Buchholz Maple Introductions

Today I am in New York, a guest of the New York Botanical Garden. Last spring we shipped a lot of plants to them – in particular maples – and there will be a ceremony to celebrate the new maple area. I'm happy that this venerable institution will house a multitude of cultivars, and proud that some of them are my introductions. Seth and I have put together a slide show to present the cultivars known to the gardening public from Buchholz Nursery.

The Year in Trees

In the last Flora Wonder Blog I mentioned Dr. Kim E. Tripp, the woman who advised me to visit California's White Mountains to see the Pinus longaeva in their native haunt. At the time she was with the JC Raulston Arboretum in North Carolina, but now she is Director of the New York Botanical Garden. I will be in New York next week, so I hope I can see her again.*

*Yikes! I stumbled upon her “March” appointment to the NYBG Directorship on the internet a short time ago, which was news to me. I emailed the garden to see if she would be around, but received the reply that she left the position “about ten years ago.” So I was reading an old post it seems; I must be more careful about internet news, err...olds. Nevertheless I will complete this blog based upon her book.

While Dr. Tripp was at the Raulston garden, she and the late JC Raulston had a book published, The Year in Trees, subtitled “Superb Woody Plants for Four-Season Gardens.” The book is 21 years old now, which is a long time in modern horticulture. According to the jacket, “The Year in Trees is for gardeners, designers, and nursery people who wish to look beyond the 'old standards' of trees, shrubs, and vines that dominate our landscapes.” One of Raulston's theories was that 40 shrubs and trees make up 90%-plus of the landscape plantings in any given region of the United States, so the book's purpose is to present 150 “plant portraits” based upon weekly profiles written by Dr. Tripp as part of the arboretum's outreach activities. These are plants that “deserve a chance in our gardens.” The publisher – Timber Press – calls the work an “international book” as all of the plants “have been evaluated for their usefulness as good, reliable garden plants.”

Acer triflorum

Oxydendrum arboreum 'Chameleon'

Sometimes a species is described as garden-worthy in and of itself, such as with Acer triflorum and Oxydendrum arboreum, but most of the 150 mentions cultivars as well. That's when I say that 21 years is a long time in horticulture, for I would be bankrupt if I was growing most of the cultivars today. I wonder how Dr. Tripp would re-write the book, if there would be any changes at all.*

Xanthocyparis vietnamensis

Xanthocyparis nootkatensis

* There would probably be nomenclatural changes, such as Chamaecyparis nootkatensis becoming Xanthocyparis nootkatensis, but I don't know about her other recommendations.

Xanthocyparis nootkatensis 'Green Arrow'

Xanthocyparis nootkatensis 'Laura Aurora'

Xanthocyparis nootkatensis 'Sparkling Arrow'

Speaking of nootkatensis, Buchholz Nursery rates a mention for my introduction of 'Green Arrow' which was considered “newer” in 1996. I didn't discover 'Green Arrow' – that would be the late Gordon Bentham of Victoria, B.C. – but I did rescue young starts from a bankrupt and dissolving Canadian nursery that he worked for, and had I not, the world would never have known it. Dr. Tripp describes it as having “lighter green foliage” than the species, but I would call its color gray-blue more than light green. She also mentions the variegated form 'Laura Aurora' which I named for my daughter. I shouldn't have because we learned over time that it reverts and it was dropped from our propagation program long ago. Another cultivar is the old 'Variegata', but it too reverts, and it has effectively been replaced with 'Sparkling Arrow', a selection that arose from a branch sport on one of my original 'Green Arrow' trees.

Other than the brag above, I think nothing in the book has a direct connection with me, and I'll further confess that, after buying the book, I've never picked it up since my initial purchase and quick page-through. That is not an indictment of the book, but rather of my attention span, and I conclude that now I find the “portraits” far more interesting and there are many more depicted plants that I can relate to and now also admire.

Feijoa sellowiana

One such is Feijoa sellowiana, the “Pineapple Guava” from South America, and Ms. Tripp asks the question: “Is guava a tropical fruit or a unique landscape ornamental?” The answer is: “It is both,” and furthermore describes it as “an exotically appealing shrub whose dramatic flowers could be the subject of a Georgia O'Keeffe painting.” I agree when she writes that it is a “handsome evergreen shrub with unique character that would warrant a place in many gardens even if it never flowered, but the blooms...are such treasures that they steal the show from the plant's other attributes.” Ms. Tripp enthuses that the flowers “nearly defy description,” that “A ring of snowy white sepals arches gracefully back and down to reveal velvety magenta petals surrounding a tuft of cherry-red stamens that are each dusted with bright golden pollen.” A plant cannot get more erotic than that...as Georgia O'Keeffe would surely have known, but I doubt that the painter ever saw the guava. My Brazilian intern, Rodrigo, knows the plant and that it bears yellow berries with a pineapple-like taste. It is reliably hardy to only USDA zone 8 (10 degrees F), but with a little protection it can survive in North Carolina's – and my – USDA zone 7 (0 degrees F) gardens.

Magnolia denudata

Linnaeus

Theophrastus

Dr. Tripp waxes poetic throughout the book, a trait that is not too common among her fellow academics, when she describes Magnolia denudata's flowers unfolding as if “some garden magician had persuaded pastel waterlilies to flower on the branches of a tree.” The specific name, denudata, is due to the flowers blooming precociously – or “nudely” on leafless branches, and according to Tripp the name Magnolia was given by the “famous father of botany, Linnaeus, for a French botanist, Pierre Magnol.” With that statement I must protest, however, and while we should give Linnaeus his due for being the nomenclatural father of botanical classification, the true Father of Botany must be Theophrastus, the 3^rd Century BC Greek polymath and cohort of Aristotle – some would say A's student and follower – but others would describe him as Aristotle's equal in the natural world. I'll save Theo's biography for another time and allow that Linnaeus – the Latinized version of Linne which he bestowed upon himself – was a major player in the systematic understanding and ordering of our natural world. I nit-pick of course for the sake of the blog, but I would have been fine if Tripp called Linnaeus a “Father of Botany” instead of the Father of Botany.

Juniperus squamata 'Blue Star'

Lest the Blog bogs, lets turn to another Raulston-Tripp plant, Juniperus squamata, which is commonly known as the “Singleseed juniper.” However, I have always known it as the “Flaky-bark juniper,” while the “singleseed” designation is due to the fruiting habit of the species. Who cares now (?) since the damn species is definitely out of favor. I am surprised that it was even in favor, let alone on two horticulturalists' top 150 of all landscape plants. Dr. Tripp describes it as a “cool blue shrub that holds its soothing color through all four seasons,” but allows that “the wild species is almost never seen in cultivation.” I know why, for I have encountered it in western Nepal, and it's because it is one of the most ugly trees I have ever seen. Portions of the foliage, under any kind of stress, can turn brown which persists on the tree. The foliage, even when alive, is short and prickly and in Oregon the species' cultivars develop a crud – I don't know what it technically is – that leads to light-brown-dying stem scales which are most unornamental. Perhaps the best known of squamata's cultivars is 'Blue Star' – a great name and a great plant for the first six or ten years...before it flops open and develops its brown portions. I don't recall seeing even one specimen of J. squamata at the JC Raulston Arboretum on my visit two years ago, and I wonder how they would evaluate it today.

Euscaphis japonica

Euscaphis japonica makes its appearance in the summer section of The Year in Trees, though I consider it to be in its prime right about now. Still relatively unknown in the trade,* it was brought to America from Korea in 1985 when JC Raulston was part of the United States National Arboretum collection team. It forms an upright deciduous tree – at least at Buchholz Nursery – and since many plantsmen don't know it they would suppose that it is an Euonymus. Don Shadow of Tennessee bestowed the common name of “Korean sweetheart tree” due to the pink red lips-like fruit which opens now to reveal a tiny black berry. The generic name of Euscaphis is derived from Latin eu for “good” and Latin scapus for a “scape,” which is usually a leafless stem. Dr. Tripp describes the plant as “remarkably tough, growing and thriving through droughts and wet periods in some of the worst clay soils the southeastern Piedmont can dish up.” I wouldn't know because I've always kept my trees in the greenhouse...just in case.

*I looked in the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs for more information on Euscaphis japonica but it is not even included.

There were a few plants in the top 150 that I have never heard of before, one being a “Leatherwood,” Cyrilla racemiflora. It is a deciduous or evergreen shrub “native to the swamps and wet places of the southeastern United States and farther south into South America, but in the landscape it is tolerant of a range of conditions,” according to Dr. Tripp. She considers it an “architectural plant” and laments that it is scarce because “the customer is always in the garden center in the spring, picking out azaleas. We must start asking garden centers and nurseries for plants that offer architectural quality as well as showiness...” Well, twenty one years later I don't think the situation has improved. If I was to list Cyrilla nobody would order any, which means that I might grow one in the Arboretum only. Personally my trees must feed my family and I am not on a mission to convert anyone. That's the job of the JC Raulston Arboretum, and good luck with your efforts.

Cunninghamia lanceolata 'Glauca'

I was surprised to see Cunninghamia lanceolata, the “China fir,” in the top 150. I used to grow the 'Glauca' cultivar which with age can make an attractive tree, but when young the cutting-grown starts would flop like side branches for years before sending up a strong leader. Another fault is that the sharp needles can burn in a hard winter and then they persist for a couple of years, making the tree look very scrappy. I know all about “China fir” because my grandmother kept a hedge of it, pruned biannually, and it could look dreadful. Plus, it was difficult to fish the ball out of the foliage – lanceolata indeed! Strangely it was used in a long highway divider in a nearby town, where groups of six were planted, interspersed with oaks and cotoneaster. Where in the world did the highway department find them? Cunninghamia would be the last tree I would use, and they are unsightly at best. But North Carolina contains different soils and a different climate than Oregon, so maybe Dr. Tripp knows best.

Lagerstroemia fauriei

I was not surprised to see Lagerstroemia fauriei on the list, and indeed I saw a beautiful large specimen in the garden of Plant Delights Nursery, not far from the Raulston. I don't particularly like the white flowers of the species, but in Delights' cramped garden all you see is the amazing trunk. L. fauriei is native to the mountains of Japan and therefore is more hardy than L. indica, and best of all it is more resistant than indica to powdery mildew. Dr. Tripp writes, “One of the most memorable garden experiences I have ever had was to come around a bend in the path at the North Carolina State University Arboretum to catch the rays of the setting sun as they lit up the trunk of 'Fantasy' Japanese crape myrtle. The cinnamon bark glowed orange and crimson as if on fire...” I don't grow L. fauriei, but if I ever saw one at a garden center I would certainly purchase it. Lagerstroemia was named by Linnaeus for the Swedish merchant Magnus von Lagerström who supplied Linnaeus with plants he collected. The specific name fauriei honors Father Urbain Faurie (1846-1915), a French missionary and botanist. In Japan the species is known as saru suberi, meaning “monkey slip” due to the smooth slippery bark.

Clerodendrum trichotomum

Clerodendrum trichotomum 'Carnival'

Buddleia 'Tutti Frutti'

Both Clerodendrum and Buddleia make the book, although B. davidii is now considered invasive. The reason I mention them together is because I once planted one next to the other, and I did it to entertain my children. When a Clerodendrum leaf was rubbed it gave off a strong odor of peanut butter, while the Buddleia blossom strongly smells of honey – two odors that every kid knows. Buddleia is commonly called the “Butterfly bush” so I guess that butterflies like to feast on the honey blooms. The genus is easy to grow, though not very attractive out of blossom, but they can die to the ground in Oregon's worst winters. Clerodendrum isn't so great looking most of the year, but redeems itself by mid summer with fragrant white flowers with a prominent red calyx. By fall the calyx develops into metallic blue berries, and a 20-year-old tree might be covered with thousands of them. Neither genera would make my top 150 list, not by a long shot, but they are still fun to have grown.

Fourteen years after the publication of The Year in Trees the same Timber Press produced The Gossler Guide to the Best Hardy Shrubs, and I guess you would call the latter our west-coast version. Roger Gossler lists plants alphabetically, not by seasons, and he gushes about 350 “expert choices for your garden.” Both books are informative and filled with interesting trivia, and even though I forget most of it by the next day, I enjoy being entertained by plant-people who know their stuff.

California Conifers

Oregonians generally don't care for Californians, but I think our southern neighbors are not even aware of it. We have an unofficial motto that says, visit, spend your money but don't stay. I first became aware of Californians when I was 17 years old and attended college at the University of Oregon (AKA University of California at Eugene). Half the school seemed to be from California and one even became a roommate. They had an arrogance about them that was unwarranted in my opinion, and my Cal roommate chastised me for the (uncool) way I buttoned my sweater. I even had to listen to the mantra that all new, progressive and wonderful ideas originate in California and I should be grateful that this student emissary was diligent to enlighten me.

I don't dislike Californians anymore, except that many have migrated to Oregon and they significantly add to our traffic woes. Actually I even love their state, and within its borders the flora and the scenery are equal to, or superior to that of Oregon, which is not easy to admit. I was about 10 years into my nursery when I took a week off to make my first plant pilgrimage into the Mecca of floral diversity.

Cupressus sempervirens

In southern Oregon I refilled my car with gas in the town of Grants Pass, a name which curiously does not possess an 's. One theory is that it was so-christened by – or because – General Ulysses S. Grant rode through the area with his soldiers, and it's fortunate that he didn't die there or the town might have been named Grants Tomb. Residents of nearby Medford, Oregon refer to the town as “Grunt 'n Piss,” but I find it attractive and it is chock-a-block with huge specimens of Cupressus sempervirens.

Picea breweriana

I stopped at the ranger station expecting little, but I hoped there might be a bureaucrat available who could point me in the direction of a place to see the “Brewer's weeping spruce,” Picea breweriana. Fortunately the receptionist called for an old coot who warmed to me and my quest with great enthusiasm. He poured us both a cup of coffee and then got out all kinds of maps, some of which I could keep. He overloaded me with information but I got the general idea of where to go...into the Siskiyou Mountains. Indeed I found many Brewer's, scrappy as they were, for the flora wasn't very lush on the serpentine soils. I'll admit to cheating because the photos above are from Portland's Hoyt Arboretum, and my original slides from the Siskiyou's have not yet been converted digitally. But I had fun on the narrow gravel roads, none of which were marked sufficiently to correspond with the maps, and eventually I wandered past the Mt. Ashland ski resort and into the town of Ashland, Oregon, happy to not be lost.

Picea breweriana lost in the Biscuit Fire

Sarcodes sanguinea

One of the most beautiful areas for Picea breweriana used to be in the Kalmiopsis Wilderness, and in particular the area near Baby Foot Lake. That was also the location where one might see the “Snow plant,” a lurid red shaft that appears just after the snow has melted. I say “used to be” because the Biscuit Fire in 2002 burned a half million acres (780 sq. mi., or 2000 sq. km.). Once-proud conifers were turned into bleached poles, and I was presented with a very eerie spectacle on my re-visit in 2010. I lamented the passing of all trees, but in particular the Brewer's spruce. I tried to find the lake, for certainly it didn't burn, but the 2-mile trail was no longer in evidence. Some salvage logging had occurred while environmentalists feared for the spread of Phytophthora lateralis among the native “Port Orford cedars,” Chamaecyparis lawsoniana, spread by loggers' boots and equipment. I'm not really a fan of the lawsons, but on the other hand I don't want them to die out. Nary a Brewer's spruce could be found...until I noticed on the ground hundreds of half-inch seedlings; so they were coming back after all, and every decade or so – even though I don't have many decades left – I would like to visit and check on their progress.

Picea breweriana with Mt. Shasta

Ok, all of that was in southern Oregon, but let's continue now into northern California. My next destination was the Castle Crags State Park which features 28 miles of hiking trails, and the Pacific Crest Trail also passes through the park. The park was named for 6,000' tall glacier-polished granite slabs, preposterous gray monstrosities that hovered above the oak and conifer forest. As I ascended the steep trail I overtook an attractive female with a large dog as her companion. Later I saw why the dog was a good idea, and not just as protection from me, but because as I labored up the mountain a California black bear romped perpendicular to my path only 100' ahead of me. I have never been so close to a bear in the wild, but then he didn't want anything to do with me either. I finally reached a plateau – my sweat-drenched summit – and off in the distance was my reward of a very large Brewer's spruce with magnificent Mt. Shasta in the background, and I pondered that it would make an excellent final resting place. Except that I would be damned if my remains should ever be sent to Cal...Cal...California!

Nelis Kools

Haruko Buchholz

It was long ago so I don't remember everything, but I must have veered southwest from the Crags, from the Interstate 5 to the coastal route of Hwy 101. Ten years later I stopped to rest again in the town of Eureka – what a great name – but this subsequent trip was with the conifer expert Nelis Kools of The Netherlands and my fairly newly-wed – and then childless – wife, Haruko. On my first California trip I stayed overnight at a mediocre chain motel which I found in my fatigue to be adequate. However, on the second stay with Haruko and Nelis – he was stationed in room 208 and we were in room 206 – there was incredible commotion in room 207. An amorous couple was pounding, pounding and slamming the headboard against the wall, and at first we just chuckled at their apparent fun. The problem was that it never stopped, it went on-and-on, and finally I was pounding on our shared wall for them to stop. The next morning groggy Haruko and I met with Nelis and I complained and apologized about the disturbance...when Nelis announced that he assumed it was caused by us. Haruko remained silent, but she wanted to yell at him, that it wasn't us, that, that we were far more elegant than that!

Reagan

I have been through the California redwoods a number of times, and have stopped at many forestal attractions, so I don't remember exactly what I experienced on the first visit. I think I procured a redwood-burl bowl...for a former girlfriend...I just don't remember. But I did visit a number of S. sempervirens groves and individual trees, and all visitors must be humbled and stupefied at their enormity. I can mention that the earth's tallest tree species also occurs on the very southern tip of the Oregon coastal route, but that the ultimate champions are clearly in California, and I was overjoyed to wander beneath them. The knucklehead President Ronald Reagan, when mere Governor of California, offered that if you have seen “one redwood, then you have seen them all,” which basically gave the greenlight to cutting and processing thousands more. The Gov – at the time – apparently didn't understand or appreciate the incredible biodiversity of these ancient forests and didn't take into account the thousands of native life-forms that were affected by redwood logging.

Native range of Sequoia sempervirens

Native redwoods are restricted to a narrow coastal fog belt about 450 miles long and no more than 25 miles wide, nevertheless they thrive in the Flora Wonder Arboretum with very little fog. In fact I have specimens that have received no supplemental irrigation at all, and so does the Hoyt Arboretum in Portland, so I'm not sure why they haven't “travelled” more along the Pacific coast.* Of all of the world's flora, a mature redwood forest produces the greatest biomass per unit area, even much more than in the thickest, tallest rainforests.

*A Flora Wonder Blog reader offers:

I also have your answer as to why Coast Redwoods only grow naturally to southern Oregon, yet we both planted them about 38 years ago, including here on the Olympic Peninsula WA state, and see them also in Vancouver BC.) They set their pollen in WINTER, getting rained out/too cold here to set seed, so they never will happen here. Seed in Calif. is only 15% viable tops, usually less. I plant/root suckers to grow to timber in 35+ years. They root easily with a heel.

An albino Sequoia sempervirens

I was once given scionwood of an albino Sequoia sempervirens, but the wood was very soft and neither cuttings nor grafts survived. Later I came across a publication entitled The White Redwoods – Ghosts of the Forest. If you want to search for this wonderful little book the ISBN is 0-87961-087-5. The book explains that they survive because their white tops are actually nourished by the web of their neighbor (green) trees' roots. There are a number of albino redwood sites, and one specimen mentioned in the 1980-published book already stood 80' tall. About 10 years ago I visited a site in a California state park just north of Santa Cruz. I walked a mile-long loop with interpretive signs and finally came to the albino. The tree looked like crap because a few days earlier (in late April) the area received a sharp frost and the albino was badly burnt.

Calaveras Grove

Calaveras Grove

Sequoiadendron giganteum at Calaveras Grove

Cone-seller Buchholz

My original plant trip to California included a visit to the Calaveras Grove, which was my first encounter with the “Giant redwoods,” Sequoiadendron giganteum. Often I prefer to be alone when discovering natural wonders for the first time, and the Calaveras giants did not disappoint. I have relayed before that I grew up in Forest Grove, Oregon, in a yard with two Sequoiadendron that were planted in the 1870's, making them among the largest in the world outside of their native range. I guess I was about six when I gathered up redwood cones and my Grandmother ferried me to various florist shops where I sold the cones for 50c a dozen. The florists simply couldn't turn down an enthusiastic youngster, and I think I made about five or six dollars that day. It was the first plant sale in my life, and how fitting that I would go on to become a nurseryman with one of the largest collection of Sequoiadendron cultivars in the world.

Abies magnifica

Yosemite Half Dome

John Muir

My solo journey took me to Yosemite and I spent four days at the park, and later I described it as the “Disneyland of Nature.” It was at Yosemite that I finally took my hat off to California and bowed low. I have been back about half a dozen times, but always with others, even once with my father-and-mother in law from Japan. The geology is fantastic, such as with Half Dome, where a glacier carved away the missing half. I suppose the Abies in the foreground of the photo above is magnifica or magnifica var. shastensis. I have tried to locate this Abies on subsequent trips but it has since disappeared, and if it died the dead stick should still be there. It's as if it walked away, tired of posing for the tourists. At a lower elevation I discovered a grove of large A. magnifica, and it's easy to see why it received its specific name. The similar Abies procera, or “Noble fir,” also exists in California, in the northwestern portion of the state, and the two can hybridize which makes tree identification tricky. Concerning A. magnifica, known as the “Red fir,” John Muir wrote that its “plushy branches...with ferns and flowers for a pillow” provided the best bed for a mountaineer. Later he declared, “No wonder the enthusiastic Douglas* went wild with joy when he first discovered this species.”

The “Douglas” in question was (of course) the earlier fellow-Scotsman David Douglas who introduced the species.

Pinus jeffreyi

I had already seen the Pinus jeffreyi species before on my initial California floral trip, but never did I see it so wonderfully presented as in Yosemite. Trees would gain purchase in cracks on the granite slopes, and the one in the photo above has become my all-time favorite. It seems to say, “Look at me, I took advantage of my opportunity.” There is no way to know the age of this jeffreyi, and on my first Yosemite visit I marveled that there wasn't a Brad-loves-Angelina heart carved into the bark, especially since it was just a short distance away from a large tourist parking area. Well, that was then, but now it is scarred, defaced by someone with no more brains than the rock he was standing on. It is situations like this when I fantasize about being the judge, jury and executioner, and I devise creative ways to make them pay for their malfeasance. Actually the world would be a much better place if I was Solomon to all.

Pinus longaeva 'Sherwood Compact'

Dr. Kim Tripp visited Buchholz Nursery years ago (25?), and I was impressed with her knowledge and enthusiasm. At the time she was with the JC Raulston Arboretum in North Carolina, but since has worked her way up as Director of the New York Botanical Garden. She asked if I had ever been to the White Mountains in SE California to see the “Great Basin Bristlecone pine,” Pinus longaeva, for she had recently visited. She called it a “special place, like sacred.” At the time I was growing Pinus longaeva 'Sherwood Compact' but I had never been to the White Mountains. But prompted by her story I exited Yosemite on the east side of the Sierras and drove south to the town of Lone Pine. Due to some festival in the area there was not a room to be had, and I spent the night in the car at a rest area – which was not restful at all.

White Mountains

Pinus flexilis

Juniperus osteosperma

Pinus longaeva

In the morning I drove my aching body up to the top of the White Mountains, passing Pinus flexilis and the “Utah juniper,” Juniperus osteosperma. When I finally came to the Pinus longaeva road-end I was above 11,000'. I exited the car in a light-headed state, having ascended so quickly. I promised myself to take it easy, already knowing the possible danger from previous trips to the Himalaya. At the time I was the only one there, looking at the fantastic pines, equally beautiful whether dead or alive. “Dr. Tripp,” I wanted to shout, “you are right, this is a special place!”

Horseshoe Meadows

Pinus balfouriana 'Horseshoe Pillar'

Pinus balfouriana witch's broom

Dick van hoey Smith

On the eastern side of the Sierras one can ascend to 9,000+ feet to a campground named Horseshoe Meadows. From there outdoor aficionados can back-pack or ride horses to a system of lakes and fish for the California Golden Trout. For my part I was on a mission to find a needle-narrow Pinus balfouriana made famous in a photo book by the late Dick van hoey Smith, Conifers – The Illustrated Encyclopedia. On page 442 is a photo of a tree which he named 'Horseshoe Pillar'. Mr. Smith once confided to me that it was the one tree he coveted the most, but at the time he was with a tour group, and was there at the wrong time of the year for scionwood anyway. My purpose to visit this site was to discover the tree and collect scionwood, and I now wish I would have kept his hand-drawn map. I was successful even though the harvest was illegal in a national forest. I reasoned that Smith's Arboretum Trompenburg in Rotterdam, The Netherland, was an entity above the law, and that, yet again, I was making the world a better place. I sent a graft to Trompenburg, also illegal (but see previous sentence), but it died. Then van hoey Smith died so it seem pointless to send another.

Another narrow Pinus balfouriana

The death of the 'Horseshoe Pillar' is not surprising when you consider that there is not a good rootstock for P. balfouriana, unless one was to use P. aristata or P. longaeva which I didn't have. I used P. strobiformis, and when I graft P. longaeva 'Sherwood Compact' only 10-20% actually make it to the third year, at my nursery anyway. Besides, I didn't want to ruin Mr. Smith's “Holy Grail.” I spent more time hiking in the area than he did with his tour group, and I found a number of specimens just as, or more narrow than his 'Horseshoe Pillar'. Not only that, but also a few P. balfouriana witch's brooms were harvested. The end result has been nothing of ornamental merit. I have no regrets though, for you'll find me at my happiest in high elevation forests, and I hope to again take my hat off to California.