Japanese Plant Names

Acer palmatum 'Umegae'

Part of the fun of collecting plants with Japanese names is trying to figure out what the words mean. We saw last week that Acer palmatum 'Umegae' means “branch of the plum tree,” and my Japanese wife declared so when she saw the characters, as the English rendition is not always enough. My employees are both Hispanic and Caucasian, yet they all spout Japanese throughout the day when they propagate, pot up and fulfill orders, and it's necessary because half of my nursery cultivars are Japanese named.

Acer palmatum 'Manyo no sato'

Peter Gregory

The late English author Peter Gregory said that Japanese maple names fall into three categories: 1) you absolutely know what the name means, 2) you think you might know but you're not totally positive and 3) you have no clue and you never will. Whenever known, the Vertrees/Gregory Japanese Maples book provides a translation, but it's not always clear why a certain name was chosen. For example Acer palmatum 'Manyo no sato' means “the wonderful place of nature,” and my wife Haruko confirms that it is a “good” name, the opposite of say, “hell hole” or “homeless camp.” But I can stare at 'Manyo no sato' all day long and I wouldn't ever come up with a “wonderful place.” Haruko continues that Man Yoshu* is a collection of 4,000 poems which was gathered from (she thinks) 759-780, where manyo means a “lot of leaves” or a “village with a lot of leaves.” Therefore the name would be appropriate as a name for a hot spring location, or a retirement home or just some other peaceful place. So that's what she means by a “good” name, and I suppose 'Manyo no sato' would be placed in Peter's second category where one only “sort of knows” what the name means. My relationship with my wife would also probably fall into the second category where I know her well...or do I?

Man Yoshu poems on the pleasures of sake written in Chinese with Japanese letter next to them

*The Man Yoshu, the “Collection of a Myriad of Leaves” was the first and longest of Japan's poetry anthologies. It is regarded with great affection because the poetry is fresh and free of complex word-play and restrictive rules which dominated later periods of poetry. Modern editions contain 4,536 waka (short “song”), 4 Chinese poems and 22 passages of Chinese prose. Here are two examples:

Though the bright crimson sun

continues to shine

how sad that the moon

which crosses the pitch black of night

has been concealed from view

On the autumn mountain

the fallen leaves are dense

yet I shall seek

the wife I have lost

though I do not know the way

Acer palmatum 'Sawa chidori'

Every few years we graft a flat (25) of Acer palmatum 'Sawa chidori'. It is a “reticulated” cultivar, which means that it displays prominent greenish veins on an otherwise amber-pink leaf. It is a weaker and less dazzling cultivar compared to many other reticulates such as those in the “Ghost Series,” but I still like to keep a few trees around. Now, at the end of summer, it is not looking very fresh but then most maples don't after our 100F days. Nevertheless, 'Sawa chidori' saves its best for late autumn with striking scarlet coloration. The Japanese name means “marsh plover,” and in the photo above you can easily imagine a flock of birds rising from the water. For what it's worth the word plover is from Latin pluere “to rain,” and that from the PIE root pleu “to flow.” The European plover breeds in summer in the Arctic, and when it arrives back in Europe that migration often coincides with the start of the rainy season. Hmm...

Acer palmatum 'Beni yubi gohon'

I acquired Acer palmatum 'Beni yubi gohon' early in my career from a specialty retail nursery in Bellingham, Washington. Their source was a landscaper, a Mr. Nomura – who I never met – from somewhere in the Seattle area (I was told). Anyway, it was mislabeled as 'Beni ubi gahan', but the last two words don't exist in Japanese, so clearly there was sum tin wong. The correct spelling is almost obvious, for the name means “five long red fingers” according to V/G in Japanese Maples. Actually it doesn't, for there is no word naga in the name which is Japanese for “long” – my wife's maiden name is Nagamine for “long range,” as in a long range of mountains. Therefore beni yubi gohon is literally “red-fingers-five.” Incidentally yubi gohon is a common phrase that Haruko's mother uses, and it means five things that you want to do, or five important things, i.e. those which you can count on one five-fingered hand.

Acer palmatum 'Mikazuki'

Acer palmatum 'Mikazuki'

Sometimes I have given my introductions names that I later regret, and such is the case with Acer palmatum 'Mikazuki'. Don't get me wrong – it is a very worthy maple – but the name means “crescent moon,” as the original seedling presented a preponderance of sickle-shaped middle lobes. For some reason the thousands of grafted propagules don't display that notable feature, so the name must seem odd to those who know Japanese. Too bad – too late. In Japanese Maples one photo of 'Mikazuki' (page 187) by Peter Gregory is captioned as “spring color,” but in Oregon that would be very late spring or early summer. The second photo (by me) alleges it is “fall color.” Actually not, it was taken in early spring when 'Mikazuki' is most fresh.

Acer shirasawanum 'Kawaii'

Acer shirasawanum 'Kawaii'

It's been exactly 20 years since I first met my wife, Haruko. Her name means Haru (spring) and ko (child) for she was born in mid April. Spring Child: she has been an indispensable contributor to the Flora Wonder Blog with her research, as well as with her own knowledge, her experiences and her lively imagination. One evening, very early in our marriage we were strolling through the Display Garden and we passed an unnamed, unlabeled Acer seedling that I was anxious to observe. Haruko was very impressed with it, almost to the point that it astonished her. She squatted low to touch the foliage and exclaimed “kawaii,” and then looked up at me to explain that means “cute.” Cute then, well done Haruko. 'Kawaii' originated as a seedling in an open garden situation, so it is not of known parentage, but certainly an Acer shirasawanum (with its upright seed presentation) must have been involved. If correct, it is the first, to my knowledge, shirasawanum laceleaf, and one that is very cutely colored orange-red besides. Haruko sings with delight: “kaaa waaa eeeee.”

Acer shirasawanum 'Sensai'

Acer shirasawanum 'Sensai'

There is a sister seedling to 'Kawaii' but it didn't gain much traction because, though similar, I decided that 'Kawaii' was superior since it displayed its unique coloration more brilliantly. But, I know that sister 'Sensai' is in the trade because 1) I possibly sold a few, and 2) I know for a fact that it got into the hands of mrmaple.com – the Nichols boys from North Carolina. They have become the cultivar bank of my obscure as well as the obscura of others and, well, let those two energetic brothers try to sort out the maple diaspora. When Haruko first encountered 'Sensai' it too was an unnamed seedling, and she whispered “sensai” matter-of-factly. “Delicate” then. If a Japanese person is described as sensai, he or she has a tendency toward shyness or is possibly overly sensitive. To me that sounds like a wimp, and to some extent I would describe 'Sensai' as the wimpy second-sister to the more glamorous 'Kawaii'...but I don't dismiss her altogether; and who knows – maybe she is playing innocently simple, and really she is evaluating me.

Acer shirasawanum 'Johin'

If my heart could alone decide, totally without any commercial influence: what maple cultivar is my favorite? Well, I can't say, and of course not. However none would be more beloved by me than Acer shirasawanum 'Johin'. That too was named by Haruko and the word means “elegant.” Believe me, Haruko doesn't march out into the nursery seeking plants to name, it's rather that I solicit her opinion about an unnamed seedling, and then I'm liable to reiterate her first linguistic expression into a cultivar name.

Acer shirasawanum 'Johin' 

Probably Acer x 'Johin' is the more accurate botanical designation, based on its intermediate appearance between A. shirasawanum and A. palmatum. The seed parent was A. shirasawanum 'Palmatifolium' growing in the large garden of the late Oregon State University professor, Jim Baggett, and the garden contained fifty or more Japanese maples of various and sometimes unknown species. Prof. B. was a food scientist, and well-known for breeding improved beans and berries, but he dallied on the side with ferns, then Hostas, then bamboos, then Japanese maples, then I don't know what. Probably not in the order just given, but anyway he devoured his most current genera of interest, only to quickly delve into another. Besides the numerous maples in the ground, Prof. B. had an additional 500 Acer seedlings in pots – all in undersized pots – that required two hours of hand watering every day, every summer. He despaired at his cross-to-bear and was actually relieved when most of them perished in a particularly snappy Arctic blast that dropped us to near 0F. For my part, I was despondent because I was planning to make a financial offer for his entire seedling collection the following spring. But let's see, what I did get from Prof. B. before the rest of the collection died:

Acer 'Sensu'

Acer 'Johin'

Acer 'Kawaii'

Acer 'Sensai'

Acer 'Green Snowflake'

Plus others that remain unnamed.

Note that I didn't provide the specific epithet (above), but that's because I don't know for certain. However, in the commercial realm I declare them to be shirasawanum.

Acer palmatum 'Shu shidare'

Acer palmatum 'Shu shidare'

Acer palmatum 'Shu shidare' is a low spreading laceleaf of dense habit and the original seedling is planted next to my house at 4' tall by 10' wide in 22 years. One might be surprised to learn that the mother tree was 'Amber Ghost', but nearly every time we germinate from 'Amber Ghost' we get a handful of laceleafs. In spring and summer 'Shu shidare' displays green finely-dissected leaves with an orange-red margin, hence the name which means “orange weeping” in Japanese. The photo of the full tree shows that autumn color is a solid orange-red. By the way, when I gave the dimensions after 22 years, keep in mind that is how much the original has grown – it is a strong cultivar – but grafted plants would probably grow to 10' wide in a shorter amount of time. We sell a modest amount of the delightful 'Shu shidare', but never as many as the more commercial purple-red cultivars like 'Red Dragon' or 'Tamuke yama'.

Pinus parviflora 'Ogon janome'

Pinus parviflora 'Ogon janome'

Let's switch from Japanese-named maples to pines. Forty years ago I began Buchholz Nursery and I soon became familiar with variegated pines, but my heart rate nearly doubled when I first encountered Pinus parviflora 'Ogon janome' with its pretty bands of golden variegation on otherwise blue-green needles. The word ogon means “gold” while janome should probably be split into three words. Ja (“snake”) no (“of”) me (“eyes”). Remember that the Japanese brain does not process words and phrases the way we do in English. But anyway, “golden snake eyes.” I was given a dozen scions by a nursery friend from Washington state and I grafted them onto Pinus strobus, like we do with all of our parvifloras. My graft take was 100% but all of them – except one – died within three years because I cut the rootstock off completely. I just didn't know at the time and I learned the hard way, and now we nurse the variegated portion by leaving an amount of green rootstock for at least five years before pruning completely. I just came back from inspecting the one tree that thankfully did survive and it finally has a leader to about 10' tall, but it spreads to about 20' wide. I was surprised that the foliage had not burned on the south side because it has in the past and we've been very hot this summer.

Pinus parviflora 'Tenshu kaku' (AKA 'Goldilocks')

The way we operate on most Nursery projects is that I walk up and down the rows and beds and produce work lists about what to prune, pot, stake etc. One of the items was to prune off completely the rootstock of the 6 gallon Pinus parviflora 'Goldilocks' because it was time and safe to do so at 5-6 years of age. Two less-than-focused women decided (I guess) that they would also totally remove the rootstock for the two-year-olds in one gallon pots as well. Or they didn't “decide” anything – maybe they just spaced out. Both have since been replaced by improved workers. When I discovered their error I told them that the work list didn't list the one gallons, and that they (about 200) would all die. Throw them out and FOCUS on pot size in the future. They didn't say anything and probably wondered why I was being a grump. A week later I walked by again and they still hadn't been dumped. I don't think they believed me since the plants still looked fine. I snapped to “dump them now!” They became paralyzed, unable to act. I called for Seth – who is less threatening and more kind – and instructed him to assure them that the plants will eventually die, so do what I said and dump them.

Pinus parviflora 'Tenshu kaku' (AKA 'Goldilocks')

In both the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs and the RHS publication The Encyclopedia of Conifers we learn that 'Goldilocks' is a synonym for what is more properly 'Tenysu kazu'. They are wrong however, and it is more likely 'Tenshu kaku'. I offer you a link to a January 25, 2018 blog, Partial to Pinus Parviflora where I present my case. And I'll repeat what I said earlier about the RHS, that maybe Haruko should serve on their editorial board to help prevent mistakes such as 'Tenysu kazu'.

Taking Up Space

 

Helleborus hybridus #103

Helleborus hybridus #106

Helleborus hybridus #108

There are far more species growing in my gardens and taking up space in the greenhouses that make us no money, more than the number of those that do. For example we have a choice collection of Helleborus, but we have none for sale and they are not – and probably never will be – in our propagation plans. Well, that's the nature of an arboretum: a plant collection that requires time, effort and resources with no return other than enjoyment. Many of the hellebores came from the breeding program of the O'Byrnes of Eugene, Oregon, and they are marketed as their “Winter Jewels.” In other words, seedlings that are all different, some of which have just so-so flowers, but others that bloom with fantastic color patterns. Office Manager Eric picked out the ones he liked (about 6 years ago); we just gave them numbers and then planted them in the original Display Garden. Perhaps the next owner of Buchholz Nursery will choose to propagate, but my conclusion is that we're already late to the hellebore party, and plenty of quality growers are now cranking them out by the thousands. Besides, there's nothing more ugly than hellebore foliage if the plant is not in flower. The genus name is derived from Greek helein meaning “to injure or destroy,” and bora for “food” as the leaves, stems and roots are toxic.

Rhododendron daphnoides

Rhododendron daphnoides

Rhododendron daphnoides

Every day I look out from my office window at an unusually large (over 10' tall and wide) Rhododendron x 'Daphnoides', a T. Methven & Sons creation (1868) that was named for its small, recurved daphne-like leaves. We have never propagated it because, well, we're not a “rhododendron” nursery and also because it's commonly available. It took my specimen 35 years to attain its size, and every few years we thin out the inner foliage to make it look more tree-like. Thomas Methven was an Edinburgh nurseryman who was also responsible for the very early-flowering R. x 'Christmas Cheer'. I find it interesting that argument still exists over 'Daphnoides', whether it is a hybrid or merely an unusual form of R. ponticum. I wonder where the largest exists in the world, while I suppose it towers well over my 10-footer.

Chamaedaphne calyculata 'Dew Drop'

My ne'er-do-well neihbor is chamaecranic, i.e. he has a chamaecranial skull, one that is characterized as being low and flat with a length-height index of less than 70. Concerning plants a chamaephyte is a “plant with buds near ground level.” We all know the Chamaecyparis genus – from Greek chamae (low) + kyparissos (cypress) – and chamai is ultimately from the Indo-European root dhghem for “earth.” A chamaeleon, then, is a “lion close to the ground.” Anyway, I have a Chamaedaphne calyculata 'Dew Drop' in the Display Garden, and I bought it sight-unseen from a mail order nursery specializing in unusual species. That was 20 years ago, but I doubt that I would have purchased the ericaceous “Leatherwood” if I could have seen it first. But sure enough, the heath-like flowers are borne on arching stems close to the ground. I have never propagated it because the whitish flowers are tiny, and there's no way that I could ever sell any of it. The monotypic genus has a circumboreal distribution, from northern Japan, to northern Europe to northeastern USA. Interestingly it is usually found in bogs where it forms clonal colonies, but it must receive full sun because the nutrients it requires come from only atmospheric sources. I've never seen it in the wild, but I guess my 'Dew Drop' is a dwarf as it is only 2' tall by 3' wide. It's not particularly showy, in fact I just wandered throughout the Display Garden for the past 15 minutes before I could find it. A BIO plant certainly – of botanical interest only.

Spider caught in a Dionaea muscipula

The setup

The attack

Fight to the death

Mid-day snack

All filled up

We grow a nice collection of carnivorous plants in bog tubs next to the office. I find them thoroughly fascinating but we've never sold any ever. They are easy to grow, in full sun no less, and the only requirement is that they are kept wet...just like they are in nature. Our Venus flytraps, butterworts and pitcher plants are usually a source of wonder for visitors, and we can easily pass ten minutes staring at them, watching the next fly or bug get consumed. Eric photographed an unfortunate daddy-long-legs spider as it foolishly ventured into a Dionaea muscipula (Venus flytrap). In another case a spider had learned to hang out on a Sarracenia blossom, knowing that the plant would attract his next meal. A fly landed and got snatched and overnight you can see its shrunken body with its inner guts sucked into the engorged spider. Children are amazed when you encourage them to look inside the Sarracenia's tube to see the mess of dead bugs, then Eric – really just an adult boy – likes to spook them from behind. I can highly recommend The Savage Garden by Peter D'Amato for its well-written text and excellent photos.

Acer palmatum 'Sango kaku'

Acer palmatum 'Sango kaku'

Pinus flexilis 'Vanderwolf Pyramid'

Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Glaucum'

Acer palmatum 'Tamuke yama'

When I lead visitors through the original Display Garden I will often stop in the middle and ask: “Which do you think is the oldest plant in the garden?” Immediately eyes sky upward and I get responses such as the enormous Acer palmatum 'Sango kaku' with its husky but “artistic” trunk. Another will say it's the forest-sized Pinus flexilis 'Vanderwolf Pyramid', or another will suggest the Sequoiadendron giganteum 'Glaucum' especially since it's the tallest tree in the garden. Nope, not 'Sango kaku', that tree is 47 years old to-the-year. The 'Vanderwolf Pyramid' – which no one would ever buy if they knew how large it can get – is about 42 years old. Even one visitor predicted it was the massive Acer palmatum 'Tamuke yama', the throbbing red dome that has reportedly been sighted from space by Russian Putinots. I led that Nostradamus back to the 'Ta-mu-ke mountain” and pointed out that if you look inside the foliage, it's actually a grouping of seven trees, all multiple-grafted at various heights. I cheated to attract extra-terrestrials maybe.

Pseudotsuga menziesii 'Compacta'

Nope – none of the above. We happen to be standing next to a single specimen of Pseudotsuga menziesii 'Compacta' which is only 6' tall by 8' wide in 62 years – give or take a couple. There is nothing remarkable about the dwarf, but it is pretty with bright green new growth in spring. A 'Compacta' is not listed in the literature, and though Krussmann lists 'Compacta Glauca' my specimen is completely green. In the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs we encounter a 'Densa' cultivar and in Krussmann's Manual of Cultivated Conifers we do also; and honestly I think my specimen should be thusly relabeled.

Pseudotsuga menziesii 'Compacta'

It was acquired as P.m. 'Compacta' at a now defunct “Rare Plant” nursery in Washington state. I arrived unannounced as it was a retail operation, and wandered around alone but wondered why no one was present. I saw a number of items of interest and all without price tags. Finally a rustic young woman emerged wearing a thin blouse with lactation stains...and with a bawling baby still back in the trailer. I pointed out that I wanted to purchase three or four items and she quickly threw out prices, all unbelievably low because she needed to make some money and she also wanted me the hell off the property. I forget now all that I bought, but I can imagine old Gramps – the owner – scream at his granddaughter: “What! You sold my 28-year-old compact “Douglas fir” for only $30? Damn!” I never risked a return as I feared that the crotchety old coot would take after me. He's long gone, but anyway 'Compacta' still sits in the middle of the garden, taking up space, and I don't remember ever propagating it, or if we did it was only for a few early years.

Lilium wallichianum

Lilium wallichianum presents itself odiferously and lustfully in the advanced summer garden. The above photo was taken in late August for heaven's sake. I don't care what's the plant – even if it's poop on a stick – anything named “wallichianum” is of interest to me for it honors Nathaniel Wallich, the Danish surgeon and botanist who was involved in the early development of the Calcutta Botanic Garden, a destination wherein I sweated profusedly in the late 1970s, but still found strangely intoxicating. I remember a trio of alluring female Indian 20-year-olds all wearing crisp saris and thin, bejeweled sandals that revealed their exquisite subcontinental toes as they strolled past on the palm-lined walkway. They pointed at me and tittered like silly 13-year-olds so I didnt pursue my intial fantasy. Back at the nursery, Office Manager Eric lobbies that we should harvest and pot up the bulbs. I think not because we already take on so many projects that consume our time, and I don't want our quality to decline because we're having too much lily fun. For now the wallichianum tub sits in GH26 as part of the non-profit crowd.

Acer palmatum 'Umegae'

Acer palmatum 'Umegae'

Acer palmatum 'Umegae'

From my office window I see three mature Acer palmatums: 'Sherwood Flame', 'Nuresagi' and 'Umegae'. None of them have been propagated in the past dozen years, although I think I'll send David up the ladder for the latter. I won't bother with the former two because they have both been superceded by improved cultivars. 'Umegae', even though of dubious commercial demand, has unique plum-purple leaves with lime-green veins. The name is pronounced oo may guy and I suspected the ume portion referred to its plum color but I didn't know what the gae meant. And by the way, the pronunciation of the cultivar name is one of the very few instances where the Japanese language throws you a curve, like enough does in English. For my entire career I thought the name should sound like oo may gay, but my Japanese wife corrected me. Since I was saying it wrong, she said she needed to see the characters before she could tell me the meaning. Anticipating that requirement, I plopped Masayoshi Yano's Book for Maples on her lap, where cultivars are rendered in English as well as in Japanese. “Absolutely,” Haruko announced, “it means branch of the plum tree,” one of the few times when she has been so decisive. Anyway, 'Umegae' has been cultivated since at least 1882, and every year my 35-year-old specimen produces an abundance of beautiful seed.

Crataegus monogyna 'Flexuosa'

Crataegus monogyna 'Flexuosa'

25 years ago I snitched a scion of Crataegus monogyna 'Flexuosa' but I don't remember from where. Now I have one specimen in a container but we never have propagated it since. The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs describes it as “A curious and striking form with twisted branches. C 1838,” which implies that it fares well in Olde England, but my specimen is ugly from July...on. I took the above photos this week and you can see that it has mostly defoliated, and never has it blessed me with any autumn color. That's why I don't propagate it: the last thing I want to see is a crop of ugly brush. I think I'll plant it in dirt at the back end at Flora Farm this fall – maybe it would do better in real soil. I'll report back next year at this time, except that I probably won't because I'll forget.

Saxifraga 'Peter Pan'

Silene davidii

I pride myself to some extent that I allow my employees to indulge themselves in their floral pursuits,

Eric

even if I doubt that it will lead to company profit. If a Hispanic worker wants to grow a couple of pots of chili peppers, for example, I'm happy to donate the pots, soil and greenhouse space to do so. I reason that no one makes enough money toiling for me, not even the mediocre workers, and that every employee deserves an extra benefit or two beyond their paycheck. As long as it is reasonable – which it usually is – go ahead and take home a couple of plants to put in front of your house, or to give to your friends or family, and that policy keeps them from stealing from me anyway. I'm simply promoting the culture that we're all in this together, and let's see if we can happily survive. Sometimes, as with Office Manager Eric, his personal whims actually lead to profit, as with his fascination with “alpine” plants. They have been incorporated into our general mix and that allows me to brag that “the most fun you can have in horticulture can be found at Buchholz Nursery.”

The Flora Wonder Arboretum

So, while I despise the chamaecranical “takers,” the welfare bums, I enthusiastically support those who

My Neighbor

contribute. Space and time...there's never enough of either. Money, or the lack of it, defines the battle between the Flora Wonder Arboretum and Buchholz Nursery. What I have created is my own fault, and I know my employees would prefer a pay raise instead of watching me squander resources on plants that make no money, plants that just take up space. But hey, if anyone in the readership wants to come run this operation please let me know.