"A" is for 'Alison Johnstone'
I first saw Rhododendron 'Alison Johnstone' in a garden in the Oakland California area on a tour organized by the local chapter hosting the ARS conference. I can't remember the year, but I think it was in the late 80's or early 90's. I simply fell in love with "Alison" and started a hunt for a plant upon my return home. I was lucky enough to find one, but at the time, I was living in an apartment so I had to grow it in a container on the balcony. Some 20 plus years, and three moves later, it is still in a container, albeit a much larger one (a 90 liter pot) than when I started.
photo by Stuart Imrie
"Alison" blooms reliably every spring, and it's the flower colour that continues to attract me as it is such a curious colour. The flowers are not a true pink, but have almost an amber undertone which makes the colour hard to describe. I don't know of any other rhododendron that has quite the same flower colour. In addition, the foliage has a definite bluish cast which provides interesting foliage throughout the year.
Since my original plant is so big, I find the thought of trying to plant it in the ground too daunting, so this plant will spend its entire life in a container. Using a slow-release fertilizer, I fertilize at least twice a year: early April and again in late June and the plant gets lots and lots of water. Other than deadheading and maybe a bit of judicious pruning, this is all the care this big plant gets, but it seems happy and puts on new growth and flowers well each year. Others have told me that their 'Alison Johnstone' plants occasionally suffer from mildew, but I haven't found this to be a problem. However, I have a windy garden so my plant gets lots of air flow. I now have a second plant (won it in a raffle at one of our club meetings this spring), and this plant will get planted in the ground this fall.
Now, here's a curious problem I've never encountered before. I noticed earlier this week that there were suddenly dozens of healthy new leaves of my 'Alison Johnstone' lying on the ground around the plant. My other rhodies nearby were fine and I couldn't find any evidence of disease or insect pests that might be responsible. We haven't had any big wind storms recently, so that wouldn't have caused the problem either. I kept on going out and checking, and all I could find were yet more young leaves on the ground. Then, last evening, I noticed the leaves and branches were moving slightly, and sure enough, leaves fell off. I'm thinking, EEK, A RAT! - or something equally awful, but after watching for awhile, out popped a small wren. Since then, I've seen the wren flying in and out of the plant, and every time, more leaves appear on the ground. The bird doesn't appear to be eating anything, nor does it seem to be making a nest or using the leaves for anything. I know birds often break off small branches for nests, but this behaviour baffles me: I've never seen anything like it before, nor heard about this kind of behaviour. So if any of you bird watchers know why the wren is doing this, I'd love to hear the explanation. The only thing I can think of is that the wren shares my love of 'Alison Johnstone', but really, enough pruning already!
The Search For Gold -
A Lifetime of Organic Artistry
To craft something "better" has always been man's aim. Horticulturalists have, throughout time, taken this to heart as the attempt to combine beauty and form, sculpting nature to create the previously impossible. Around 1968, rhododendron hybridizers were faced with a challenge to not simply combine species, but to give life to something that had never before existed in nature: the golden rhododendron.
"There was a breakthrough in yellows…" says Frank Fujioka to me as we sit in the warm light of his kitchen, sun setting on the beautiful view of Puget Sound out his bay windows. “…Everyone had to work for yellows, and we didn’t think much about what the plant looks like. Some…were really sprawled ugly things, but if you had yellow, wow! That was what was really important."
Fujioka continues on to explain that the closer a rhododendron was to deep, pure daffodil yellow, the better. Many hybridizers simply combined white flowers with cream in hopes of drawing out the elusive shade, a system which Fujioka himself employed in the beginning days. "You get tired of getting poor results!" he confided in me, "so you think, there must be a better way". Thus, a more scientific approach was discussed. "You achieve your goals faster, I think, if you studied the genetics." You can't just combine this with that and hope for a miracle. "Sometimes you get pink!"
When asked if he recorded all of the genetic data by hand, Fujioka laughed. "No… just the names of the parents," he told me, flipping through page after page of meticulously typed and hand written records in a binder. You first consider that "this parent used this species" and then you follow through many generations, studying it. "That became the fun part," he quipped with a revealing grin. The binder Fujioka shared with me listed hundreds of "nicknames" for crosses that he had created and were still in the testing stage. These nicknames were not to become the final registered titles of plants, but instead held a personal flair, ranging from Hawaiian Islands to family members. "Waikiki" and "Clarice" served only to keep complicated multi-generational hybrids straight. When I questioned Fujioka as to what percent of his experiments had become registered hybrids, his answer was a astonishing “not many.” I listened, impressed, as he explained to me his demanding process for testing all of his hybrids before submitting them to the registry. “[I] feel that if there is going to be a plant floating around… then the homeowner who buys that plant should be able to succeed…if this spring I come out with a plant I really like, I’ll …grow them out in the field. There it is exposed to full sun and minimal care, and I’ll evaluate how well they do. I’ll also dig them up to see what kind of root structure they have because that’s the key to a good plant.” This time-consuming method was not just for Fujioka’s benefit however; he also implied that it was in the best interest of the society. If a new grower attempts “to grow [a rhodie] and it dies…pretty soon you’re saying ‘oh, rhodos are no good.’ So it’s not good for our reputation.”
Beyond the complicated genetic tracing, growing new varieties of rhododendrons is no easy task, and certainly not one for those interested in instant gratification. “It’s a long process,” said Fujioka about hybridizing. Often he spends up to six years growing a plant that is simply one more step in the direction of his end goal. More often than not however, he has a strategic plan. “Sometimes you’re thinking three generations ahead,” he tells me. This was certainly the case in his work towards the ground-breaking discovery of a golden rhododendron. For Fujioka, resounding success came after many years in the form of a stunning bloom called ‘Seaview Sunset’ who’s beautiful coloring seems to “glow” in certain lighting. The popularity of this hybrid, registered in 1988, has increased exponentially, and has become a favorite in the Northwest and beyond.
But Fujioka shared with me that he hadn’t always been so scientific in his approach. As a child his only gardening experience had been pulling out his mother’s carrot plants and shoving back any that were too small, in fruitless hope they might continue growing. Later as a high school psychologist in Edmonds, Washington, he found his interest in gardening blossomed from practicality after purchasing his first home. “It was a small little old house, but it just didn’t have anything. Just green grass, that’s all it was.” So off he went to the nearest nursery, and asked for some plants to fill the empty space. What caught his eye, of course, were the laden blooms of the brightly colored rhododendrons. Disappointed by the fact that there were no, in particular, red rhodies for sale, Fujioka asked the nurseryman for recommendations and went off on a quest. He described in detail his impressions after entering one specific nursery; “I went in there and (this was in the spring) it was like magic. There were acres and acres of these big plants full of flowers…and then the old man came out.” This ‘old man’ he would later discover to be Halfdan Lem, one of the premiere pioneer rhododendron hybridizers in the Northwest, and a true friend. Back in his kitchen, Fujioka’s smile widened as he told of asking Lem for ‘The Honourable Jean Marie De Montague’, the most generic red rhododendron, and being refused. “He said to me…‘I have finer things.’”
Halfdan Lem was only the first of many inspirational and lasting friendships Fujioka made through his love of horticulture, many of which took root through his association with the American Rhododendron Society. Fujioka shared with me that although he had originally joined the Society to learn (there was a dearth of accurate rhododendron information at the time), he instantly found that that ‘plants people’ were some of the nicest you’d meet. I could barely keep from crying from laughter as he animatedly described an experience that illustrated a community as unique and wonderful as the plants they propagated… “One of the most fascinating things to me was how uninhibited everyone was in terms of enjoying what we were enjoying. I wish I had a camera at that time! There were three hefty guys, kind of fat, you know? And there were two of them talking, and a third one appears…with a rose! He said, “look at this! Smell this!” So here are three hefty guys sniffing a rose. That’s the kind of people I like, just comfortable with themselves. That made a big impression on me. I thought, “ok, that’s it. These are the kind of people I want to hang around with.”
Although Fujioka’s race to hybridize a golden rhododendron is now long over, the excitement of producing an original creation is still very much alive. This excitement is what he longs to share with the next generation. “I keep looking for young people to recruit so we can pass on our information, but there aren’t many...I think they’re too busy doing other things. So horticulture in general is suffering because we’re not able to get young people interested in horticulture. Maybe they’ll get tired of whatever they prefer doing and decide that working with dirt is more fun, more fulfilling.” Fujioka suggests what we must tap into is the part of ourselves that loves to create. He tells me of the artistry of gardening and relates it to classic painters and sculptors. While strolling slowly through his garden later, he points out the importance of the variation of greenery in a garden layout, relating it to the artistic movement monochromatism. “We have within us this innate creativity, but many of us were never allowed or encouraged to explore it…so I try to look for that in young people and if I sense that they have that, then I go from there…You know, you don’t need a magic wand!”
Despite being a true artist, friend to many, innovator, and one of the most influential hybridizers of his time, Fujioka has a surprising answer when I ask him what he would most like to be remembered for. “That I was a nice guy. You know, to me, that’s the bottom line.”
Rhododendron 'Mary Fleming'
Rhododendron 'Mary Fleming' is in full bloom now. This well-behaved plant is a nice addition to a border or small garden since it doesn't get very big, maybe 3 feet tall or so in 15 years. In addition to the plant itself being small, 'Mary Fleming' has small leaves, and like many small-leaved rhodies in my garden, R. 'Mary Fleming' can take full sun. The old adage is the smaller the leaf, the more sun a Rhododendron can tolerate. Having said that, however, I do like to plant my Rhododendrons in locations where they get some shade during the hottest part of the day during the summer.
'Mary Fleming' has pale yellow flowers tinged with pink and the combination blends well with other flowers. I looked up the parentage of this hybrid, and it's a cross between two nice lepidote species, R. racemosum and R. keiskei. What the breeder (Nearing) did was to cross these two species to create a plant that became one of the parents of R. 'Mary Fleming' and then he crossed this hybrid plant back to R. keiskei in what is called a backcross. Presumably, the pale yellow colour of R. 'Mary Fleming' comes from the keiskei genes while the soft pink comes from racemosum, as does the free flowering habit. The parent species are also nice plants for a small garden. I grow both, with R. keiskei in a container and R. racemosum in the ground. Neither of the parents is in bloom just yet, although flower bud colour is showing. With a little luck on timing, R. keiskei may be in bloom for an up-coming flower show and if it is, I will enter it into the show. Being small, it won't draw the "oohs and ahs" of some of the big-flowered Rhododendrons, but it's so sweet, it deserves being shown.
Container Gardening with 'Rose Elf'
I have a smallish garden, but want to grow every Rhododendron I can since there isn't one I actually dislike. To reconcile lack of space with my acquisitive nature, I grow lots of things in pots. Right now, Rhododendron 'Rose Elf' is in full bloom and it's such a sweetie. It's about 2 feet tall by 18 inches wide and the silly plant is literally covered in pale pinkish/lavender flowers. The advantage to having containers is that as plants come into peak bloom, I can move them into prime viewing areas on the patio and deck. So, right now, 'Rose Elf' is beside the front door getting admiring glances from all my neighbours. Fortunately, I have a safe neighbourhood, and I'm not worried about plant thieves.
I was first introduced to 'Rose Elf' at a rock and alpine show - someone had entered it into the dwarf companion shrub class. Isn't it funny to think of Rhododendrons as companion plants? Rock gardeners like this variety because of its small scale and well-behaved growing habit. And locally, 'Rose Elf' tolerates full sun exposure.
I've had my plant for about 15 years, and in that time, it's gone from a rooted cutting in a 4 inch pot to its current home in a 2 gallon container. Over the years, I've obviously potted it on, gradually moving up the pot size as the plant grew. I don't have an exact potting mix that I use every time, but typically, I mix well-crumbled peat moss, perlite and some fine bark mulch together as a starting point. Lately, I've been adding some Sea Soil (this is a commercial composted bark mulch and fish waste product), and then, if it's handy, I mix in some sharp, coarse sand and even some garden soil. I don't use exact measurements, but, more or less, I use equal parts by volume of the various ingredients. I'm after a potting mix that holds some moisture, has good aeration, is dense enough to hold the plant in place and is on the acid side. I don't worry about nutrients in the actual potting mix because I use slow-release fertilizers like Osmocote or Nutricote on a regular basis. I top-dress my containers with fine bark mulch or on occasion, with pretty agates from my beach combing trips. It looks nice, but more importantly, it helps prevent the soil mix from getting too compacted when I water or from heavy rain.
The major issue for my pots is watering in the summer. There are times when I need to water on a daily basis, and that's o.k. with me, but to cut down on watering as much as possible, I move my pots to shady locations for the summer. They get tucked under my apple trees, lined up under the eaves on the north side of the garage and I have an old patio umbrella that I set up to shade some of the larger containers. It's amazing how the plants seem to thrive and just a bit of shade has cut my watering by about a third. When I want to be away, I hire my neighbour's son to come and water. I'll make a gardener out of that young man yet!