Student Post, Franklinia

Next up from my students' submissions is Todd Haiman's post (also can be found on his blog, Landscape Design + More) about the Franklinia.

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There is much history surrounding this small, deciduous tree that has beautiful camellia-like late summer blossoms and striking orange to red fall foliage. All plants in cultivation today can be traced back to the original collection of naturalist, botanist and plant explorer, John Bartram in 1770. According to the Arnold Arboretum, “the species was discovered in southeast Georgia, along the Altahama River near Fort Barrington, on October 1, 1765, by John Bartram and his son William.

“I set off early in the morning for the Indian trading house, in the river St. Mary, and took the road up the NE side of the Alatamaha to Fort Barrington. I passed through a well-inhabited district, mostly live plantations, on the waters of the Cathead creek, a branch of the Alatamaha. On drawing near the fort, I was delighted at the appearance of two new beautiful shrubs, in all their graces.”

-Travels of John Bartram

Illustration of John Bartram

Bartram's illustration of Franklinia tree from the British Museum, 1788

The Bartrams carried some of the plants and seeds back to Philadelphia where they propagated the plant. When they returned to Georgia after the American Revolution, they could find no surviving examples. Every Franklinia in cultivation today is a direct link to the specimen found by John Bartram and his son William in 1765. The first successfully grown tree was given to its future namesake Benjamin Franklin. Dependent on which piece of history you read, the species became extinct in the wild somewhere between 1790 and 1803 due to land clearing and over-collecting by plant enthusiasts. No other plants have been found in the wild since 1791!

Franklinia has also endured a name change. Originally the specimen was named to honor Bartram’s friend and fellow member of the Philosophical Society -- Benjamin Franklin and the location where they found the specimen (near the mouth of the Altamaha river). Somewhere along the way Franklinia alatamaha evolved into Gordonia pubescens, then Gordonia altamaha by European botonists, but in 1925 it reverted back its original nomenclature. Of even greater detail is that the genus portion of its name is a misspelling (an additional” a”) of the Altamaha River that stuck!

Other reasons for the disappearance of the species from it’s native habitat include the following suggestion…”The good cold-hardiness of the surviving plants suggests that Franklinia may have originally been native to the north, but was forced to migrate southward during the Ice Ages to escape the extreme cold and the repeated advances of the ice sheets. But conditions in the south might have become less suitable for it after the Ice Ages ended. If it got stranded there, it might have begun to die out as the climate warmed again. The plants discovered by the Bartrams could be the last survivors of what was once a much larger population.”

I have also read that it responds adversely to a chemical produced by the cotton plant, therefore that might have led to its demise in the native woodlands of the south.

There is much legacy with this plant, as it was even featured on two different U.S. postage stamps, one of which was from 1969 -- back when you could actually mail a letter for 6¢!

“Bartram’s Garden”, the website of the John Bartram Association maintains a census report of Franklinias, whereby you may register your tree or those which are growing in commercial properties or public gardens.

What does all this mean? From a personal perspective, when I visit my brother-in-law David’s house in Bala Cynwyd, Pa. and gaze upon his Franklinia Tree, I know it comes from the same exact seed that Ben Franklin’s tree did, just up the road, a descendant from almost 250 years ago.

Student Post, Taxodium

Courtesy of Ken Missbrenner, kenmissbrenner.com

Knocked Kneed and Bald

I love this tree. Really.

The first time I ever noticed one was when I was working as a photographer at an old estate in Yonkers called Wave Hill.

There was (and hopefully still is) a gorgeous specimen planted out on the lawn not too far from where the couple getting married were holding their ceremony.

She possessed a distracting beauty. Graceful lines, an airy disposition and a radiant confidence. I’m referring to the tree. It was a mature specimen with a broad, pyramidal habit, an exquisite fine texture, feathery leaves and handsome gently peeling, reddish bark.

The ceremony wasn’t bad either but it took place under the punitive sun of a withering August afternoon.

I did not know that it was possible for the human body to sweat so much and still remain upright.

The tree didn’t seem to mind the southern swamp climate. It must have felt right at home under the conditions of its native coastal US Southeast. Pass the Mint Julep, please.

Several months later, while deeply ensconced in my ragged edition of Dirr’s Encyclopedia I identified the tree as a Bald Cypress.

I recall an image from the Dirr’s book showing the trees growing next to water where they had developed fantastic protrusions from the roots called “knees”.

Apparently, the “knees” help the tree to obtain the oxygen it needs when growing in wet conditions.

The memory of that photograph conjures up the distant sound of a banjo playing, the buzz of insects larger than birds, the fecund aroma of thick, swamp air and the visage of an ancient, shirtless, toothless man in overalls bent to the work of poling his battered, old skiff full of crayfish past slithering snakes and the glowing, wet orbs of semi-submerged alligators to a tin shack on stilts. Spanish moss hanging from every available branch. Deliverance Revisited.

That said there are two magnificent, majestic examples of the trees side-by-side at the south end of the Harlem Meer in Central Park. From swamp to city. No banjo music there. Hip Hop or Salsa is more likely. Shirtless old men, optional.

There are also two Bald Cypresses growing in my neighborhood in New York City. The tree planted this past spring shows all of the vigor and optimism of youth. It proudly displays its lush, green, feathery foliage and stands approximately twelve feet tall. The old tree that lives around the corner seems much more dour and likely to complain about the weather or your dog. The old tree stands a very leggy thirty feet tall and has a rather mangy habit. The Gingko trees on either side have been bullying it for a long time. The tree becomes almost insignificant in this situation. Given the space and the absence of competition, the young Bald Cypress should grow into a beautiful specimen and a worthy street tree.

The Bald Cypress will grow within Zones 4 through 9. The tree will be evergreen or semi-evergreen in the warmer zones and deciduous in the colder zones.

Keeping that in mind, a Bald Cypress in a northern climate will end up as bald as a cue ball. A single, naked tree might look good in the right setting but a group of trees could provide a rather striking structural element to the winter landscape. Bald Cypress, like most people, certainly look better with their clothes on.

A few of the images accompanying this post were taken in Battery Park where the Bald Cypress has been used very successfully in both specimen and in group plantings.

Battery Park is located at the bottom of Manhattan in a rather exposed location requiring tough, wind resistant plantings. Due to the park’s proximity to the ocean and the briny quality of the tidal river, I imagine that salt spray could also be an issue there. Nonetheless, I have to wonder about the viability of the trees in truly exposed coastal settings. The deciduous quality of the tree should protect it from desiccating winter winds. A close source of fresh water could keep the trees alive in that harsh environment and maybe even throw in a few knocked knees. Let me know.

The Bald Cypress is a wonderful and beautiful tree. Plant it. Enjoy it. Tell your friends.

Battery Park Aquatics

Here are a few summer aquatics from the pond at Battery Park.

First, we have Canna glauca or aquatic Canna. This species is native to Central America and is closely related to the annual Cannas you may find in pots over the summer. Canna belong to their own family, Cannaceae and their closest relatives are other members of the ginger (Zingiberales) order.



These are not perennial aquatics, they are most likely placed in the pond each spring.


Pontederia cordata, or pickerelweed, is a worthy pond plant. Though invasive in the wild (or increasingly becoming so) it is very effective in removing pollutants from a pond. It is perennial and has great arrowhead shaped leaves.


As for this plant's common name, pickerel is a word for small or juvenile pike. This plant is called pickerelweed because it grows in slow-moving water where pickerel are apt to be found.

Evidently, Chaucer had some opinions on this:

Bet [better] is, quoth he, a pike than a pickerel.
-- Chaucer

Why he felt this way, I have no idea.


Finally, a favorite of mine: Nelumbo nucifera, or Lotus:


Lotus leaves, you may have noticed, are superhydrophobic. In fact, when this property is observed in other biological surfaces, it is casually referred to as the Lotus Effect. The properties of the leaves, which allow water to bead up completely and roll off the plant are studied intensely by people who want to mimic those characteristics in manmade products (think scotch guard).


The fact that these leaves repel water and dirt is part of the reason they are considered sacred. In the muddiest of rivers, they remain pure.

The nomenclature derives from the Sinhalese word Nelum- which is the local name for the lotus. Nucifera means bearing nuts -- the fruits that are found in the persistent dried seed pods.

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I'm off to the Pacific Northwest for a long weekend. Expect a few photos of whatever I find at Mount Rainier after Tuesday. In the meantime, I have scheduled a few more student posts...

Student Post, Sassafras

This summer, my students had a couple options for their final project. One option was to write a blog post for this site about a plant they admired and provide photos illustrating the plant's qualities. So I will be posting these now and then in the upcoming weeks.

First up is Jeannie Marcucci (jdm2142@columbia.edu), writing about Sassafras.

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Sassafras albidum, Common Sassafras Tree

This is one of my favorite trees. Until we bought our house I had never seen one and since it was October when we had settlement, the tree was a gorgeous red—so I had to ID it. The give-away were the mitten-shaped leaves, yet not all the leaves are shaped like this. Some of the leaves are more oval or elliptical. Fall color aside, the leaves are bright green or medium green.

I don’t know how old my tree is, but it’s about 15 feet tall right now. It blocks my view of the neighbor’s garage when it’s in full leaf, but in the winter, the habit of the tree, the asymmetrical branching, the sympodial branching (branches do not have terminal end, they just keep re-branching) is even more interesting. Since the tree was planted too close to that garage, it does lean a bit. I hope once the canopy is above the roof line of that garage it will straighten up some as it seems to be a very supple tree. I should also limb it up some, but the low canopy provides nice shelter for the birds.

In the spring, the squirrels love the fattened buds. I have watched them hang upside down by their hind legs to reach after particularly luscious samples. During the warm weather, the tree is host to lots of small birds. I was lucky enough to get a photo of some fruit, which I’m sure is why the birds have really been enjoying the tree more than usual of late. I have only seen a few seedling trees sprout, which to me indicates the birds are getting nearly every piece of fruit available.

In the two years we’ve been here, I have not seen any Japanese beetle damage, scale, mildew; it has been trouble free. I had applied leaf compost to the area under the tree this season and that seems to have brought some extra vigor to the tree; it does look like it’s grown a lot this year.