The Plant Name Challenge

Tony Kirkham (left) Former Director RBG, Kew
Talon Buchholz (middle)
Richard Trippett (right) Bartlett Tree Experts Division Manager UK
Admiring the Chinese species Sassafras tsumu at Flora Farm

We go back in time to September 14, 2018 for a blog where I ramble on about the nomenclatural challenge that faces the avid home gardener, the nurseryman and the taxonomist. A recent visitor to Flora Farm was the interesting Tony Kirkham, recently retired as director of RBG Kew in London, and I instantly recalled a past blog where I took the Royal Botanics* to task over plant name issues. Included is an amusing incident – at least to me – that occurred about 20 years ago in Kew's famous rock garden section.

*P.S. – I submit the following humbly as I have great admiration for the institution, and I have probably made more plant-name errors in a year, compared to their hundreds of years in existence.

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The Plant Name Challenge

September 14, 2018

Pinus parviflora 'Goldilocks'

If you consult the American Conifer Society (ACS) website concerning Pinus parviflora 'Goldilocks' (or 'Goldylocks') you will read, “This cultivar has a complex history and illustrates why taxonomists can be difficult to be around.” Indeed, it has a murky history, but I don't think any “taxonomists” – at least trained or professional – have had anything to do with it...but I would agree that taxonomists can be difficult to be around.

Pinus parviflora 'Goldilocks'

The ACS continues, “According to the Royal Horticultural Encyclopedia of Conifers, Goldilocks is synonymous with P. parviflora 'Dr. Landis Gold' and the misspelled 'Goldilocks' but the correct name should be Pinus parviflora 'Tenysu-kazu'.”

The Royal Encyclopedia is a wonderful well-photographed publication but it contains mistakes – to be expected – and it is wrong about this “Tenysu-kazu.” I'll go back to the Flora Wonder Blog Partial to Pinus parviflora from January 25, 2018 and repeat the part about 'Goldilocks':

Pinus parviflora 'Goldilocks'

For years I kept separated and propagated three parviflora cultivars that always looked alike – 'Goldylocks', 'Dr. Landis' and 'Tenysu kazu'. I heard a couple of times that they were one and the same with 'Tenysu kazu' being the original name (from Japan). It was supposedly imported into North America by the late Dr. Henry Landis of Ontario, Canada, and was called (at times) 'Dr. Landis Gold' since the needle tips are cream-yellow in color. Upon Landis's death some of his plants were purchased by Verkade Nursery of New Jersey and they wrongly named the plant 'Tensu kasu'. Later someone else renamed the selection 'Goldylocks' – spelled deliberately wrong. The American Conifer Society states, “With that, the ACS will recognize the 'Tenyzu*-Kazu' – [thanks, but why the dash in the name?] – the original Japanese name, as the proper cultivar name with 'Goldylocks', 'Dr. Landis' and 'Dr. Landis Gold' relegated to AKA status, while 'Tensu kazu' and 'Goldilocks' are left as misspellings of other names.” But, of course, the previous sentence from the ACS should not capitalize the kazu part.

*Even the Conifer Society spells it Tenysu and Tenyzu in the same description.

You get the story again if you google Pinus parviflora 'Goldylocks' on the ACS website, where it is written that “This cultivar has a complex history and illustrates why taxonomists can be difficult to be around.” Then, a David Olszyk stridently comments, “It's becoming more well-known that 'Tenysu-kazu' is the correct cultivar name for this selection. The rules of nomenclature require that the original name be used for academic study with commercial names relegated to AKA status.” That's why, for example, that the misspelled Acer pensylvanicum stands, when the correct spelling of pennsylvanicum should have been used. So thank you, David O., for your nomenclatural expertise.

Pinus parviflora 'Tenysu kazu'?

But wait a minute. What if the good Dr. Landis screwed up in the first place with the spelling of 'Tenysu kazu'? Tensu kazu or Tansu kazu seem to be legitimate Japanese names, but Tenysu does not. I'm certainly not a Japanese linguistics expert, but at this point in my life...with using Japanese plant names for 45 years, and then being married to a wife with two daughters who chirp constantly in Japanese, I can positively tell you that tenysu is not Japanese. Wife – Haruko – confirmed my suspicion and said definitely not. So there.

Pinus parviflora 'Tanima no yuki'

Remember – it was Haruko Buchholz who cleared up the nomenclature of another Japanese parviflora pine – 'Tanima no yuki' which was screwed up into 'Tani mano uki', and even today some prominent nurseries still have it wrong, and so even does the Royal Horticultural Society of England. While a number of individuals take credit for the correct spelling – as in they have “researched” into the matter – it was actually Haruko who first solved the mystery 17 years ago. We were walking through the Display Garden and I asked her the meaning of the Japanese name. I said, “They say that the name means snow on the mountain.” Wrong. She corrected the spelling to “snow in the valley” by rearranging the letters into “Tanima no yuki.” Furthermore – she blushed – “tanima (or valley) is slang that bad boys use to refer to a woman's cleavage.” I reminded her that I was a “bad boy” too.

Osaka Castle

Anyway, back to the Tenyzu or Tenysu kazu question, Haruko says kazu means “number” so I don't know why that would be in a plant name. She wonders if the correct name is 'Tenshu kaku', an architectural typology commonly known as a castle keep (donjon), which is usually the central tower located within a castle. Note the tower of the famous Osaka castle – maybe that looks a little bit like the variegated P. parviflora. That's a long-shot name and explanation, and one would have to consult an old Japanese conifer connoisseur I suppose, but I don't know of anyone. In the meantime we'll continue to label and sell our trees as 'Goldilocks' because I don't like the “y” in either Goldylocks or Tenysu. In fact the latter sounds like “tennis shoe.” For what it's worth the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs goes with Tennis shoe, er...'Tenysu-kazu'.

Due to Haruko's intense Japanese pride and her desire to contribute to my career, she made a determined effort to solve the 'Goldilocks' nomenclatural kerfuffle. She consulted the cognoscenti in

Japan – and she has quite an array of distinguished contacts – but came up empty. They like her 'Tenshu kaku' theory however.

Whatever the plant's correct name, Dr. Landis brought it into Canada around 1980. Thereafter, the ACS explains, “Sometime before 1999 Billy Schwartz, a colleague of Bob Fincham [the first ACS President], brought back from Japan a cultivar with many of the same characteristics which Schwartz called 'Goldilocks' (sic). Fincham has propagated Schwartz's specimen and believes it to be the same as 'Tenysu-kazu'.” If, if that is true, the implication is that there is or was a cultivated variant produced by someone in Japan, but that Western horticulture has screwed up the name beyond that. One of Haruko's contacts suggested that Dr. Landis collected the one variegated seedling from a bonsai grower-say-and brought that back to Canada, so no one in Japan would know anything about a “cultivar.” However, if the Fincham/Schwartz theory is correct, then someone in Japan was actually producing a cultivar.

At this point Buchholz will use the trade name of Pinus parviflora 'Goldilocks' (AKA 'Tenshu kaku'). But I stress that I am not on a nomenclatural mission to convert anyone to use my proposed name, least of all the venerable RHS, even though the ACS and the RHS are both clearly wrong with their name.

PS 1 I'll indulge your patience with a couple of post scripts. I've been to London's world-famous Kew Gardens twice, the last time with wife Haruko, BC (Before Children), so it must have been around 16 years ago. In their iconic rock garden was a number of dwarf conifers with attractive, authoritative labels. A little cutie pine was labelled strobus when it was actually a parviflora, or perhaps vice versa – I don't remember which. But it was wrong, I was 100% certain of it. I should have photographed and documented the error, but at the time I didn't think to do so, or that I would even be alive and writing a blog about it in 2018. I thought it was incumbent upon me, however, to report to a nearby gardener who was making notes, perhaps for a to-do work list, about my discovery. “I say, good chap” – but then I had to wait 20 seconds for a roaring low-flying jet to pass – “just so you know, there is a labelling mistake in the rock garden, that Pinus so-and-so is really Pinus blah blah blah.” Woah – his left nostril contracted and his upper lip curled in a look of disdain, contempt – no, utter incredulousness! – that a colonial hillbilly should ever question the sanctity of this premier RHS institution. I shrugged, whatever, because in my life I don't mind to make mistakes, to be wrong. In fact, I prefer to be the dumbest man in the room, especially among women, because I receive stimulation to be in the company of superior intellects. My god – give up your ego if it allows you to elevate...and the women will love you anyway.

Ginkgo biloba

PS 2 I mentioned previously that Acer pensylvanicum's name was a spelling mistake (should have been pennsylvanicum), but that the rules of international nomenclature insist that the mistake should stand. The same is true with one of my favorite trees, Ginkgo biloba. It is found in fossils dating back 270 million years and is native to China. eventually the genus made its way to Japan, and today's name of Ginkgo is regarded as a misspelling of Japanese gin kyo, meaning “silver apricot,” referring to the edible seed. Engelbert Kaempfer first described Ginkgo in his book Amoenitatum Exoticarum with the spelling of Ginkgo, but that perhaps was a misspelling of Ginkjo, and that error was spread by Linnaeus in his book Mantissa Plantarum II. The Japanese language system of Kanji typically has multiple pronunciations and you can't really blame a Westerner for being confused. The older Chinese name for the tree means “silver fruit,” pronounced Yinguo in Mandarin or Ngan-gwo in Cantonese.

Pinus parviflora 'Himeko janome'

Pinus parviflora 'Hagoromo'

PS 3 Earlier I alluded to “mistakes” in the RHS Encyclopedia of Conifers. One common error seems to bother me more than it does others, and that is the practice of capitalizing the second part of a Japanese plant name. I see it too often with Japanese-origin maples as well as with pines. No Royal Encyclopedia should list 'Fubuki Nishiki' and 'Gin Yatsubusa' and 'Himeko Janome' instead of the correct 'Fubuki nishiki', 'Gin yatsubusa' and 'Himeko janome'. Pinus parviflora 'Pygmy Yatsubusa' should not have a capital “y,” but then it's not a legitimate name anyway. Pinus parviflora 'Hagaramo' and 'Hagaramo Seedling' are not correct – it should be 'Hagoromo' which translates as an “angel's robe.” But I guess, for some reason, 'Hagoromo' isn't used anymore, and it is a synonym for 'Gyoku-sho-hime', so apparently the latter name was used first. P. parviflora 'Asahi-zuro' is not a Japanese word – it should be 'Asahi zuru' and the name means “dawn swan” or “rising sun.”

Pinus mugo 'Piggelmee'

There are a number of cases where the RHS lists plant names unlike what I have seen before, so I wonder who is right, or at least the most correct. I grow Pinus mugo 'Elfingreen' but I have seen it listed as 'Elfin Green'. The RHS goes with 'Elfengreen' for what it's worth. I list Pinus mugo 'Piggelmee' but the book has 'Pigglemee'. I have a Pinus mugo 'Reisengebirg' but the RHS lists 'Reisengebirge'. Pinus strobus 'Slim Jim' or the RHS's 'Slim Gem'? Pinus ponderosa 'Margaret' or the RHS 'Margarette'? These questions might seem as trivial nitpicking to some, but we have already seen how easily Pinus parviflora 'Tenshu kaku' – and what the name refers to – get corrupted into the non-meaning 'Tenysu kazu' or 'Tensu kazu'.

Pinus pumila 'Dwarf Blue'

Another question – are there really two distinct cultivars: Pinus pumila 'Dwarf Blue' and 'Blue Dwarf'? Pinus mugo 'Jakobsen' is a valid listing but 'Jakobsen Variegated' is dubious as the freakish pine often – too often – presents cream-white portions that frequently burn in Oregon. In fact, I don't think I should propagate it anymore because I've thrown too many out.

Pinus parviflora 'Ogon janome'

While not a “mistake,” I wonder about the RHS assertion that Pinus parviflora 'Himeko Janome' [sic] is more colorful than 'Ogon Janome' [sic]. The beautiful photo (page 1000) of the former is from my garden, but I've never grown the two side-by-side to know which is the “more colorful.”

Pinus mugo 'Mr. Wood'

In some other instances the Encyclopedia is flat-out wrong. Pinus mugo 'Fish Hook' is not synonymous with Pinus mugo 'Mr. Wood'. I've gone over the history, probably ad nauseum. While they indeed look alike, they each were introduced independently, and I and the other grower were unaware until years later. I'll repeat from a previous Flora Wonder Blog, Cute as a Button, Jan. 27, 2017:

Another cute pine is the diminutive Pinus mugo 'Mr. Wood', and it too features tiny recurved blue needles. A seedling was given to me about twenty years ago by the late Edsal Wood, a very generous plantsman with an eye for the unusual. He grew thousands of seedlings, in particular hemlocks, but he gave away the fun stuff because he made an adequate living with his Woods' Rooting Hormone – which we still use – and other chemicals. I honestly thought Edsal was mistaken when he handed me the mugo for it more resembled a very refined Pinus parviflora. It was only three inches tall in a little pot, but when I got home I pulled off a fascicle and indeed it consisted of two needles, not the five of a parviflora.

Years later I came across a Pinus mugo 'Fish Hook' that was introduced by Larry Stanley of Stanley and Sons Nursery of Oregon. Some conifer aficionados insisted that 'Mr. Wood' was just a renaming of 'Fish Hook', and shame on that Buchholz cad for doing so. But rong! It turns out that Edsal gave another (sister) seedling to Larry about the same time, and while they are similar, they are absolutely two different clones. I'll take my hat off to Larry for he chose the better cultivar name, and I'm always harping against using a person's name for a cultivar. But I never intended to name mine 'Mr. Wood' – that was just a temporary code name so I could keep track of it. At some point I gave away or sold a few, so with the horse out of the barn the name must stick.

Pinus strobus 'Mini Twists'

Another glaring error is to attribute Pinus strobus 'Mini Twists' and 'Tiny Kurls' to the late plantsman Andy Sherwood of Oregon. Sherwood had died decades before the two dwarf pine cultivars were developed. Greg Williams, a noted plantsman from Vermont, had noticed that Pinus strobus 'Horsham', a dwarf selection from a witch's broom, produced a high percentage of dwarf seedlings. I copy the following two paragraphs from Robert Fincham's Small Conifers for Small Gardens (2011):

Pinus strobus 'Torulosa' is an open-branched tree with serpentine branches and twisted needles. It is attractive but becomes quite large. Williams had a Pinus strobus 'Horsham' planted near a Torulosa' and worked with its seedlings for a number of years. A high percentage of these seedlings were dwarf and exhibited characteristics inherited from the 'Torulosa'. Williams shared three of these seedlings with other collectors and nurserymen. I was one of the collectors.

When I wanted to introduce two of the seedlings through Coenosium Gardens, I contacted Williams and received his permission to name them. I named the slowest growing seedling 'Mini Twists'. The faster growing seedling, called 'Tiny Kurls' by Dianne, was introduced first. The fastest growing seedling of the three never became popular and wasn't given a name.

Pinus strobus 'Vercurve'

The third cultivar was indeed named and cultivated by me, and perhaps it is the largest growing of the three. I named it 'Vercurve' because it originated in Vermont and displays curved needles. I don't propagate it anymore because I like the 'Mini Twists' name better, but 'Mini Twists' is hardly a “mini.” My website says it grows 2.5' tall by 3' wide in 10 years, but 12-year-olds are about 3' tall by 5' wide, at least in my nursery.

Pinus cembra 'Tamangur'

Pinus fenzeliana

Note in this blog that I have only mentioned the genus Pinus. I could easily have haggled over other genera, but hopefully I have made my point about the accuracy of plant names and their history – the purpose of the Encyclopedia. I also learned a lot as I perused the Pinus section late on last Sunday night. My Pinus cembra 'Tamansur' is actually 'Tamangur', a place name in Switzerland. Pinus mugo 'Yellow Tip' is correct, not my 'Yellow Point'. Furthermore I was surprised that a favorite pine, P. kwangtungensis, is now known as P. fenzeliana...and so on.

My reservations with the book are puny compared to the incredible achievement of author Derek Spicer. He has been collecting and propagating conifers since the late 1960's, and now owns Kilworth Conifers in Leicestershire, England. My head was swimming as I reviewed just the Pinus section, and it seems practically impossible that only one human compiled the entire Encyclopedia.

Latvian Aris Auders photographed almost everything in the Encyclopedia. He is also a conifer collector and garden designer. All of the photographs are numbered per garden location and my number is 13. Aris only spent two part-days here, and yet found dozens of plants that are included in the book. His perspective on the trees is unique: and though I might walk past a particular specimen every day, somehow he perceived it differently, and it is a treat to see my world through this artist's eyes.

Mr. Auders showed me another of his publications when he was here – I got to borrow it for the night. It was filled with his wife's paintings, for Agija Auders is a renowned artist, and she was the design director for the Encyclopedia. I cheekily told Aris that I liked his wife's work more than his, and actually I do. The bonus of the Encyclopedia is that at the beginning of each of the two volumes is one of her paintings. Volume One presented Moonlight Garden, oil on canvas, 2006 and Volume Two featured White Garden, oil on canvas, 2011. I can't copy those of course, but if you search for her on the internet you will understand my admiration. Hmm...a trip to Latvia in the spring?

Kirkham and Buchholz admiring Acer buergerianum 'Angyo Weeping' at Flora Farm

Sorbus ulleungensis at Kew

Sorbus ulleungensis

Kirkham explained to Buchholz that the old name of Sorbus commixta for the tree above has been reclassified as Sorbus ulleungensis. Thank you Tony for the update!

Flora Farm Changes Ownership

The Buchholz children had the tree out by 9 AM.

I cropped ornamentals on my property known as Flora Farm, and even created an arboretum there, but after painting the canvas with my exotic species for nearly 20 years I have sold the land to a national tree-care firm. (More about the new owner in a future blog). Part of the sale's agreement was that my family is allowed to live there four more years. For me it's a new perspective, to have planted trees, but where now another company irrigates, mows, prunes etc.

Let's Visit Flora Farm is a blog from about 10 years ago, back when my (now) 16 and 19 year-old daughters still allowed me to use their photos for the story. Those days have passed, sadly, because their beauty has only increased, but they exercise caution in today's dirty world of social media.

...dreaming back to Friday, February 17, 2012

Let's Visit Flora Farm

Haruko Buchholz

Ten years ago I became re-energized. I abandoned caution and remarried, and it turned out to be with good consequences: namely, daughters Saya Grace and Harumi Claire. Those who know my wife Haruko, a pretty, talented and happy girl from Tokyo, surely must have wondered what she saw in the crabby old nurseryman from Gaston. Well, I faked it, pretending to be a good guy, and have been faking ever since. Haruko is my friend, confidant and supporter, though she remains largely behind the scenes, dealing with the numerous mini-dramas of motherhood.

Harumi Claire

Saya Grace

Making a living by selling trees has never been an easy or get-rich proposition. However, we all look back to a decade ago as the economic golden years, full of opportunity. Just do a good job of growing a tree and somebody will buy it, indeed cry and whine that you don't have more. It was in this fairytale world that I decided to purchase a sixty-acre farm, five miles away from the nursery, along the banks of the Tualatin river. It was a beautiful piece of property at the foot of Fernhill, with rolling hills which seemed ideal for a golf course. Here I would dig in for the long haul, raise another family and indulge in my compulsion to grow trees. I called my new land "Flora Farm."

One very important feature was/is the neighborhood. To the west is good-neighbor John Jackson, a man I have known for years. To the east is Blooming Nursery, one of the most famous and innovative perennial nurseries in the world. In contrast, I'm rather embarrassed by the batch of losers, drug addicts and trailer-trash that surrounds the original nursery. Imagine me, driving down Vandehey road with some of the greatest plantsmen on earth, apologizing for the tin shacks, abandoned cars and rusty water heaters. They must wonder if I'm taking them to the end of the road to murder.

Quercus garryana

I was hooked on Flora Farm the first time I drove down the long road. At the bottom stood one of the greatest trees I had ever seen, a monstrous "Oregon Oak," Quercus garryana. It has loomed over me for ten years now, every day and season an older and different character. Neither of us can go on forever, and perhaps I too will give up the ghost should it topple over in a windstorm.

Pseudotsuga menziesii

I'm also impressed by two huge "Douglas Firs," Pseudotsuga menziesii, which cast long shadows of up to a thousand feet on early spring mornings. I have had a bald eagle sit at the top eating a less fortunate bird, then dump five gallons of white paint as he flew away.

My children love the farm. They see deer in the meadow, thousands of ducks and geese every winter, frogs croaking at night in the spring, but, not so pleasant are the howling coyotes. Big sister Harumi was nervous that the pack would carry off her sister when she was little. Frequently we see the beautiful pure-white egrets and the great blue herons, and occasionally they will brave to come up into the back yard. Once an egret and a heron performed a mating dance, flapping wings and hopping with great enthusiasm. "What's wrong with it?" I asked Haruko, "you're Japanese and I'm American," and I've been flapping and jumping with my pretty egret for ten happy years.

Farmer Dave in the broccoli patch

Crimson clover

In the beginning, most of Flora Farm was leased to a neighbor known as "Farmer Dave." He leased it for zero dollars, because to actually have to pay rent would have made it unprofitable. I didn't mind; I liked watching him plant and harvest, sometimes working into the middle of the night. Crops of wheat, corn, broccoli and clover would come and go. Once Farmer Dave asked me if it was "going to rain tomorrow." "How would I know?" I responded, "You're the real farmer." He chuckled like a Santa look-alike. Anyway, as I planted more and more, it became too difficult for him to turn his tractor around, and now all you see are my blue spruces, red maples etc.

Oops, too close to the river

Winter at Flora Farm

A spring morning at Flora Farm

While I'm happy to own Flora Farm, I didn't really know what I was buying until I put some crops on it. It's tough being at the bottom of a hill in that all the winter's rain eventually comes down to my place. The Tualatin is a native American word for "lazy." Not the Indians, but the river, because it snakes through the countryside without much elevation drop. If you were to stretch it out straight, it might be five times longer than as the crow flies, first flowing into the Willamette River, then the Columbia River, and finally into the Pacific. And, nearly every winter, this lazy river floods much of the cropland in its vicinity. Of course I planted too close my first year, and we rowed a canoe between the spruces and pines. Surprisingly, the trees were fine even after a month submerged.

Picea pungens 'Gebelle's Golden Spring'

Acer palmatum 'Orangeola'

Rolling hills at Flora Farm

When I look back this past decade, the black hole for cash that is Flora Farm--installation of roads, drains, irrigation and labor--I suppose that only now am I breaking even. So I'll need to have a few more years of good sales to conclude that it was a good investment. On the other hand, what else was I qualified to do besides growing trees? I think I've made the world a better place, and have tried to do so honorably. Some employees, customers and neighbors would agree, some definitely would not. But screw 'em if they can't take a joke. I am simply the mirror that reflects back who you are, and I have the belief that if you have a problem with me, then you really have a problem.

The hardest working employees in horticulture

My employees work hard, and I imagine that every square foot at Flora Farm has a drop of someone's sweat on it. The rolling hills of red, blue, green and yellow sparkle with light on some days, or can be gloomy and mysterious on others. What an enterprise: to grow ornamentals with no food or manufacturing value, but exist only to please the eye, or to impress those with curious minds. None of it would be possible without the staff, although I receive most of the praise. But c'mon, who really does the work?

 

The Governor's Tree

 

Sequoiadendron giganteum Governor Withycombe Heritage Tree

Arising from the bucolic plain three miles south of Hillsboro, Oregon is a dramatic tree, a behemoth redwood (Sequoiadendron giganteum) that dominates all else above ground. It populates the landscape by itself, showing off preposterously just a few feet away from the busy highway. The tree greets passing motorists with a raised appendage, a huge side branch that developed years ago, and my family finds it humorous that I mimic the pose with my own arm: “Good day to you, my friend.” The family grew even more amused when I revealed that I always greet the tree even when I'm driving alone.

Oregon Highway 219

I have known this redwood since my youth, and so I was shocked about 20 years ago when the Department of Whatever announced that it would install a gas pipeline along the highway (OR 219) and that the tree needed to be removed. I was dumbfounded and wondered why the pipeline couldn't be placed on the other side of the road. Others felt the same way, and I joined a protest movement to save the tree, or at least I attended a meeting and signed a petition. We gripers were standing in the way of progress it appeared, and the project engineer was not about to budge.

James Withycombe

Fortunately a tree-hugger knew the history of the tree, that it was planted by Oregon Governor James Withycombe on his wedding day in 1875.* Ahh...a “historic” tree then. The Hugger set the process in motion to designate the Gov's redwood as a “Heritage Tree,” one that cannot be messed with. In short the pipeline was installed on the other side of the road after all the fuss, and total arboreal insanity was averted.

*So how did Withycombe acquire a giant redwood sapling to plant in 1875, especially since the S. giganteum species was first scientifically documented a mere 22 years prior? My theory – which I cannot absolutely prove – is that he got his start from the nurseryman John Porter who was the source of the giants currently growing in front of the Washington County courthouse in Hillsboro, and the twenty-or-so specimens in nearby Forest Grove (my hometown) which date to 1873. For more about the Porter trees see a past blog Murder in the Grove, but finish this post first!

James Withycombe (1854-1919) was born to tenant farmers Thomas and Mary Ann Withycombe in Tavistock, West Devon, England. The family immigrated to the United States in 1871, settling on land near Hillsboro, Oregon. James worked on his father's farm for a few years, but also purchased his own 100-acre parcel at $15 per acre, expanding the total holdings to 256 acres.

Withycombe was passionate about agriculture and he also became a prosperous livestock breeder. His reputation grew as a “scientific” farmer, and for him America was indeed the land of opportunity. James, at age 21 married Isabel Carpenter on June 6, 1875, and after planting the wedding tree he summoned additional energy to produce a daughter and three sons. Fortunately for Isabel, not all at the same time.

Withycombe in front of the OSU Agricultural College

His profitable and innovative farming methods became a model for other farmers in Oregon, and his success gained an appointment as State Veterinarian in 1889. Despite being mostly self-educated he was recruited by the Oregon Agricultural College (now Oregon State University), and he eventually received a master's degree in 1891.

Due to his accomplishments, unlike today's political world, Withycombe gained the attention of the Republican party. He lost his first bid for the Oregon governorship, but won the election in 1914 where he vigorously promoted agricultural development. His administration also backed the “Good Roads” movement, and he created the Oregon Highway Commission while in office. I'm not sure if that is the same bureaucracy that later tried to get rid of his redwood tree...but wouldn't it be ironic if it was. Maybe the Gov's motivation was primarily to improve the road from Hillsboro to his own farm three miles away.

Although born a Brit, Withycombe was a staunch supporter of American involvement in the WWI effort, and Oregonians were impressed enough to re-elect him in 1918. Sadly the 15^th Governor of Oregon served only two months of his second term, dying in office from a heart condition on March 3, 1919. His remains were interred (along with Isabel's later)* at Salem, Oregon's Mount Crest Abbey Mausoleum. Strange, it seems to me, that a man of such great farming accomplishments, a true pioneer of the soil, should have his remains placed in a wall-box in a stone building, and not under his beloved dirt.

*Isabel was born in Oregon in 1856, so she was only 19 when she hitched her wagon to the industrious British farmer. Well that she outlived her farmer-husband for an additional 30 years, and after she died at age 92 in Sacramento County, California, her remains were interred alongside her husband at Mount Crest.

Mount Crest Mausoleum

I had an urge to visit this Mount Crest Mausoleum, I guess to pay my respects to the Good Governor. My 16-year-old daughter drove me to the location – for fear that I might be overcome with grief and unable to find my way home. S. and I were perplexed that the front door (photo above) was locked and the 100-year-old knob spun stupidly. I was ready to give up but she insisted that we walk around the large building to find another entrance, which we eventually did. Inside, we found no receptionist in attendance...other than brass-plated shelves full of human remains which S. found to be rather creepy. The experience reaffirmed my wishes that my ashes be spread behind a tree along a beautiful little stream, at the exact place where I first asked my future wife Haruko if I could hold her hand. What a coincidence, however, that this magical Oregon-coast location is named Oswald West, named for the cad (Democrat) governor of Oregon who presided just prior to Withycombe's election.

S. and I headed back to the car, past thousands of outside graves where the grass had already turned brown from our 100F summer temps. We walked past a half-pruned hedge with shears lying on the ground, but with no worker in sight. I suggested that perhaps a passed-away gardener arose each night to keep the shrubs tidy. S. groaned at yet another not-so-funny Dad joke.

Withycombe Hall at Oregon State University

P.S.

Years ago I was befriended by an Oregon State University horticulture professor (because his hobby was Japanese maples). Every year until he retired I agreed to give a one-hour lecture to the hort students about nursery production. The classes of about thirty consisted mostly of disinterested losers, but each group also had a couple of well-scrubbed, bright eyed men or women who seemed to really care, and who claimed that they appreciated my insights. Loving nothing more than perky coeds I was happy to volunteer. I didn't think about it at the time, but my lectures were presented in Withycombe Hall on the OSU campus.

Withycombe Hall Lab Theatre

Carrots and Beer

Reuben appreciating a Rhododendron

My wife Haruko and I skipped work this morning to pay a visit to my long-time friend, Reuben Hatch. Many Flora Wonder Blog readers know of RH, that we have travelled together on countless capers in the Western states, as well as in Europe and Asia. Those days are past, sadly, because RH is confined to a full-care nursing home in Vancouver, and is administered to by well-fed African women with shiny foreheads.

RH's attendants can speak a little English, but I fear that most patients in the house are either incoherent or they often complain, so the intercourse is rather clipped.

RH is a griper, for sure, and he never misses a chance to complain about the food. On our last visit to his room there was a knock on the door with the announcement of “lunch.” The woman came in with a tray with a very large sandwich, some grapes I think, and a white plate full of carrots. It looked to me like a week's worth of rations, and indeed RH was impressed with the pile of carrots. He said he asked for three only, then proceeded to scoot them into an orderly lineup. “Wwone, Tooo, Threee...until the last at Niiine.”

RH doesn't have it so bad, really, and he is allowed half a beer every day. He drank a beer a day for most of his 87 years, so what's the harm now?

Lunch was our cue to leave, but once we were out the door I muttered, “Shut up and eat your damn carrots; this evening you'll get your beer.”

Haruko at the Portland Rose Garden

Today on the way to Vancouver I surprised Haruko with a detour. I said I wanted to stop at the Portland Rose Garden. And I wanted her to play a song, something for Reuben. I further surprised her by bringing a lunch. Out of my bag I pulled out 9 carrots and a beer. I told Haruko that if we were going to see Reuben we would have to do it here...

Because he died yesterday. “I wanted to choose a nice place to tell you.”

A Transitional Time

I frequently receive requests from family, friends and customers, and from the latter for plants not listed on our sales availability. When possible I attempt to oblige. The following email came to my desk recently:

Hi Talon,

I know it is a transitional time in your life and I wish I could have chatted with you when I was there. I was very disappointed that I couldn't get a flat of Acer pal. 'Mayday' this year. I walked around the nursery when I was picking up my liner order and enjoyed seeing all of the 1 gallons you had in a few of the greenhouses behind the employee area. You had some wonderful 'Yuki yama' and I saw a few 'Pinkie' maples that didn't look too great. I can see why you are not propagating this one.

Acer palmatum 'Mayday'

I would like to ask a favor though – can you spare a flat of 'Mayday' liners? I would be happy to pay you above your normal price. My little niche in this business has always been primarily due to you and the opportunity you have given me to purchase the rare and unusual cultivars that others do not have.

I think I will be out of business in 3 years with the sale of your nursery – so I am asking for the 25 'Mayday' liners to carry me through the next two years.

Thanks for all your support and help over the years.

My response follows:

Acer palmatum 'Mayday'

Sorry we can't supply A.p. 'Mayday'. We didn't graft any a year ago because there was no quality scionwood. Our stock is very low so I doubt we'll graft any this year either. I walked through every maple greenhouse to see if we could sub with a welsh pot or 1 gallon, but we have zero at that size.

Also, the original 'Mayday' has a bad trunk and will probably be dumped this year, whenever we get time. Lack of availability has nothing to do with a “transitional time in my life.” Attempting to serve and please customers has been the proud legacy throughout my career, however I can't perform magic. Maybe it's a blessing that you can't supply 'Mayday' to your customers. A hundred years from now it won't matter to any of us anyway, although I don't plan to be around then to test that theory.

Regards, Talon Buchholz

At about the same time a columnist for the Oregon Nursery Association's magazine, plant-friend Mike Darcy, interviewed me for a “What I'm Hearing” story. I groaned at the prospect of being fodder for the publication, due to valid disappointments in the past, but I agreed to do it for Mike's sake. Even though my name was speld three different ways on the first page – not Mike's fault – the article was otherwise OK, and it helps to publicize the fact that my business is indeed up for grabs. Mike's story follows:

The last sentence implies that I can be transplanted into a new area and I'll continue to thrive. More accurately perhaps is that Old Buchholz will not be “transplanted,” but rather this old codger has been around so long that he's going to seed, and hopefully a New Buchholz will arise that will prove a vast improvement over the previous.