North Carolina 2024, Day 2

The Gentling Garden

The Gentling Garden

Ten years ago, almost to the month, I scheduled a visit to the private garden of Jasmin and Peter Gentling. Their plant collection was regionally famous and nationally known, located at the foothills of the Blue Ridge Parkway above Asheville, North Carolina. Seth and I arrived at the appointed hour, but no one was visible in their terraced, hill-side garden and no one answered our knocking at the door. A little sign announced that the garden had peaked the previous week, and too bad that we weren't there to see it. Apparently Seth and I would miss the post-peak week as well. We felt uncomfortable to wander unaccompanied in another's private space, and since this episode occurred prior to general smart-phone use, we couldn't communicate and make alternate plans. It turned out that Mr. Gentling had to dash away for a short time to pick his spouse up at the airport, and the brief window when he was gone was exactly when we had arrived.

Peter Gentling (left) and Talon (right)

I remembered only small slivers of the Gentling 'scape from ten years ago, in particular two towering Metasequoia glyptostroboides that were posted at the bottom of their rich-soil hill side and still rose above all else when viewed from atop. These were among the very first in America, replete with some documentation. The nearby Biltmore Estate had also acquired an early “Dawn redwood” specimen and the Vanderbilt snobs naturally assumed that they possessed the champion, to which the Gentlings appear less than 100% in agreement. I don't know how the Carolina Metasequoias would compete with the largest in Oregon or anywhere else – outside of China – for that matter. If the states or nations could vie in honest competition the world could sponsor a Flora Olympics...but watch closely in case the Russians try to cheat with illegal “supplements” and steroid-infused fertilizers.

Haruko pressed me for information about the Gentlings, and I routinely answered “I don't know.” But I did know that they were occasionally featured in garden magazine articles as collectors of unusual plants, but not a business occupied with growing and selling plants. I reassured H. that it was a short, beautiful drive anyway, plus the neighboring property displays a most interesting wooden fence, its purpose by the road can only be described as art, simple and perfectly positioned along the winding road. I took a photo of the fence ten years ago and it appears to have weathered well – probably better than me – in the ensuing decade.

Perhaps mesmerized by the fence we wandered onto the wrong road, but fortunately Mr. Gentling steered us via phone to his driveway, waiting for us at the top. He refused Haruko's offer to hop in, said he would rather walk. Mr. G., at 86 years, was short, compact and energetic, and he instantly won us over with his gracious smile. Mrs. G. joined the garden tour, and Jasmin could be described as a solid match for her husband, except that she was better looking.

Poliothyrsis sinensis at Gentlings

Poliothyrsis sinensis in Spring

Poliothyrsis sinensis trunk

We zig-zagged our way down the terraced paths so we could check out the Metasequoia giants' trunks, and the pair were clearly the pride and joy of the Gentling estate. On the way down Mr. G. pointed to the canopy of a deciduous tree that was contending for air space with a large Japanese elm. He announced that it was Poliothyrsis sinensis, a tree commonly called the “Chinese Pearl-Bloom tree,” a species I had encountered last year at Duke Garden. It's a monotypic genus in the willow family, Salicaceae, and its pubescent shoots and shiny leaves fluttered in the breeze. I admit that my initial interest wasn't for the tree itself, rather it was the name that began with “polio” that required my attention. Polio is a Greek word for “grey,” and the infectious disease caused by the polio virus – poliomyelitis – literally refers to a “greying of the marrow.” Thyrsis is from Greek thyrsos for “stalk” or “wand,” in this case a flower panicle, so it basically means “bearing bright (greyish) flower clusters.” The Chinese local name shan guai zao translates as “mountain raisin tree” due to its resemblance to the Chinese native Hovenia acerba, the latter being commonly used as a street tree in southern China. Mr. G. seemed pleased with his specimen, but one must wonder why it is seldom encountered in modern landscapes, especially since it was first discovered by Augustine Henry in the 1800s and introduced to the Arnold Arboretum by E.H. Wilson in 1908. It is hardy to USDA zone 6 (-10 F) and produces fragrant flowers – is the disease-sounding name perhaps a liability?

Lysimachia japonica

While I was focused on the tree canopy, Haruko was delighted with a cute green groundcover, Lysimachia japonica var. minutissima that sparkled with tiny yellow, star-like flowers. The genus is commonly called “dwarf creeping jenny” and is surprisingly in the Primulaceae family. The generic name honors ancient King Lysimachus from Macedonia, but that's for a faster, more aggressive species than the miniature Japanese form. Mr. G. informed Haruko that he had plenty available should she want to take a pot home. I get a little stab of bittersweet sorrow as I try to distance myself from a life-long plant collecting addiction, and I purposely bought my “last house” with just a miniscule amount of garden space to help me go cold turkey. At this point I cede all gardening decisions to my wife, and she has already hogged the prime home plot with tomatoes, lettuce and carrots. Owning a nursery, being responsible for the plants, employees and customers was a Jobian ordeal that consumed most of my adult life, and now I prefer to roam in others' landscapes, especially in my Maker's free-for-all wilderness.

Ahh...but back to the Gentling garden where the elderly couple shares ownership with a family of Ursus americanus var. americanus, the black bear endemic to North America (from the Pacific to the Atlantic), the continent's most widely distributed bear species. I have encountered a few in my Oregon wilderness forays, but North Carolina boasts – or groans – with the largest population in America. Mrs. G. showed us her espalier apple trees where the bears ripped off the unripened fruit. They don't politely nibble from the trees in a sustainable fashion, but rather devour the green rocks by tearing off the branches as well. In another example we witnessed path logs torn from the garden trails, where the marauders scavenge for the grubs and insects hiding beneath.

I suppose many North Carolina gardeners have a bear story to tell, but Mr. G. gave us a particularly good one with Mama (“Cutnose”) foraging in his garden. He was watching her from what he felt was a safe distance, after all he and the bear were no strangers to each other, and the old wound on her face always gave away her identity. Suddenly Mr. G.'s hand felt a wet nose, for one of the cubs had snuck up behind him, putting the human between Mama and the cub. Fortunately Mr. G. had the good sense to slowly, calmly back away from the situation, otherwise we wouldn't be talking with him today.

Male Pileated Woodpecker

Female Pileated Woodpecker

Winnie and Woody

Suddenly Haruko gasped when she saw something exciting in one of the native White oak trees (Quercus alba). With bears on my mind, I expected that H. had spotted one in the canopy, but instead it was a huge bird, and the Gentlings identified it, nonchalantly, as a pileated woodpecker and it was no surprise to them. I had only seen one before, many years ago, in a wetland area of the Bellevue Botanic Garden in Washington state, but I was thrilled for H. because birding has become a recent hobby for her. There's no way you can adequately describe the wonderful creature with words or photos even, but when any nature lover actually sees their first it is a sight never to be forgotten. Dryocopus pileatus is the largest woodpecker species in North America, and its specific epithet is from Latin meaning “capped,” referring to the red crest on top of both the male and female's head. Personally, I'm very accomplished at imitating the pileated call, as are most others of my age, because we grew up with the Woody the Woodpecker cartoons from the 1950s. Woody, and his girlfriend Winnie were both modeled after the pileated bird.

Tsuga canadensis from Sidney Waxman

An attractive Tsuga lined the path, a compact flat-growing dwarf with fresh green foliage which I estimated to be between 20 and 30 years old. Mr. G. pointed out that a nearby Tsuga – something that looked like 'Jervis' or 'Hussii' – was infested with the Tsuga adelgid, and he lifted up a branch as evidence. The compact Tsuga, however, seemed to be resistant to the woolly disease, and Mr. G. lifted up one of its branchlets as proof. Unfortunately the choice hemlock had no name and I don't know if it has ever been propagated. It was a gift from the famous conifer witch's broom guru, the late Dr. Sidney Waxman (1923-2005), an American botanist and horticulturist who operated out of the University of Connecticut's campus at Storrs. He was distinguished for the introduction of over 30 dwarf pines, hemlocks, larches and Sciadopitys cultivars, many of which were grown from seed of witch's brooms. We corresponded by phone a couple of times and he seemed eager to send some samples, I guess to help spread the gospel of dwarf conifers. I was already growing some of his introductions which were gifted to me by other East Coast growers, but I agreed to “try” a couple of golden strobus pines, 'Goldie #1' and 'Goldie #4', but in both cases they burned in full sun, or were too greenish when grown with shade protection. East Coast conifer collectors many times assume that it constantly rains in Oregon, so we should have no problem growing golden-foliaged conifers; but believe me, we surpass 100 F (38C) nearly every summer, and we don't have the sweltering humidity that helps to keep moisture on the foliage. If I was still actively collecting plants, I would certainly request cuttings of Mr. G's hemlock, but I would want to know if anyone else has attempted to propagated it, for perhaps it already goes by a different name.

Japanese Pilgrim (Henro)

Peter, Jasmin, Haruko and I retired to the shady patio for a relaxing lunch, as the day was growing warm. We talked about the pesky bears, grieving elephants and our host's time spent travelling in Japan. The Gentlings loved to talk about a temple route* they accomplished on the more remote island of Shikoku, where at each temple the pilgrims received an official signature from the headmaster. I wondered if I was already too old for such an adventure, especially with the rustic sleeping accommodations. On the other hand, maybe a Japanese pilgrimage is exactly what my old soul could use, and the energy required might come from the  purity of purpose of an unnecessary journey.

 *I don't know if the Gentlings stopped at all 88 of the temples on the Henro Junrei. Henro is the Japanese word for "pilgrim."

It warmed my heart that Haruko could bond with the Gentling couple, as if they had been close friends for many years. I reflected back to my missed opportunity ten years previous, but maybe I wasn't ready to meet them then.

Before parting, Mr. G. was anxious that we take a look into his greenhouse and adjoining cold frames. It was a hobbyist's clutter for sure, with scads of pots with small cutting-grown stuff from his garden, all of it labelled per his particular needs. The amateur propagator who loves to putter without a commercial plan, is often the one who you can learn the most from, and besides he has no need or desire to keep secrets. Mr. G. took the opportunity to relieve himself of a pot of the cute Lysimachia that Haruko admired, and she now has it planted in a pumice stone at our new house. Well, since we were now going to be transporting a plant home from North Carolina, I also agreed to take a short seedling of the Poliothyrsis sinensis, but it has been added to the Buchholz Nursery inventory as there's absolutely no room for it at our new home. So, going cold turkey with plant collecting will probably never happen. I just wonder if something interesting will sprout from my grave after I'm long gone?

Lysimachia japonica var. minutissima

As for Haruko, I was happy that my sweet wife placed the tiny Japanese groundcover next to our front door. It's wonderful that we could add a little bit of the Gentlings to our lives.