Visiting Cougar Annie’s Garden – Part Two

If you’ve read Part One of our visit to Boat Basin and Cougar Annie’s Garden, you’re waking up with me now on Day 2. After a night in cabin #6, we rose ready to explore the rainforest and take a little more time to visit Annie’s garden. I looked out our cabin window at the trees growing on the ridge. I saw yellow cedar (Callitropsis nootkatensis, formerly Chamaecyparis). Though it grows from Alaska to California, it derives its botanical name from the fact that it was first collected near Nootka Sound, just north of Boat Basin. Its wood is much used for buildings and was the material Peter Buckland used to make the long sushi table, among other structures.

I could also see Pacific silver fir or amabilis fir, Abis amabilis.

When I walked up the forest path towards the outhouse, there was Pacific yew (Taxus brevifolia) growing amongst the salal.

Caitlin was already out photographing when Doug, Mary Ann and I finished a leisurely breakfast and began our walk down the ridge road.  Caitlin had warned us it was steep, and this photo doesn’t really illustrate how steep.  You can see the ghostly cedars along the road. Peter said: “Dead, standing cedars we call ‘grey ghosts’.  They make excellent posts and beams, structurally and aesthetically.  Most have grown in wet ground where nutrients are low, suppressing growth.  Grey ghosts are effectively hardwood.  Their interior is deep mellow brown in colour, ideal for interior finishing, viewable at Central Hall and several cabins.  Logging cut down grey ghosts and left them to rot, a process that takes centuries due to the preserving oils within cedar.  All was not lost.  During the first twenty-five years of construction when logging roads provided access to nearby clearcuts many grey ghosts were recovered.”

As the road flattened, I saw lots of young lodgepole or sea pine (Pinus contorta).

We came upon Peter’s garden in a clearing with raised beds filled with …..

….. the dahlias we’d seen in vases, the ones that recall Cougar Annie’s mail order business…

…… as well as mesclun lettuces (Peter contributed the salads to our two dinners) and….

….. shiso (Perilla frutescens) and squash.

Heading towards Annie’s garden, I saw some old gem-studded puffballs on the road….

…. and passed Peter’s beautiful woodshed, almost filled and ready to supply a winter of heat to the pot-bellied stove in his house.

As we took a path from the road through the trees into Annie’s garden, I wished it was June rather than early October. Had we arrived in spring or summer, we might have seen some of the colourful blossoms of the perennials, shrubs and trees still surviving, with Peter’s help, and illustrated on this poster.

We wandered about, imagining how Annie’s house must have looked in the 1950s, 60s and 70s, when she was still filling plant and bulb orders to be sent throughout Canada…..

…. and growing her own pleasure garden, now setting seed in another autumn.

I saw a big drift of montbretia (Crocosmia crocosmiiflora) and a….

…. hydrangea ensconced in the heather.

A dark blue gentian poked its head up from the leaf litter…..

…. and we found a few grapes growing on a vine.

Hebe grew along a path, below, along with spireas, weigelas, azaleas, rhododendrons and other shrubs.

I chuckled when I saw a Steller’s jay flitting through the branches of a fruit tree. Cougar Annie couldn’t stand these cheeky birds and there was usually one simmering in a broth on her stove (or so the story goes).

Like much of the Pacific Northwest, Scotch broom (Cytisus scoparius) is a troublesome invasive at Boat Basin and Peter keeps it clipped in the garden to prevent seeds escaping.

But the rainforest is always waiting in the wings to reclaim this relict garden. Here native salal (Gaultheria shallon) was blooming for a second time in the season. In some coastal parts of western North America, evergreen salal forms tall, almost impenetrable thickets. It is commonly used by florists as a filler in bouquets.

Its fruit is edible and has a unique flavour, according to Wiki. Native people ate them fresh or dried into cakes, and the Haida and other B.C. first nations used them to thicken salmon roe.  They make a good fruit leather and are also used as a purplish-blue dye.

If the rainforest wants to take back the garden, the little structures have all but surrendered to the ravages of time. I surprised a pine marten who quickly scurried back into the shelter of this ruin….

…… and I was fascinated by the collection of post office papers and bulletins that Annie’s son Frank tried to keep filed when he was still running the little post office….

….. where old magazines talked of even older British monarchs and J&B scotch.

Peter found us in the garden and asked if we’d taken the Walk of the Ancients yet. We hadn’t and he offered to give us a tour. I asked if he would first demonstrate his ‘fool the eye’ diminishing perspective under the pergola he built into the garden. He happily acquiesced.

We passed the old truck that Annie’s son Frank had bought used; it only worked for a few runs before dying and was left here to the forest.

Then we were on The Walk of the Ancients, the path through the redcedar giants (Thuja plicata).  As Peter notes in the handout for the trail: “The stage is now set. A majestic and magical scene lies ahead. It is best to move slowly, to look both around and upwards into the forest canopy. Look for evidence of the people who that came before in search for, and in respect of, the great red cedar. Remember that it was just over 200 years ago that Captain James Cook landed at Friendly Cove, which is only nineteen kilometres northwest of this trail. This event signalled the twilight for early native culture. Consider also that ‘modern’ logging developed the clearcuts of Hesquiat Harbour in only ten years.”

Peter has made signs pointing out trees of interest, and has provided a written guide for visitors.

The first was a tree with a hollow bottom.  “The hollow base formed because the tree grew upon a nurse log or stump which subsequently decomposed into humus. This exposed the tree’s core to moisture and air resulting in centre rot well up the tree. While rot precludes structural use of the wood, the hollows offer many advantages to various visitors. Black bear will hibernate in hollow trees located up the mountain slopes. Mink and pine marten are often seen darting in and out of the root holes sometimes packing clams dug at the beach. Red squirrels, bats, and various birds live in the rotted interior where holes develop up the trees.”

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The scene below is called “Canoe Revival”. Says the guide: “The use of an old canoe tree stump as a nurse log by a younger cedar is quite common. Perhaps this is nature’s way of perpetuating the canoe log supply!”

Somewhere in there is the old sea wall.

Moss hangs luxuriantly on the windfall trees here.

This tree was signed ‘Bark and Boards”. You can see where the bark has been stripped away. According to the B.C. Government website: “The western redcedar has been called ‘the cornerstone of Northwest Coast aboriginal culture’, and has great spiritual significance. Coastal people used all parts of the tree. They used the wood for dugout canoes, house planks, bentwood boxes, clothing, and many tools such as arrow shafts, masks, and paddles. The inner bark made rope, clothing, and baskets. The long arching branches were twisted into rope and baskets. It was also used for many medicines. The wood is naturally durable and light in weight. It is used for house siding and interior paneling as well as outdoor furniture, decking and fencing. Because of its resistance to decay and insect damage, the wood of large, fallen trees remains sound for over 100 years. Even after 100 years, the wood can be salvaged and cut into shakes for roofs.”

Mary Ann stopped to photograph this beautiful burl. (And I stopped to photograph Mary Ann!)

I loved this grouping of “Companions”, in the rear. Redcedar, western hemlock and amabilis fir, all rising from the same place in the forest. This is a true “ecosystem”, featuring the major species of this forest near sea level. (I don’t know what the mossy trunk is.)

To provide a sense of scale, Peter stood under #9, Silver Giant. This redcedar is at least 700 years old.

“Old Friends” are two redcedars growing together, one pointing in the direction of the bog nearby.

As we headed towards the bog, I smiled at the sight of a big banana slug on the path, familiar to me from my B.C. childhood. Ariolimax columbianus is native to the forest floors of North America’s Pacific coastal coniferous rainforest belt, where it decomposes dead plant material, mosses, mushrooms and animal droppings into humus.

Peter pointed out a young cascara (Rhamnus purshiana), whose bark is used by first nations people for digestive ailments and constipation..

Then we toured the Bonsai Bog.

The boardwalk wound through a boggy, stunted forest….

….. and rested upon the sphagnum.

Bog Labrador-tea (Rhododendron groenlandicum, formerly Ledum) has white flowerheads in early spring.

Peter explained that he built the boardwalk atop Cougar Annie’s old trapline. This was the path she took with a lantern held close to her rifle so she could spot the cougar eyes.

Club moss or ground cedar (Lycopodium clavatum) reached across the boardwalk….

…. and the red fruiting bodies or “apothecia” of toy soldier lichen (Cladonia bellidiflora) brightened a rotting tree trunk.

The red sphagnum moss (Sphagnum sp.)…..

…… contained little carnivorous sundews (Drosera rotundifolia).

Until I saw Boat Basin, I was unaware that red-fruited bunchberry (Cornus canadensis) was circumboreal, having seen it in boggy places in Nova Scotia and Ontario.

Gray reindeer lichen (Cladonia rangiferina) is another circumboreal species, and is an essential food for reindeer (caribou).

Though they’re native to eastern Canada bogs from Ontario to Newfoundland, Peter has grown some North American cranberries (Vaccinium macrocarpon) in the bog, which seem to be doing very well.

Our bog walk finished, Peter returned to his chores and Mary Ann, Doug and I walked back up the road past the “ghost cedars” for lunch and a nap. Rain was forecast for later and we were happy to have seen the Walk of the Ancients and the Bonsai Bog in dry weather.

Barbecued chicken was on the menu for our final dinner and Peter added his homegrown salad greens to our feast. In our cabin, we threw some logs into the woodstove and retired early, listening to the rain beat down on the roof and on the rainforest around us.

Our floatplane was arriving at 9 am so an early breakfast was in order. But I couldn’t resist one last look out at the rainforest, even if it was pouring rain.

The rain stopped in time for Peter to drive us and our bags down the road to the dock on Hesquiat Lake. A black bear galumphed in front of the truck for a bit before turning into the forest. We watched the Atleo floatplane land and taxi down the lake, arriving with a few Atleo employees who were bringing in supplies to Boat Basin for their annual company weekend. The pilot Sinclair then stowed our bags and we hugged Peter goodbye and crawled into the plane.

As we flew southwest towards Tofino, I gazed back over the wisps of cloud weaving through the dark, forested peaks of this rugged west coast of Vancouver Island. I couldn’t quite believe how much we’d seen and learned in less than 48 hours.

And I felt thankful to a crusty old lady named Annie and her determined friend Peter, who helped us see the trees and the forest, not to mention the garden.

Here’s a last look at Clayoquot Sound from the air.

*******

To enquire about booking a trip to Cougar Annie’s Garden and the Temperate Rainforest Study Centre, visit the Boat Basin Foundation Website.

Japanese Cherries – April’s Enchanting Sakura

Once upon a time, I had this quest to photograph Japanese cherry blossoms – sakura – in lots of beautiful places in the world. I travelled to Japan, of course, and managed to arrive during one of the earliest springs ever, foiling my desire to be there as the storied Somei-Yoshino cherries (Prunus x yedoensis) burst into blossom on bare, brown branches. We had to go north to the mountains of Takayama to find them.

In Kyoto, I visited the Imperial Palace and found Prunus ‘Ojochin’ at the gates. It means ‘large lantern”, and has been in Japanese literature since the 17th century.

At the Kyoto Botanical Garden, the late-season cherries were in bloom, but I had to get help in Toronto later to translate the labels. This is ‘Yōkihi’, honouring a concubine of an 8th century emperor of the T’ang Dynasty.

Prunus ‘Asano’ was found in 1926 in a garden in the village of Kami-Yoshida by England’s Collingwood ‘Cherry’ Ingram, a renowned collector of Japanese cherries. Its flowers resemble little chrysanthemums.

‘Hirano-nioi’ (like all cherries with “nioi” in the name) is fragrant.

‘Kirin’ was named for a fiery, dragon-like beast.

‘Ichihara-tora-no-o’, below, means “tiger’s tail”. As Wybe Kuitert says in his book Japanese Flowering Cherries, “With a little imagination, once can see a perfect bigger-than-life size tiger’s tail of cherry blossom in it.”

At Saihoji, the moss temple in Kyoto, a double-flowered cherry leaned over the formal path, contrasting nicely with a tall, magenta azalea behind it.

We visited Gion to watch Miyako Odori, the traditional springtime dance of the country. Naturally, cherry blossoms feature prominently.

In Japan, I found all kinds of pretty cherry blossom confections, including sakura-mochi rice cake and little sakura-adorned crepes.

When I visit London’s Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew in early spring, I always make a point of searching out the Japanese cherry trees. This is a view of the Japanese garden Chokushi-mon (Gateway of the Imperial Messesnger) with a flowering bough of Prunus serrulata ‘Tai-haku’, “the great white cherry”.

‘Hokusai’ was selected by Cherry Ingram in 1925 and named for the woodblock artist Hokusai.

Hokusai, of course, painted many scenes of Japanese life, including the ancient tradition of hanami or cherry blossom watching.  This is ‘Mount Fuji Seen Through Cherry Blossoms”.

‘Takasago’ is part of an old collection of Japanese cherries at Kew. It was originally collected by Robert Fortune, and was once known as Prunus x sieboldii or Von Siebold’s cherry.

In Ireland, I found a lovely white-flowered Japanese cherry at Mount Stewart House near Belfast.

Holland isn’t all spring bulbs. The Keukenhof Garden in Lisse has a number of Japanese cherry trees amidst the brilliant tulips and daffodils.

Monet’s beautiful garden at Giverny, France, features a few Japanese cherries. In the Clos Normand flower garden, Prunus serrulata ‘Ama-no-gawa’ (meaning “heaven’s river”, i.e. the Milky Way) shows off its typical fastigiate growth and double, pale-pink flowers.

In the Japanese-inspired garden at Giverny (Monet had a large collection of Japanese art), Prunus serrulata ‘Kanzan’ adds a rosy note beside a stream.

And at Paris’s Jardin des Plantes, Prunus serrulata ‘Kanzan’ (aka ‘Sekiyama’) makes ebullient bouquets outside the Natural History Museum……

….. while forming a flowery underplanting for the Eiffel Tower, below.  Many catalogues and articles call this bubblegum-pink cherry by an obsolete name ‘Kwanzan’, but its proper name is ‘Kanzan’, which means “border mountain”.  The alternative name ‘Sekiyama’ literally means seki=border + yama=mountain and is in a Japanese plant guide dated 1681.  It is the most popular cherry in western countries.

At New York Botanical Garden, I found the unusual green-flowered Japanese cherry ‘Gyoiko’. The name means “coloured court-robes” and references the hues of the costumes worn by the women in the ancient Japanese imperial court.

Someday, I’ll return to New York Botanical to properly photograph the cherries in their collection on Cherry Hill. Here is dependable old ‘Kanzan’ fronting a lovely drift of naturalized daffodils.

On a visit to San Francisco, I watched a woman painting a Japanese cherry at the Tea Garden at Golden Gate Park….

….. and later found my way to wonderful Filoli Garden in Menlo Park, where the weeping Prunus x subhirtella ‘Pendula’ was in beautiful bloom.

Washington D.C. is renowned for its National Cherry Blossom Festival, and I was lucky enough to have my flight from North Carolina to Toronto via Washington cancelled in the capitol one spring and made a mad dash for the Tidal Basin, where Somei-Yoshino cherries (Prunus x yedoensis) lined the shore……

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I then headed to Dumbarton Oaks, a favourite historic garden in Georgetown designed by Beatrix Farrand. Here I found lovely weeping cherries near the swimming pool…

….. and a pale-pink cloud of sakura on “cherry hill”.

If you visit Vancouver in early spring, you will be enchanted by the cloud-like Japanese cherry blossoms lining the avenues and adorning the parks. This is the boathouse at Stanley Park.

One spring, I found this handsome specimen of  Prunus serrulata ‘Taki-Nioi’ overlooking the pond at Nitobe Memorial Garden at the University of British Columbia. It is an appropriate situation for this tree, whose Japanese name means “fragrant waterfall”.

Vancouver’s Van Dusen Botanical Garden featured Prunus x subhirtella ‘Pendula’ looking lovely in a bed of Oriental poppies.

Closer to home, the Royal Botanical Garden in Burlington, Ontario has a good collection of Japanese cherries. This is  Prunus x yedoensis ‘Akebono’, bred in 1925 by the W.B. Clarke Nursery of California.

Here is a closer look. Isn’t it lovely?

Prunus ‘Pandora’ is a hybrid of Prunus x yedoensis and Prunus ‘Beni Higan Sakura’….

……that was bred by Waterer Sons and Crisp prior to 1939.  Here’s a closer look.

The dwarf, weeping variety Prunus x yedoensis ‘Ivensii’ was introduced by England’s Hillier Nurseries before 1929.

Prunus ‘Accolade’ is a 1952 hybrid of Sargent’s cherry (Prunus sargentii) and Prunus x subhirtella from England’s Knapp Hill Nurseries.  While very hardy, an extremely cold winter will often kill the flower buds.

When it does bloom, its pale pink, semi-double flowers are enchanting and….

…. often emerge adventitiously from small shoots on the trunk.

‘Accolade’ also has excellent autumn colour (as does parent Prunus sargentii), as shown here at Toronto’s Mount Pleasant Cemetery.

Mount Pleasant Cemetery also features a number of Japanese cherries, including Prunus serrulata ‘Ama-no-gawa’….

…. and Prunus x subhirtella ‘Pendula Rosea Plena’, the double-flowered weeping cherry.

Toronto’s High Park is renowned for its hillside allée of Somei-Yoshino Japanese cherry trees (Prunus x yedoensis)….

…. which always bear a closer inspection — sometimes even under a dusting of snow!

Beyond Japanese cherry trees, I look for arrangements featuring cherry blossoms, like this lovely Mother’s Day bouquet from Toronto’s Horticultural Design.

Sometimes, I even made my own arrangements, borrowing sake cups and filling them with sakura!  This is the hardy and popular ‘Kanzan’, aka ‘Sekiyama’.

One year, I patiently stemmed the flowers to create a carpet of cherry blossoms.

But there was a reason why I wrote this blog on this particular day.  It’s my memorial for Notre Dame Cathedral and its fallen spire. No longer will Parisians walking along the Seine glimpse that towering lead pinnacle above les fleurs de cerisier japonais…..

And even if people come back in springtime to sit under the blossoms by the sandbox in the playground on the Ile de la Cité …..

…. they will glance up and feel the enormous void left behind by this tragic inferno.  France is already promising to rebuild Notre Dame, seeking funds from people throughout the world.  Perhaps one day the cherry blossoms will frame the view of a sparkling new spire.  Let us hope.

NOTE:  I would like to acknowledge Wybe Kuitert and his vast depth of knowledge on all things Japanese flowering cherry. If you’re a serious student, you will enjoy his 1999 monograph Japanese Flowering Cherries, which is now out of print but available used.

Princeton University’s Grand Trees & Gardens

Every five years, for the past forty years, I’ve accompanied my husband to his class reunion at Princeton University in New Jersey. In the early years, the kids came with us. As they got older, they would promptly escape and run around campus looking for class tents that had better rock bands than ours. As they got a lot older, they stopped coming, but now that we have grandchildren, there’s a chance we’ll look like some of the families who bring babes in strollers to march in the famous “P-rade” on Saturday afternoon, the classes wending through campus in order of age toward the sports field finale.

Princeton-P-rade-child and dad

But one of my own favourite pastimes during my Princeton stays has been strolling the campus (considered one of the top 5 most beautiful in the U.S.) gazing at the trees and gardens. Earlier this month, I visited the beautiful gardens of Prospect House, redesigned in the last decade by Linden Miller and Ronda Brands of New York to focus on perennials and shrubs, rather than the annual bedding plants that had once made up the landscape here. Built in the 1850s in the Italianate style as a private home and deeded to the university in 1878 along with a 35-acre parcel of land, Prospect served as the home of Princeton University’s presidents from 1878 to 1968.  Today it houses the Faculty Club and is used for receptions.

Prospect House Garden1-Princeton-June

The fountain refreshes a tiny Reunions visitor.

Prospect House Garden-Fountain-Princeton

The borders in June are lovely, with peonies, catmint, irises and baptisia….

Prospect Garden2-Princeton-June

…. and the rhododendrons are spectacular.

Prospect House Garden-Rhododendrons-Princeton

I’ve been here in August as well when summer-flowering perennials such as echinacea, swamp hibiscus and Joe Pye weed are in bloom.

Prospect House Garden-Princeton-August (2)

And on the other side of Prospect is a tall, native tulip poplar (Liriodendron tulipifera) that’s estimated to be 160 years old.

Liriodendron tulipifera-Tulip Tree-Prospect-Princeton

I loved this drawing of the tulip poplar’s flowers in Princeton’s Little Book of Trees (art by Heather Lovett, text by James Consolloy.  The book is a downloadable .pdf available via a search.)

Liriodendron tulipifera-Little Tree Book-Princeton University

As we roamed campus, we found some of the wonderful new buildings framed by young trees that will in time be as stately as the American elms for which the campus was famous. Here is a much younger tulip poplar framing the entrance to the Frick Chemistry building (Hopkins Architects of London with Payette Associates of Boston, Michael Van Valkenburgh Associates of Brooklyn, N.Y., landscape architect, May 2005).

Liriodendron tulipifera-Tulip Tree-Frick Chemistry Laboratory-Princeton

Here’s another look at the Frick through silver maple (or possibly the hybrid Freeman maple).

Acer-Maple-Frick Chemistry Laboratory-Princeton

Below is the fabulous new Lewis Science Library (2008), designed by Frank Gehry with his characteristic, curvilinear stainless-steel facade. I gazed up at this soaring wall through native honey locust (Gleditsia triacanthos), but if I’d known that there was a grove of sassafras under another wall, I’d have been there in a jiffy!

Gleditsia-Honey locust-Lewis Science Library-Frank Gehry Design-Princeton

One of the fun parts about Reunions weekend is the chance to listen to panel discussions on all kinds of topics. For example, we went into the Princeton Neuroscience Institute, which is flanked by an allée of columnar oaks (Quercus sp.)…..

Quercus robur-English oak-Princeton Neuroscience Institute

….. to listen to a fascinating, multifaceted discussion on “The Future of Tech”.

Panel for “The Next Big Thing in Tech”, Princeton Reunions 2017 (left to right): Moderator Ruby Lee, Forrest G. Hamrick Prof. of Electrical Engineering; Julio Gomez ’82, Financial Services Technology Strategist; Joe Kochan ’02, Co-Founder and COO, US Ignite; Marco Matos ’07, Product Manager; Facebook; Julia Macalaster ’12, Head of Strategy, Def Method; Ryan Shea ’12, Co-founder, Blockstack.

Panel for “The Next Big Thing in Tech”, Princeton Reunions 2017 (left to right): Moderator Ruby Lee, Forrest G. Hamrick Prof. of Electrical Engineering; Julio Gomez ’82, Financial Services Technology Strategist; Joe Kochan ’02, Co-Founder and COO, US Ignite; Marco Matos ’07, Product Manager; Facebook; Julia Macalaster ’12, Head of Strategy, Def Method; Ryan Shea ’12, Co-founder, Blockstack.

Another day, I treated myself to a front-row seat at “The Writer’s Craft”.

Panel for “The Writer’s Craft”, Princeton Reunions 2017 (left to right): Moderator Christina Lazaridi ’92, Lecturer in Creative Writing; Ellen Chances ’72, Prof. of Slavic Languages & Literatures; Lisa K. Gornick ’77, Novelist; Alan Deutschman ’87, author; Cate Holahan ’02 author.

Panel for “The Writer’s Craft”, Princeton Reunions 2017 (left to right): Moderator Christina Lazaridi ’92, Lecturer in Creative Writing; Ellen Chances ’72, Prof. of Slavic Languages & Literatures; Lisa K. Gornick ’77, Novelist; Alan Deutschman ’87, author; Cate Holahan ’02 author.

But generally, I prefer to stay outdoors and a tree tour of campus is a perfect way to do that. This year I walked with a large crowd behind Merc Morris ’72, below in white jacket, who has been giving these tours for years now. It’s my second tour with Merc.

Merc Morris-Princeton Tree Tour-2017

He pointed out the towering white ashes (Fraxinus americana) on Cannon Green which are slowly succumbing to emerald ash borer. This one is in front of West College, about to be renamed to honour long-time Princeton Professor Emerita of creative writing, Toni Morrison.

Fraxinus americana-White ash-Toni Morrison College-Princeton

The older magnolias, like this one against Alexander Hall, were planted in the 1920s by Princeton’s consulting landscape architect Beatrix Farrand.  (More on her later).

Magnolia-Alexander Hall-Princeton

We just missed the gorgeous flowers of yellowwood (Cladrastis kentukea), growing in front of Murray-Dodge.

Cladrastis kentukea-Yellowwood-Murray Dodge-Princeton

This is a cedar of Lebanon (Cedrus lebani) with the Firestone library in the background.
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Cedrus libani-Cedar of Lebanon-Firestone Library-Princeton

Merc points out this huge dawn redwood (Metasequoia glyptostroboides) near Prospect House, planted in 1948. He relates why it is particularly happy in this spot, since the university arranged to divert a segment of its rainwater drainage toward its roots.

Metasequoia glyptostroboides-dawn redwood-Princeton

We head to the front of the university (total 500 acres) and I see the Kousa dogwood (Cornus kousa) in shimmering flower next to Stanhope Hall. This Asian species is a replacement for the native flowering dogwoods (Cornus florida) that were once planted on the Ivy League campuses, but mostly succumbed to anthracnose.

Cornus kousa-Dogwood-Stanhope Hall-Princeton

Speaking of Ivy League, here’s the wall of East Pyne, one of the older dormitory buildings. That vine clinging tenaciously to the stone is Boston ivy, (Parthenocissus tricuspidata) and many people associate it with the origins of the term “Ivy League”.

Hedera helix-English Ivy-East Pyne Hall-Princeton

Finally, we’re standing near Princeton’s main drag, Nassau Street, looking back at Nassau Hall. Already preparing for next week’s graduation, it was built in 1756 and at the time it was the largest academic building in the American Colonies.  During the Revolutionary War, it was occupied by both British and American forces and suffered damage during 1777’s Battle of Princeton. For a few months in 1783, Princeton served as the capital of the new United States and Nassau Hall hosted its government. But we’re here in the original campus yard to look at the tall American elms (Ulmus americana), survivors of the cataclysmic Dutch elm disease that ravaged the tall native trees in the mid-20th century.

Ulmus americana-American elms-Nassau Hall

As we prepare to head next door to Maclean House, Merc gives us a little introduction to the historic trees we’ll see there.

Here is beautiful Maclean House (1756) and the oldest trees on Princeton’s campus, the “buttonwood” or American sycamore trees (Platanus occidentalis) planted in 1766. Though they often lose their first leaves to anthracnose, as in this photo, they put out a second crop of leaves in summer. The sycamores are also called the Stamp Act trees, because their planting coincided with the repeal of the Stamp Act, which had been instituted by Britain in 1765 and required a tax on every piece of printed paper used by American colonists.

Platanus occidentalis-American sycamore-Maclean House-Princeton

And here’s the page on the sycamores in the Little Trees book.

Platanus occidentalis-Stamp Act Sycamores-Little Tree Book-Princeton

On Saturday afternoon, we gather for one of the long traditions for reunions weekend, the annual P-rade.  Keeping in mind that some 25,000 people arrive on campus for the weekend, it’s a very long procession, beginning with the oldest alum from the 1940s, now driven in golf carts, to the youngest.  And yes, that is my husband doing the back and forth ‘locomotive’ cheer, which he loves. He played hockey more than 55 years ago for Princeton (while getting his Economics degree). I hear they had skates then…..

After the P-rade winds up on the athletic field, we walk towards Nassau Street heading back to our digs for a nap before dinner.  Look at this chestnut (Castanea sp.) in front of the spectacular Lewis-Sigler Institute (and Carl Icahn Lab) for Integrative Genomics (architect Rafael Viñoly).

Castanea-Chestnut-Lewis-Sigler Institute for Integrative Genomics-

I see an elegant katsura tree (Cercidiphyllum japonicum) against the Moffett Lab.

Cercidiphyllum japonicum-Katusra-Moffett Lab-Princeton (2)

And I’ve been sampling ripe serviceberries (Amelanchier sp.) all weekend outside our own reunion tent, so I test a few from this big shrub growing in front of the Frist Campus Center.

Amelanchier-Serviceberry-Frist Campus Center-Princeton

And another little taste of Reunions are the spectacular Saturday night fireworks. This is what I saw from the Boathouse on Lake Carnegie – my video being the 4 minute condensation of what was at least a 15-minute show.

On our final morning in Princeton, our kind hostess (and my husband’s lovely cousin) Rachel Gray Studebaker drives me to the Princeton Graduate College, with its enclosed garden designed in 1913-14 by Beatrix Farrand.  I was determined to try to get here before our flight home after reading the cover story on Farrand in her Princeton magazine.

Beatrix-Farrand-Princeton Magazine

And I am not disappointed. It is stunning….

Princeton Graduate College-Beatrix Farrand (1)

…and blessedly empty after the reunion celebrants have departed.  Though the plants have been updated since her 30-year tenure here as Consulting Landscape Architect from 1915 to the mid-1940s, the sense of formal sanctuary is still very much hers.  (Here’s a reprint of an article she wrote for the Princeton Alumni Weekly.)

Princeton Graduate College-Beatrix Farrand (2)

We return to Rachel’s house via Mercer Street past the home at #112 that Albert Einstein lived in from 1935-55, while he was at Princeton’s Institute for Advanced Studies. Now owned by the institute, it is not open to the public (since it houses various academics employed by the Institute) but it is on the Historic Register of Princeton.

Einstein's House-Princeton NJ

While preparing to pack and head back to Toronto, I pass the ‘Lucerna’ begonia in Rachel’s kitchen that is fondly referred to as “Einstein’s begonia”. Cuttings of it have been passed from hand to hand in Princeton since he grew it himself in the house on Mercer Street and our cousin, who worked as assistant to the Director of the Institute for Advanced Study for many years, is the proud recipient of this one.

Einstein's begonia-Princeton

And another lovely Princeton reunion, replete with trees, gardens and famous begonias, comes to an end.

Winter Bark & Bough: A Valentine to Trees

In my part of the world, winter often seems like a time that nature has forgotten. Frozen earth, dirty snow, leafless tree boughs except for the evergreens – a subdued landscape of grey, brown and white. Yet there is life teeming deep in the soil under that snow and spring beckons just months away.  And there is majesty in the skeletal architecture of trees. While returning to Toronto from our cottage on Lake Muskoka one late afternoon recently (and, I hasten to add, I was in the passenger seat), I clicked my camera at tree vignettes flanking Highway 400, the major north-south route linking the city to cottage country and beyond. Forest, farm field, windbreak, granite outcrop… all stood out in moody relief against the January sky.  Photographing at 70 miles an hour doesn’t give sharp results, but as a low-resolution mosaic, it’s a beautiful way to appreciate the winter landscape and the skeletons of trees.

Winter Tree skeletons-Highway 400-Ontario

With winter hanging on for five months or more in Toronto, the architecture of trees becomes an important consideration in garden design. Since I’m a bit of a tree geek, I pay attention to those things, and thought some of my blog readers might share my enjoyment. So here is a roster of hardy shrubs and trees with distinctive winter bark and branching, arranged by botanical name. It’s…um….quite comprehensive — let’s just call it an “encyclotreedia”. Or, given the date, perhaps we can call it a Valentine to Trees. And please note, this is not a recommendation list, merely a photo guide to many dediduous species, native and non-native, well-behaved or potentially invasive. Almost all were photographed in Toronto’s Mount Pleasant Cemetery, the 200-acre arboretum I am so very fortunate to have less than a mile-and-a-half from my home, a place in which I’ve been photographing flora for 20 years.

Acer davidii – Pere David’s Maple: This maple represents one of the hardiest of the beautiful snakebark maples. Its bark is olive-green with silvery vertical stripes intercut with small horizontal, green lenticels. In time, the bark changes to striped light-brown. A beautiful, small, multi-stemmed tree that grows to 30-40 feet (9-12 metres) or so and colours nicely in autumn. Sadly, the one I know has developed sun scald on its exposed flank, but seems to hang on despite the gaping splits in the trunk.

Acer davidii-Pere David's maple-winter trunk

Acer griseum – Paperbark Maple:  I grow this lovely, small, Asian maple in my own garden, regrettably out of my sight line in a side-yard where I cannot appreciate the gorgeous exfoliating bark on its slender red trunk, especially in winter against the snow.  Paperbark maple matures somewhere between 20-30 feet (6-9 metres) with a lovely, vase-shaped form.  Trifoliate leaves turn scarlet in fall.

Acer griseum-Paperbark maple-winter-bark

Acer pseudoplatanus – Sycamore Maple: The Latin name of this large (75-90 feet, 23-27 metre), short-trunked Eurasian maple means “false plane tree”, and its leaves and exfoliating grey-brown bark do bear some resemblance to the American sycamore and Oriental plane tree of the genus Platanus. But like all maples, sycamore maple has opposite branching, unlike alternate-branched plane trees, and its fruit is a samara rather than the spherical “buttonball” fruit of plane trees.  The confusion is heightened by the common name “sycamore”, applied to both the maple and American plane tree or sycamore which derives from the Greek word “sykomoros”, meaning fig-mulberry. But it is thought to refer to a large Middle Eastern fig called Ficus sycamorus, an ancient tree mentioned in the bible; thus the word later became generic for “shade tree”.

Acer pseudoplatanus-Sycamore maple-winter bark

Acer rubrum – Red Maple:  This native tree starts out with smooth, light-grey bark, as with the wonderful fall-colouring Acer rubrum ‘Morgan’, below…..

Acer rubrum 'Morgan'-red maple-young bark

….. before developing its rough, scaly, dark bark later in life, when it can be as tall as 90 feet (27 metres) in wide-open areas, but likely already nearing the end of a life that averages 80 to 100 years.

Acer rubrum-red maple-bark-winter

Acer saccharinum – Silver Maple: We once had a tall, majestic silver maple on the boulevard in front of our house in Toronto, and I counted the rings when the city came to cut it down in 1996.  There were 81, which meant it had been planted when our house was built, around 1915. Its bark and bearing at that age looked like the silver maple below: long, narrow strips of medium grey, many fallen off, and the main trunk dividing into sub-trunks before flaring into elegant limbs on high.  I still miss it.

Acer saccharinum-silver maple-winter-bark

The upper bark of the silver maple is produced in sheet-like plates, something like the bark that the hairy woodpecker is attacking in my video made in Mount Pleasant Cemetery, below.

Acer saccharum – Sugar Maple:  Who hasn’t stood under a sugar maple in autumn and gazed in awe at the sunset array of fall colours, below?  It’s in winter when we notice the dark, furrowed, sometimes curling bark of the trunk leading up to the widespread crown, the massive canopy often missing brittle limbs in old age.  And, of course, just below that furrowed bark is the xylem tissue that scarcely waits until winter’s last gasp before drawing up sweet sap from the thawing soil – sap that turns into delicious maple syrup in the right hands.

Acer saccharum-sugar maple-winter-bark

Sugar maple is the quintessential fall-colouring tree in eastern North America.

Acer saccharum-Sugar maple-fall colour

Aesculus flava – Yellow Buckeye:  When young, yellow buckeye’s bark looks smooth and grey, like beech bark.  As the tree ages to its mature 50-70 feet (15-21 metre) height, its bark develops scales and loose plates.  The tree below developed sub-trunks a short distance from the base.

Aesculus flava-yellow buckeye-winter-bark-trunk

Aesculus hippocastanum – Horsechestnut:  There isn’t much remarkable in the scaly, ridged bark of a mature horsechestnut trunk. What is spectacular is the oval crown and the branches that hang down from 100 feet (30 metres) or so, as if anticipating the weight of those big, beautiful, white flower panicles in June……

Aesculus hippocatanum-horse chestnut-winter

….. and, of course, the plump, sticky, terminal winter buds that look like they were shellacked, and can scarcely wait to burst open on the first warm days of spring.

Aesculus-hippocastanum-horse chestnut-winter bud

Ailanthus altissima – Tree of heaven:  This Chinese tree is such a successful weedy invader throughout North America, where it was once grown as a street tree,  its clones, suckers and self-seeded saplings pop up in cracks in the pavement and untended lots everywhere. It is more likely to be described as “tree of hell” than its normal common name.  Fast-growing, it matures at 60-80 feet (18-24 metres), its bark green and smooth on young trees, but grey with rough furrows on older trees.  Tree of heaven gained notoriety in 1943 when it was featured as the central metaphor in the Betty Smith novel A Tree Grows in Brooklyn.

Ailanthus altissima-tree of heaven-winter bark-trunk

Alnus incana – European grey alder: Look up from the smooth, lenticel-engraved bark of grey alder in winter, and you’ll see the remnants of last summer: the little black, seed-bearing, female cones. Grey alder grows naturally in damp soil, but is also tolerant of dry soil. It can reach 50 feet (15 metres).

Alnus-incana-grey alder-winter bark

Betula alleghaniensis – Yellow birch: If you see yellow birch in winter with its shiny, peeling bark and horizontal lenticels , you’re forgiven for thinking you’ve stumbled upon a beautiful cherry. For that’s what a young yellow birch resembles.  It grows to 75 feet (23 metres) in ideal conditions.

Betula alleghaniensis-yellow birch-trunk-bark-winter

Betula ermanii – Erman’s birch: Though quite variable in appearance, Erman’s birch or Russian rock birch can have creamy-white bark like paper birch or resemble native river birch, in that older trees develop peeling, shredded bark in brown, gray, orange and white. Often multi-stemmed, Erman’s birch matures at around 60 feet (18 metres).

Betula ermanii-Erman's birch-bark-trunk-winter

Betula lenta – Cherry birch, Sweet birch:  I love this native birch, which should be grown much more than it is. The wood is used for furniture and flooring. The bark starts as a reddish-brown, turns dark gray, then develops thin scales as it ages. It grows to 50-60 feet (15-18 metres) in favorable conditions.

Betula lenta-cherry birch-winter bark

In autumn, cherry birch with its apricot orange leaves is an exquisite part of the fall color parade.

Betula lenta-Cherry birch-autumn color

Betula nigra – River birch:  As the name suggests, this is a tree for damp places, but not small places. When happy, it can reach 70 feet (21 metres), often multi-stemmed, its bark flaked with a patchwork of cream, buff, apricot and brown papery scales.

Betula nigra-river birch-winter-bark

Betula papyrifera – Paper birch: Don’t we all have a special place in our hearts for the paper birch? Even with its insect enemies – the bronze birch borer, birch leafminer – don’t we all think romantically of Robert Frost’s Birches? That shimmering white bark, the black hawk-eyes winking from the trunk, the leaves fluttering like tiny golden flags in autumn.

Betula papyrifera-paper birch-winter-bark-trunk

Paper birch grows to 70 feet (21 metres), often multi-stemmed; its brown park with pale lenticels eventually turns white.  Indeed, as Robert Frost once wrote, one could do much worse than be a swinger of birches, like the ones shown growing with hemlocks on the road behind my Lake Muskoka cottage.

Betula-papyrifera-birches-winter-Robert Frost

Betula utilis var. jacquemontii – White-barked Himalayan birch: Many experts consider this to be a finer landscape alternative than our native paper birch. Selected forms have shimmering-white bark on a slender, often multi-stemmed tree that reaches 30-40 feet (9-12 metres). Sadly, it is also susceptible in time to the bronze birch borer.

Betula jacquemontii-Himalayan birch-winter bark

Carpinus caroliniana – Blue beech, American hornbeam: This lovely little understory tree is at least as wide as it is tall (20-30 feet, 6-9 metres), with muscled grey bark (another of its common names is ‘musclewood’) and a fluted trunk. It’s one of my favourite northeastern natives, with delicate, birch-like leaves that turn orange in fall.

Carpinus caroliniana-Blue Beech-Winter-Bark

Carya cordiformis – Bitternut hickory:  When young, this tree’s bark is smooth and grey; as it matures to a height of 100 feet (30 metres) or more, the bark develops wavy ridges and regular vertical furrows.  Bitternut hickory lives about 200 years and its durable wood is used for furniture.

Carya cordiformis-bitternut hickory-winter-bark

Carya ovata – Shagbark hickory:  One of my favourite trunks to photograph, so illustrative of its common name. As a young tree, this hickory’s bark is grey and smooth; as it matures to over 120 feet (36 metres) in height   metres), the bark breaks into long, vertical plates which adhere to the bole in the middle while the ends curve away and produce the ‘shaggy’ look.  It is long-lived, to 300 years or more and produces edible nuts.

Carya ovata-shagbark hickory-winter bark

Castanea dentata – American chestnut:  There are precious few of these iconic trees left in North America, but Mount Pleasant Cemetery has a number of small specimens, their sawn upper limbs a clue to the introduced chestnut blight that decimated the North American population in the early 20th century.  A Carolinian species native to the northern shore of Lake Erie, it once grew to lofty heights of over 100 feet (30 metres), but is now seen in the wild as small sprout trees from dead stumps. The trunk on the smallish tree below with its interlaced furrows and ridges indicates its old age; young bark is smooth and chestnut-brown.

Castanea dentata-American chestnut-winter bark

Castanea mollissima – Chinese chestnut: A small-medium sized tree growing to about 40 feet (12 metres) with an open canopy and wide-spreading branches, Chinese chestnut is resistant to the chestnut blight that kills American chestnut. Like the tree below with its brown, ridged bark, foliage is marcescent, with leaves often persisting on the tree throughout winter. It produces edible nuts (though not the delicacies of the sweet Spanish chestnut) and is currently the subject of experiments to produce a viable hybrid with the American chestnut.

Castanea mollissima-Chinese chetnut-winter-bark

Catalpa speciosa – Northern catalpa:  Of all the sylva of the American forest, Northern catalpa is the most tropical in appearance, with purple-splotched white flowers held in big panicles.. Though native to a relatively small swath from Kansas south to Texas and east to Louisiana, it is a remarkably hardy tree and thrives in Toronto (USDA Zone 5, like Chicago). It’s bark is grey-brown with shallow fissures and its crown is irregular with masses of crooked branches that give it a witchy appearance. However, certain trees, interestingly, develop a tall, narrower profile than the one below.

Catalpa speciosa-northern catalpa-winter

Celtis occidentalis – Hackberry: This is one of those nondescript, native trees (to 60 feet – 18 metres) that nonetheless proves its worth as a pollution-tolerant choice for city streets. Its bark is smooth and greyish when young, but as it matures it develops corky wart-like bumps that form wavy, vertical ridges.

Celtis occidentalis-hackberry-bark-winter

Cercidiphyllum japonicum – Katsura: This most elegant of Asian trees has bark that starts out smooth, but later splits into thin, papery strips as it grows (often multi-stemmed) to a height of 30-40 feet (9-12 metres) or more.  Its senescing, heart-shaped leaves produce maltose, which in the right conditions produces a burnt sugar aroma as one walks near them in autumn.

Cercidiphyllum japonicum-katsura-bark-winter

Katsura is a dioecious species, meaning there are male and female trees. In winter, the remnants of last summer’s fruit pods often decorate the canopy of a female katsura tree.

Cercidiphyllum japonicum-Katsura-female-capsules-winter

Cladrastis kentukea – Yellowwood : This is a favourite tree of mine when it deigns to flower in late spring or early summer with masses of pendulous, wisteria-like, white flower clusters (below) – an auspicious event that happens once every 3 or 4 years, if you’re lucky! It’s native to the southern U.S. but hardy here in Toronto, though subject to sunscald in winter.  Bark is smooth, grey and beech-like on a small-medium tree reaching 30-50 feet (10-15 metres).

Cladrastis kentukea-Yellowwood-winter-bark

The spectacular, cascading flowers of the yellowwood aren’t produced every year, but they are a beautiful sight when they are, as here in Toronto’s Mount Pleasant Cemetery.

Cladrastis kentukea-Yellowwood-flowers

Cornus mas – Cornelian cherry:  One of my favourite shrubs or small trees, quite likely because its bright-yellow umbel flowers are among the very first to bloom in late winter or early spring. This dogwood, native to Europe and western Asia,  reaches 20 feet (9 metres) tall and almost as wide, and has the prettiest mottled tan-and-cream bark on its slender trunk(s).

Cornus mas-Cornelian cherry-winter-bark

Cornus sanguinea – Common European dogwood – There are shrubs, of course, that boast brilliant winter bark, and none is more beautiful than the selections of European dogwood that celebrate the cold ‘midwinter’. This is ‘Midwinter Beauty’, below, but ‘Midwinter Fire’ is just as brilliant, with blazing sunset colours against a snowy landscape.  Be sure to cut back your Cornus sanguinea in early spring in order to guarantee bright stem colour from the new growth in the following winter.

Cornus sanguinea-'Winter Beauty'-dogwood

Cornus sericea – Red-osier dogwood: Though it might be common and a little old hat by now, the red canes of the new growth of ultra-hardy red-osier dogwood are always luminous in the winter garden. But do remember that you need to cut back the older canes in late winter or early spring, in order to encourage the bright-red colour of the new ones for the following winter.

Cornus sericea-red winter stems

Cornus sericea ‘Flavamirea’ – Yellow-twig dogwood: I love the golden canes of yellow-twig dogwood in winter; they add a little pool of sunlight to an otherwise barren spot. Left unpruned, this dogwood can reach 8 feet (2.4 metres), but as with red-osier dogwood, its brilliant colour is produced on new growth, so an annual cutting-back in late winter or early spring is necessary to ensure a good show.

Cornus sericea 'Flavamirea'-gold winter stems

And in case you’re wondering what to plant beneath those lovely golden stems, how about a sea of blue-flowered Siberian squill (Scilla siberica)?

Cornus sericea 'Flavamirea' & Scilla siberica

Corylus colurna – Turkish filbert or hazel:  A refined, pyramidal shape, relatively small stature (around 45 feet or 14 metres tall in colder regions) and problem-free demeanor often result in this tree being recommended for use in small gardens. It produces small, edible, but non-commercial nuts; however, its hardiness makes it a good rootstock for orchard species of filbert and hazel. In winter, below, the light brown, corky, flaking trunk and bark are quite attractive.

Corylus colurna-Turkish filbert-winter-bark

Fagus grandifolia – American beech:  This beloved, stately native of our northeast forests is under attack from beech bark fungal disease, which is vectored by an introduced European scale insect feeding on sap and ultimately leads to formation of a canker that causes severe die-back.  I cannot imagine what the deep woods behind our cottage on Lake Muskoka would look like without the muscled, grey bark and stout trunk of the American beech, below.

Fagus grandifolia-American beech-winter-bark

Fagus sylvatica – European beech: – A beautiful tree with a commanding presence, up to 90 feet (27 metres) tall,  and many cultivars that feature pyramidal or weeping shape and colourful leaves.  Sadly, the same beech bark disease (BBD) as occurs on native beeches is also claiming mature European beeches, like the magnificent copper beech (Fagus sylvatica ‘Cuprea’) shown below.

Fagus sylvatica 'Cuprea'-copper beech-winter-bark

Fraxinus pensylvanica – Green ash:  If there are any healthy native ashes left standing in North America after the reign of terror of the emerald ash borer, their trunks will look something like the one below, with its grey, ridged, corky bark. (Speaking personally, we lost our ash to EAB a few years ago, and most other ashes in Toronto will be removed in time.)

Fraxinus pensylvanica-green ash-winter bark-trunk

Ginkgo biloba – Maidenhair tree: As distinctive as the fan-shaped leaves of this stately deciduous conifer are – and luscious yellow in autumn – the brown bark is also attractive, with deep furrows and raised ridges. In winter, you can look up into the crown of a ginkgo and see the short spurs bearing the axial winter buds lining the bare branches.

Ginkgo biloba-maidenhair tree-winter-bark-spurs

Gleditsia triacanthos var. inermis – Thornless Honey locust: I am told that if you look carefully at the branching of a thornless honey locust, you’ll see a distinctive zigzag pattern to the growth of the twigs. The bark on young trees is a smooth olive-brown; as the tree ages, it becomes grey, fissured and flaky, often revealing the red under-bark. This form has a lack of vicious thorns, which distinguishes it from the main species. The elegant canopy created by the fine-textured foliage of honey locust has resulted in it being selected for cultivars like ‘Shademaster’, ‘Moraine’ and ‘Sunburst’. Sadly, honey locusts are subject to disease and insect pests.  And despite being called “honey locust”, they’re not much visited by bees; the name actually derived from the sweet pulp within the seedpods.

Gleditsia triacanthos-var. inermis-thornless honey locust-winter

Gymnocladus dioicus – Kentucky coffeetree – The Latin name Gymnocladus means “naked branch”, and describes the tree’s propensity for leafing out late and dropping its leaves early in autumn, thus leaving naked branches for most of the year. “Dioicus” describes its reproductive strategy, dioecy, meaning male and female flowers are borne on separate trees. On the ‘species at risk’ list in Ontario, Kentucky coffeetree once grew abundantly in southwest Ontario at the northern limit of its native range. But trees in Toronto do very well, and male trees (more desirable because of the huge, rattling seedpods of female trees) are available in the city’s Urban Forestry boulevard tree-planting program. The scaly bark is grey-brown and fissured on trees that reach 50-80 feet (24 metres) at maturity.

Gymnocladus dioicus-Kentucky coffeetree-winter bark-trunk

Those lush Kentucky coffeetree leaves, incidentally, are doubly compound or ‘bipinnately compound’ – and the largest leaves of any deciduous North American tree.  Their intricacy makes the canopy spectacularly beautiful in summer, below.

Gymnocladus dioicus-Kentucky coffeetree-bipinnate foliage

Juglans cinerea – Butternut: We once had a tall butternut tree in the back of our garden. It produced ridged, oval, sticky green fruits that the squirrels ate, leaving husks all over the lawn (like black walnut, below).  My husband loved a particular curved branch that extended across our garden, and I loved its history as a dye plant for the brown uniforms of the Confederate Army (the soldiers were nicknamed “butternuts”). Sadly, in the 1990s, it developed the butternut canker that would ultimately kill it – and has caused its population to decline throughout North America. I’m delighted that the tree below still survives in Mount Pleasant Cemetery, its trunk layered with grey-brown, diamond-ridged bark.

Juglans cinerea-Butternut-bark-trunk-winter

Juglans nigra – Black walnut: I live right under a huge black walnut, below – or perhaps I should call it a raccoon home…..Though the big green walnuts drive me crazy in the fall as they rain down on my roof like billiard balls, and the tree frightens me on a night like the one earlier this week, when an ice storm coated all the limbs, I do adore its graceful canopy and the cardinals that sing in its branches just above my bedroom ceiling.  But my next-door neighbour and I have spent a fortune on arborists over the decades to cable its limbs and restrain its exuberance, while still providing lots of growth points.

Juglans nigra-Black walnut-over house

Black walnut has a sturdy trunk with bark that’s braided with diamond-patterned furrows. From the time the United States was colonized in the early 1600s, black walnut wood was recognized as superior, and used for cabinet-making and gunstocks. The tree can reach 100 feet (30 metres) in moist, deep soil, and ensures its place in the natural forest by secreting juglone from its roots, bark, shoots and leaves. The botanical name for this is allelopathy, but many natural understory shade plants are unaffected by juglone.

Juglans-nigra-Black walnut-winter-bark

And… because I’m not really happy with my winter photos of black walnut, here’s a summer shot illustrating that elegant canopy. Isn’t this spectacular?

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Larix kaempferi – Japanese larch: The larches, like dawn redwood and bald cypress, are deciduous conifers that shed their needle-like leaves in autumn.  They perform well in damp soil (the one below is growing in the run-off of a water feature) and turn yellow in autumn. Japanese larch can grow to 80 feet at maturity, its trunk reaching 3-4 feet (90-120 cm) in diameter. A young tree like this one still has its smooth grey-brown bark; in time, it will form plate-like strips that peel off to reveal the red underbark.

Larix kaempferi-Japanese larch-winter

Larix laricina – Eastern tamarack: Though it prefers the cool, wet ground of sphagnum bogs or muskeg in the north country (it grows the furthest north of any tree in North America), the tamarack can be grown in adequately moist soil in a garden, too.  Reaching 20-35 feet (6-15 metres) in height, it can be recognized by its slender profile, feathery leaves that turn brilliant-gold in autumn and dark cones that remain on the tree for years. Its dark grey-brown bark is thin and scaly.  And, as one observer says: “In winter, it is the deadest-looking vegetation on the globe.”

Larix laricina-eastern tamarack-bark-winter

Liquidambar styraciflua – Sweetgum: Perhaps if I lived in Virginia or North Carolina or Alabama where indigenous sweetgum trees grow in abandoned fields, I might have a more jaded view of this tall, majestic native southerner. But I have long adored the tall sweetgum that towers majestically over the stone angel in Mount Pleasant Cemetery, especially in autumn when the star-shaped leaves take on yellow, amber, scarlet and crimson hues and the “gum balls” dangle from the canopy. (See photo below.) Sweetgum grows 60-75 feet (18-23 metres) tall and 40-55 feet (12-17 metres) wide. Back in the pioneer days, the resinous gum exuded by the tree was used as chewing gum; it was also given to Civil War soldiers to treat dysentery.  Though sweetgum isn’t native to Canada, we certainly saw a lot of gumwood trim used in Toronto houses at one time – including one I owned. If I were young, I would plant a small liquidambar in my garden; in the meantime, I’ll enjoy standing under that sweetgum in the cemetery.

Liquidambar styraciflua-Sweetgum-Winter-Bark-Trunk

My favourite sweetgum watches over this stone angel in Mount Pleasant Cemetery. This is how it looks in autumn.

Liquidambar-styraciflua-swe

Liriodendron tulipifera – Tuliptree, Yellow poplar: The tallest eastern hardwood, tuliptree can grow as high as 160 feet (50 metres) in the rich forests of the Southern Piedmont in Virginia and Georgia. In its stands in Norfolk County in southern Ontario near Lake Erie, at the northern limit of its native range, it tends to reach a more modest height at maturity. Its bark is furrowed and brown with intersecting ridges. In the wild its trunk can remain limbless for up to 50 feet (15 metres) before branching out. Below is the winter bark of a lovely variegated cultivar called ‘Majestic Beauty’.

Liriodendron tulipifera 'Majestic Beauty'-variegated tuliptree-winter-trunk

Liriodendron flowers are exquisite, like yellow chalices (i.e. tulips) flamed with orange, and very attractive to bees. (In fact, the main nectar flow for an Atlanta beekeeper I’ve interviewed is April, when it flowers in the Georgia forests.)

Liriodendron tulipifera-flower

Malus ‘Dolgo’ – Crabapple:  Crabapples aren’t known for their attractive bark, but the “patchwork quilt” effect on the trunk of many crabs is often enough to aid in their identification in winter.  This is old-fashioned ‘Dolgo’; its large fruit make it one of the best selections for crabapple jelly.

Malus 'Dolgo'-crab apple-winter-bark-trunk

Malus tschonoskii – Pillar apple, Chonosuki crab: Here’s an unusual small tree, native to Japan, quite rare in cultivation and one that is often mistaken for a cherry in winter, because of its prunus-like bark.  (In fact, pillar apple was once considered to be a pear, and placed in the Pyrus genus.)  Narrowly upright to around 30 feet (9 metres), it  puts on a beautiful show in autumn, when the multi-colored red, orange and gold foliage is arrayed against the tree’s smooth, grey limbs.

Malus tschonoskii-Pillar apple-winter-bark

Metasequoia glyptostroboides – Dawn redwood: An iconic “fossil tree”, once thought extinct, until a remarkable series of events featuring its modern discovery in the 1940s in the mountains of Hubei, China, and the detective work of Chinese botanists who were able to connect it to an ancient fossil studied by a Japanese paleobotanist a few years earlier. Though I decided to focus this winter bark blog on deciduous trees, who cannot appreciate the amazing, fibrous, peeling, red-and-brown bark and perfect, conical form of the dawn redwood?  And since, like the gingko, it’s a ‘deciduous conifer’, it met half the criteria in any case. Dawn redwood can reach at least 100 feet (30 metres) in perfect conditions, which in China include shady, moist sites near water, especially ravines and creek banks.

Metasequoia glyptostroboides-dawn redwood-winter-bark-trunk

Morus rubra – Red mulberry:  This Eastern North America native with its brown, furrowed bark and spreading crown is often confused with the Asian white mulberry (M. alba), which was imported from China to create a silk-spinning industry and later became an invasive in many regions. Although Donald Culross Peattie wrote that Choctaw women made a shawl from red mulberry inner bark, the native tree did not find favour with silkworms. But red mulberry’s blackberry-like fruit does find favour with birds and small animals, not to mention foragers who use it in jams, pies and cordials.

Morus rubra-red mulberry-winter-bark-trunk

Ostrya virginiana – Eastern ironwood, American hophornbeam:   Donald Culross Peattie writes of this small, native, understory tree in his wonderful A Natural History of Trees of Central and Eastern North America:  In our rich sylva, a little tree like the Ironwood melts into the summer greenery, or the silver intricacy of naked twigs in the winter months, in a way that makes it difficult to pick out and identify……. Everything about this little tree is at once serviceable and self-effacing.  Such members of any society are easily overlooked, but well worth knowing.” In the winter, it’s the bark of the trunk that’s most noticeable: greyish brown, with fine, flaked scales, covering wood that is the second hardest (after Cornus florida) of all native trees. In the canopy, like little damselflies suspended from the branches, are the old catkins, flying alongside the odd old leaf, dainty reminders of the summer past.

Ostrya virginiana-Ironwood-hophornbeam-winter-bark-trunk

Parrotia persica – Persian ironwood:  There is one, lonely Persian parrotia in Mount Pleasant Cemetery, and it is a sweet little thing. A witch hazel relative native to Iran and the Caucasus, it has leathery leaves that turn myriad shades of gold, orange and crimson in autumn – but not in a fireworks way (in Toronto at least), more ‘a few here and a few there’. Growing to 40 feet (12 metres) with a dense, spreading crown, it features attractive, smooth, mottled bark, but branching starts so low on the tree, it’s a challenge to make a good photo of the trunk.

Parrotia-persica-Persian-ir

Phellodendron amurense – Amur cork tree: I am very fond of this small Asian tree (30-45 feet, 9-14 metres). It bears lovely compound foliage that turns a soft-yellow in autumn, clusters of deep-blue fruit (beloved by robins) and interesting, ridged, corky bark. It’s most happy in moist, rich soil, but will tolerate some drought. Dioecious, the female trees have proven invasive in certain warmer regions in North America.

Phellodendron amurense-Amur cork tree-winter-bark-trunk

Platanus x acerifolia – London plane tree: There is no mistaking this handsome tree, a hybrid of the Oriental plane tree (P. orientalis) and the American sycamore (P. occidentalis). Its smooth, mottled cream-olive-brown exfoliating bark graces a stocky trunk and branches on a tree that can reach 80 feet (24 metres) in height and almost as much in spread. Much more pollution-tolerant than its American parent (below), London plane trees grace city avenues throughout the temperate world.

Platanus x acerifolia-London plane-winter

Here’s a closeup of the gorgeous mottled bark of London plane tree.

Platanus x acerifolia bark-London plane-close-up

Platanus occidentalis – American sycamore:  This beloved native American tree, one of the parents of London plane tree, above, grows in a few spots in Mount Pleasant Cemetery, at the northern limit of its hardiness. On older trees, the trunk loses its mottled appearance and develops tight, geometric scales, but the limbs still show the exfoliating, leopardskin colouration. Sycamores – the largest deciduous trees in North America –  are the stuff of legend in the eastern United States, especially in the bottomlands of the Ohio Valley, where they once grew to heights of 160 feet (49 metres) with trunks 13 feet (4 metres) in diameter. Their distinctive, hanging ‘buttonball” fruit is a tight, spherical aggregation of achenes – seeds fixed with little bit of fluff to aid them on the wind.

Platanus occidentalis-American sycamore-winter bark-trunk

Populus alba – White poplar: Native to Europe, Asia and North Africa, this large poplar was introduced into North America in 1748 and has been so successful at propagating itself that it is now on the pernicious weed list of many regions. It grows 50-75 feet tall (15-23 metres) or more. The big trunk on old trees is dark-grey, but the upper branches are snow-white and very beautiful, especially with the silvery backs of the blue-green, maple-like, summer leaves fluttering in the wind.

Populus alba-White poplar-winter bark

Prunus maackii – Amur cherry:  I love this rugged little cherry with its lustrous, curling, coppery-brown bark on young trees. Native to Manchuria and southeadt Russia, it was discovered by Russian naturalist Richard Maak in 1855 on the banks of the Amur River. Its extreme hardiness (USDA Zone 3) destined it for use as a street tree in prairie cities. It normally reaches 15-25 feet (4.6-6 metres) in height and width, but can grow taller in ideal conditions – which means the moist soil of the summer monsoon region of China.

Prunus maackii-Amur cherry-winter-bark-trunk

Here is Amur cherry in May when the white chokecherry flower clusters are in bloom, below. This is in a small courtyard at Toronto Botanical Garden, where they have cleverly underplanted it with bugleweed (Ajuga).

Prunus maackii-Amur cherry-flowers

Prunus serrula – Tibetan cherry, also called birchbark and paperbark cherry, makes quite a splash with its shiny, coppery-red trunk on a small tree that reaches 20-30 feet (6 -8 metres). Its foliage is narrow and willow-like, and it bars down-facing clusters of unremarkable, single, white flowers in early spring.  Strangely, although it’s purported to be hardy to USDA Zone 5, I’ve never seen it in the east, either in Canada or the U.S. (though there’s supposed to be on in the Rock Garden at New York Botanical Garden).

Prunus serrula-Tibetan cherry-winter bark

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Prunus serrulata – Japanese cherry: Perhaps no other bark is as well-known and beloved as the shiny, smooth, lenticel-etched bark of the myriad Japanese cherry trees. This is because the trees (called sakura in Japan) are part of an annual Japanese spring tradition called hanami, or cherry blossom festival. Below is the bark of ‘Shogetsu’, a late-blooming, pale pink, double-flowered Japanese cherry.

Prunus serrulata 'Shogetsu'-Japanese cherry-winter bark-trunk

Pterocarya fraxinifolia – Caucasian wingnut: I’ve only seen this broad, majestic, walnut relative in Mount Pleasant Cemetery, where it dangles its 12-inch (30 cm) green fruit chains like long, emerald earrings from amongst the lush, pinnate foliage.  Native to Iran and Central Asia, Caucasian wingnut is fast-growing to 80 feet (24 metres) tall with a 60 foot (16 metres) spread.  Often multi-trunked, the bark is grey-brown, with long, ridged furrows. As in the photo below, the low branching and massive weight of the limbs often necessitates cabling.

Pterocarya fraxinifolia-Caucasian wingnut-winter bark

Here are those amazing green fruits of the Caucasian wingnut.

Pterocarya-fraxinifolia-fru

Quercus alba – Eastern white oak: At maturity, the white oak wears the word ‘majestic’ naturally. Maturing at 60-100 feet with a spread up to 50 feet (15 metres), its stocky trunk with scaly, grey bark often peeling in plates and patches, last year’s leaves hanging on in places to ……

Quercus alba-white oak-winter-canopy-bark

…. its massive canopy and large limbs – all describe the tree many naturalists revere as the best in the forest. Listen to Donald Culross Peattie, from his wonderful A Natural History of Trees of Central and Eastern North America:  If Oak is the king of trees, as tradition has it, then the White Oak, throughout its range, is the king of kings…no other tree in our sylva has so great a spread. The mighty branches themselves, often fifty feet long or more, leave the trunk nearly at right angles and extend their arms benignantly above the generations of men who pass beneath them.  Indeed, the fortunate possessor of an old White Oak, owns a sort of second home, an outdoor mansion of shade, and greenery, and leafy music.”   Here is an autumn image of an “outdoor mansion” built of white oak.

Quercus alba-White oak-autumn color

Quercus macrocarpa – Bur oak: Not particularly well-known, even in southern Ontario where it is the most common native oak, this eastern North American tree defines “adaptable”. It likes cold winters and hot summers and tolerates a variety of soil types and moisture (though it is generally found on flood plains). Rugged and handsome with ridged, grey bark on a tree that reaches 50 to 100 feet (15-30 metres), depending on conditions, it is a pollution-tolerant choice for those who want a sturdy, wildlife-friendly native oak.

Quercus macrocarpa-bur oak-winter bark

Quercus palustris – Pin oak: Native to the Carolinian zone near Lake Erie, pin oak prefers moist places (“palustris” means water-loving) but seems to survive in Toronto with normal garden irrigation. It tolerates clay but must have acidic soil; alkaline conditions will cause chlorosis and yellowing of the leaves.  Its neat, pyramidal shape, reasonable height (60 feet – 18 metres) and beautiful fall color recommend it – provided soil pH is considered. This is the dense horizontal branching of a pin oak in winter. Note that the bark is changing its habit from grey-brown and fairly smooth to thinly-ridged and furrowed.

Quercus palustris-pin oak-winter bark-trunk

Here is the spectacular fall colour of pin oaks in Toronto. The orange leaf colour in the tree at left is almost certainly a result of chlorosis from localized alkaline soil.

Quercus palustris-pin oak-fall colour

Quercus rubra – Northern red oak: Perhaps because they grow all around us, along with white pines, on the granite bedrock of Lake Muskoka, I adore Northern red oaks. From their boughs, I hear the cheeky call of the blue jays, the chattering of chickadees, the peeeeep of the foraging downy woodpecker. Their abundant acorns feed squirrels and chipmunks.  They turn glowing amber to deep red in autumn, long after the red and sugar maples have lost their leaves. Up there, the enemy is a dry summer and the odd infestation of army caterpillars. They tend not to grow as tall on granite as red oaks do here in the city, where they can reach 60 to 70 feet (18-21 metres) and a spread of 40 – 60 feet (12-18 metres), with greyish bark ridged with shallow furrows.

Quercus rubra-northern red oak-winter-bark

Quercus Crimson Spire™ – Hybrid Oak: There are several fastigiate oaks for use in smaller spaces, but this tightly columnar hybrid selection (Quercus ‘Crimschmidt’) of English oak (Q. robur) and white oak (Q. alba) is a stunning tree. It grows to 45 feet (14 metres) tall and 15 feet (4.5 metres) wide. As for the winter bark, there are so many marcescent leaves held on to Crimson Spire until spring, it is truthfully somewhat difficult to appreciate the bark without standing right beside the trunk.

Quercus Crimson Spire-oak-'Crimschmidt'-winter-marcescent leaves

Robinia pseudoacacia – Black locust: On a warm, late spring night, sometime around the first week of June in Toronto, an enchanting perfume wafts on the air – a scent that reminds some people of orange blossoms. If you chase it down, or rather “up”, you’ll find it’s coming from the abundant, white flower clusters of a tall tree with pea-like leaves. So sweet are the flowers of black locust that the volatile oil has been used as an absolute in the perfume industry, and the flowers produce a honey so clear, it’s said to look like the glass that holds it. Though indigenous to the central Appalachians, black locust has successfully made its way throughout North America and Europe – partly through commerce, and partly through its highly invasive self-seeding. There is no mistaking the bark of a black locust; it is thick and deeply grooved in a ropy pattern, on a trunk that’s often ramrod straight, as below. Though certain populations of very straight, high-branching black locusts were lent the name ‘shipmast locust’, the heavy, decay-resistant wood was evidently used for ship keels, not for masting, which requires lighter softwoods.

Robinia pseudoacacia-Black locust-winter-trunk

Salix × sepulcralis ‘Chrysocoma’ – Weeping willow:  What can you say about a grand weeping willow?  In late winter or early spring, when the long shoots brighten and the dainty catkins open, it’s as if the tree draped itself with dangling jewelry of the finest gold. Of course, you can also say the wood is brittle and prone to breaking, the fallen shoots make a terrible mess in small gardens, the tree wreaks havoc with underground plumbing and though it’s a rapid grower, it also declines quickly. Weeping willow bark is deeply grooved with patterned ridges.

Salix x sepulcralis 'Chrysocoma'-Golden weeping willow-winter-bark

Sorbus aucuparia ‘Rossica’ – Russian mountain ash:  Another ultra-hardy pyramidal tree for the small garden, this selection of mountain ash bears clusters of white flowers in late spring and bird-friendly orange fruit in autumn as the compound leaves change colour to copper-orange.  It grows around 30 feet (9 metres) tall with an 18 foot (5.5 metre) spread. On young trees, the bark is dark-brownish-grey and shiny with prominent lenticels; as the tree ages, the bark splits and develops cracks and scales. Mountain ash, or rowan as it’s called in Britain, rarely lives more than 80 years, and is susceptible to a number of diseases.

Sorbus aucuparia 'Rossica'-mountain ash-winter bark

Stewartia pseudocamellia – Korean Stewartia: Though they are fine collector plants, there aren’t many stewartias in the Toronto region; they are not reliably hardy and need moist soil and protection from late day sun.  I photographed my little winter specimen in a courtyard at the Toronto Botanical Garden, where it gets morning sun and is sheltered from cold wind. However, it’s tempting to seek out one of the few specialist nurseries that sell stewartia,for its luscious, camellia-like, white, June blossoms, its magnificent autumn leaf colour and this gorgeous mottled cream-and-brown bark.  Korean stewartia grows to 40 feet (12 metres) with a 30 foot (9 metres) spread, beginning to branch outward very close to the ground. 

Stewartia pseudocamellia-winter bark

Tilia cordata – Littleleaf linden:  When the lindens – or, as the English call them, “limes” – flower in early summer, the air is sweet beneath their boughs.  Bees, hover flies and butterflies buzz in the flowers, as befits a genus that produces a monofloral honey. In the United States, basswood (T. americana) and white basswood (T. heterophylla), aka “the bee tree” are the beekeeper’s friends, but in eastern Europe, many tilia species are used for honey production. (See my pollinator array photo below).   Littleleaf linden has been a popular street tree and specimen tree in Toronto, but those who have tried to garden under it rue the gloomy shade from its broad crown. It is densely-branched and reaches 60 feet (18 metres) with a 40 foot (12 metres) spread. Linden bark is grey and shallowly fissured.

Tilia cordata-Littleleaf linden-winter-bark

Pollinators forage on linden flowers, below. Clockwise from top left, metallic green bee, swallowtail butterfly and European honey bee on American basswood (T. americana) flowers; hoverfly on Caucasian lime (T. x euchlora) flowers. Large-scale bumble bee deaths of bees nectaring on Tilia species have been reported in the U.S. and Europe, but such toxicity is not well understood. (I have personally seen bumble bees lying in gardens under flowering lindens).  It is now hypothesized that bumble bees will often expend all their energy foraging on lindens whose nectar is depleted, leading to collapse and death.

Tilia-pollinators-Linden flowers-Lime-Basswood

Ulmus americana – American elm: It is bittersweet looking up into the winter crown of a mature American elm, for this old tree is a survivor of a plague that decimated the landscape of its kin. When Dutch elm disease was first discovered near port cities in eastern North America in 1930, imported from Europe on elm logs to be milled for veneer, there were an estimated 77 million elms on the continent. Six decades later, that number had been reduced by 75%. Today’s surviving trees stand alone, like this one, its grey bark ridged and fissured, its arching limbs (those that have not fallen to ice storms) giving way to the elegant drooping branchlets that mark its profile as unique.

Ulmus americana-American elm-winter-bark-trunk

Ulmus pumila – Siberian elm – Here is the winter bark of a successful invader, a tree once used for hedging in my neck of the woods, as one might use beech or privet. But Ulmus pumila is no wimpy privet; it ‘hedges’ its bets by waiting until the gardener is not looking, then shoots for the moon. Paradoxically, its specific epithet means ‘dwarf’, but it is anything but small. This tree, for example, with its diamond-furrowed bark and adventitious shoots emerging from cankers on the trunk, is well over 60 feet (18 metres).

Ulmus pumila-Siberian elm-winter-bark-trunk

Zelkova serrata – Japanese zelkova: The stately zelkova is my final winter bark entry, and a worthy one at that. This elm relative has grey-brown, beech-like bark with raised lenticels, exfoliating as the tree ages.     Pollution-tolerant, it is often planted as a fast-growing street tree, especially the cultivar ‘Green Vase’, which features ascending limbs, an upright shape and excellent fall colour. Zelkova reaches 70 feet (21 metres) at maturity with a 50-foot (15 metres) spread.

Zelkova serrata-winter-bark-trunk

 

Silver Lustre in the Garden

A little holiday song, for those who’ve stuck it out through my Twelve Months of Colour blogs in 2016:

Silver belles, silver belles,
It’s Christmas time in the city.

Ding-a-ling?? No, they don’t ring,

My “Silver Belles” just look pretty.

Row 1:‘Pictum’ Japanese painted fern (Athyrium niponicum); ‘King’s Ransom’ Siberian bugloss (Brunnera macrophylla); ‘Miss Wilmott’s Ghost’ giant sea holly (Eryngium giganteum); Agave parryi; Row 2: Hosta ‘Ultramarine‘; ‘Bascour Zilver’ hens-and-chicks (Sempervivum tectorum); ‘Blue Glow’ fescue (Festuca glauca); Heuchera ‘Rave On’; Row 3: ‘Montgomery’ blue spruce (Picea glauca); ‘Silver Carpet’ lamb’s-ear (Stachys byzantina); ‘Blue Star’ juniper (Juniperus squamata); ‘Sapphire Skies’ yucca (Y.rostrata)

Yes, we’re finally in December, and as befits the tinsel month in my year-long celebration of monthly colour themes, I’ve pulled together a treasure box filled with pieces of silver (and some nice blue-greys) for your garden. You should know that I’m a big fan of grey, especially mixed with that little dash of brown that tips it into ‘taupe’. In fact, my house is painted that colour, and my deck and fence are stained a darker shade of stone-grey. It is a beautiful background for all plants.

janet-davis-deck-house

If you add a little blue-green to silvery-gray, you get a colour we often describe as “glaucous”. That word has travelled a long way since it was first used by the Greeks, including Homer, as glaukos to mean “gleaming, silvery”. In Latin, it  took on the meaning “bluish-green”, and in the 15h century, the Middle English word glauk meant “bluish-green, gray”.  That fits the color of luscious Tuscan kale, below.

brassica-nero-di-toscana-montreal-botanical-garden

So we’ll look at some lovely plants with glaucous foliage as well.

Shrubs & Trees

Let’s begin with a few trees and shrubs.  Weeping willowleaf pear (Pyrus salicifolia ‘Pendula’) is a pretty little (20 ft – 7 m) tree with silvery-grey foliage. Here it is at Victoria’s Horticulture Centre of the Pacific, underplanted with Allium ‘Purple Sensation’.

pyrus-salicifolia-pendula-horticulture-centre-of-the-pacific

Then we have a true willow, dwarf blue Arctic willow (Salix purpurea ‘Nana’). This is a very hardy, useful shrub, standing about 5 feet (1.5 m) tall and wide, that will lend its soft greyish texture to a variety of applications, including as hedging or a filler.

salix-purpurea-nana

As for conifers, there are lots of blue junipers and silver firs, and of course, blue spruces. For a big silvery tree, perhaps none is as stately as the concolor or white fir (Abies concolor ‘Candicans’).

abies-concolor-candicans

If you want a cool blue-grey spruce at garden level, consider Picea pungens ‘Glauca Procumbens’.

picea-pungens-glauca-procumbens

And I love the look of Juniperus conferta ‘Blue Pacific’, especially as it takes on mauve hues in winter, below, along with Sedum rupestre ‘Angelina’.

juniperus-conferta-blue-pacific

Speaking of winter, there’s even a shrub with silvery fruit that persists into winter: Northern bayberry (Myrica pensylvanica).

myrica-pensylvanica-fruit-northern-bayberry

Though we often think of lavender as perennial, it is actually a sub-shrub. English lavender (Lavandula angustifolia) has greyish-blue foliage, and even the commonly available cultivars like ‘Hidcote’ and ‘Munstead’ will provide a good colour contrast, as they do edging this beautiful potager.

louise-kappus-potager-lavender

But if you want a really silvery, hardy lavender, try ‘Silver Mist’, shown below contrasting with a bronze carex.

lavandula-angustifolia-silver-mist

And if you are in a climate where you can grow the more tender Spanish lavender (Lavandula stoechas), there’s a gorgeous silver-leaved cultivar called ‘Anouk’.

lavandula-stoechas-silver-anouk

Perennials

Who hasn’t seen lamb’s-ears in a perennial border? And who hasn’t questioned whether the plant’s name should be a single lamb or a flock? Kidding aside, using hardy lamb’s-ears (Stachys byzantina)  is one of the easiest ways to inject a note of silver into the garden. Here it is with lady’s mantle (Alchemilla mollis) at Burlington, Ontario’s Royal Botanical Gardens …..

Stachys byzantina with Alchemilla mollis

… and fronting a June border at Vancouver’s Van Dusen Botanical Garden.

stachys-byzantina-van-dusen-botanical-garden

I love the way my pal Marnie White intersperses her lamb’s-ears with pink portulaca.

stachys-byzantina-portulaca-marnie-white-garden

Sea holly has a few beautiful silver forms; this is Eryngium giganteum ‘Miss Willmott’s Ghost’ with liatris and switch grass (Panicum virgatum) at the Toronto Botanical Garden.

eryngium-mrs-willmotts-ghost-liatris-panicum

Siberian bugloss (Brunnera macrophylla) has several cultivars with lovely silvery variegation. This is ‘Jack Frost’.

brunnera-macrophylla-jack-frost

Russian sage (Salvia yangii, formerly Perovskia) has fine silver foliage. Here it is with Liatris spicata.

artemisia-silver-king-liatris-spicata

And this is Artemisia ‘Powis Castle’ creating a silvery pool at the edge of a border.

artemisia-powis-castle

In the fern world, luscious Japanese painted fern (Athyrium niponicum var. pictum) is literally ‘painted’ with silver variegation. The stunning cultivar below is ‘Pewter Lace’.

athyrium-niponicum-pewter-lace

Though they don’t come in pure silver, there are many blue-grey hostas to add texture to a shaded or semi-shaded place. At the Toronto Botanical Garden, I love the juxtaposition of Hosta ‘Blue Angel’ with the silvery-blue glass screen behind it.

hosta-blue-angel-toronto-botanical-garden

Here is an assortment of blue-grey hostas.

1 - Ultramarine; 2 – First Frost; 3 – Fragrant Blue; 4 – Earth Angel; 5 – Paradise Joyce; 6 - Halcyon.

1 – Ultramarine; 2 – First Frost; 3 – Fragrant Blue; 4 – Earth Angel; 5 – Paradise Joyce; 6 – Halcyon.

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With their rainbow foliage colour and myriad leaf markings, heucheras have become a plant breeder’s bonanza in the past few decades. Below are ‘Rave On’ (left) and ‘Silver Scrolls’ (right).

heucheras

Euphorbias also offer delectable silver makings. Though it’s borderline-hardy where I garden in Toronto, I do love Euphorbia characias ‘Tasmanian Tiger’.

euphorbia-characias-tasmanian-tiger

The silvery foliage of Scotch thistle (Onopordum acanthium) can be quite stunning, but careful it doesn’t escape – clip those flowers before they go to seed.

onopordum-acanthium-cotton-thistle

Grasses

Blue-grey grasses abound. Here’s  Festuca glauca ‘Blue Glow’ with berried cotoneaster and silvery Russian sage (Perovskia atriplicifolia) behind.

festuca-glauca-blue-glow

This is ‘Heavy Metal’ switch grass (Panicum virgatum) – one of my favourites.

panicum-virgatum-heavy-metal

Little bluestem is a wonderful native prairie grass, and ‘Prairie Blues’ has a more pronounced silvery-blue hue.

schizachyrium-scoparium-prairie-blues

‘Wind Dancer’ love grass (Eragrostis elliotii)  is hardy only to USDA Zone 6, but I’ve seen it used as an annual grass to lovely effect.

eragrostis-elliottii-wind-dancer

Tender Shrubs, Annuals & Tropicals

Montreal Botanical Garden knows how to create wonderful knots and parterres with silvery plants. This is the tender grass Melinis nerviglumis ‘Savannah’ (ruby grass – USDA Zone 8-10) with Angelonia ‘Serena Purple’.

melinis-nerviglumis-savannah-angelonia-serena-purple-montreal-botanical

…. and this is Cerastium ‘Columnae Silberteppich’ with lantana.

cerastium-columnae-silberteppich

Montreal Botanical’s Herb Garden has also used silvery herbs in formal design schemes over the years. The tapestry-like knot garden below features the sages (Salvia officinalis) ‘Berrgarten’ and variegated ‘Icterina’ in the circle, along with hedge germander (Teucrium chamaedrys) with the pink flowers; clipped lavender and santolina are in the background.

montreal-botanical-salvia-officinalis-berrgarten-icterina

Here’s a closer look at santolina or cotton thistle (Santolina chamacyparissus) in flower. Its ease of shearing makes it a prime candidate for parterres and knots, but it is only hardy to USDA Zone 6.

santolina-chamaecyparissus-lavender-cotton

There are several Mediterranean plants that fit our silvery-blue theme.   A tender perennial (USDA Zone 8) with silver foliage that can be used as a drought-tolerant annual is Greek mountain tea (Sideritis syriaca).

sideritis-syriaca

And Senecio viravira or silver groundsel has textural foliage.

senecio-viravira-silver-groundsel

Isn’t this combination at the Niagara Botanical Gardens beautiful? The big, felted silver leaves of Salvia argentea with Tradescantia spathacea ‘Tricolor’ seem made for each other.

salvia-argentea-tradescantia-spathacea-tricolor-niagara-botanical-garden

Also at Niagara Botanical one summer, I loved this juxtaposition of blue-grey cardoon (Cynara cardunculus) with the cascading silvery Dichondra argentea in the hanging baskets behind.

cynara-cardunculus-dichondra-argentea-niagara-botanical-garden

Speaking of dichondra, here it is at the Toronto Botanical Garden paired with Centaurea gymnocarpa ‘Colchester White’. This, of course, is the work of the TBG’s container wizard Paul Zammit.

dichondra-argentea-centaurea-gymnocarpa-colchester-white-toronto-botanical-garden

Dusty miller (Centaurea cineraria) is an old-fashioned annual that’s easy to source and offers a lovely hit of silver, as with this rich autumn combination of dusty miller and ornamental cabbages.

dusty-miller-senecio-cinerarea

We mustn’t forget the spectacular leaves of the newer Rex begonias like ‘Escargot’, below, many of which have silver markings.

begonia-escargot

There are loads of silvery succulents available, because being silver-grey (reflecting the sun) and being succulent (storing your own water in your leaves) are both adaptations to plants growing in extreme hot and dry environments. I loved this combination of Kalanchoe pumila ‘Quicksilver’ and Senecio serpens at Eye of the Day Garden Center in Carpinteria, California.

kalanchoe-pumila-quicksilver-senecio-serpens-eye-of-the-day

This pairing of blue sticks (Senecio mandraliscae) with Scaevola aemula at the Montreal Botanical Garden was simple, yet dramatic.

scaevola-aemula-senecio-mandraliscae

And the gorgeous container below was in the former Vancouver garden of garden guru Tom Hobbs and Brent Beattie, owners of Vancouver’s Southlands Nursery.  It features Echeveria elegans, salmon-red Sedum rubrotinctum and silvery parrot feather (Tanacetum densum), along with astelia in the centre.

hobbs-echeveria-elegans-tanacetum-densum

Succulents have been used extensively over the years by Paul Zammit at the Toronto Botanical Garden. Check out this silvery monochrome masterpiece.

silver-succulents-toronto-botanical-garden

And finally, this gorgeous windowbox from the TBG, with its luscious mix of silver echeverias, aptenias, kalanchoes, senecios, rhipsalis and more, all enhanced by the dwarf Arctic willow hedging around it.

succulents-toronto-botanical-garden

With that, I finish my monthly 2016 exploration of the garden paintbox. But not to worry!  2017 is a whole new ballgame, and there will be garden colour galore (plus the odd travel journal and personal reminiscence) throughout the coming year.