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.