Speaking of the trees

I've always loved trees. As a child, I spent hours and hours climbing vine maples, beaked hazelnuts, bigleaf maples, cedars, and any other tree I could climb. Walking through forests, even to this day, I marvel at the towering giants which dwarf me. As much as I worship anything, I worship the cathedral of the forest, bark-covered pillars supporting arching limbs, solid conifers mixing with the stained glass leaves of deciduous trees to create an everchanging play of light and color through the seasons. The sounds of birds and breeze, rain and storm, through the canopy are more beautiful and awe-inspiring than any sermon or choir.

My fondest wish is to garden in such a place, but the garden of my reality is much more open than the garden of my dreams. I've planted many trees here in the hopes that one day they will grow into a small, humble chapel of their own. In past blogs, I've detailed some of my plantings, and the setbacks caused by diseases such as verticillium wilt. A reader asked for an update on my trees, so I'll try to provide an update. Since I have enough that I'll need to write at least two posts to reasonably cover them all, I'll start with the evergreens. The deciduous trees will have to wait until they leaf out, because frankly they're hard to photograph as bare branches, particularly the smaller ones.

The monkey puzzle tree, Araucaria araucana, is an iconic exotic in the Pacific Northwest, with its distinctive branches covered in thick, dagger-like leaves. I planted this one as a seedling less than a foot tall in 2014 or 2015. After a few very slow years, it started shooting up in the last couple summers and now stands around 6 feet tall. It has a fairly prominent location near the "front" of the park area in relation to the house, to highlight its distinctive profile.

This shot is a two-fer. In the foreground is one of two Eucalyptus perinniana. This one, planted 3 or 4 years ago, finally took off last summer, growing about 4 feet to its current height around 7 feet. Except for the slower-growing snow gums, it's usually recommended to cut back Eucalyptus once, because they grow so fast that their roots don't keep up and they can topple. Since this one sat for a few years before shooting up, I'm not sure I have to do that. Hopefully it was spreading its roots underground while the top was just sitting there.

In the back is the deodar cedar my father and I planted...I don't remember when, but I think I was either in high school or college. It's been awhile. It started out in a two-gallon container, maybe around 18 inches tall. It now stands around 15 feet tall, give or take a few.

Here stands the largest of three cork oaks, Quercus suber, and you may just be able to make out a second one in the background to the right of it. These started out as incredibly root-bound specimens growing between two greenhouses at Cistus. I took them home and planted them in 2016. They established relatively quickly, surprising given the state of their roots, but these are tough trees. The biggest challenge has been to establish leaders on them. The largest one, which started out taller than the others, was the fastest. It now has a decent leader that's growing quickly. One of the others refused to produce a good leader from its existing trunk, so a new leader grew last year almost from the base, and quickly grew taller than the old trunk. The third kept trying to make leaders in awkward places that I feared would have weak attachments as they grew, so I kept pinching them out to encourage a leader elsewhere. It finally had a good one last summer, and then some manner of invertebrate found all three cork oaks and started nibbling nearly every last growth point on them. On the one hand, I'm annoyed at the setback and wondering if they'll be able to grow into well-structured trees, particularly if whatever insect returns each year. On the other hand, these are the kinds of things that happen to trees in nature to produce the wonderful, picturesque forms people tend to admire.

Cunninghamia lanceolata 'Glauca' is one of my favorite conifers, so naturally I had to plant one. One of the few conifers capable of resprouting when cut to the ground, it can also root where the low-hanging branches touch the ground, creating its own grove. Generally propagated from side branches, it can take some time and encouragement to produce a new upright leader. This one managed after only a year or two, but it's been slow growing for me. Either Cunninghamia are less drought tolerant than sometimes advertised, or this location is much drier than I thought. Probably the latter, and we have had several abnormally dry years in a row. Initially I had it planted in a full sun location that was much drier, and frankly in a garden this size it can be hard to keep up with watering new plants. Later I moved it to a site with afternoon shade and a bit more moisture, but still drier than it would probably like.

The last 2 years, I've poured on the water, compost, and a bit of cottonseed meal for good measure, and this tree has rewarded me with much improved growth and color. Where before it had grown perhaps an inch or two a year, the last two years it grew nearly a foot both years. I'm hoping this year it takes off, with the 2-4 feet of growth its capable of.

Magnolia maudiae is one of my smaller trees, and it had a rough start from the extremely cold winter after I planted it. I had two, originally. Only this one survived that cold winter. Thanks to the last two mild winters, it's been making progress, and grew well last summer. It should start really taking off this year.

Another oak, Quercus arizonica, planted in fall of 2016, grew 2 or 3 feet last year and will likely grow that much or more this year. It's about 6 feet tall now.

I've tried establishing snow gums in my garden an embarassing number of times. They're slower than most eucalyptus and I think not quite as tolerant of drought and impoverished soils. But hey, at least one of my failed attempts wasn't my fault! Before the deer fence went up, those dastardly ungulates actually ripped one of these eucalyptus out of the ground! Just left it there. I was away and no one at home was paying attention to notice the baby tree laying on the ground with its roots in the air.

Round 2 resulted in one loss, possibly from drought complications, or too much water on a hot day. Could be either one. I planted two trees that time, though, and one survived. In the incredibly dry, impoverished root zone of a large Douglas fir, but completely open to the south and west, it took awhile to get established. After a couple years, it started growing well. Having read that eucs should be cut back so they don't outpace their roots, I topped it...yeah, don't do that with snow gums. They're generally slow enough that you can just let them grow. Live and learn! Another two years for the tree to recover, thinning out excessive shoots to encourage a few strong new leaders. It's finally growing well again and I've learned my lesson: no touchy.

The tree pictured below is from round 3, again a case of two seedlings planted where one died and one survived. I'm particularly happy with this survivor. It's growing well and has particularly nice blue leaves with amber petioles and red young stems, showing signs of good mottling on the lower trunk. I imagine it will grow several feet this year.

This Quercus hypoleucoides, planted a year and a half ago, is currently growing in the dry location where I first tried to grow the Cunninghamia. It's holding its own, currently a little drab in winter with a backing of ugly, drought-bared salal. I'm considering relocating the oak to a different location, where a Heptacodium myconioides is currently growing. The Heptacodium lost numerous branches and one of 3 trunks last summer, likely to the verticillium wilt that has been taking out trees in my garden for the past 3 years. It's buds are expanding now and the remaining branches look healthy, but I'm skeptical to say the least, after losing several other trees in rapid succession. Oaks are resistant to verticillium, so the silver leaf oak should be fine in its place. I must confess, I'm also a little enamored of the idea of the bright silver undersides of the oak leaves right at the entrance of what has become known as "the park," and the bits of red that this particular seedling gets in cold weather. Even if the Heptacodium were completely healthy, I think I may prefer the oak in its place. I have some Arbutus menziesii seeds I'm considering sowing where the oak is growing now.

I have 5 (or maybe 6?) Quercus mexicana, also planted in 2016 along with most of the other evergreen oaks. They, too, were set back by the harsh winter that year, but last summer they all grew at least a foot. Several of them grew 2 or 3 feet. However, as you can see from the photo below, they're still quite small and spindly. It will be a few more years before they start to become photo-worthy. In the circle in the background is a Quercus tomentella. Again, it had a hard start, but started to gain ground last year.

Below is a Magnolia nitida planted around 2014 (or was it earlier?) which I had thought dead for several years after a hard winter, before it miraculously reappeared from the salal. I don't water it at all. Presumably between the rotting Douglas fir stump in the middle of the salal and the salal itself shading the ground, it gets enough moisture through the summer. It hasn't been damaged by winter since that first time.


The larger of two Azara microphylla, around 8 or 9 feet tall now. Both are scenting large areas of the garden, their marzipan fragrance wafting about then ghosting away on the breeze.

Other evergreen trees include one 'Nymansay' and one 'Mt. Usher' Eucryphia, both of which have grown little since planting them in 2016. Like so many others, they were set back by the hard winter, but have been much slower to recover than the oaks. Surprisingly, though, one of them bloomed last year. Weird little things. Yes, you're little more than a foot tall and have a head full of flowers. How about you grow more, first?

I also neglected to photograph the loquat and Taxodium mucronatum I planted about 2 years ago. You'll just have to take my word that they don't look like much yet. I'm particularly excited about the Taxodium, and might even be tempted to dig it up to move with me when I do finally leave. Or I'll just try to track down another, and hope that the one planted here continues to stand through many new owners over hundreds of years. Can such a thing happen in an area like this? I doubt it, but it's a nice thought.

I also have numerous oaks planted along the fence line to provide eventual screening, and in the fringes of the woods. These include Quercus agrifolia, Q. chrysolepis, and a few Notholithocarpus densiflorus. Other trees I've added around the fringes are Umbellularia californica, and Arbutus menziesii. In the woods, I've added to the almost solid Douglas fir canopy by planting Thuja plicata in a wetter area, Tsuga heterophylla deep in the woods, and numerous Acer macrophyllum in areas of the woods exposed to harsh afternoon sun when the neighbor clear cut. These can't even be seen from the house. I planted them purely to improve the ecology of these former timber lands. I'm tempted to put in a few more bigleaf maples, but I think I'll just let the ones I've planted grow and eventually produce seed on their own, as the first 3 my father planted in the field 10 or 15 years ago have started doing.

Quite a few of these trees were freebies, and some of those freebies are among my favorites in the garden, like the cork oaks. Looking back, I think I would still plant the oaks, though I'd also incorporate the more regionally native Quercus chrysolepis into the garden proper rather than relegating it to the fringes. I somewhat wish I had incorporated more regional natives in general, rather than a hodgepodge of so many exotic species. Besides the oaks, I think I would have included Umbellularia californica, Calocedrus decurrens, and Myrica californica trained as small trees. Add to that the deciduous Acer macrophyllum, Acer circinatum, Corylus cornuta, Frangula purshiana, and Cornus nuttallii, and you have a beautiful canopy of regional natives with a fairly high degree of ecological value for wildlife, too. I can think of some others to include, but those are the main ones I'd want, given sufficient space.

Next garden, along with a grove of timber bamboo of some sort, I'll be planting trees first. Naturally, that will be after spending time getting to know the site and carefully considering how to arrange the eventual canopy. Once the trees provide sufficient shade, the clumping bamboos can go in under them, along with a mix of shade-loving native shrubs, ferns, and sedges. Oh, I'll have a few sunny areas for other plants, but my heart lies in the trees.

I know it may seem callous to always be mentioning the "next garden" as if this one doesn't matter anymore. It does matter, but I can't help dreaming of my next step. As a dear friend likes to tell me, it's good to daydream. It gives us something to work towards, to motivate and inspire us. This garden has been a valuable learning experience that I'm not finished with yet. I hope it turns into a weird, eclectic jungle that causes people to wonder who created such a beautiful mess.

Comments

  1. Your dear friend is of course correct: it does't matter how much one enjoys a current garden, it is hard to avoid planing for that perfect future garden of our dreams. Envisioning it is like meditating and it puts us in a very peaceful place. I love conifers, and your Cunninghamia lanceolata 'Glauca' looks very pretty. When it comes to young tree it's hard to be patient but since we had a very mild winter (so far!), I hope this will be the year when you'll be reward with an impressive growth spurt.

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    1. I have many plants already leafing out and starting to grow. Barring a significant late freeze, there should be some amazing growth this year.

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