In The Garden – an English
magazine I subscribe to – I read a review of A Natural History
of English Gardening by Min Wood (the reviewer) who wrote, “Many
people have no closer encounter with nature than a wasp lurking on
the rim of a glass of chardonnay. Gardeners are more fortunate. For
us, nature is a much-loved, if sometimes belligerent partner.”
Partner, eh? I have a lot of plants in
my “garden,” but I'm certainly no partner with nature.
Gardeners can afford to consider nature as a partner, where losing a
tree or trees doesn't much affect their net domestic happiness. Look,
Flora has admonished me in the past for whining about my relationship
with nature; she reminds me that I was never coerced into
horticulture, that I went into my nursery career by my own volition;
but truthfully I would say that I stumbled into horticulture
because I was unfit to enter into anything else. I won't go so far as
to say that I am a victim of nature, but the belligerent bitch
has slapped me around on numerous occasions. But ya, I love her from
time to time too.
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| Mother Nature |
In other words, though I direct a huge
garden, the Flora Wonder Arboretum, I am first a
nurseryman
who must feed my family – and my employees' families – with the
sale of plants. Day after day, year after year...with no end in
sight. I never developed an exit strategy because of the constant
presence of impending circumstances, situations where imminent
business survival outweighed any long-term strategy. So, I am not a
partner with nature, but I do
deal with her. And with
people too. Notice that I designate nature as
feminine, and
maybe that's from the common term of “Mother Nature,” but never
in my life have I ever been in control of anything feminine; it is
not possible.
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| Plant life on earth |
The origin of the word “mother” is
from Old English modor, and that from Proto-Germanic moder,
and that ultimately from Proto-Indo-European mehter. The word
nature is derived from Latin natura for “essential
qualities” or “innate disposition,” and it is a translation of
the earlier Greek word physics. Over 90% of the total biomass
on Earth is plant life, which we animals require for our existence.
More than 2 million species of plant and animal life have been
identified as of 2006, but of course new species are constantly being
added while others disappear forever.
The same can be said for my nursery,
with new species coming and others leaving. They “leave” by
natural death, execution via chainsaw, or when I
knowingly/unknowingly sell my last tree. I got over my Noah's Ark
mentality some years back, where with every plant I wanted to keep at
least one. Now, with far fewer years remaining in my career than have
passed, I have a less acquisitive nature while I have grown
more inquisitive hopefully. Actually, just seeing a new (to
me) species somewhere, to make its acquaintance so to speak,
satisfies my lust, and I don't have to find room for it in the
garden. I am only “borrowing” trees anyway, as I hope that all
trees on my property will outlive me.
Halesia tetraptera
A tree that left my sphere of influence
years ago was Halesia tetraptera. I liked it, but somehow it was
finally gone, but just as well as the species is now considered to be
of the H. carolina group. I was unable to sell the “silverbells”
worth a damn, and it was a shame to see them finish flowering in
Oregon before we shipped east. No retail customer wants to unload a
Buchholz truck and have a tree sit there until it blooms the
following year, and only then would someone buy it.
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| Stephen Hales |
The name Halesia is derived from
New Latin for Stephen Hales, a 1700's English physiologist. Hales
lived a long 83 years, born in Kent in 1677 and died in Teddington in
1761. Typical of his learned day, he was an English clergyman who
contributed to the fields of botany and chemistry besides physiology.
Somebody had to first understand the measurement of blood pressure,
and indeed it was Hales. Apparently, “He bled a sheep to death and
then led a gun-barrel from the neck vessels into the still-beating
heart. Through this, he filled the hollow chambers with molten wax
and then measured from the resultant cast the volume of the heartbeat
and the minute-volume of the heart, which he calculated from the
pulse-beat.”
The Halesia genus was named for Hales
by John Ellis in 1759. The classical scholar Thomas Twining
(1735-1804) penned the verse:
“Green Teddington's serene retreat
For Philosophic studies meet,
Where the good Pastor Stephen Hales
Weighed moisture in a pair of
scales,
to lingering death put Mares and
Dogs,
And stripped the Skins from living
Frogs,
Nature, he loved, her Works intent
To search or sometimes to torment.”
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| Halesia carolina |
Hales was not beloved by all, and the
poet Alexander Pope said of Hales, “He commits most of these
barbarities with the thought of its being of use to man.” I love
the Halesia genus more than you do, apparently, and hopefully I
haven't disserviced it with an unfair depiction of Stephen Hales's
life. I was most pleased to see the Halesia genus in the Carolina
wild, and though I no longer grow it, I continue to admire it in the
gardens of others.
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| Keteleeria davidiana var. davidiana |
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| Keteleeria davidiana 'Collector's Red' |
Also terminated from the Buchholz scene
is Keteleeria davidiana, and I grew the cultivar 'Collector's Red',
given to me by the late Bill Janssen of Washington state who supposed
its spring growth was more reddish than the type. Maybe that is the
characteristic of the species, or not, I don't know as I've never
studied other Keteleeria in the spring. I successfully propagated it
via rooted cuttings in the winter, and sold all of the offspring
since I reasoned it wouldn't be hardy for me in Oregon. One winter
about 20 years ago we received an Arctic blast with 0 degrees F plus
30 MPH winds.* My 'Collector's Red' perished in its pot even though
the species is listed as hardy to USDA zone 7, or 0 degrees F. Bets
are off for hardiness when the roots are above ground. Imagine my
surprise when I saw a large tree at Plant Delights Nursery in
Charlotte, North Carolina, when the low of 5 degrees F was recorded
in 2014. I would have been better off with my plant in the ground.
'Collector's Red' is gone, Mr. Janssen is gone and I'll never have
another in the collection.
*The same winter I had Picea pungens
cultivars above ground in 1 gallon pots, can-tight in beds of 10 pots
wide. They were grafted onto Picea abies – hardiness to USDA zone
2, -50 degrees F – but the outer row on both sides died. The
asshole owner of T----- Nursery in Portland called me in summer and
demanded to know what rootstock I used because the spruce he
purchased had all died. I replied, “Picea abies.” “No it
wasn't,” he countered. “Yes it was, that's the only rootstock I
have ever used for spruce.” “No it wasn't, I want my money back.”
“Nope” – phone slams. And now he is dead too, and I didn't
attend the funeral.
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| Euonymus oxyphyllus |
I used to grow a number of Euonymus
species, and one of my favorites was oxyphyllus. Sales were slow
because no one comes to me for “cheap” trees, as all species of
Euonymus are deemed to be low-priced but mine were not. At some point
I had only one left and a customer saw it ablaze in fall and wanted
to buy it. Alright, I reasoned, since I don't plan to propagate it
anymore – adios to E. oxyphyllus. The species name is derived from
Greek for leaves that are “sharp, acute” pointed. The term
Euonymus was coined by Linnaeus from the Latin name of the
“spindle tree,” and that originated from Greek euonumos
meaning “of good name.”
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| Euonymus sieboldianus |
No more Euonymus sieboldianus either,
for pretty much the same story as above.
Leucadendron argenteum
Leucadendron argenteum
I lost a Leucadendron argenteum when
the heater failed in GH20. Known as the “silver tree” due to its
foliage, the species is native to South Africa where it is called
Silwerboom in Afrikaans. I bought my tree at a retail nursery
in California after seeing the species at the Strybing Arboretum in
San Francisco and later at the Santa Cruz Botanic Garden. One can
burn a lot of pixels when photographing the tree as the light dances
off the evergreen leaves and every angle gives you something
interesting. Even under the white poly in GH20 it was a shimmering
show-off. The silver tree's leaves feel soft and silky, and the leaf
color is due to soft hairs. I won't go out of my way to replace my
Leucadendron, but it was fun while it lasted.
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| Pinellia tripartita 'Free Tibet' |
Dracunculus vulgaris
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| Amorphophallus titanum |
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| Sir David Attenborough with Amorphophallus titanum |
Ok, enough for the extinct species at
Buchholz Nursery, I'll discuss some relatively new additions. I had
never seen nor knew anything about Pinellia tripartita until a year
ago when I purchased the cultivar 'Free Tibet' from Plant Delights
Nursery. Pinellia is in the Araceae family, commonly known as
aroids,
with Philodendron perhaps its most well-known member. With Pinellia
its “flower” is known as the
spadix, and it is housed in a
modified leaf known as the
spathe. The photo above doesn't
show it, but 'Free Tibet' is attractive with yellow and yellow/green
variegated leaves. We also recently acquired a related genus,
Dracunculus vulgaris, which bloomed last summer. The flowers stink to
high-heaven which is their way of attracting pollinating insects, but
they disintegrate within a few days. The most impressive aroid is the
huge species Amorphophallus titanum whose flower can reach over 10'
tall and whose “fragrance” smells like rotting meat. It is native
to Sumatra and Indonesia and in the latter it is known as
bunga
(for flower)
bangkai (for corpse). Scientifically
Amorphophallus is from Greek
amorphos meaning “without form,
misshapen” and
phallos meaning “phallus” and
titanum
meaning “giant.” I remember seeing the program where naturalist
Sir David Attenborough, in his series
The Private Life of Plants,
showed the flowering of the “titan arum” – a name he coined as
he felt the word
Amorphophallus was not appropriate for family
television.
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| Silene davidii |
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| Silene virginica |
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| Virgil |
Silene davidii is native to Sichuan and
was named for the prolific French missionary Armand David. It grows
in high alpine meadows where it forms low mats with pretty
purple-pinkish flowers in summer. In spite of its alpine home it is
easily grown and propagated at Buchholz Nursery – altitude 200'. A
word of caution though – in winter the green foliage turns
blond-brown and you're sure the plant is dead. However by early
spring tiny specks of green begin to appear within the “dead”
mat, and these expand until it is totally green again. The word
silene (pronounced “syleenee”) is derived from Latin
silenus viscaria and that refers to a “catchfly” plant,
one which has a viscid secretion on the stem and calyx that can trap
small insects, but Silene is not carnivorous however. One wonders
about the connection in the Pastorals of Virgil where “the
old silene sings about the chaos and organization of the world,”
and what that has to do with the genus in question. Silene virginica
is the “fire pink,” a short-lived perennial from eastern America,
from Ontario, Canada south to Florida where it grows in open woods
and rocky slopes. Its principal pollinator is the ruby-throated
hummingbird (Archilochus colubris), and I remember when my Japanese
wife was thrilled to see her first hummingbird – not on a fire-red
Silene – but on my plastic-red hummingbird feeder. You just don't
have that kind of fun in Tokyo.
Acer pubipalmatum
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| Tim and Matt Nichols |
Acer pubipalmatum is a species I knew
absolutely nothing about until I saw it at Arboretum Wespelaar in
Belgium a few years ago. It can best be described as the Chinese
“Japanese maple,” and indeed Acer palmatum is an acceptable
rootstock. To quote from Mr. Maple.com – the Nichols Boys from
North Carolina, the source for my new plant – “Acer pubipalmatum
is a rare Chinese maple...This Chinese tree leafs out in the early
spring with a pubescent bluish green leaf. Midsummer flushes are
bright to deep red. Fall colors are more amazing than 'Osakazuki'
with a bright fire-ry [sic] red. Acer pubipalmatum is estimated to
get 15' in 20 years. Mature specimens have white striations in the
bark giving an addled year-round and especially winter interest.”
Usually when a nurseryman sings the praises of a plant it is because
he has a crop that is slow to sell, but those of us who know the
Nichols Boys understand that if they recommend a particular species
it is for valid reasons.
I acquired a Rhododendron yuefengense
from the Rhododendron Species Foundation in Washington state two
years ago, based solely on its cheerfully-green rounded leaves. They
described that its origin is from southwest China (1800-2150 m.) and
that its corolla is “funnel-campanulate,” i.e. bell-shaped. My
favorite Rhododendron species is probably R. orbiculare, and R.
yuefengense can be considered a R. orbiculare on steroids. When I saw
the yuef. in flower the following spring I suppose my “favorite”
Rhododendron had changed. Scottish expert Kenneth Cox relates that
“more than 50 new species of Rhododendron have been introduced from
the wild since 1981 and some are significant garden plants, worthy of
cultivation,” and R. yuefengense is one of the best recent
discoveries. Remember that a species of Rhododendron can vary in the
wild, as with most plants, and the keen plant collector will seek out
the “best” form to introduce into our gardens. For example, for
R. orbiculare I have two selections – one that I identify as
'Edinburgh' and the other as 'Exbury', even though they are not
really cultivars.
Salix magnifica
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| Salix magnifica |
It's fun to discuss my “new”
plants, but in the case of Salix magnifica it is not “new,” but
rather “renewed.” I grew it for many years and admired it
greatly, but it was difficult to find buyers. My last tree
disappeared via sales – which later I regretted – and a dozen
years passed before I found it again at Gossler Farms Nursery in
Oregon. It is native to Sichuan, China where it grows at an altitude
of 6,000 to nearly 10,000 feet. When first collected by E.H. Wilson
it was thought to be a Magnolia...until it Salixly flowered, and
later it proved to be
dioecious with male and female catkins
on separate plants. S. magnifica is grown mainly for its bold foliage
and it possesses the largest leaves of any willow.
I don't know if my new plants are
necessarily better than my departed, but at least it's a change of
scenery that keeps me floristically fresh, and energetic with my
difficult career. Not whining, of course, about the career.