Christmas Trees

     Years before my parents retired, they purchased a piece of land from my uncle on which they would eventually build a new house. The property was bordered by a freshwater pond, salt marsh, a scruffy brackish woodland, and acres of farmland, all within in earshot of the Atlantic. The land that wasn't wet or water was wide open and treeless. While the house was still a dream, they began planting trees, mainly pines, cedars, and an assortment of fruit trees. When I began my life in horticulture I started giving them trees for Christmas, each year something different, and something I wanted to grow myself, but didn't have the room for.

     One of the first trees I gave them was a blue Atlas cedar (Cedrus atlantica 'Glauca'). I got this tree from the first garden center I ever worked for, and when I planted the tree, it had a distinct curve in the trunk, which I thought looked artistic, but it eventually grew straighter. Over the past few years the sapsuckers have managed to put it into a bit of a decline. The tree to the right front of the cedar is a fruitless sweet gum (Liquidambar styraciflua 'Rotundiloba'). I came across this cultivar while working for another garden center, and thought surely it would be a great seller, but was wrong.

     Another early tree was a London planetree (Platanus x acerifolia), which was planted to shade their deck, and from which its handsome bark and bone-like winter structure could be admired. Despite a little late-summer foliage funk every other year or so, it has done very well and is now beginning to tower over the house.

     When it looked as if the garden center where I first worked was getting ready to fold, I got a job at one of the big box stores as a Plant Specialist. As it turned out, Plant Specialist meant someone who spends more time schlepping bags of mulch, fence panels, and concrete blocks from one place to another, then he does specializing in plants. While I worked there I purchased three crapemyrtles labeled as Natchez, envisioning a space, sometime in the future, underneath three mature and identical trees. The years progressed. and it became apparent that one of the trees was not Natchez. As it was, this big box store did not survive the onslaught of Home Depot and Lowe's, probably in no small part for selling mislabelled plants.

     While I was still working at the big box store, I wanted to get my parents a ginkgo (Ginkgo biloba), but we had already sold all of our nursery stock at stupid low prices, and literally tossed what didn't sell into the dumpster per my boss's instructions, to make room for cut Christmas trees. So I drove way out into the country to a garden center where I was told you could get anything, including ginkgoes. I fell in love with the place and got a job there the next year.

     While I worked there I came across many unusual trees, including a dawn redwood with golden foliage (Metasequoia glyptostroboides 'Ogon'). It once had a single trunk, but male deer, rubbing their antlers turned it into a multi-stemmed shrub. I still like it though.

     While at the garden center in the country, the owner had a yard sale of sorts, and I was able to pick up a variegated zelkova (Zelkova serrata 'Variegata') for a good price. Overall, it has never done that well, but on close inspection, the foliage looks nice. At my new job I am beginning to curse this species, as I am needing to pull its seedlings like so many dandelions.

     One of our big sellers at the garden center in the country was Chindo viburnum (Viburnum awabuki 'Chindo'). Technically it's a shrub, and this post is about trees, but this plant has reached a tree-like height next to my parent's chimney.

    One year at the garden center in the country, we gave away free trees with a coupon. I got in several hundred bare-root saplings from the state forestry department, and we potted them into 1 gallon pots. We had several species, but everyone's favorite were the bald cypress (Taxodium distichum). Even though I had the pick of the crop, the one I got for my parents was barely wider than a pencil when it was planted. Now it is lush and full, and every bit a healthy, still-young tree, and a fine example of one of my favorite species.

     Over the last few years, I have had to switch to Christmas shrubs and Christmas perennials. You can only put so many trees in a yard before you turn it into a forest, though that's not necessarily a bad thing.

Lesson Not Learned

     Forgive me Father for I have sinned. 2015 was supposed to be the year that I would start planting more natives in my own garden, and now I must make a painful confession. On my first trip to a nursery this year I came home with 6 new plants, and not a single one is native. If it is any consolation, three of them are not hardy in our winters and will live out their lives in containers, never posing an invasive threat. I'll try to be a better man, until then what should my penance be?

Bromeliad neoregelia

I'm not sure if this an Aloe or a Haworthia, but for $2.49 I can live with uncertainty.

Aloe x 'Pink Blush'

Euphorbia amygdaloides 'Ruby Glow'

Sedum 'Cherry Tart'

     I bought a Japanese Maple (Acer palmatum 'Orange Dream') only because it was 40% off, and I also had a $10 coupon. I have no idea where it will go, and it too may end up in a container until I decide. The photos were "borrowed" from Eshragi Nursery where the maple was grown before being shipped to Virginia.

     Except for the maple, all of these plants are currently living on the kitchen window sill until I think it will be safe for them to go outside.

     Though it's probably not what she had in mind, I've included this in Beth's Lessons Learned meme at Plant Postings. 

...and speaking of memes, don't forget my own Winter Walk-Off 2015. There is still plenty of time to enter. 

Living Color

     Right after Christmas my wife and I drove down to Fort Lauderdale to spend some time with my brother. The last time we visited it was in the summer, when the entire southeast was in the grip of an epic heatwave, but ironically it was actually cooler and more pleasant in south Florida than it was back in Virginia. On this trip we left dreary gray and cold to find what so many migrating snowbirds seek, sun and warmth. However, it's not the weather per se that lures me to Florida; it's the foliage and flowers. This part of the state is USDA zone 10b, and on average, 63" of rain fall annually, so many things grow easily and abundantly here. On top of that, it appears that gardening and landscaping are more of a priority, and few spaces remain unplanted. I don't know if this is due to city ordinance, civic pride, or just for the love of it, but I appreciate it.

     On our first morning we rode out to Living Color Garden Center to hunt for something green that could live in a container on my brother's deck. He does not live there year-round, so it had to be something very drought tolerant that could survive on whatever falls from the sky. I was thinking an agave, which we found, and a great price too, but there were so many other things to look at, and I left with serious zone envy.

     Near the front door I was stopped by a hug-worthy rainbow eucalyptus (Eucalyptus deglupta) with what I think was Clerodendrum splendens climbing through it.

     Adjacent to the main building is a large courtyard where plants and pots are displayed. In the center a neckid-lady statue is surrounded by a series of remarkable bougainvillea archways.

     Beyond the courtyard, plants were laid out on the ground in large blocks sorted by type, and interspersed with trees I can't grow, including many palms. I was attracted to the hips on this bottle palm (Hyphorbe lagenicaulis).

     I first heard about the golden penda (Xanthostemon chrysanthus) tree from Australian blogger Onslow and Miss B when she highlighted it during my 2013 Winter Walk-Off. The tree below was only about 6', but apparently in their native Queensland they can reach over 40' tall.

     Living Color also sells the species that really aggravates my zone envy, the Bismarck palm (Bismarckia nobilis). You can't really tell from this photo, but this plant will eventually have huge 3-4' wide silvery blue fronds on a very symmetrical plant. When planted in rows, they can give Parris Island graduates pointers on uniformity.

     Living Color grows much of what they sell, and the place stretched on forever, to the point I couldn't see where it ended.

Technically It's Still Fall

     I know it feels like winter outside and the dominant colors are now red and green, but I am still sorting through my fall photos. Hell, I even have summer vacation photos yet to process. On my trip to Pennsylvania last October, primarily to attend the Perennial Plant Conference, I also got to roam around the Bucks Co. countryside and enjoy a bit of the season. My brother lives in this picturesque part of the the state, and fortunately for us, his guest policies are still fairly liberal. While we were there, the most colorful plant on his property was burning bush (Euonymus alatus). Yes yes, I know this is a very bad plant, but there is no denying how pretty it is, and it is easy to figure why people plant it in the first place.

     Our visits usually include a stop at Trauger's, a large family owned farmstand on the Delaware River. Just about everything they sell is grown or made right on the farm, and I love its diversity, but since our visit was just before Halloween, it was all about the pumpkins.

     Another stop I always like to make is to Linden Hill Gardens, a garden center and design firm built around an old stone farmhouse and barn. This blog has been to Linden Hill before, and you can click here to read more about it. On the day we were there, we had the place to ourselves, and I had to remind myself that in colder parts the country there is an earlier end to the gardening season. That's okay, I took advantage of their perennial sale and picked up a Persicaria amplexicaulis 'Golden Arrow', which was put in a larger pot on the steps until I figure out where to plant it. I know I am certainly not the only one who buys plants without a clue as to where they will go.