Flora Wonder Blog: May 2021

Friday, May 28, 2021

Acer palmatum 'Jet Black'

This past spring I received a letter from a maple collector seeking out Acer palmatum 'Jet Black'

Wow – in her eighties – and still with a "few years to enjoy." Suddenly she became my favorite customer so we shipped her a tree.

I guess I became her favorite nurseryman, and I didn't have to work very hard to do so. Perhaps I can visit her one day, even though she lives 10-12 hours away by car, and we can sip tea amongst her maples. The wonderful Gales of the world help me to maintain a positive outlook, and I'm pleased that my career has made at least one old lady happy. Thank you dear.

Friday, May 21, 2021

Woodbank Nursery, Tasmania

Reuben Hatch

My long-time friend Reuben Hatch ditched his professional and domestic duties one winter and visited Tasmania during the last two weeks of January 2002. He published an article Gone to the Devil for Two Weeks.

Therein Hatch writes: “In spite of what a few folks assured me, Tasmania is definitely not located in Africa. But rather it is an island and state of Australia, lying south of Melbourne, separated by the Bass Straight by a distance of 150 miles. The land lies at 41-43 degrees south latitude and is heart shaped. It is 200 x 200 miles, or 40,000 sq. miles, about the size of the state of Virginia...”

Weather can change quickly and it is a bragging right of locals to remind all that Tasmania can get all four seasons in one day. According to Hatch: “All I know is that I had near perfect mountain hiking weather, and I believe that the odds of good weather during plant blooming time, December thru February, are in the hiker's favor.”

Richea pandanifolia

Hatch encountered alpine plants such as Richea pandanifolia, various conifers like Podocarpus and the three species of Athrotaxis (A. cupressoides, A. selanginoides and A. laxifolia) and various grasses and ferns. He had a great time, other than the one temporary predicament of locking his keys inside his rental car, but one can chuckle at such a misadventure with years in hindsight.

I wish I could have accompanied Reuben but I was then a newly-wed with other seeds to sow, but I look forward one day to undertake a grand tour of Australia, New Zealand and Tasmania. Reuben visited a couple of plant nurseries, and he was so impressed with Woodbank Nursery which he stopped at early in the trip that he revisited it on his last day as well. He discussed with the owners, the Gillanders, the possibility of exporting plants to America and they were keen to have the business. To lend more gravitas to the venture, Hatch encouraged me to put in my two cents and bolster his little order. I spent a lot of time with Woodbank's extensive catalogue and concluded that I “needed” quite a few things. The catalogue included two sections: 1) rock garden plants and perennials and 2) trees and shrubs.

So, I placed an order. About three months later, anxious for my plants, I was disappointed to receive a fax from the Los Angeles Inspection Department that all was not well, that one item – can't remember what now – was prohibited, and the US Feds were obligated to save America by rejecting everything. I pleaded that they could toss the offending contraband and send the remainder on to me since it had all the proper paperwork. Back and forth we went, and maybe they enjoyed the drama, but in the end they sent one entire box (out of two) back to Tasmania because the “other” plants had come into contact with the illegal culprit. When the one box finally arrived in Portland it had been opened and pawed through in search of insects or disease, with a number of labels scattered about. I concede that the unfortunate affair was my fault, that I should have checked with the USDA first about all plants, which shouldn't be the job for the shipper. The Gillanders and I worked it out somehow, and a few of the recipients are still with me today.

Agapetes 'Red Elf'

Twenty years later, as I was going through my basement bookshelves of about 4,000 publications, I rediscovered the Hatch travelogue and next to it was the Woodbank catalogue. Let's take a look at the latter, and you'll see that the Gillanders produced an interesting assortment of floral treasures. One item that I quickly ordered was Agapetes 'Red Elf', which was described as an “evergreen shrub with pendulous narrow red flowers with a green mouth.” Woodbank's nomenclature would suggest that 'Red Elf' is of hybrid origin, but Far Reaches Farm in Washington state suggests that the “attractive cousin to blueberries growing in the trees of Thailand's northern mountains” is the “typical hosseana” species.” I don't know as I'm not a USDA zone 9 (20 F) plant expert, but I remember first discovering the Agapetes genus in the eastern Himalayan foothills at about 7,000-8,000' elevation...where the epiphytic's spring blossoms were strewn across the trail, and I fantasized that the nearby village children had intentionally scattered the flowers to welcome this sweaty American trekker. Alas, I sold very few 'Red Elf' due to its hardiness challenge, but I don't regret having given it a try. A solo arching bush remains in the corner of my GH23, and I always nibble on a berry or two in late summer...and thereby relive my past Asian sojourns. Of course it is arrogant of me to suppose that Nepalese hill-children would adorn my path with the tubular red blossoms, but then the generic name Agapetes is derived from Greek agapetos for “beloved.”

Eucryphia lucida 'Ballerina'

I was touring with a customer in one of our greenhouses and he was impressed to find Eucryphia lucida 'Ballerina', a plant he considered impossible to produce in a container. He wondered where I got my start and I answered “Tasmania.” That was a number of years ago and today I have only one tree left because I too didn't really succeed with it. Cuttings would easily root and grow rambunctiously, but then suddenly go into decline. Maybe they just hated the greenhouse environment, and my one remainder is at least 10' tall but its foliage is far from lucid, so much for the specific epithet. I never had trouble, though, with E. x nymansensis, a cross between two South American species, E. cordifolia x E. glutinosa. For all my trouble it's too bad that 'Ballerina' wasn't in the box that was returned to Tasmania. I should have known that growing it would be a challenge, just as it was to raise a healthy daughter when she danced ballet pre-professionally. A beautiful ballerina, but such a challenge.

Podocarpus salignus

I knew when I ordered Podocarpus salignus that I was getting a non-hardy conifer that would be confined to a protective greenhouse kept above freezing. You could say that I've squandered a large portion of my children's anticipated inheritance with my history of Woodbank-type orders, but it has been one of the privileges of being the boss. Sadly, the heater failed one winter so the southern Chilean podocarp really was a waste of money, but it was fun while it lasted. The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2019) states: “A well-grown specimen creates an almost tropical effect with its lush piles of evergreen, glossy, willow-like foliage. Hardy in the South West when given the shelter of other evergreens.” If I remember correctly the photo above was taken in southern England – was it at Savill Garden? – but as you can see it wasn't supplied with any shelter.

Azalea kiusianum

Azalea kiusianum in Japan

Woodbank also listed an Azalea kiusianum 'Shoi Pink' but I passed on that since I had already propagated other forms of the species. E.H. Wilson collected the ornamental shrub and Japanese botanist Makino named it, but the cultivar tag of 'Shoi Pink' is obviously nomenclaturally incorrect, what with combining the Japanese language with English. I pressed my wife for the meaning of 'Shoi' but she said she didn't know the word, so I'm guessing it's a place name. As far as the specific epithet kiusianum – yes i before u – it is derived from the name Kyushu, the southernmost of Japan's four main islands where the species is native. It thrives on porous volcanic soils and Haruko found on her Japanese internet photos of wonderful pink swaths in the wild. Flower color can range from white to pink to salmon-red to various shades of purple.

Microstrobos fitzgeraldii

Woodbank lists Microstrobus [sic] fitzgeraldii, an “extremely rare native conifer with fine soft foliage and a very graceful pendulous habit.” It is actually spelled Microstrobos, not...bus, and means “small cone.” It is in the Podocarp family, allied to Microcachrys and Dacridium, and the generic name has a synonym, Pherosphaera* (Hooker). The specific epithet fitzgeraldii honors William Vincent Fitzgerald (1867-1929), an Australian botanist who described five genera and about 210 species of Australian plants.

*Phero means “to bear or carry” and sphaera is Latin for a “ball or globe,” referring to the tiny cones. According to The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs, it is “Usually only found at the foot of waterfalls in the Blue Mountains of New South Wales, Australia.”

Nomocharis aperta

In the Tasmanian box that did arrive was Nomocharis farreri, and as Woodbank describes, a “Bulb related to Lilium with beautiful orchid-like flowers. Pink with spotting in the centre.” It was sold at a high price with a limit of one, but unfortunately mine died after a couple of years, probably from over watering, or possibly from drying out. I could get it again from Far Reaches Farm who describe it as “A rare species from northern Myanmar and adjacent Yunnan.” Of course the specific epithet honors Reginald Farrer who collected it just after the First World War. I didn't take a photo of N. farreri in bloom before mine died, but subsequently I documented the related N. aperta from Far Reaches. The genus is aptly named from the Greek for “pasture and loveliness,” and indeed the F.R. folks say that “Nomocharis in cultivation live in the Summer of Love and welcome without reservation any pollen from any other Nomocharis nearby resulting in hybridity.”

Rhodohypoxis baurii 'Picta'

Another bulb of interest to me was Rhodohypoxis baurii which is commonly called the “red star” or “rosy posy,” an eastern South African native that grows in damp meadows. Flowers can range from white to pink to red and I fell for the white-flowered 'Picta'. The species was named for the Reverend Leopold Baur (1825-1889) who collected in South Africa, and was first described in 1876. The genus name is from Greek rhodon – as is rhododendron – for “rose” or “red,” hypo meaning “below” and oxy meaning “pointed” in reference to the leaves.

Vancouveria hexandra

Again, I've never been to Tasmania, but the island and its flora seem about as exotic as you can get. To a Tasmanian plantsman like Gillanders, I suppose the Oregon native Vancouveria hexandra is out of his world. I didn't need to order one because I can go into my woods and help myself for free. It is known as the “inside-out flower” because it looks like the stem is attached to the wrong part of the tiny white blossom, a curiosity that always impresses children. Woodbank describes Vancouveria as “an ideal herbaceous plant for a cool shaded area. Soft fern-like foliage and sprays of white flowers in spring.” I have taken many hikes in the Columbia River Gorge where the rhizomatous woodlander lines the trail along with Dicentra formosana, and one is tempted to nap upon the greenery. Long ago Reuben and I were on such a trail in May. We paused to soak in the fresh colors under the Douglas firs with the hypnotic music of a small rivulet adding to the wonder. I had just returned to Oregon from the other side of the world, from a three-week trip to Bhutan. Reuben asked, “Did you see anything this beautiful in Asia?” I answered, “No,” and a minute later “No, I did not.”

Hobart, Tasmania

To sum up Reuben's travelogue:

“Any complaints? Well a couple. I found that at the deli take-aways where I would order a sandwich in advance of a day's hike, I would have to watch carefully or the attendant would try to slip in some sliced beets. The other thing was I noticed people would occasionally honk at me while driving on the road. It seemed a bit rude just because I would be driving on the right side of the road – just kidding. To sum this all up I can do no better than to quote a lady in a tea shop with whom I had been chatting who said: 'Yehz, ah reckon Tassie is a pretty nice little island.'”

Friday, May 7, 2021

A Wandering Narrative Rerun

This past week Seth has been swamped with shipping and the myriad of details and complications that go with it...so I knew that he wouldn't have the time to produce a blog. Let's go back to May, 2015 for a blog re-run, back to a time when Seth apparently had more energy.

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Flora blessed me with an extraordinary week, for I encountered many fantastic plants, and all of the photos in this blog will join the many thousands of others that can be seen in our website photo library. Unfortunately many people call us wanting to buy what they see in the library, but I don't grow all of the plants, let alone have a market to sell them. Rather it is a record of my floral encounters, my autobiography as it were. It is true that you are what you eat, but equally so with what you see.

Dracunculus vulgaris

A spathe* developed on our Dracunculus vulgaris and I would inspect it daily. One day last week, voila, it opened, and I was surprised that it could happen so fast. The species name vulgaris is Latin for “common,” but this stinker went beyond “common” to the realm of putrid, all in an attempt to attract flies to aid in pollination. It is native to the Balkans, Turkey, Crete and Greece, and in the latter it is known as drakondia since the long spadix** – to someone who drank too much wine – looked like a dragon*** hiding in the spathe. Dracunculus belongs to the Araceae family and is related to the Arum genus. The spathe is a bract, so to speak, while the spadix bears numerous flowers, both male and female which are hidden inside the bulbous chamber inside the spathe. Even though the flower smells like rotten meat, it is poisonous, and animals keep clear.

*Spathe is Greek for “broad blade.”

**Spadix is Greek for “palm branch.”

***Dragon is from Greek drakon for “serpent.” Of course most everything from Greek went to Latin and was altered to some degree. Latin Graeci was the name given by the Romans to the people who called themselves the Hellenes, which was from the Greek Graikoi, and was believed by Aristotle to be the prehistoric name of the Hellenes. Latin, or Latium was the country of the Latini, a people from Mount Album – today Colli Albani – located twelve miles southeast of Rome. The area has been occupied by agricultural populations since the Bronze Age, and the name is possibly derived from the Latin word “latus” meaning “wide,” referring to the flat land. I don't know about you, but sometimes the asterisk (from Greek asteriskos for “little star”) is more interesting than the paragraph which preceded it.

Fagus sylvatica 'Aurea Pendula'

May is a wonderful time to see our magnificent specimen of Fagus sylvatica 'Aurea Pendula'. When we eventually reach 100 degrees F this summer the foliage will burn to a degree – for we have very little humidity – but the longer it has been in our original display garden the better it handles the sun. The tree behind the 'Aurea Pendula' is the original Acer palmatum 'Purple Ghost', and beyond that is an Abies nordmanniana, planted as a sapling to one day provide shade. The “Golden Weeping beech” was introduced by Van der Bom of Holland in 1900, but you don't see it very often in American gardens. Everyone wants to buy our larger trees so they are a cinch to sell, but clients never know about our dismal propagation results, and just what it takes to get little plants of weak constitution to shoot upward. I saw my first plant and got a start 35 years ago from Howard Hughes – no, not the loony Vegas tycoon – who was a generous man of 92 at the time. Before J.D. Vertrees had a sizeable maple collection, Hughes had also gathered a collection, and when the Vertrees maple book came out in 1978, due acknowledgement was given to Mr. Hughes.

Acer macrophyllum 'Santiam Snow'

Acer macrophyllum 'Santiam Snow' is a new, but apparently stable variegated form of our “Oregon maple,” meaning that – hopefully – vigorous green reversions won't appear. It received its name because it was discovered on the Santiam Highway which begins just south of Salem, Oregon, and goes east...up-and-over the Cascade Mountains and into central Oregon. I don't know who found it, but the company that introduced it is Heritage Seedlings of Salem. Santiam is a river in the area, so-named by the Kalapuya tribe. The natives are gone now; those who survived the white-man's diseases and the disgusting concept of Manifest Destiny were relocated. It's fitting that they now run a large casino and suck huge sums of money from the slovenly descendants of those whities who first screwed them. Anyway, 'Santiam' has never been tested by me in the real world, that is, out in the garden in full sun.

[It has since been tested in full sun, and I'm pleased to report that it handles Oregon summers very well.]

Onoclea sensibilis

I encountered Onoclea sensibilis last week at a nursery that sells many groundcovers and ferns. In Sue Olsen's Encyclopedia of Garden Ferns, she says, “The name Onoclea is from the Greek onos, vessel, and kleio, to close or sheathe, in reference to the podlike pinnules enclosing the spores on the fertile fronds.” With the specific name sensibilis I wondered if the fronds would curl up if I touched them. I did, they didn't. They are “sensitive” in that the sterile fronds turn yellow and die at the first frost. Sue adds, “It was supposedly the first fern introduced to Britain from North America, in 1699.”

Dryopteris sieboldii

Dryopteris erythrosora

Polystichum polyblepharum

The fern greenhouse contained many genera and species, and none fascinates me more than Dryopteris sieboldii, “Siebold's wood fern.” Also noticed was Dryopteris erythrosora, the “autumn fern” from Asia. Its specific name means “red sori” in Greek, and sori is plural of sorus, which is from ancient Greek soros for “stack” or “heap.” The sori are the structures producing and containing spores, visible on the underside of the fertile fronds. Polystichum polyblepharum is the “Tassel fern” from Japan, Korea and China and the specific name means “many eyelashes” due to the bristly scales on the stipe. A stipe is a stalk or stem.

Cornus kousa 'Summer Fun'

Cornus controversa 'Variegata' at Schreiner's Nursery

Cornus controversa 'Variegata' at Arboretum Trompenburg

I arranged a visit to Schreiner's Iris Gardens, not so much for the iris, but to see Ray Schreiner's personal garden. His is a sprawling collection of trees and shrubs that he likes. After planting he doesn't worry about the labeling, for after all the trees are not part of his business. It's as if the countless crops of iris on 200 acres got a little boring, and his own garden seems to be where he has most fun. Ray likes variegated plants, and I was pleased to see three or four of my Cornus kousa 'Summer Fun', although he didn't get them from me. He also had a good sized Cornus controversa 'Variegata', a cultivar common in the gardens of tasteful plantsmen, but seldom seen in the landscapes of the general public. Cornus controversa, a tree native to eastern Asia to about the 5,000' altitude, was first described by William Botting Hemsley (1843-1924), an English botanist who worked his way up to Keeper of Herbarium and Library at Kew. 'Variegata' was introduced in 1896 by the Frenchman Barbier, and it is probably more commonly found in Europe than America. For me, the most grand specimen I have ever seen is at the Arboretum Trompenburg in Rotterdam, and even on dismal rainy days it will light up its area...as if it was preparing for a glorious wedding.

Schreiner's Display Garden

Schreiner's Iris Gardens

Iris 'Fringe of Gold'

Iris 'Sea Power'

I will admit that Schreiner's iris fields were spectacular, and customers and visitors are welcome to wander around a display garden, where labeling was a priority. Ray is a third generation iris-man, with his grandfather starting the business in Minnesota. Eventually they relocated to Oregon's Willamette Valley where growing conditions were far more superior, and they didn't forget to bring along their Adirondack furniture.

Audrey's place

Back at the nursery I encountered a lush scene in our Display Garden's lath house. I constructed this structure as a place of repose when I was in my early 30's, and even my older children would whisper when they were near it. It was known as Audrey's place, named after a friend who had passed away at a young age. She was my age, but could never seem to find her place in life, and was forever complaining about her job or her boyfriend etc. Finally I advised her to change her course and volunteer for something, to make the world a better place...and quit thinking about herself. She took me up on it and joined the Peace Corps and was shipped to a remote island in the Philippines. The villagers assumed she was a witch and would stare into her window, but she tried to accept the situation. After only a month of her stay we received a phone call from her mother that Audrey had died of “heart failure.” She was healthy and only 35, and to this day I conclude that she was murdered. In any case I built her monument and planted it with some choice shade-loving plants.

Acer palmatum 'Golden Falls'

Also on my camera from the past week are some Japanese maples, all of which are seedlings from named varieties which we hope to introduce in the near future. Acer palmatum 'Golden Falls' is a yellow-leaved seedling from A. p. 'Ryu sei' with the same pendulous habit of its parent. From the two hundred seedlings that we raised about 20 showed the weeping characteristic, while the others – the uprights – became rootstock. I have come to the conclusion in my career that it is best to have a cultivar name firmly in place before you propagate so as to avoid confusion later. I have broadcast that view before so I won't go into it further now – unless someone is inexperienced enough (or foolish) to debate with me.

Acer palmatum 'Celebration'

The original Acer palmatum 'Amber Ghost'

Acer palmatum 'Strawberry Spring'

Acer palmatum 'Yellow Threads'

Another attractive new maple is Acer palmatum 'Celebration' which originated as a seedling from 'Purple Ghost'. Its leaves are more brightly red than with 'Purple Ghost' or 'Amagi shigure', and it displays good vigor as well. A seedling from 'Amber Ghost' became 'Strawberry Spring', while 'Koto no ito' yielded 'Yellow Threads'. One should be cautious to describe a cultivar based on the original seedling, because one will never again be produced that way. The original is the one and only and all of its propagules will have a borrowed – and probably more vigorous – rootstock. For example, my first two grafts from my 'Fairy Hair' are over three times the size of the original seedling.

Paeonia ostii

I was disappointed with a shipment of Paeonia ostii 'Phoenix White' which I bought from another wholesale grower. He did not provide what he promised, as they all turned out to be seedlings of 'Phoenix White', and while some flowered white, most bloomed an insipid pink. One seedling was a strong pink and I like it, but it looks funny with a label that describes it as “white.” 'Phoenix White' is a tree peony from China, known as Feng Dan Bai, while a pink-flowered form is called Feng Dan Fen, and they are cultivated for the bark of their roots which is used as an anti-spasmodic. The tree peony is the national flower of China and is known as hua wang, “King of Flowers,” and this connotation goes back over 2,000 years. The herbaceous form of Paeonia is native to the Mediterranean region of Europe, and an anonymous Greek poet called it “the Queen of all herbs.” The Roman Pliny the Elder wrote that a tincture of peony roots “prevents the mocking illusions that the Fauns* bring to us in our sleep.”

*Faun is derived from the name of the pastoral god Faunus. In classical mythology they are one of a class of rural deities, represented as men with the ears, horns and rear legs and tail of a goat. Faunus was a nature god who was the father of Bona Dea, sometimes identified as Fauna.

Callicarpa japonica 'Snow Storm'

Callicarpa japonica 'Snow Storm' is a new plant from Japan, but in Europe it is known by its Japanese name of 'Shiji murasaki', which does not translate as “snow storm.” Murasaki is Japanese for “purple,” and I think that shiji is referring to the stems. The “purple” of course is referring to the “beautyberries.” Sadly the cultivar has been trademarked in America – meaning that I can't use the name and wouldn't be able to sell it. Furthermore, it will be peddled with the dumb name of 'Wine Spritzer', and I read that “landscapers are clinking wine glasses over this beautiful new shrub.” Yuck – count me out!

Abies concolor 'Wattezii'

Abies concolor is a western American fir that received its specific name because the trees are of one color, whole-colored, not partly-colored or variegated. Well, in general I guess, as the trees in the wild do look alike, but certainly not alike in the world of cultivars. This past week I walked around my upper gardens at Flora Farm, and I happily stumbled into Abies concolor 'Wattezii' which was flushed with beautiful new growth. Hillier describes the foliage, “leaves creamy yellow when young, becoming silvery white later.” Krussmann describes, “needles pale yellow on new growth, generally turning silver-white.” It originated as a mutation on A. concolor by D. Wattez in Bussum, Holland.

Dr. Forrest Bump

My connection to 'Wattezii' was due to the late Dr. Bump and his wife of Forest Grove, Oregon, who encountered a specimen in the Hillier Arboretum in England. Bump was a keen plantsman but his wife was not. After a long tour of the collection, led by Sir Harold Hillier himself, Mrs. Bump declared that “Wattezii' was the most interesting plant that she had ever seen. Bump went on a quest to acquire it, and I was pleased to provide him a tree from scions sent to me from an East Coast conifer collector. Dr. Bump was surprised that I remembered his story, but I was just beginning my nursery, and I reasoned that if a non-plant-person liked one tree out of the entire Hillier collection, it was probably something I should grow.

Acer griseum

The name of the Flora Wonder Blog could well have been A Wandering Narrative, with my floral encounters of the past week being the only theme. The last photo (above) was taken at 8:30 in the evening after a late dinner. I took my finished plate to the kitchen and glanced out the window. Acer griseum was glowing in the waning light, and one second after I pushed the shutter the sun retreated behind a cloud and it was good night for further photography. Below are more images from my happy week.