Episode 9: Winter's pause.

 

Episode 8: Linden Lime

Tilia cordata

Earlier this year my daughter and I attended an event in Portland --it doesn't matter what because it didn't amount to much anyway. But walking down the street we were both dazzled by the illumination eminating from a common street tree, Tilia cordata.

Tilia cordata 'Akira Gold'

Tilia cordata 'Dwarf Weeper' 

Tilia cordata 'Lico'

Well, I assumed the tree was the "little-leaf linden," but I'm certainly not an expert on the genus. I have grown just one Tilia at the Flora Wonder Arboretum --T.c. 'Akira Gold'-- and my interest in it was because I saw the original selection at the Shibimichi Nursery in Japan a few years ago. When mine was about 8' tall, and still in a container, I intended to ground it into the collection, but with the sale of all my nursery holdings, my special tree fell victim to the bottom line. There are dwarf limes that I have seen in Europe, and coveted, such as T.c. 'Dwarf Weeper' and 'Lico', the latter a neat little cone and I can imagine a pair of them standing sentinel to a garden entrance.

Tilia x euchlora 

Tilia x euchlora 

Tilia x europa

One factor that clouds the identity of Tilia, at least for me, is that the 30-or-so species that comprise the worldwide genus are apt to hybridize. Nothing wrong with that --I did the same with my Japanese wife-- and we produced a couple of interesting offspring, so I celebrate the co-mingling of people as well as plants from around the world. I have encountered a few of these inter-minglements such as Tilia x euchlora and Tilia x europa. The latter is known as the "Common lime" (T. cordata x T. platyphyllos), the most commonly planted lime, often used as an avenue tree, especially in Europe, but unfortunately it's afflicted with "honey-dew" produced by aphids. Kind of creepy to be under an allee of them in late summer. T. x euchlora is T. cordata x T. dasystyla, the pollen from a rare Crimean species.

Aphrodite

The word tilia comes from Greek ptelea meaning "elm tree" and tillai which means "Black poplar." It was Linnaeus who established the name scientifically in 1753 in Species Plantarum. In Greek mythology the linden was Aphrodite's favorite because of the perfume of its flowers.

Tilia cordata in Germany

I have a long-ago memory of visiting an extremely old Tilia in northern Germany. I was with the late JRP van hoey Smith of Arboretum Trompenburg and some other plant people. A plaque indicated the old lime dates from 850, so soon it will be 1,175 years old. Hats off to the old venerable, although honestly it was not a particularly attractive tree. Still it commanded its own little square in the small village, and appeared moderately healthy, and can maybe continue for another century or two. I can't remember why --who said?-- but I came away with the notion that we were paying homage to a Tilia cordata. But since observing other species and hybrids after that Euro visit, I'm now not so sure if T. cordata is accurate. I'll try to find out.

Lime tree from Kaditz

Flora enjoys the limes, in spite of their dripping aphid juice, and my first awareness of such tree was not visual, rather because they're often featured in (the translated) versions of German and Russian literature. Another hobby. In verse they were never identified scientifically, so I wasn't sure but I thought lime must be a Russian common name, and surely the citrus lime was out of the question.

Tilia cordata

Tilia platyphyllos

Flora was delighted with the "leaking light" aspect (Komorebi) from two different lindens growing far from each other.

Episode 7: Searching in Seattle

According to a study published in Nature 2024 "There are an estimated 3.04 trillion trees in the world, about 400 for every human." Well, a lot of both, but just 12,000 years ago the trees doubled today's number and my earth is currently losing 10-to-15 billion trees each year. I'm smart enough to do the math on that, but I'd rather not think about the world running out of the vertical sticks.

Like stars in the sky I have mered only a fraction of these three trillion, but certainly many million in my lifetime, and now my primary senior goal, second only to caring for my family, is to fill as many remaining memory cells with trees, trees and more trees.

Seattle, Washington

Last month, November 2024, Haruko and I drove the three hours from our Portland home to Seattle to visit our daughter. Naturally Flora wanted to tag along to the "Emerald City," the self-annoited jewel of the "Evergreen" state of Washington. My wife sighed, knowing that Flora was really piloting the journey, as usual, no matter how I spinned it. Haruko wondered if she or Flora would sit in the front seat, but I deftly calmed her query with the reminder that our primary purpose was our daughter, so Daughter would be in my front seat while Haruko and Flora would have to work it out in the back.

Yes, any trip I take to anywhere includes the tree aspect, and I readily admit that I'm somewhat of a danger on the road because my eyes are frequently not where they safely should be. I wanted to find special trees that were said to exist in Seattle, and I was prompted by the old publication, Trees of Seattle (1989) by Arthur Lee Jacobsen, which has been on my bookshelf for the past 30+ years. Certain trees intrigued me from the beginning, such as the city's oldest Sciadopitys, the champion Ginkgo or the original Acer macrophyllum 'Seattle Sentinel' etc. Since I am recently retired, I had no further excuse of being "too busy" to drive to Seattle and document its arboreal treasures.

Smaller Arbutus menziesii in Martha Washington Park

The Trees of Seattle book provided addresses for their notable trees. Haruko entered five of them on her phone and then plotted them on a Seattle area map, so we naturally decided to search from south to north in a methodical manner. The first stop was a Martha Washington Park, where we were promised a significant madrona, Arbutus menziesii, and its companion: "Two mammoths, the larger 74' tall and 20' around [6.37 feet in diameter] at its minimal circumference (well above ground level)... the other 14.6' around." Wow --the larger is a little more than me if I was to lie sideways at it base, and that was certainly worth a stop. As we crept into the entrance I scouted the relatively small park for the "mammoth" but nothing stood out. There were other madrones growing-- it was their type of place-- but nothing remotely beyond ordinary. Haruko trotted around the perimeter that contained other large trees, thinking our prize might be just over the edge but no luck.

Pinus sylvestris

The air was brisk and cold, for we were fairly close to the Pacific Ocean, so we were happy to get back in the car with our seat warmers. I explained to Haruko that half the time you never find the tree at least by my experience with locating Portland's notable trees. Sometimes the address has been changed or the tree has died or maybe it was misidentified all along. As an example of the latter, a sizable Pinus contorta subsp. latifolia (the "Lodgepole pine") was said to occur in the vicinity near to my home. That subspecies can live in western Oregon, somewhat, but it's not native so I wondered what it would amount to. I found the address all right, but I arrived to find a very tall "Scot's pine," Pinus sylvestris. Well, it was nice to meet it too.

Back to the absent madrone, when we returned home I reread the book's listing and discovered what I had first overlooked, that the specimen "appeared to be dying." And apparently it did, so we at least had closure.

Araucaria araucana

Next we had an address for a large "Monkey Puzzle "tree,"Araucaria araucana, allegedly a female. The species is dioecious, with male and female reproductive organs on separate trees, and though I have seen females before, their cones are not so easy to reach or photograph. Maybe the Seattle tree was still bearing cones, or maybe some fresh seed would be scattered on the ground. Unfortunately, when we arrived at the correct location there was no tree to be found, only a horizontal building of unknown purpose that fit snugly between two other buildings. So, notree here also, and I think I've coined a new word --NOTREE-- for an existence of memory only.

Sciadopitys verticillata

Sciadopitys verticillata

We were 0 for 2 and Haruko was now sitting in the front seat, with Flora on somewhat shaky ground and our daughter largely forgotten. We were daunted, two stymied tree-seekers for sure, but Haruko boosted my confidence by promptly directing me to our third destination, to Seattle's oldest and perhaps largest "Japanese Umbrella" pine, Sciadopitys verticillata. We arrived at the cross-streets of 23rd Ave & E. Spruce St., but no umbrella pine presented itself on any of the four corners. Gloomy thoughts enveloped me and I was near-ready to curse Seattle's indifference, then Haruko ordered me to park, "Get out and we'll walk around." A "church" --which didn't look like one-- was on one corner with a parking lot behind, all of it surrounded by an unwelcome-looking metal fence. I didn't like the vibe at all... when H. suddenly shouted "There it is!"

My eyes were fixed on the tree as we approached, but we were still separated by the stupid chain-link fence with the notable tree confined like a prisoner. We needed a passage through the fence since it was too tall too climb over, and like two rats sniffing cheese we finally navigated an entrance into the parking lot. We didn't care if we were "trespassing" because our mission was above some church's "steekin rules." From outside the fence I noticed a plaque at the base of the tree, and once inside I could read the incription:

To my delight (and relief) Haruko was buoyant and she effused: "I can see how you really get into this tree-search. Even if we don't find another Seattle tree, this trip was definitely worth it. Thank you Koya maki." What a perfect wife, right?!

Sciadopitys verticillata

I have not seen the monotypic genus Sciadopitys in the wild, but specimen trees are reported to rise to 150'  (45.72m). Actually the tallest umbrella pine I have seen is growing in Forest Grove, Oregon, just four blocks from where I grew up as a child. An old survey of Forest Grove's trees says the local giant was planted in 1910, and the speculation is that it was a gift to Portland by some Japanese trade delegation, and unbelievably one of the seedlings wound up in my old neighborhood. It fronts an old beater house whose rotting wooden foundation perhaps provides nourishment for the champion. I'll brag that the Forest Grove tree is twice the heigth of Seattle's, but I respect the latter's effort to persevere in its asphalt confinement, especially without supplemental irrigation in summer. What a worthy Heritage Tree!

Acer macrophyllum 'Seattle Sentinel' at the Flora Wonder Arboretum

Haruko was right about our trip being sufficiently fulfilled, and we were now definitely energized to carry on for more. I had read (in the late 1970s) about a columnar "Big Leaf" maple, Acer macrophyllum that was growing in a Seattle neighborhood. It was distinguished for its upright columnar shape, and was first discovered, named ('Seattle Sentinel') and propagated by Brian Mulligan in 1951, the curator of Seattle's Washington Park Arboretum at the time.

Acer macrophyllum 'Seattle Sentinel' at the Flora Wonder Arboretum

We sputtered --never zoomed-- through the Seattle traffic, anxious to arrive at the expected residential neighborhood on "18th Ave, south of E. Madison St. Haruko suddenly announced that we were near and to find a place to park. "Here?" "Yes, somewhere near if you can." Well, not so simple because Madison turned out to be a dangerous high-speed arterial, and at 18th Ave it was mostly low-level commercial structures, not the tranquil apple-pie home for a unique tree. Cars were parked tightly, and you could sense that no one was willing to relinquish their precious space. I was forced to park in an illegal zone, which agitated me, but because of my high mission I mentally pre-refused to accept "no steekin parking fine."

Flora spurred us on, so we stopped fretting about our parking situation, but we had the formidable Madison Ave to cross, where all traffic was racing well above a civil speed limit. Even though we had the crosswalk on our side, you couldn't trust that the skinny African Uber drivers would honor pedestrian rights... when only a few years ago they lived in dirt-floor huts and their daily occupation was walking the goats out to pasture: Ooh-- watch out for that donkey trotting down the dusty road!

I guess it was the excessive noise and the woosh of cold polluted air that contributed to my anxiety, especially since no large columnar tree was evident. We walked a few blocks south on 18th beyond where we should find the tree, then did the same on the north side of Madison, just in case my brain's gyroscope was out of whack. Haruko pointed to a couple of young Acer street trees, an A. rubrum hybrid with something that is commonly used in cities these days. "No dear, that's not an A. macrophyllum that's almost 100 years old. It must be huge by now-- it was first discovered in 1951." But no Big leaf maple, not even one was present near this intersection. Damn you Seattle after all!

I had enough with trees for the day, what with the three-hour drive to Seattle, then three more frenetic hours of dodging traffic and negotiating narrow streets within the city. Our success rate was only one-for-four and Haruko and I were both ready to quit tree searching and go find our daughter.

After a pleasant and relaxed afternoon visit with our 21-year-old we finished the evening dining at the wonderful Brunello Ristorante, our Seattle favorite with great food and charming ambiance for a pre-romantic finale.

_          _         _          _           _          _            _           _           _             _           _           _             _          _

Taxus brevifolia

The following morning we resumed our arboreal pursuits striking out for Ravenna Park, a famous Seattle destination, but one I have never visited before. I imagined it to be a well-maintained, medium-sized property, perhaps with swings, slides and a ball field in one corner, and some old trees scattered about. We were seeking a significant "Pacific yew," Taxus breifolia, already 50' tall by 5' diameter when the tree book was published in 1989, so I wondered how much it had grown. Also I'm a tree-torso guy who admires the trunk as much as what sprouts above, and the western yew can be fantastically colored. However, when we arrived at Ravenna, I could see that much of the "park" --50 acres in size as it turned out-- was just typical Northwest woods with Douglas firs, Pseudotsuga menziesii* and wide-spreading Big Leaf maples rising above the ferns and native brush.How could we possibly find this yew-needle in nature's 50-acre haystack? We didn't try, we didn't even get out of the car, so Ravenna --for some reason named after Ravenna, Italy-- remains unexplored by me.

A lost legacy, trees like this one remained in 1915, but they had been removed by 1926.

*Seattle historians claim that the virgin old-growth Douglas firs here once grew to nearly 400' (120m) tall --now since logged but which built up today's neighborhood. Supposedly these super-sized trees still stood and were featured as an "exhibit" during the Alaska-Yukon Exposition in Seattle in 1909. The 400' size of these trees defies modern measurements, for today's current tallest tree is the "Hyperion" "coast redwood," Sequoia semperviens, that was measured at 380 feet tall (116m) in 2019. But I don't know, because so many times today's "facts" turn out to be tomorrow's laughable "follies".

Roosevelt High School 

After our Ravenna fool's errand we attempted to locate a significant Seattle Ginkgo, one of many mentioned in the tree book, but one that could be found at Roosevelt school. I liked that location because it was on public property, on school grounds, so it should be easy find. The location was, but I feared for the students who were doing time in such a dreary (100-year-old) structure, and I reflected back to yesterday when we commiserated with the poor koya maki that was imprisoned in the corner of a weird church's parking lot. No wonder the students grow to become bitter communists or hopeless drug addicts. In any case we circled the large block that surrounded the school, slowly, slowly... when I finally spotted a few yellow leaves still clinging to a mostly bare tree, yes a ginkgo. We initially missed it because of its small size --we were looking for a champion, after all, and this relatively scrawny individual was actually smaller than some of the ginkgoes that I planted 44 years ago at Buchholz Nursery. So we drove around the block yet once again, but nothing more massive presented itself. Maybe there once was...?

Koelreuteria bipinnata

Koelreuteria bipinnata

We had a little morning left, it was raining, but we were in Seattle in November of course. Haruko was cold and still a little sleepy so Flora took the opportunity to take charge: "Let's go to the Arboretum!" I agreed, Haruko dozed, and the three of us --with Flora riding shotgun-- aimed our GPS to the Washington Park Arboretum. I'm never disappointed at the collection, and though I have visited at least 20 times previous, always I find something new and interesting. I parked in the visitor lot, with my mind focused on securing our possessions against theft and vandalism, but Flora poked me to attention. "Look ahead." Oh, wow, she pointed at a bushy, multi-branched tree loaded with pappery seed pods, glowing pink in the autumn sky. Koelreuteria bipinnata had been waiting all summer to show off her reproductive features, and my wife grew enchanted with the mini lanterns --so "Oriental." The Chinese native is seldom encountered in American landscapes, sadly, because it is an easy tree to grow. I once had its cousin, Koelreuteria paniculata, growing next to the house at the old Buchholz Nursery. It was a fun tree, but was edited because it existed for its own sake, and eventually it crowded out some of the more commercial stock plants in the garden. Right tree but wrong place, so sorry. But not so fast my friends --for a year after it was cut down, a seedling sprouted out of the nearby Thuja hedge that lined the driveway. I cut off the 5' sapling because I couldn't tolerate a big-tree species to crowd out the road. Every year, though, it resprouts and I admire it for a month or so, then cut it back again. That has been the ritual for the past 35 years --it grows and I cut back, over and over. But I'm now no longer directing anything at Buchholz Nursery, so we'll see what happens. Frankly, I'd be pleased if they saved the tree and moved the road.

Malus 'Adirondack' 

We walked up to the arboretum visitor center because I hoped to find a map or some guide to assist me to locate certain trees. Where and how could we find the oldest propagule, for example, of Brian Mulligan's Acer macrophyllum 'Seattle Sentinel'? There used to be a good-sized specimen bordering the parking lot next to the Japanese Garden, but it was no longer there. The... person attending at the visitor center was... attending to its computer, and had no evident desire to assist. I was probably the first in a month to ask a tree question. Flora groaned at the person's lack of interest, but Haruko stepped forward with her smartphone to photograph a map code, then by entering in the tree's name you would supposedly able to locate it. I gave her a couple of names but somehow the process didn't work. 

Malus 'Adirondack' 

"Ok ok --let's get out of here" so I could at least breathe again. In front of the "center" was a tree prolifically fruiting and its wet little orbs glistened because the sun had just appeared. A flowering crab, Malus 'Adirondack' it was, and in the Hillier Manual of Trees and Shrubs it is described as "A charming, slow-growing and disease-resistant tree of upright habit... Raised at the US National Arboretum, Washington, DC, in 1985." Its numerous mini-apples exploded off the twig like fireworks, what a showoff!

Ulmus minor

We entered the arboretum across the road from the visitor center, lured by the golden foliage of Ulmus carpinifolia which is the old name of what is now known as Ulmus minor. I had walked past it a dozen times before but it never commanded attention, none at all. Today was its time, thank you Flora.

Malus fusca, November 1998

Malus fusca, November 2024

Further into the collection --probably placed in more shade than it wished-- was an old Malus fusca, the "Oregon crabapple." The fruits are said (Hillier) to be red to yellow in autumn, but I don't recall seeing any on the few times I have passed the tree, probably because I have always been captured by the warm, beautiful trunk. My Flora Wonder Arboretum never contained a Malus species or cultivar as an ornamental --except for my 50-tree edible apple/pear orchard. My attraction to the genus increased late in my career when it was too late to add to the collection,  and I doubt that the new owners would find a place for one anyway.

Psudotsuga wilsonii

Psudotsuga wilsonii

Haruko chose to sit on a bench when we came to the pinetum section, so Flora took charge and led me to a healthy, attractive specimen of Pseudotsuga wilsonii, the "Taiwan Douglas fir." My Trees of Seattle book mentions it growing in the arboretum's nursery, a place where most tree collections gather their new acquisitions for observation and trial before planting out. The WPA (Washington Park Arboretum) considers Wilson's form a distinct species and to my untrained botanical eyes I can agree that it differs from other Asian species of Pseudotsuga, such as P. japonica and P. gausenii, the latter from the Chinese mainland. Some botanists (splitters) argue that there are a number of species native to China, and at least by cone, foliage and trunk appearance, the P. wilsonii is definitely unique. Allegedly it is hardy to USDA Zone 7-8, and the WPA's specimen has thrived for what appears to be quite a few years, 25 I would guess.

Of the three trillion trees on earth, the past two days was wonderful and I was blessed to acquaint myself with a few of Seattle's finest. Arborealy it is wonderland of nature, with both natives and the exotics. Flora constantly energized me with moments of discovery as well as comfort when revisiting some old tree friends. One old-timer was waiting near our car, a Pseudotsuga menziesii that I met about 40 years ago. It looked happy to see me again too, thank you Flora.

_          _         _          _           _          _            _           _           _             _           _           _             _          _

Epilogue:

When we returned home I researched the internet to see if there was a more current Trees of Seattle publication, something newer than my old 1989 version. Indeed there was, in 2006 by the same author, Arthur Lee Jacobsen. In it, I learned why my pilgrimage to the 'Seattle Sentinel' maple ended in failure: it had died the year before, in 2005. The publication states that S.S. "has merit, but has been grown (via grafts) almost nowhere except at the Arboretum." I'm sure that's correct. My start was given to me about 35 years ago and I could have produced thousands of them except that then there was just no market. Since I have grown at least one for most of my career, it was bittersweet that I couldn't meet the original.

Episode 6: Overlook Park

Ulmus americana

Autumn 2024 was escaping fast; my god it raced through November... but I hoped to still squeeze in more colorful sylvan sights before all goes bare. Eight years previous Flora led me to the Overlook Park neighborhood in northeast Portland, Oregon. The "overlook" aspect of the eleven acre park is that it's perched on a bluff above the Willamette River, the large waterway that dissects the city into eastern and western sections. The city of Portland acquired the property and established a public space in 1930. Today the roaming acreage overlooks a noisy industrial/shipping area and behind that to the Fremont Bridge which arches into downtown Portland. I suppose the view was more attractive in 1930 than what we see now, but that's the way it goes. 

American elm, July 30, 2016 

American elm, November 23, 2024

The park is largely an open green lawn with a queen-sized elm tree in the middle, Ulmus americana. When I first saw the huge tree eight years ago it was in its summer glory and it dwarfed my family standing in front. I vowed at the time to return in early spring when buds would open, and then again in autumn to see if it would produce a haze of yellow color (I supposed). Unfortunately, now eight years later in November, there was nary a leaf attached to any twig; I might have been even a month too late for that, but I enjoyed her elegance disrobed just as much, probably more. She is only 19 minutes away by car from my new home so I have already made a date for early April to watch her wake up, then I'll pay more attention next fall to see my elm before the leaves are all gone.

Young Buchholz

Ulmus americana is an eastern USA species, so Overlook's specimen was likely planted after the park was established in 1930. On the southern edge are a couple of old Black walnuts, Juglans nigra, also of eastern USA origin. The lawn is short and even and five healthy boys were in a spirited game of keep-away soccer, three on two in the still foggy-cloudy afternoon. As a young boy I would have been out there with them, equaling the sides.