Reuben Hatch
I had been receiving persistent nudges from Flora to return to the Rhododendron Species Botanic Garden in Washington state. Early spring (2024) became late spring...which quickly evolved to a baking summer, and somehow I never carved out the time to visit one of my favorite of all the world's botanic collections. The garden --as a wonderful botanic institution-- hadn't changed, but rather I had changed. I had grown more reluctant to return solo to many of the plant destinations that my friend and mentor, the late Reuben Hatch and I used to frequent. He passed over a year ago and I needed to get rid of him (to a certain extent), as I recognized that he no longer should be my motivational cheerleader. We used to trade driving duties for the three-hour, one-way journey, and enroute we endeavored to solve the world's problems, or at least to figure a way to cope with them. But this past October I travelled with an empty seat beside me, just this old man alone with his thoughts.
Flora Farm
I realized there wouldn't be much in flower at the RSBG, if anything at all, but surely the multitude of the rhododendron companion plants would stir plenty of interest. In the past, our visits --R. and I-- would always begin in the retail sales yard near the garden entrance; but now, since my nursery and arboretum were sold a year ago, and since my current property is sparse on space, I skipped the lure of acquiring more plants. I recognized the need to go cold turkey with my possession-obsession and cultivate a more ethereal relationships with plants. In other words: I shouldn't cry because I no longer collect and propagate, instead I should smile at the accomplishment of creating millions of trees, and the grounding of a few thousand into the Flora Wonder Arboretum.
Rhododendron sinonuttallii
Therefore, I didn't even glance into the sales area. Then, according to habit, I typically visit the nearby conservatory, a beautiful structure that's crammed with non-hardy Rhododendron species from the tropics and filled with lowland temperate Asian plants like orchids, Agapetes epiphytes, tender Scheffleras etc. Always a treat is a gangly Rhododendron sinonuttallii*, because with its sparse branching the rich, coppery Acer griseum-like trunk shines quite noticeably. Not in flower on this cool October day, it waits until early spring to then bloom with an intense, lustful odor that would cause a French bordello-madame to blush. I have grown a few of those tender species in my GH20 "hot-house" at Buchholz Nursery with great enjoyment, at least until the sustaining greenhouse heater conks out on the winter's most frigid night.
t*Sinonuttalii-- yep: two "t's", two "l's" and two "i's" at the end, with "sino" (from China) has the prefixual epithet.
Rhododendron orbiculare 'Edinburgh'
Rhododendron orbiculare 'Edinburgh'
Out of the greenhouse with its stuffy humidity I followed the path to the top of the grassy meadow, an area with a slight slope but otherwise large enough to entertain an olympic-level croquet tournament. Rhododendrons border the meadow perimeter, with a generous patch at the bottom of one of my favorite "rose-tree" species, R. orbiculare. Obviously not now in blossom, nevertheless I admired the perky round, still horizontal leaves that had yet to go into their curled, winter droop. I used to grow an "Edinburgh" form which was gifted to me by the aforementioned R. Hatch 25 years ago. Native of Sichuan, China, it was discovered by Armand David in about 1870, then introduced to Britain by E.H. Wilson in1904.
On the top side of the green meadow resides a scrappy-looking needled conifer, Pseudolarix amabilis, the "Chinese False larch." I have pitied this poor specimen on every visit for the past ten years, yet it persists and annually produces a skimpy amount of new growth. Today, however, the low morning light illuminated a warm glow upon the soft needles, a foliar coat that entices one to pet. Imagine a gorgeous woman with hair such a hue, I was almost ready for an affair., But ahh-- I hate the botanical name Pseudolarix because I dislike pseudo anything. All plants are worthy, and exist on their own merits without the suggestion that they are mainly similar to something else. We don't think of ourselves as "almost somebody else," or at least I can't imagine it. The monotypic genus is from south eastern China, however it is listed as hardy in USDA Zones 4-7. The specific epithet of amabilis is most apropos as it is Latin for "lovely."
Sorbus poteriifolia
Further along in a raised, chip-mulched bed, I caught a flicker of glossy foliage that I first presumed was a weed. Well, it amounted to no more than weed, a low-hugging mat of silver-green with tiny leaves, except that it was fronted with an i.d. label that indicated it was a miniature "rowan" or "mountain ash," Sorbus poteriifolia. I wish it good luck --it appeared newly planted-- and I hope it can achieve a mature size without getting trampled upon. I'd love to add one to the Buchholz Nursery's Blue Forest rock garden and watch it spill over the granite boulders. I'll study the RSBG's little runt for the next few years, wondering when it will produce berries. Spring flowers are small and cream-white --not particularly showy-- but the plant as an ornamental was awarded the Royal Horticultural Society's Award of Garden Merit. It is native to Yunnan, China in the mountains between 10,000' and 13,000' in altitude and was collected by the Scottish botanist/explorer George Forrest in 1914, then later by Kingdon Ward. According to the IDS's Trees and Shrubs Online, K.W. "saw it in flower towards the end of June, and when he returned to collect seeds 'it's numerous clusters of reddened berries presently turned snow white, heading the crinkly black stems like moonstones.'" An odd specific epithet is poteriifolia if you ask me: simply it refers to leaves like Poterium --pinnately compound with toothed leaflets. Poterium (Aka sanguisorba) is an edible perennial herbaceous plant, but certainly its ferny foliage does bear resemblance to the rowan.
Clethra kaipoensis
In another section of the garden I encountered a few exfoliating canes that glowed in the morning sun like exotic sticks of cinnamon. Other than the stems it wasn't clear if the nearly-leafless shrub was of horticultural significance, or if it was just a part of the native brush that resides in this semi-wild botanic collection. Remarkably I found a label in the mess --Clethra kaipoensis-- a species that I was unfamiliar with. I took a step back to ponder, and then I noticed the withered little Clethra flowers... or were they already the seed capsules? In any case I wasn't looking to propagate, but I will admit that if I had found a plant available in the sales yard, I would probably buy it to donate to the Flora Wonder Arboretum. Kaipo is a region in eastern China with an alluvial plain formed by deposits of the "Yellow River" (Huang He). The generic name Clethra comes from Greek klethra meaning "alder" due to the leaf-resemblance between some of the species.
Daphniphyllum pentandrum
Near the Clethra with its showy bark was a Daphniphyllum pentandum [sic.], and the latter's distinguishing feature --at least on this autumn morning-- was the glossy-green elongated foliage. Perhaps I have walked past this obscure specimen half a dozen times before, but only today did it call out to me. Its relative obscurity, such as with the Clethra, was that the sprawling Daphne-like specimen occurred in a brushy, unfeatured location. With contending foliage now mostly fallen it was on center stage, and I reflected that this beginning of November was the latest in the season that I have visited the Species Garden. It was my first encounter with this taxon but I was left to wonder about its nomenclature. Further research from Grimshaw and Bayton in New Trees suggests that D. pentandrum --not pentandum per the RSBG-- is correct. In any case the southeastern Chinese, Taiwanese, Japanese and Korean species is hardy to USDA Zones 7b-8 and it occupies forests at low elevations between 100 to 1400m. It would be questionably hardy at my old Flora Wonder Arboretum, and even if it survived, my experience with similar evergreen shrubs is that at mid-winter the gardener actually prefers that all leaves would go adios rather that persist in a shabby state. Concerning the specific name, New Trees and the Kew Checklist reveal that the oldest is D. pentandrum Hyata (1911), but that the Flora of China uses D. oldhamii (1919), so the former should take precedence.
Parrotia persica 'Select'
Also growing in the brush was a crooked, gangly tree of Parrotia subaequalis, but I wonder if I would have noticed it on this mostly cloudy day if the low morning Sundays hadn't burst it into the spotlight. I used to grow the more well-known Parrotia Persica species and in fact we introduced one such "cultivar" of P. Persia named 'Select'. Parrotia was rare in horticulture when I began my career (in 1980) but we acquired seed and surprisingly they all germinated. Most were sold at 4-5 years old, except that I "selected" one and set it aside due to a more-prominent purple margin to the lush spring-green leaves than did its brethren. It was coined 'Select' and we propagated it from soft wood cuttings under mist in summer. Regrettably I sold the original because we later focused on the narrow clone of 'Vanessa', then went even more narrow with the skinnier 'Persian Spire'.
Parrotia subaequalis
I have never grown Parrotia subaequalis, though I have encountered it previously in various European arboreta, but today was my first autumn-color extravaganza. It is commonly known as the "Chinese Ironwood" where it grows in low mountain forests, even on limestone. According to the IDS Trees and Shrubs Online only tiny fragments of the 14 populations are currently known "totaling little more than a hundred mature trees." When first described by the Chinese they assumed it was a new species of Hamamelis, or a new genus altogether, and it was coined Shaniodendron. Botanist Hung T. Chang chose the specific epithet—meaning "not quite equal", referring to the "sometimes slightly oblique leaf-base." Of ornamental value, the P. subaequalis features a "a generally more narrow habit with slower growth, smaller and daintier foliage which turns a more consistent red or purple in autumn, a sometimes more showy peeling adult bark in which grey and silver tints predominate... At Yew Dell Botanical Gardens in Kentucky P. subaequalis is one of the first trees to start to color and one of the last to lose its leaves, meaning that the fall display lasts a full two months (Cappielo 2023)."
Staphylea holocarpa
Staphylea holocarpa
Staphylea pinnata
Staphylea pinnata
I already knew the Staphylea genus from S. pinnata, known as the "European bladdernut," which I have encountered before at the Hoyt Arboretum in Portland, Oregon. The "bladders" are so-named due to their bloated seed pods which are curious but not at all attractive. I can imagine however that the slugs and worms and bugs that slither through the rotting, fermenting fruit are probably doing so in a druken stupor. The minute or two that I took to investigate and photograph this tree left me a little light in the bladder too.
Staphylea pinnata
The staphylea name is from Greek staphyle meaning a "cluster", such as in a bunch of grapes. Linnaeus coined it in 1753 when he described Staphylea pinnata. S. holocarpa was discovered by Augustine Henry in central China, then introduced to Europe by E.H. Wilson in 1908. The Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs (2019) opines that "several forms are in cultivation varying in quality." That's being generous I think, and I would demote the entire messy, flopping genus to a large- space arboretum such as the Hoyt... and limit my intoxication to just once a year.
Rhododendron sinonuttallii
The Rhododendron Species Botanical Garden contains one of the most esteemed collections of the broad genus on the planet. But today I barely noticed any rhododendrons other than the R. sinonuttallii with its stunning trunk. A great amount of appeal to the entire collection is that even if all rhododendrons disappeared it would still be an impressive assemblage of trees, some of which are quite rare. Congratulations to the staff and their purpose.
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