I imagine I am not alone as a gardener in often admiring a genus of plants for ages before ever putting shovel to the ground. This approach is less problematic when I have admired plants at the nursery, gone home, and imagined where I could place them than when I buy them and leave them to suffer on my driveway as I contemplate where they belong. Fortunately, with hollies or the genus Ilex, I typically have admired them from a distance or planted them immediately, and have not watched any of them suffer in my stockpile of unplanted plants, waiting for a lifeline. And given that many hollies are slow to establish themselves, getting them into the ground as soon as possible is to the gardener’s advantage.
At this time of year, as I drive past Windy Hill Farm, I cannot help but notice one of my favorite holly species, the winterberry, in all of its berry-laden glory. Dennis and Judy Mareb have been growing these plants for years, sited at the low end of their nursery and orchard, where varieties of the deciduous, moisture-loving species Ilex verticillata get everything they need to produce branches of orange, yellow, salmon, or red berries. The berry-covered branches are often cut and used for holiday decorating, but can also be left in the garden to add their color to the winter garden and to feed the birds. On hikes through the woods in Ashley Falls, these large shrubs also stand out, the female plants offering up the typically red berries of the straight species, provided a male plant is nearby to fertilize its flowers.
Winterberries are dioecious (from the Latin for two households) and plants are either male or female, bearing either staminate or pistillate flowers. The male or staminate flowers (the fact that the term stamina comes from the same base made me think that Trump may have been correct when he accused Hillary of not having stamina, although I do not think he was meaning to comment on her femininity) are borne on separate plants from the female flowers. Both must be flowering concurrently in order for the flowers of the female plants to be fertilized and to produce the fruits that we see hanging from the branches during the fall and winter. A suitable pollinator needs to be included in any planting if the females are to bear fruit. The cultivars ‘Jim Dandy’ and ‘Southern Gentleman’ are common pollinators, and I can’t help but think that some breeder is working on a new pollinator known as ‘The Donald,’ though I am skeptical of its fertility and ability to perform well (but I will be more than happy to be proven wrong.)
When selecting a male to fertilize a female, just like with humans, there is an ideal mate for each female, or in botanical terms, a suitable pollinator, usually with male varieties having the ability to fertilize several different female varieties. Most male winterberry plants can provide adequate pollen to fertilize up to six female plants and the right pairing will help to ensure fruit set. I do not care to infer a deeper reading into this, in regard to the human race, but ‘Jim Dandy’ and ‘Southern Gentleman’ do call to mind another President, known for his fecundity and his willingness to share pollen, even though the native distribution of winterberries does not dip as far south as Little Rock. Politics aside, the fact that these plants and many other hollies are native should appeal to Democrats and Republicans alike and, to all of our benefit, share their nutritious fruit with local fauna in a season when food is scarce. To the best of my knowledge, bird-watching does not have any particular political affiliation.
Another native, known as the American holly, is Ilex opaca. This species bears its red fruits on female plants that are what we imagine when we think of the hollies associated with the holidays. Its spiny-toothed leaves are evergreen and have a soft luster that offsets its bright berries. Unlike its deciduous cousin, this species prefers well-drained but moist soil and grows well in part shade to full sun. It does best when protected from cold, northerly winter winds, as its evergreen leaves can become desiccated from overexposure to wind. In my old garden, I planted the straight species (a few females and a male) as well as a yellow-fruited form, ‘Xanthocarpa,’ and was delighted that they appeared to be somewhat deer-resistant. Perhaps the spiny leaves deterred the deer.
When we bought our old house in Connecticut, there were some hollies known as Meserve hybrids or blue hollies, whose less spiny, but glossier leaves, seemed to lack the ability to deter deer from foraging on them. These hybrids are commonly found at nurseries and are quite popular, although I tend to favor the American holly both for its deer-resistance and as a source of native fruit for the birds. Unlike the winterberries, male American hollies typically have the ability to fertilize only three females. Perhaps I was wrong earlier and maybe breeders are working on a male American holly pollinator named for Trump that might fertilize the ‘Ivana,’ the ‘Marla,’ and the ‘Melania.’
There is another native holly, the inkberry or Ilex glabra, which is commonly grown and used by landscapers. It is not known as much for its fruit as it is for its clean, simple evergreen foliage. However, when I grew it to demarcate a border at our house in Richmond, Virginia, I was less than satisfied by its form, which begins as a perfect round ball and is often cited as a native alternative to boxwood. It seemed to get leggy and the foliage on the bottom of the plant became sparse over time in a most unsatisfying way. Since then, I have come to learn that inkberry, which has been selected for precisely the use I had given it in Virginia, is quite a different plant in its natural state. It has a slow spreading nature, that makes it well suited to naturalized areas and the legginess of the cultivated varieties was the result of trying to select that plant to do something that it does not naturally do, i.e., maintain its form in a tight and narrow manner. Whether or not a male variety named ‘Trump’ is in the works is not known to me and I will leave the reader to fill in the analogy in a suitable manner. Personally, I will be hoping for the best.
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A gardener grows through observation, experimentation, and learning from the failures, triumphs, and hard work of oneself and others. In this sense, all gardeners are self-taught, while at the same time intrinsically connected to a tradition and a community that finds satisfaction through working the soil and sharing their experiences with one another. This column explores those relationships and how we learn about the world around us from plants and our fellow gardeners.
