The Hillier 96

I have called the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2014) my plant bible and it has been a highly useful publication for me, to assist with my understanding and appreciation of woody plants. And, also of great value, by listing the various cultivars of the species it allows one to note the variations of shapes, colors and growth habits within a species.

Acer palmatum 'Red Emperor'

Take Acer palmatum cultivars, for example: Hillier lists 96, and a number of synonyms on top of that. Descriptions can be sparse, as with A. p. 'Hessei' ('Elegans Purpureum'): “Leaves bronze-crimson. C 1893.” For A. p. 'Red Emperor' ('Emperor I')* more information is provided: “An outstanding cultivar with deep purple-red foliage and crimson autumn colour. Similar to 'Bloodgood' but coming into leaf two weeks later, reducing the risk of spring frost damage, and with more translucent red autumn foliage.” Of course that might not be the case in other parts of the world where it is grown. Vertrees/Gregory in Japanese Maples (4^th edition) doesn't even list 'Red Emperor'; they go instead with 'Emperor I', but suggest that “'Red Emperor', which also originates from Red Maple Nursery, fits the above description and may be the same cultivar.”

*Just in case we keep them separate.

Acer palmatum 'Shigi no hoshi'

Acer palmatum 'Tsuma gaki'

The second part of a Japanese maple name – or any Japanese plant name for that matter – should not be capitalized. In English it can be, such as with 'Crimson Queen', but not for the Japanese 'Tsuma gaki', and Hillier agrees to follow this practice. One habit that annoys me, though, is the preponderance of dashes in the names, such as 'Shojo-nomura', 'Sango-kaku', 'Koto-no-ito' etc. M. Yano in his Book for Maples manages many hundreds of Japanese maple names without ever once using a dash. Ditto with Maples of the World (1994) by the three Dutchmen: van Gelderen, de Jong and H. J. Osterdoom. So why are the English so predisposed to dash? Actually, Vertrees/Gregory employ the dash sparingly. But why 'Chirimen nishiki' (no dash), 'Beni kumo-no-su' (yes, partially) and 'Shigi-no-hoshi' (yes, completely)? Who is Mr. Dashing, the dash decider?

Acer palmatum 'Pung Kil'

Acer palmatum 'Hubbs Red Willow'

The Vertrees/Gregory maple tome (4^th edition) is billed as “Revised and expanded to include over 600 plants,” but that includes some from species other than palmatum. It must be a difficult task to narrow the palmatum listings to only 96 as Hillier does when there are over a thousand to choose from...and more on the way. Many of Hillier's exist in older gardens and arboreta I suppose, especially those in Europe. 18 years ago at a Maple Society conference a Canadian botanist declared in a condescending tone that “Surely we have enough cultivars of Japanese maple.” I don't agree at all, because the gardening world doesn't really need the old 'Red Pygmy' which was selected in the Netherlands before 1969. I would leave it off my top 96, and so too 'Linearlobum Atropurpureum' C 1881, in favor of the much improved 'Pung Kil' or 'Hubbs Red Willow', both introduced within the past 18 years.

Acer palmatum 'Celebration

Acer palmatum 'Strawberry Spring'

Hillier lists A. p. 'Aka-shigitatsu-sawa', but in the Vertrees/Gregory 4^th it has been changed to 'Beni shigitatsu sawa' – and without the dashes in this case. Both aka and beni mean “red” according to my Japanese wife, but beni better describes what kind of red. Vertrees calls 'Beni shigitatsu sawa' “the red-tinged form of 'Shigitatsu sawa'” and later states that “It is not as strong growing as its green counterpart.” I find the opposite to be true. Also that it is “not easy to propagate and is rather rare in nurseries and collections.” It may have been rare in 1978 with the first edition of Japanese Maples, but certainly not difficult to propagate. It is becoming “rare”  again because it has been surpassed by better variegated cultivars such as 'Purple Ghost', 'Amber Ghost', 'Celebration', 'Strawberry Spring' etc. I keep one or two 'Beni shigitatsu sawa' on the place for old time's sake, but nobody requests it anymore, at least not from me.

Acer palmatum 'Kamagata'

In Maples of the World, 'Kamagata' is called a “neat dwarf.” My original plant is now in a Virginia garden, and it is over 20 feet tall. The Vertrees [original seedling] stock plant, if still alive, is under 2 m in height at about 40 years of age. Yes, you would expect that the original seedling would not grow as large compared to my oldest being grafted onto vigorous green understock. This could be said for many cultivars, and it's why it is of no importance to describe size of the original, because everyone else will be growing something else, one grafted onto borrowed roots.

Acer palmatum 'Kamagata'

I'm not just wandering around here describing Acer palmatum cultivars, so I'll reiterate this blog's theme: that I find Hillier's 96 to contain many old-world Eurocentric cultivars that I don't think are even in the trade in England – let alone America – anymore. Really, I don't care – I just find it to be a queer listing for 2014. Even the Vertrees/Gregory publication of 2009, and especially the Dutch book of 1994 are quaintly outdated when it comes to descriptions of Acer palmatum cultivars. 'Goshiki kotohime' is described as, “It is quite difficult to propagate because of the lack of vegetative growth. Scions for grafting are extremely short, offering less than 1 cm to work with.” Nonsense – if stock is held in a greenhouse, the plant can achieve 12” of new growth, and we normally get about 85% from grafting, and average 95% by rooted cuttings.

Acer palmatum 'Ariadne'

Ariadne

Many of the 96 I totally approve, and Hillier lists one of my favorite cultivars, A. p. 'Ariadne', an introduction of Firma Esveld of Boskoop, The Netherlands. It was named after one of D. M. van Gelderen's granddaughters, and it is most lovely in early spring with pastel shades of orange-pink with conspicuous green veins. Sadly the coloration doesn't hold up for long. It doesn't burn, but it's just not as vibrant after the first month. It's worth growing though and I planted one close to our driveway so I could please my wife. Ariadne is a more common name in Europe than America, for she was the daughter of King Minos of Crete and his wife Pasiphae in Greek mythology. By her mother, she was the granddaughter of the sun god Helios.

Acer palmatum 'Orange Dream'

The Italian introduction of A. p. 'Orange Dream' (c 1990) should be included I think. Hillier describes it: “Large, upright shrub with green shoots. The 5-7 lobed leaves are bright orange-yellow turning yellow in autumn.” I've grown many myself, but I'd like to see it in Hillier's England because in Oregon the “orange” part of the “dream” only lasts a few weeks – a fleeting dream indeed. At least by June any orange is gone, and even my old established tree in the Display Garden burns on the canopy top by July-August. 'Orange Dream' was introduced by Gilardelli Nursery of Italy. Vertrees compares it to the somewhat similar 'Katsura', stating, “However, it has proven to be less susceptible to drought than 'Katsura', but seems more difficult to propagate.” In my experience, grafting 'Orange Dream' is more successful than 'Katsura', and also I find it to be one of the easiest of all palmatums to root from summer cuttings under mist.

Acer palmatum 'Summer Gold'

Gilardelli Nursery also introduced A. p. 'Summer Gold', which is sort of similar to 'Orange Dream' except that the former is a much better cultivar, at least in Oregon, and that is because it is less prone to sun scald. It is not included in the Hillier manual, but it is in the older-published Vertrees/Gregory book, so I would consider that a serious Hillier omission. It would certainly make my top 96, and even be in consideration for my top 10. When I was first testing 'Summer Gold' I kept the main group of 6-7 foot containerized trees in the greenhouse, except for one that spent the entire summer outside in full sun. The greenhouse group grew larger, but the outside tree did well enough, even when we reached 100 F.

Acer palmatum 'Fireglow'

One more for Gilardelli Nursery, their introduction of A. p. 'Fireglow' made Hillier's list. It is described as “A vigorous large shrub with deep red-purple foliage. Similar to, but considered an improvement on, 'Bloodgood'.” That's an odd way to put it – on, 'Bloodgood'. I would have said over 'Bloodgood'. I have never thought of 'Fireglow' as a “large shrub;” I have always considered it a “tree.” And to call it an “improvement on, 'Bloodgood',” nothing mentions in what way. In my nursery you can grow a 'Bloodgood' to 6-7 feet a year faster than 'Fireglow', so the former is more profitable for the nurseryman. I'll admit, though, that if I could have only one in my garden I would choose 'Fireglow'. The purple-red of the tops of the foliage is about the same, but the aptly named 'Fireglow' is more impressive due to the color of the undersides of the leaves with the sun as back-light. They truly do glow.

Acer palmatum 'Lutescens'

Parrotia persica 'Golden BellTower'

A. p. 'Lutescens' is in Hillier's book: “Leaves glossy green turning clear butter yellow in autumn. c 1928.” I like the cultivar but I don't grow it anymore...because no one would buy it, so it wouldn't be on my list. Also, one must be careful to describe autumn color. I grew a group of the new Parrotia persica 'Golden BellTower', a nice compact cultivar selected for golden fall color. Last year all 20 trees turned perfectly gold at one time. One was planted this spring at Flora Farm, and today the autumn color is yellow, orange and purple, same as the type. The same can occur with the maples. Some factors include water and fertilizer, container versus ground, the weather the previous summer, and probably for other reasons that I don't know.

Acer palmatum 'Beni schichihenge'

Acer palmatum 'Shojo no mai'

Of course A. p. 'Butterfly' made the list, “Raised in Japan before 1938.” It wouldn't make my list because the variegation looks “dirty” by mid-summer, and I much prefer the cleaner look of 'Shojo no mai' or 'Beni schichihenge'. 'Shojo no mai' does not make the Hillier manual but 'Beni schichihenge' does. 'Beni schichihenge' has been around since 1967, and its name means “red and changeful.” I've never seen red, only pink and orange. I once saw an 8' tree at another nursery that was in desperate need to be potted up. It was in May in California and I was stunned by the copious amount of orange in the leaves. It didn't have much for new growth – it was struggling – but the color was fantastic. Sadly I was without my camera.

Acer palmatum 'Beni komachi'

Hillier calls 'Beni komachi' – well, 'Beni-komachi' – “A medium-sized shrub with leaves very deeply divided into 5 slender, curved lobes, bright red when young, turning red-purple then greenish-red.” I don't grow it anymore because it was prone to powdery mildew and it always reverted. The reverted growth had vigorous branches with larger leaves that looked like 'Shindeshojo'. You had to catch that early and prune it off, and ultimately I considered it too high-maintenance. For unknown reason the selection's (Japan, before 1930) name means “red mirror,” and sorry, it wouldn't make my top 96.

Acer palmatum 'Corallinum'

Hillier describes A. p. 'Corallinum' as “rarely seen.” In America it is not so rare anymore, and it is one of my favorite large-dwarf cultivar due to its spring leaves. Both Hillier and Vertrees/Gregory describe them as “shrimp-pink.” I sold a wonderful specimen that was about 10' tall and 10' wide about 5 years ago because it was growing too close to the road near the office. We have had careless knucklehead truck drivers too close to it when backing up, and imagine the astonishment of  the involved insurance companies when I would put the value on it at $10,000.00. Well, go find a replacement then that is so large and nice. An interesting story is related about a specimen of 'Corallinum' – found in earlier editions of Japanese Maples – that Vertrees was admiring the tree growing in the Hillier arboretum. In Vertrees' research he mentioned to old Harold Hillier that some growers and collectors were referring to 'Corallinum' as 'Sango kaku'. Hillier snorted and replied, “Why, they're as different as cheese and chalk.”

Acer palmatum 'Tamuke yama'

Acer palmatum 'Red Dragon'

A red dissectum from New Zealand is in the top 96 – A. p. 'Crimson Princess' – but it wouldn't be in mine. Hillier refers to it as “dwarf,” but I find it to be an unattractive, sprawling shrub. Its red-purple foliage is decent, but the form is untidy compared to the dome-shaped weepers such as 'Crimson Queen', 'Red Dragon', 'Tamuke yama' and others. I might still have one or two on the place, but we have discontinued propagation in favor of the aforementioned. It entered the trade as 'Crimson Prince', but the twice-bankrupt New Zealand company was told that there was already a 'Crimson Prince' cultivar for a red upright palmatum.* So they changed the name to Princess, but today different American companies list it both ways. Actually, that was one of the goals of Vertrees' research: to straighten out the nomenclatural mess caused by careless Japanese, American and European horticulturists. Obviously it is an ongoing process because we're just as screwed up now as ever.

*Supposedly originating as a seedling from A. p. 'Bloodgood', and introduced by Princeton Nurseries in 1988. Growing to 25' tall by 25' wide, perhaps Hillier should have included 'Prince' instead of 'Princess' for the top 96.

Acer palmatum 'Ornatum'

Ten steps from my front door is an old specimen of A. p. 'Ornatum', planted by the previous owner. Like I often do, he planted it too close to the walkway and now I have to keep pruning it back. Hillier doesn't reveal much: “Leaves bronze-tinted. c 1867.” I don't dislike 'Ornatum', but I know that I could never sell it, and so it has never been propagated by Buchholz Nursery. It was an old European selection that has been known by a number of names such as 'Dissectum Ornatum', 'Ornatum Purpureum', 'Amatum', 'Spiderleaf' and others. 'Ornatum' is different and I guess deserving of cultivarhood, especially in 1867, but it wouldn't make my top 96. Probably I would rank it at 960.

Honestly I'm not miffed that there aren't any Acer palmatum cultivars of mine that are included in their 96 choices. The latest (2014) edition of The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs is published by the Royal Horticultural Society. The editors, James Armitage, Dawn Edwards and Neil Lancaster, and the consultant editors John Hillier and Roy Lancaster are noted luminaries in the plant world, or at least in British horticulture. You can't blame them for not shoe-horning into the Manual a few more American or Japanese selections. They would say that the type can't get smaller, or more pages added to an already thick 567 paperback publication. If there are to be future Hillier editions it would be simple to contact the American Branch of the Maple Society and take a survey of the members' list of 96 most worthy Acer palmatum cultivars. Then gather a few cognoscenti from Europe to select what are some from the 96 that are no longer horticulturally valid. Nobody enjoys more than I the “history” that can be gleaned from the Manual, but it could be made a little more relevant to the modern gardener.

Girlfriend
Go ahead - who cares!

Wife
Can sometimes critique

Daughter
Can never critique

To critique your wife, daughter or girlfriend can be risky indeed, even if you are positive and sincere about it. The RHS has earned its exalted position, and certainly does not need to defend itself from this finger-pointing Oregonian. I once mentioned to another nurseryman that I loved and practically worshipped the Manual, but that it does contain some mistakes. “Like what?” – he demanded to know. I fired back that the discoverer of Pinus contorta 'Chief Joseph' was Doug Will – not Wills, and that Dan Luscomb, not Don Luscombe, is raising seedlings from the recently discovered Xanthocyparis vietnamensis at Bedgeberry [sic].

The back cover of The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs says, “Revised and fully updated.” No, not fully, it can never be complete.

P.S. I didn't mean to cause alarm – nor was I looking for praise – when I said last week's blog might be the last. I was just coming to grips that Buchholz Nursery, The Flora Wonder Arboretum, The Flora Wonder Blog...and of course myself will eventually come to an end. But that hopefully you will continue beyond me, at least for a while more.

Here Today, Gone For Now...Goodbye Forever?

Rhododendron thomsonii

The Flora Wonder Arboretum is continuously in flux, what with plants entering into the collection, plants documented, maintained and sometimes propagated and even sold, and also with plants accidentally or intentionally booted off the ark never to be seen again. There have been a lot of joys but also many regrets. For example: my one and only plant of Rhododendron thomsonii was happily thriving near the office under the protective canopy of a large Acer palmatum 'Alpenweiss'. I was particularly pleased a few springs ago when it flowered prolifically, and I had an urge to contact all of my known plant snobs to come and witness the bloody event. But alas, the abundant flowering was forewarning that the specimen was prepared to expire, to go dead, and it didn't leave me with any explanation of cause or even a sad condolence. F you – “I quit” – that was all.

Rhododendron thomsonii

Dr. Thomas Thomson

This Rhododendron species is a high altitude shrub native to India, Bhutan, Nepal and southern China where it grows at altitudes of 3,000-4,000 m (11-13,000 ft.). I love the bluish-green orbicular-ovate leaves, and it looks particularly regal even when not in flower. J. D. Hooker* collected the species from Sikkim and named it for Dr. Thomas Thomson (1817-1878), a surgeon of the Thibetian [sic.] Mission who was Hooker's travelling companion in the eastern Himalaya. Thomson was appointed superintendent of the Calcutta Botanic Garden, a place where I sweated profusely in the 100 degree heat during my one and only visit in 1979 when I was perfectly single. I mention “single” because in those days a white young (handsome) American tourist aroused the tittering (single I hoped) wealthy Indian girls to point and laugh at me. It was rude and unnerving at first, but eventually I learned to mock them in response by pointing and laughing at them also. It was weird, but exhilarating. Anyway R. thomsonii displays deep red flowers that I can only describe as delicious. God bless the Rhododendron Species Garden in Federal Way, Washington, for two years ago I was able to purchase a replacement R. thomsonii, and yesterday it was planted in the shady area down by the creek at the edge of the woods.

Joseph Dalton Hooker receiving a tribute of flowers in the eastern Himalaya

*Joseph Dalton Hooker (1817-1911) was a British botanist and explorer, and was also Charles Darwin's closest friend. For 20 years he served as the Director of RBG, Kew and was really the first European to collect plants in the Himalaya. I relish one description of Hooker – for it would apply to me also – that he was “impulsive and somewhat peppery in temper.”

The Flora Wonder Arboretum

Of course I hope that every plant that I put into the ground will out-live me. It's a strange thought, but at this point in my life I must question why I bother to plant anything? It's for whom? If not for me, who will really care? What happens next? The Flora Wonder Arboretum might eventually become a Wal-Mart parking lot, and certainly there's enough losers in the area to patronize the store. If not for my children, the world could easily have done without me. Maybe this will be my last blog – we'll see – but you will go on just about the same. I used to read the comics page in the newspaper, almost every comic, every day, but I quit about 50 years ago because nothing was funny. Then yesterday I read every comic in the paper and I thought that they were all pretty funny. Where had I gone in that time? Life is really good if you let it be.

Autumn Notes

Rosa nevadensis

We're well advanced into autumn, and after our record-setting (days above 90) scorching summer  we all welcome the breath of fresh air. Leaves are falling now, some without turning colors first...just brown and crapped-out after their long ordeal. Seeds have developed and sometimes shine with brilliance, as with the hips of the Rosa genus. Our orchard produces enough apples and pears to feed Kim Jong-Un's army, and I really wish the employees would heed my offer that they can take all they want...really, and don't look nervous when I plead. Why is food so hard to give away? Fortunately Haruko is adept at making applesauce, so she has already put up a year's supply.

Acer palmatum 'Sango kaku'

Acer palmatum 'Sango kaku'

I look out the office window, watching the original Display Garden changes its tune, with green foliage becoming yellow, orange, red and purple. The first two trees I planted – and at the time I thought they were amazingly cool – was a pair of Acer palmatum 'Sango kaku'. One died early on...after a brutal winter, but the other prospers and today a yellow-orange cloud hovers over the lower plants. Let's see: it was six years old when I bought it, and that was 38 years ago. Sango kaku, or “coral tower” in Japanese, is an apt name in winter when the tree was young, but now you don't see any red (branches) when you stand next to it. On a clear day – if you are 100 feet away and look up – you can see red twigs at the top in the winter months. Basically, it's like a cute young girl that doesn't age well, because at 44 years she should still be looking good and living up to her name.

Acer palmatum 'Little Sango'

Acer palmatum 'Little Sango'

Perhaps a better garden plant is Acer palmatum 'Little Sango' which originated as a witch's broom on a 'Sango kaku'. It grows as a dwarf dense bush where you look sideways at it, not up at it as with its parent. The branches turn the same coral-red as its mother in winter, but there's so many more of them. The tree, turned upside down, would truly be a “red broom.” 'Little Sango' is a Buchholz Introduction, and I'm fully aware that it has an illegitimate name, what with combining English and Japanese words. Even though I constantly harp about correct nomenclature, the “sango kaku” name has become Americanized to a large degree because the tree is described as “ever-popular” or even “ubiquitous” since it is so common in landscapes. The cheap box stores even stock 'Sango kaku' as one of their three Japanese maple staples: 'Bloodgood', 'Sango kaku' and one or another of a red laceleaf. So anyway 'Little Sango' doesn't seem so much of a faux pas, and it's certainly a better name (and stronger tree) than another dwarf 'Sango kaku' broom – 'Fjellheim', an Australian introduction.

Acer palmatum 'Bihou'

Acer palmatum 'Bihou' (pronounced “bee-ho”) is a recent Japanese introduction. I first collected it with a “u” in the name, but the Vertrees/Gregory tome, Japanese Maples (4^th edition) lists it as 'Biho'. In any case it is famous for its yellow-orange winter stems, or an “apricot-yellow” color according to maple author Peter Gregory. Yes, that's a better description. I don't grow too many because I haven't fully come to terms with the cultivar. I don't know for sure, but I suspect that it is not winter hardy below USDA zone 7, or 0 degrees F, whereas many palmatum cultivars can withstand USDA zone 5, or -20 degrees F. 'Bihou' also develops black bark smudges around branch crotches. The tree can thrive above these blemishes – whatever causes them – but I hesitate to ship plants that don't look perfectly healthy. The jury is still out.

Acer palmatum 'BiRise'

Buchholz Nursery is probably the first to produce – or even think to do so – a red-bark Japanese maple that combines with 'Bihou'. We produce a concoction called 'BiRise' where we take a 'Sango kaku'-like cultivar, 'Japanese Sunrise', and graft 'Bihou' into its branches. The goal is to attain a half-and-half tree where in winter you have equal parts red and apricot-yellow branches. Wow! – this goes beyond Horticulture 101, where the combination is undistinguished in spring and summer, but in late fall and into winter you can have great excitement in the dormant garden.

Cornus kousa 'Summer Fun'

Cornus kousa 'KLVW'

The variegated Cornus kousa cultivars actually look more vibrant in the fall than they do in spring and summer, the one exception being 'Summer Fun' which looks great all year. 'KLVW' (Kristin Lipka's Variegated Weeper) is saddled with a cumbersome name, but in addition the green and white leaves are dull in spring, especially when compared to 'Summer Fun'. But the former weeps, a trait that some gardeners like, and then it redeems itself in autumn with pink and maroon leaves.

Cornus kousa 'Akatsuki'

Cornus kousa 'Akatsuki'

The variegated foliage of Cornus kousa 'Akatsuki' is about the same as with 'KLVW', with fall displaying a wide array of colors. Ultimately they evolve to mostly purple, a process that takes about three weeks. The popularity of 'Akatsuki' is mainly due to its reddish flower bracts, as it originated as a sport on the red-flowering 'Satomi'. 'Akatsuki' was discovered in Japan and the word means “red moon,” and is used to mean “rising dawn” or “daybreak.”

Cornus florida 'Autumn Gold'

Cornus florida 'Autumn Gold'

Cornus florida 'Autumn Gold' looked good the other day when I walked through the greenhouse. I had my camera but I didn't take any photos because I already have so many. I don't know what causes such variation in autumn color – it can range from bold gold to deep purple – but maybe it's the natural progression of the colors. I should check on my 'Autumn Gold' trees every day and see if they all eventually turn purple.

Pinus contorta 'Chief Joseph'

Chief Joseph

The winter-gold pines have begun their transformation from dull and barely noticeable to the dramatic. In about a month they will be fully brilliant. The late Doug Will had a small nursery near Sandy, Oregon and – no offense – it didn't amount to much. Nevertheless he is credited with the discovery of one of the greatest cultivars in the entire world of conifers: Pinus contorta 'Chief Joseph'. The Chief (1840-1904) led the Nez Perce (pierced nose) tribe who dwelled from the Wallowa Mountains in the northeast of Oregon to across the plains west of the Rocky Mountains. Before being named Chief Joseph he was called Hin-mah-too-ya-lat-kekt meaning “Thunder rolling down the mountain.” After skirmishes with the superior numbers of the American army, he tried to lead his people to safety in Canada, but his 700 followers were no match for the 2,000 soldiers on the 1,400 mile march, and they surrendered just 40 miles from the border. In his surrender speech he said, “My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.” There's some days I feel that way too with regards to the American and Oregon governments. Sick And Sad – SAS.

Pinus contorta 'Chief Joseph'

Pinus contorta is a variable species, but since Doug Will found 'Chief Joseph' in the Wallowa Mountains, while on a hunting trip, you know he found the var. latifolia, not the P. contorta var. contorta which is the “Shore pine” native to a coastal strip of North America. Will's pine is commonly known as the “Lodgepole pine” and it is much more winter hardy than its coastal relative. The 'Chief Joseph' cultivar is infamous for being difficult to graft – I'm happy with even 50% – so that's why they are still pricey in the trade. Also, it grows better in colder, dryer climates than in the soggy western half of Oregon where I have my nursery. After every winter my trees develop a needle crud where they turn partially brown by February-March. It doesn't kill the trees, but they are unsightly for a couple of months until new growth pushes.

Pinus mugo 'Ophir'

Pinus mugo 'Carsten's Winter Gold'

There are many cultivars of mugo pine that turn gold in the winter. I'm not sure which is the “best” because I don't have them planted next to each other to compare. We have collected 'Ambergold', 'Carsten's Winter Gold', 'Ophir' and 'Zundert', but I have seen other nice ones in Europe such as 'Golden Glow'. Of the cultivars we do produce I like 'Ophir', and even though it's not as bright as some of the others, it radiates a soft color that is a little more elegant. Ophir is a biblical land of uncertain origin, possibly southern Arabia or eastern Africa, from which gold was brought for Solomon. 1 Kings 10:11.

Nerine bowdenii

One little pot of Nerine bowdenii sat in the greenhouse all year, doing absolutely nothing. It was dropped off one day by Roger of Gossler Farms Nursery, a long-time friend and customer. Google and buy something from his retail/mail-order nursery. The Gossler nursery can best be described as eclectic, with a lot of great plants, many of which you have never seen or heard of before. Anyway the Nerine has burst into dozens of lily-like blooms. The genus is not in the lily family, but rather the Amaryllidaceae family. It is probably not hardy outdoors, or borderline if it is, so I'll keep the South African native in the greenhouse indefinitely I suppose. The species was named for Athelstan Cornish-Bowden who sent bulbs from South Africa to England in 1904 and the English loved it so much that it achieved the Award of Garden Merit. The genus name Nerine is fun. It was coined by William Herbert in 1820 and derives from the Nereids, the sea nymphs of Greek mythology who protected sailors and their ships. Nothing better than a group of nymphs for protection, as long as they do their job. But a common name is “Guernsey lily,” in reference to the island of Guernsey in the English Channel, for the species N. sarniensis washed ashore after a ship wrecked en route to The Netherlands, and the bulbs became established and multiplied around the coast.

Rhododendron macrosepalum/stenopetalum 'Linearifolium'

Rhododendron macrosepalum 'Linearifolium' has blossoms present from May throughout all summer, and there are still fresh flowers today, at least in the greenhouse. Also known as the “Spider Azalea,” the Japanese native will eventually stop flowering for winter. I've only had one planted outside but it died in winter, although the American Rhododendron Society claims it is hardy to 5 degrees F. According to Hillier in his Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2014), the species name has been changed from macrosepalum to stenopetalum*, and he says it has been “long cultivated in Japan.” That's good because it is of garden origin, and nobody has seen the cultivar (or variety) growing in the wild.

*From Latin stenos for “narrow, straight.”

Dahlia 'Mystic Illusion'

I've had a dislike for the Dahlia genus most of my life. In the Graham Greene novel Travels with My Aunt, the stuffy banker Henry Pulling brightens his boring existence by raising Dahlias, and you can easily picture a middle-aged loser puttering in his plot. Then about 10 years ago I went on an England plant trip to some of the world's most famous gardens and arboreta, and it seemed as if everybody was growing Dahlias. I came away with the conclusion that they're not so bad after all, especially the “singles” (those displaying a single row of florets). Spaniards reported finding the genus growing in Mexico in 1525, but Francisco Hernandez, physician to Phillip II, was the first to describe it scientifically. In 1789 Vicente Cervantes, Director of the Botanic Garden in Mexico City, sent plant parts to Abbe Cavanilles, Director of the Royal Gardens of Madrid, and one plant flowered that same year. In 1791 he named it Dahlia after Anders Dahl (1751-1789) a Swedish botanist and student of Linnaeus.

Oxydendrum arboreum 'Chameleon'

We grow 'Chameleon', a cultivar of Oxydendrum arboreum. It's not much different than the type, except that when you graft a named clone on seedling rootstock your crop will grow with more uniformity than seedling trees. 'Chameleon' is an excellent garden tree and it won an Award of Merit for its Pieris-like flowers which appear in fall. But then it is also very noticeable for its orange-red autumn foliage which never fails to appear. Oxydendrum – I don't know why it's not dron – was named by Linnaeus where oxy is Greek for “acid,” and that explains the common name of “sourwood.” I guess the cultivar name 'Chameleon' is ok since the leaves change colors, but then so do most deciduous trees. The Greek ancients named the lizard chamaileon from chamai for “on the ground” and leon for “lion,” so the name has nothing to do with the lizard changing his colors. I am a “chameleon” of sorts too, as I am a different person at home than at work. I can be someone you want me to be as well...if I think it is worth it.

We can freeze any night now, we have been close, hence the saying, “frost on the old pumpkin.” We have a fun plant that appeared on the road, just in front of the office door. Two boys (well, they're 30 now) live in the house that connects with the office, and apparently foreman  Luis spit out a watermelon seed on his way to his car. The seed germinated and an attractive little weed – er...plant – appeared. It grew, and what the heck, it flowered and produced a watermelon. We watch it daily, and for the past – what? – two months we marvel at the size increase. It's almost a Jack-in-the-beanstalk event. At some point we'll harvest the melon and have a company party. It won't set any world records because of its late start, and besides, a gravel road is not where national champions are raised. For me, it's like a stork dropped a gift from the sky, but one that we were not expecting. Life can bless you that way.