North Carolina May-June 2024

North Carolina

A short while ago a friend asked if we had any travel plans...now that this old geezer is retired; well, semi-retired. I answered “Yes, soon we're headed for North Carolina.” Haruko chimed in: “Ahh, North Carolina, I love North Carolina.” Admittedly, North Carolina does not equate with London, Paris or Timbuktu, so perhaps our destination sounded relatively uneventful, and the questioner followed with “Why NC?” I pondered for a moment, then replied from my heart rather than my brain, “Well, it's the people.”

Talon, Tim Nichols, Matt Nichols

In addition to the wonderful denizens of the “Tar Heel” state, I had an agenda to attend an open-house event with the new owners of Buchholz Nursery – MrMaple – where I was slated to give a speech on Buchholz maple introductions to the throng of Acer addicts who were in town to buy directly from the mail-order maple giants. Probably every maple collector from the hundreds in attendance already own at least one Buchholz introduction, and they were eager to collect more, and perhaps all of the hundred or so if only money and garden-space would allow. Not just my introductions, because the MrMaple company houses over 1,500 individual maple cultivars, as well as an impressive array of conifers and other deciduous and evergreen trees and shrubs. A mega garage sale of choice plants, with attendees traveling from as far away as Texas.

Haruko and I red-eyed it from PDX to Charlotte where we arrived at 7 AM without sleep. In our exhaustion, combined with Charlotte's less than user-friendly airport signage, we bumbled around trying to find the baggage claim area. Most unorientally, I was the one who followed Haruko's lead, and I suppose without her I would still be wandering around in foggy circles. Picking up our rental car was equally problematic, and I had an urge to fire everyone and micromanage the airport myself. Certainly not as clear and simple as the Portland airport. I had to check my emotions, however, as I sensed that my wife was growing weary of my grumpiness, and might abandon me with the next flight home.

Blue Ridge Mountains

Anyway, we eventually retrieved our luggage and procured a car, then drove the 130 miles to the Asheville area. I wanted to accomplish as much as possible on our four-day trip, so from Asheville we immediately merged onto the Blue Ridge Parkway to explore the route for plants. The Blue Ridge Mountains are a veritable Disneyland of nature where I have been twice before, in April and October, and both sides of the road are akin to a world-class botanic garden. They are hills more than mountains really, and as part of the Appalachian range they were created by the uplifting of the earth's tectonic plates over a billion years ago. At one time, it has been postulated, they were as tall as the Himalaya.

Houstonia caerulea

Houstonia caerulea

Unfortunately we arrived on a good-weather Saturday morning, so the scenic route was more crowded than on my previous visits...where I could stop and jump out of the car to inspect and photograph plants without annoying anyone. I spotted a blue-haze groundcover in one instance that demanded my attention, but before I could even exit the car a crab-ass, probably from New York or Jersey, blew his excessively loud horn for me to “get the hell outta da way!” His blaring honk pissed my peace and I wanted to fight back with: “Do you know who the hell I am? – I'm Mr. Flora Wonder. On a higher mission than you'll ever know!” Of course Haruko cringed at my aggressive outburst: “Honey, you can't park in the road, on a curve.” I learned later that the low wildflower in question was Houstonia caerulea, a delicate sweetheart commonly known as “Azure Bluet” or “Quaker Ladies.”

Jan Frederik Gronovius

Our enchanting little bluet's botanical name was coined by Dutch botanist Jan Frederik Gronovius in honor of William Houston (1695-1733), a Scottish surgeon and botanist, and that generic name was adopted by Linnaeus. Houston (or Houstoun) hailed from the village of Houston, Renfrewshire in the west Lowlands of Scotland, a settlement that formed around the castle and parish church dedicated to St. Peter, hence the area was known as Kilpeter (or “Cille Pheadair” in Scottish Gaelic). After returning to London from America in 1731, he was soon commissioned to undertake a three-year expedition financed by the trustees for the Province of Georgia to improve botany and agriculture in Georgia. That assignment never came to fruition as he “died form the heat” (at age 38) soon after arriving in Jamaica, and even worse he was interred in Kingston itself. I dwell on the young Houston because he exemplifies quite a number of European botanical adventurers who roamed America before, and shortly after the Revolution for Independence. The Native Americans preceded them of course with their own system of identification, classification, and with their particular nomenclature. As for the first Euro to harvest from the bounty of America, that would be Columbus on his second voyage in 1493, a few years before America even received its name.

Fagus grandifolia

Fagus grandifolia

Fagus grandifolia

Aesculus sylvatica

Aesculus sylvatica

Abies fraseri

We continued north on the Blue Ridge Parkway, with me driving at a leisurely pace which must have irked those in my rear. They were taking the scenic route to Virginia I assumed, with no thought as to the wealth of plants that they zoomed past, but at least I pulled over whenever possible to get them off my tail. Haruko and I absorbed the myriad shades of green from the fresh spring leaves of Fagus grandifolia, Aesculus sylvatica and the occasional “Canadian hemlock,” Tsuga canadensis. Abies fraseri appeared at the higher elevations of about 5,000', but the numbers were sparse, reduced by 90% in some areas due to the European-introduced pest of “Balsam Woolly adelgid” (Adelges piceae). The hemlocks have also been decimated by another woolly adelgid (Adelges tsugae), an aphid-like insect that produces tiny, white cotton balls. The critter inside feeds on the sap at the base of the needles...which eventually fall off to the trees' demise. At one point Buchholz Nursery produced over 50 different dwarf hemlock cultivars; in fact we were famous for our rooted-cutting program and we supplied many Oregon wholesale growers until some Eastern states imposed shipping restrictions. For the most part, then, the Tsuga party is over, except for a few varieties like T.c. 'Pendula' (“Sargeant's Weeping Hemlock”), Tsuga diversifolia 'Loowit' and Tsuga heterophylla 'Thorsen's Weeping' that we produce for the West Coast market.

Blue Ridge Mountains

DaVinci's Virgin of the Rocks

While I used the frequent Parkway turn-outs to rid the tourist hoard tailgating me, a number of them also stopped for the view, and I suppose there are millions of shutter clicks with Mom, Dad, the Kids and the Family Dog taken every year to document that they were actually There. Heck, I do the same with Haruko; she used to groan at the modelling assignment, but eventually learned to be quiet and give one for the Cause. Very unlike West Coast mountain scenery, the Blue Ridge and Smoky Mountain vistas melt into hazy blue oblivion, where the distant hills fade to faint obscurity. This phenomenon is documented by their names – Blue Ridge and Smokies – and is caused by the trees releasing isoprene into the atmosphere, a common volatile organic compound. Isoprene emission increases with temperature and maximizes at around 40 C (104 F), and it has been speculated that the release may protect plants from heat stress. The visitor can submit to the non-definitive effect – though initially difficult for this clear-cut German mind – for there is a peaceful tranquility that engulfs the senses. Leonardo DaVinci understood the concept and employed the sfumato technique (“to evaporate like smoke), the soft dreamlike effect in his artwork.

OK – enough of dreaming – back to the Parkway! Haruko continuously implored that she could handle the driving chore, the implication being that she would be more alert and safe than me. But for 22 years of marriage I continue to scoff at her offer, that I should continue to drive: “It's better to be safe than sorry.” I love to tease her with that reminder because it causes her to roll her eyes in frustration. Nevertheless I decided to take the juncture to Mt. Mitchell, where one can huff and puff from the 6,000'+ visitor center to the 6,684' (2037m) summit. I felt that we could snap ourselves out of our delirious malaise with good, old-fashioned exercise. I was right, of course, which also infuriated her, and I was especially pleased that we had to stop half-way to the top for Haruko to catch her breath. I was breathing heavily too, but still thrilled to be at elevation where my thoughts developed their own form of sfumato.

Chief Attakullakulla

Dragging Canoe

Mt. Mitchell is the tallest mountain...er, hill in the eastern portion of the United States, i.e. east of the Mississippi river. No big deal in early summer, but I bet it's quite windy and nasty in winter. Indeed, the “peak” was named for Elisha Mitchell, a professor at the University of North Carolina who first explored the region in 1835. When the learned wimp fell to his death at nearby Mitchell Falls, the summit signage was changed from Black Dome (for its rounded shape) to honor the stumbling professor. Of course, prior to the Mt. Mitchell designation, Native Americans (Cherokee) called the mountain Attakulla for an 18^th century Native leader who helped shape trade and diplomatic relationships with the British colonial governments. One can applaud Chief Attakullakulla's (the tribe's “First Beloved Man”) efforts to maintain a difficult peace in North America, but his son Dragging Canoe continued Cherokee resistance to the American advancement, and history shows that it did not end so well.

Asheville, NC around 1890

Samuel Ashe

Though somewhat giddy at the summit, Haruko appeared revived enough, and with me exhausted enough that I handed her the car keys so that she could be important. She eschewed the need for her foot on the accelerator and instead gently applied it to the brake pedal, and thus we glided down into the fun streets of Asheville. I learned dozens of years ago that the name meaning of Boise, Idaho, was French for “forest,” and how happy the settlers must have been to finally end up in a wooded paradise by a sustaining river. Similarly, the early inhabitants of what is now the hell-hole of Fresno, California received some solace from the abundance of ash trees (Spanish: fresno) that lined the much welcomed river. Naturally I assumed, then, that Asheville, North Carolina was named for a local species of Fraxinus, but I was quite rong. In 1792 Buncombe County established a city named “Morristown” as its county seat. Five years later that city name was changed to “Asheville” after North Carolina Governor Samuel Ashe. Originally it was a crossroads of Indian trails on a 2,134 ft. (670 m) plateau surrounded by mountains. When the railroad came in 1880 the city developed into a resort and therapeutic center, and other visitors such as Haruko and myself come for the mountain scenery and for the abundance of its diverse plant community.

Biltmore Estate

Haruko had a minor urge to visit the Biltmore Estate, the enormous home and gardens built by the philanthropist George Washington Vanderbilt, but I groaned at the thought. I had already visited a half dozen years previous while trapped on a Maple Society tour bus. It was one of the most wasted half-days of my life. The interior of the “largest home in America” was dark and gloomy, and all entrances to rooms with art treasures were roped off. The vast gardens, designed by America's best-known landscape architect, Frederick Law Olmsted, are a sprawling collection of trees and shrubs – some native, others exotic – but the whole affair doesn't impress me any more than a typical mile stretch on the Blue Ridge Parkway. Anyway I waved off any thought of visiting Biltmore because “we didn't have time.”

But we did find time each evening to join the other hundreds of tourists enjoying the downtown Asheville experience. Haruko is a wonderful companion and her sweet smile allows strangers to become friends. I'm a bit more reserved (grumpy) as I calculate the cost of having fun. I knew H. would approve of the Mellow Mushroom pizza joint for a quick bite, then later at Vinnies for an Italian meal, and at other restaurants which I cannot now recall. The highlight (foodwise) for H. was Old European Pastries on Broadway Street; it was recommended by locals as well as featured in all the tourist brochures back at our hotel. Just moments before we both downed two slices of pizza, and with an additional beer I was too stuffed to think about adding cake to my overworked gut. H. however – all 108 pounds of her – was able to develop an instant hunger when we walked in the pastry door and she studied the display case. She ordered two different cakes and a coffee, but she promised that she would only sample each cake and finish them off later back at the hotel and in the coming days. I sat and smiled while she declared each bite to be her last (for now), but she couldn't stop because the desserts were so light and tasty, and, and cheap too, she kept explaining...

Every trip I have taken in my career is written off as a business expense, except for Haruko's cake-shop experience and other such indulgences. I am able to study the local flora, plus visit nurseries, arboreta and private gardens. Next week I'll continue with the “write-off” aspect of North Carolina.