good blue foliage and comes true from seed.” I certainly take issue with his following statement: “Selection of nursery plants for the blueness of foliage is better than grafting to obtain good foliage forms.” Why is that better, unless that a seedling usually costs less than a grafted clone? The subjective “better” is not explained, but it belies the success of my entire horticultural career.

Abies nordmanniana 'Little Nordie'

Abies nordmanniana 'Hexenbesen Berlin'

Many years ago I received scions (unsolicited) of an Abies nordmanniana witch's broom mutation. The box contained scrappy, congested three-year shoots with slime and lichen on the stems. Yikes – I was poised to dump the contents, especially since I didn't even know the sender. I sighed, but I grafted a few anyway with the ID of Abies nordmanniana 'WB'. Thirty-five years later a couple of the original grafts are growing in the Blue Forest section at the nursery, and they developed into compact buns that have grown into each other, and the entire green blob is about 6' tall by 7' wide. In about 2016 I changed the cultivar name from 'WB' to 'Little Nordie'; I grafted 50-or-so and sold them as such. Cute name, but there's already competition with clones such as 'Brandt', 'Munsterland', and neater dwarves such as 'Hexenbesen Berlin' and 'Petra'. While I don't regret introducing 'Little Nordie', I do conclude that it was not a significant accomplishment. No word from the scion sender either, and his name is lost to memory.

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Lemon Twist'

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Lemon Twist'

The original 'Lemon Twist' in the Display Garden

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Lemon Twist' is a successful Buchholz introduction, and features twisted, turning, thread-like golden foliage. Also, small curious fasciations occur on some branch tips – they're lemon-yellow in spring and summer, then change to bronze-gold in winter. It originated as a twig mutation on a C.o. 'Torulosa Dwarf' about 1994 which was itself a congested portion of the old 'Torulosa', and 'Lemon Twist' has never reverted back to green. Well done, Buchholz! A totally unique addition to the wonderful world of hinokis...or so I thought until I saw 'Tsatsumi Gold' in Europe years later, and the two couldn't look more similar. The 'Tsatsumi Gold' name is invalid of course, as correct nomenclature insists that two languages cannot be used in a plant name, and you can just keep it in Europe. Anyway, we've grown many 'Lemon Twists' over the years, and I think it's as good as any golden conifer. The original golden twig was grafted onto Thuja occidentalis 'Smaragd', and after 29 years it is a massive 12' tall and will require some side pruning to remain in the Display Garden.

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Harumi'

Daughter H.

In 2012 I wrote: “Many growers want to find something special and name it, and I am no exception. However, I'll begin with a few of my mistakes. Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Harumi', meaning 'spring beauty,' was an early introduction. It showed great promise with its tiny twisted green foliage – much more dwarf than the above 'Lemon Twist', although both shared the same parentage – and the 'Harumi' also featured cream-white specks to liven up the boring green. After its discovery sixteen years ago, it is no longer in our production due to the fact that the green can dominate, and some portions of the plant will show sparse variegation. Eight and a half years ago I welcomed a new daughter, Harumi, and she turned out to be the winner, not my hinoki.” Not a good idea to name a plant after a family member.

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Snow Blast'

Another failure was Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Snow Blast', and I apologize for the couple of hundred that I sold at a small size without dutifully trialing it first. It originated as a fast-growing reversion from the very dwarf C.o. 'Snowkist'. Imagine a normal-sized green hinoki with white spots of variegation. At a smaller size they were attractive, but eventually the growth habit became unruly and the variegation more sparse. The original propagule looked disgusting and was eventually edited from the landscape, and we haven't produced any for the past 20 years.

Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Moonlight Lace'

What accounts for the multitude of Chamaecyparis cultivars is the propensity of the species – actually the entire genus – to mutate, i.e. when a branchlet changes color or size or texture. You could call the obtusa species itself unstable, and sometimes that is a good characteristic. Even a modest cypress hobbyist or producer would be blind if he never discovered a foliage change and wonder what would happen if propagated. Now, just because you find a mutant branch and you or someone propagates it, that does not necessarily mean it will develop into a good garden-worthy cultivar. I know from experience, as I have wasted a lot of effort on many non-doers. Often times you just don't know unless you try, and then you're sometimes pleasantly surprised, but you are usually not. One example of that was Chamaecyparis obtusa 'Moonlight Lace' which originated as a fast-growing mutation on our introduction C.o. 'Moonshine' (detailed in Part 5). It didn't succeed and you can guess why, for it fried during an early 100 F day, and thankfully we dropped it before any were sold – so not a Buchholz introduction.

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Phil's Flurries'

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Phil's Flurries'

Chamaecyparis lawsoniana 'Phil's Flurries' didn't pan out either. It was discovered by employee Phil Turrell in about 2010 as a variegated mutation on the very dwarf C.l. 'Green Globe'. But the faster-growing cream-white portions of the 'Flurries' were prone to burn in our typical 100 F summers, even when grown with shade protection, so by the end of August at least one-third of the plant would reveal unsightly brown twiglets and we discontinued production (with probably less than 100 plants totally sold). Again, I apologize, but we had a little fun with the “Sesame Street-like” character that sported the original mutation.

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Fool's Gold'

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Fool's Gold'

While we produced a winner with Chamaecyparis (Callitropsis or Xanthocyparis) nootkatensis 'Sparkling Arrow' – and a nice specimen is growing at the New York Botanic Garden – another variegated nootkatensis discovery with golden splashes on the dark green foliage, called 'Fool's Gold', did not work out. It was discovered and named by the same employee/manager Phil Turrell, who for over a dozen years cut nearly every scion that was propagated at Buchholz Nursery. You would describe Phil as the “hands-on” guy, as he had intimate contact with the crops and found many things that others would pass by. I guess it was appropriate that he named his findling 'Fool's Gold', because we were initially stirred up, but only to become disappointed later when the few number of grafts that we produced would vary greatly in the amount of gold that developed. There was no motherload to be had after all, and all that remains is a couple of scrawny containers in the forgotten corner of a distant greenhouse. Thanks for nothing.

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis from western Oregon

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Mt. Aldrich'

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Mt. Aldrich'

Chamaecyparis nootkatensis 'Mt. Aldrich'

Another C. nootkatensis “cultivar,” 'Mt. Aldrich', was short-lived at Buchholz Nursery. It was introduced about 2012 with only a dozen plants ever produced, but I could see that there was no horticultural merit to the selection. It originated when I collected scions off of one tree in the Aldrich Mountains in central Oregon. Imagine my surprise when I learned of this disjunct population that occurrs 150 miles away from its coastal brethren. Since I wondered if nootkatensis really existed there, on a summer day I excused myself from the nursery and drove four hours east into the arid sagebrush environ, hoping that I would be able to discover at least a few Alaska cedar specimens. I was pleased when the road led to a parking lot at a trailhead, where there was actually a US Forest Service interpretive sign explaining that the 26 acre population has persisted since the Pleistocene, a left-over of a time when the climate was more wet and cool. I found some tall trees, none of them particularly attractive, but sadly most of the population was dead even though other conifers were thriving. I was happy to find them, especially as they were easily seen along a well-groomed trail, but I was sweating at mid-day and constantly swatting mosquitos that had just hatched after the recent snow-melt. Let's just say it was a hurried affair when I stepped behind a tree to take a leak. For “research purposes” I felt it would be OK to harvest a few scions (totally harmless) but I made sure nobody was watching. I grew the Mt. Aldrich form for eight years, but since the trees never looked “ornamental,” the last one was sold and that ended that nootkatensis chapter.

Picea pungens 'Spring Ghost'

Picea pungens 'Spring Ghost'

Someone in Minnesota planted a “Colorado Blue spruce” (Picea pungens) in their front yard, probably in the 1960s, but I doubt that anyone will ever know who germinated or raised the original seedling that was eventually grounded. At some point nurseryman Gordon Bailey, or someone from his Bailey Nursery company, noticed – or probably was stunned to see – that the new growth sported cream-white new shoots from the otherwise blue-green foliage. Mr. Bailey was allowed to harvest scionwood, and via a circuitous route he enlisted me (in 1984) to propagate the discovery for his company. I agreed for two reasons: 1) my nursery was just beginning and I relished any business I could get and 2) I was intrigued that a commonly-grown (boring) blue spruce could distinguish itself with such a fantastic spring bloom. Of course I saved a few of the grafts to grow on myself, so that I wouldn't have to rely on Bailey sending me scions, but I was forced to conclude that the selection was difficult to propagate, and it was a weak-growing tree anyway, or at least at my Oregon company. Nevertheless the spruce was in need of a name since we both were growing propagules, and I proposed, and he agreed to 'Spring Ghost'. Eventually we decided to part ways with the spruce, that it wasn't going to succeed, and I don't think they ever continued with it. One of the original propagules is planted in my Display Garden, and at nearly 40 years of age, it is only 20% the size of a normal blue spruce. One explanation for its diminished size is that the white shoots burn in Oregon summers, although the original tree in Minnesota reportedly does not. A former Buchholz employee dismissively wagged “Spring Ghost, summer toast.”

Picea pungens 'Spring Ghost'

Picea pungens 'Spring Ghost'

The original Picea pungens 'Spring Ghost'

At its best P.p. 'Spring Ghost' is a dazzling cultivar, but it has been superceded by better selections such as Picea pungens 'Maigold' and 'Gebelle's Golden Spring', and by the much-stronger and well-shaped Picea glauca 'McConnell's Gold' (AKA 'Mac Gold') with the latter never displaying golden new growth, but rather cream-white shoots like 'Spring Ghost'. I still putter-propagate 'Spring Ghost' by grafting a flat of 25 every 4 or 5 years – for old time's sake I suppose – as I still possess an urge to champion the weakling, and in hopes that it might thrive in someone else's garden even though it does not in mine.

This blog has described my involvement with mildly-successful to total-failure introductions, and while I never seek or expect to discover the next “most wonderful plant ever,” I continue to grind at my profession in hopes it could happen. It's like me with 4-leaf clovers: I never intentionally look for them, but when I'm lucky one will appear...and I've been very lucky.