Woody Plants: Daphne genkwa
This is a story of hopes nearly crushed by the Financial Times.
I'd been meaning to plant a Daphne genkwa for many months. I had read that it was one of the fifty fundamental herbs in Chinese medicine, and also that it was considered an especially handsome member of the widely appreciated Daphne genus.
But there were two things deterring me. First, many sources indicate that it is difficult to grow. Dirr, in the Manual of Woody Landscape Plants, says it is "very beautiful in flower but rather temperamental in the garden." The Hillier Guide concurs, saying "This is one of the loveliest species, but it is difficult to grow and establish."
Second, I couldn't find it anywhere. This summer, I asked the hippie selling Chinese herbal plants at my local farmer's market if he had any Daphne genkwa. He had never heard of it. But he enthusiastically looked it up in his giant reference book, and he said that it was good for thinning the blood, or something like that.
So, I gave up on having one in my yard for a while. But, as I was reading E.H. Wilson's A Naturalist in Western China with Vasculum, Camera, and Gun: Being Some Account of Eleven Years' Travel, Exploration, and Observation in the More Remote Parts of the Flowery Kingdom, I came across this passage:
It is a thousand pities we cannot succeed with the Daphne in England, since it is such a lovely plant--by far the finest species of the genus. Here, at Ichang, it grows everywhere, on the bare exposed hills, amongst conglomerate rock and limestone boulders, on graves, and amongst the stones which are piled around the tiny cultivated plats in the gorge, sometimes in partial shade, but more usually fully exposed to the scorching sun. The plants are, on average, about 2 feet in height, and are but seldom branched. Imagine the annual suckers from a Plum tree, and you have the appearance of these Daphne plants. For two thirds of their height they are so densely clad with flowers that they look like one large thyrse. The color is lilac, often very dark; but a white form is not uncommon. Its outward resemblance to Lilac leads to its being so called by the foreign residents at Ichang.
After reading this, I decided, with renewed vigor, to try to find a Daphne genkwa for my yard. I found an online nursery in Oregon that had it available for sale, and I planted it in my front yard in late November.
I didn't have much hope after I planted it, because it immediately lost all but two of its leaves. And then one morning, I walked out my front door and found the entire plant flattened by a copy of the Financial Times! They accidentally delivered a copy to my house, even though I'm not a subscriber, and the delivery person threw it directly on top of the Daphne genkwa.
I was resigned to the plant dying--the final victim of the financial hysteria of the 2000s--so I was very happy to see some buds forming on it last week after the heavy rains. And this morning, I noticed that it seemed to actually be producing some of its renowned lilac-like flowers:
Based on the published reports of how difficult it is to grow, I am keeping my expectations low, but at least now I feel it has a fighting chance. Here is another picture of the recovering plant with rain falling on its leaves and buds this afternoon:
As a bonus picture, here is the weird pattern of the emerging leaves of the Paeonia lutea var. ludlowii growing next to the Daphne genkwa:
