Rob Reiner: "What do they call it when everything comes together?"
Tom Hanks: "The Bermuda Triangle."
from Sleepless in Seattle
And so it was this past weekend when Bob Potts and I visited Jason Gamby, Rich List, Randy Knight, Walter Pall, and others at Oregon Bonsai in Portland Oregon this
past
weekend. I almost didn't go. I hate traveling, and this was going to be
nine hours straight in a car with only pee breaks, followed by two days
recovering
and playing with trees in Oregon, then a nine hour return after a half
day workshop with Walter. Facing potential financial problems at home, I
finally agreed to go only if it didn't cost me anything. Jason and Bob
said "No problem". What I didn't know is that it would significantly
change my life, and possibly the future of the direction of bonsai in
the US. Free trip? Sure, thanks guys.
If you are just here to see the pictures, and wish to pass up this fascinating tale of trees and terror, just scroll all the way to the bottom of this page and click on the Albums at the very bottom.
Day One: The Trip Up
At least getting up at 3:30 am wasn't a big deal for me because my brain
usually kicks in at that hour anyhow. Susie dropped me off in Lower Lake
where we met Bob at 5am to save the hour that it would have taken to
come to our house and retrieve me. The trip started out good, it was
still clear and it looked like the rain might hold off until we got up
there. The discussion quickly got round to the first earth shattering
event: The US electorate had decided to change the course of all our
futures. Now, you may think this is good or bad, but it's hard to
argue that some big changes aren't in the wind. For me, it's like I can
breathe again, an oppressive weight has been taken off my back. No more
four hour stints reading pre election articles on the internet. I should
have seen this as the omen that it turned out to be.
At dawn we turned off Rt 20 at Williams to start the long trip north on
I-5 to Portland. It was a beautiful sunrise, but it was also Red Sky in
the Morning, another omen. After several hours of Bob's harrowing driving, we began to rise up out of the valley and into the
mountains with the snow capped Mt Shasta beckoning us with imitations of
Mt Fuji. It was at this point that Bob and I both left Tierra Firma,
neither of having been any farther north than this on I-5. Beware, there
be dragons out there. The mountains were beautiful with the burnt
umber stripes and polka dots of Black Oaks punctuating the emerald green
conifers against the threatening gray sky. We began climbing mountain
passes on the broad ribbon of smooth winding highway, three thousand
feet, four thousand feet. I began thinking: Snow. Well, no point
dwelling on that now, perhaps the gods will smile on us on the return trip.
The trip went extremely well. No problems, it didn't start raining until
we were just south of Portland and we arrived in early afternoon with
enough time to see the nursery and for Bob to select some trees for the
workshops Saturday and Sunday. Didn't get lost once. Excellent, so far
so good. We were welcomed by Jason, a tall well built dark athletic
looking 33 year old, just a baby in this business. Walter had not yet
arrived so we had time to see the nursery, which is called the Farm,
and Randy's collected material at his house. Not thirty seconds after
getting in the house, I was holding a nice cold micro brew ale. This was
going to be ok.
There was something odd about Jason's house. It appeared to be a brand
new, rather nice, typical tract home with a small backyard that I could
already see had some rather nice bonsai material surrounding the inside
of the perimeter fence. Then it hit me- it looked like a bachelor flat.
Yes, there was some nice furniture, but there was a lot more negative
space here than in most family homes in America. Jason explained,
he and his wife had decided to sell the house and move, but had changed
their minds and now everything was in storage and was yet to be
unpacked. I couldn't quite put my finger on it, but I could sense that
another Bermuda Triangle opening was forming. In any case, it was quite
nice and I was
going to have the den with the huge sectional couch all to myself, Bob
preferring to sleep with the trees in the van, maybe getting a bit of
a jump on us through osmosis.
Jason took us around the backyard first showing us the very nice
collected material that he was getting from Randy as well as his own
collected material, and then his original sticks in pots of only two
years ago. This young man was growing by leaps and bounds, and his
enthusiasm was almost contagious. This, he assured us, was nothing, wait
until we went to Randy's house.
So, refreshed, and slightly giddy from the hops and drinking too fast, I
got in the truck with Jason, and Bob to head for the growing grounds
called the Farm. On the seat
was another brew. Umm... there was going to be trouble. Me with two
beers has always been dangerous, no matter the venue. Me with two beers
in a field of potential bonsai was playing with fire despite the
increasing rain. Soon we arrived at a wooded area across from the site
of a clearcut. I tried hard
not to denigrate Rome, not being a Roman. We turned into a drive
crossing a small creek and curiously driving through the field instead
using the road. "It keeps the road in better shape" Jason assured
me....Oookay.
We pulled up to the potting area after electing to try the road instead
of driving through the patch of newly planted Scots pine. By now it was coming
down pretty hard. Being no fool, I took my rain gear out of my pack and got
ready to have fun. I have been trying to get Bob to buy rain gear for
about three years now; it seems to be a futile effort. Jason, I
presumed, was from the great Northwest school that just ignores the
elements since his gear was a light weight jacket and a baseball cap.
The fact that I looked like something out of Starwars, while they looked
cool and tough, didn't dampen my appreciation for being warm and dry.
By now, the alcohol was reinforcing the hop high, and I was feeling my
oats. I was getting excited. There were some pretty massive trees here
and there although the leaves had just dropped from the deciduous trees
and was obscuring the details of the lower trunks of tridents, elms,
mume, hornbeam, and various other species. Jason was giving me a chance
to preview what Randy has been doing with field growing over the last
five years or so. It was good and bad. Some things were still young, and
had great potential, but the first steps had not yet been taken. In
other areas, like the tridents, the three and four inch caliper trunks
often had useless balls of branches above a decent base. What it showed
was that Randy had some good ideas and correct instincts about field
growing, but didn't have the time or the expertise to take things to the
next level. That was why I was here. I wasn't telling Jason or Randy
anything they didn't already know, I was here to help them put this place
back on track.
As we walked through the trees it was exciting and disappointing,
exciting and disappointing. Like the tridents, the black pines showed
tremendous growth in a short period of time. This part of Oregon isn't
know as the nursery capitol of the US for nothing. Rows of black pine
trunks sported 4 inch caliper trunks, but then little else. The next
step should have done two years ago. But it was
not a lost cause. Sure, some of the pines had lost all of their bonsai
potential from shading out the lower branches and buds, but others,
especially those along the edges still had received enough light to keep
these low branches. This was still relatively young material despite
it's massive size, and low breaks were not impossible. I would show Jason
where they should have cut, and which ones could still make potential
bonsai and which could be salvaged for landscape garden trees where
super low branching wasn't necessary. It was fun, a BonsaiNurseryman in
his natural habitat. At the end I felt refreshed and renewed. There was
still a lot of potential here.
Meanwhile, Bob was zeroing in on the small amount of collected trees
that Randy had stored here that would make good workshop material. It
was really nice stuff, Ponderosa Pines, and Rocky Mountain Juniper.
These trees had been dug sufficiently long ago that they were now
stabilized in nursery soil and would easily survive the rigors of an
initial styling, or so Jason assured us. I had trouble believing it, but
I took him at his word. Yes, it was good stuff and different from other
collected material I had seen, but being a nurseryman, I had trouble
getting my brain out of those trees growing out there in the field. Bob
found a couple trees that he thought would work without much input from
me, probably recognizing that my mind was elsewhere. After about an
hour, preview completed, workshop trees selected, we were back in the
truck on our way to Randy's house.
After a short drive, we arrived at Randy's. Somewhere along the line,
the details were getting a bit hazy, another, and larger, beer appeared.
So, here I am, out of the truck, still in my Starwars black rain gear
with giant beer in hand. Right on cue, the sun comes out briefly to
reveal what cannot possible be true. Here in this pleasant little
suburban cluster of houses was a small yard that held a collection of pines
and junipers that could have been the top of the granite dome at
Yosemite Falls. The top of the falls was the first time I had the humbling experience
that nature also practices bonsai. Here it was again, only this time I
was standing in someone's yard instead of at the top of a granite
monolith at six thousand feet. These were not finished bonsai, these
trees have not received a single cut made by man, except to release the
roots from the soil and rock. That in itself made the experience all
that more awesome. The sheer scale of these trees was overwhelming. Some
of the Ponderosa Pines were monsters with sixteen inch caliper trunks
with contorted and twisting trunks and branches stretching for six feet
or more, easily weighing over two hundred pounds without any soil other
than the few liters of native dirt that remained after their removal.
These wild and spectacular ancient trees were potted in small wooden
boxes designed to contain the small intact rootball that accompanied
each tree upon removal. When a tree was removed from a rock crevice, it
would
have long thin box maybe eight inches wide and four feet long. It was
obvious that Randy not only knew what he was doing, he was breaking new
ground in the art and science of collecting yamadori. The health of
these trees was incredible even though these trees are newly dug, months to
several years ago, with only the beginnings of new growth in their new
home. I thought it must be an incredible brute of a man to have packed
these trees off the mountain on his back. Then he drove up just at
that moment, returning from the mountains with his latest load of new trees.
I should have know, because Jason had said Randy was tall and lanky, but
here was a man that could have been chiseled from the granite himself, a
six foot one, 180 pound short haired quiet man who had muscles of spun
steel. Introductions were made, and after only a minute or two, Randy
excused himself to reunite with his family that he hadn't seen in
several weeks.
It was about then that I started to focus my attention on the junipers
rather than the pines. Where the pines grab your attention with their
massive presence, the junipers have this quiet understatement of subtle
pale green winter foliage and gray deadwood. They were almost feminine
next to the pine's great masculinity. But now the junipers were getting my
attention, especially a huge one right at the corner of the driveway.
These were not Sierra and Desert Junipers that I am used to seeing.
Although there are twists and contortions to the dominant deadwood
features, they are not the wild flying bird Kimura compositions that we
have become accustomed to seeing. But that wasn't all. It was then that
it struck me
as I examined them more closely. It was the foliage. Here was very
small delicate foliage very much different from the familiar junipers.
It was so fine, that it would have been hard to believe it wasn't
already grafted over to 'Shimpaku' had they not already changed to
their gray green winter color. I then examined several that were under
the canopy of trees and therefore still had their green summer foliage
color. Incredible. If you put this foliage next to 'Itoigawa Shimpaku',
you would be hard pressed to tell the two apart. I was starting to get
really excited.
I later was told that these are Juniperus scopulorum, and I will accept
that for now, but I really want to do some research on these to see if
we are dealing with a variant or a subspecies. In any case, I think this
species of Rocky Mountain Juniper, whatever it is, is going to shake up
the world of collected bonsai.
Then it was back to Jason's house to meet Walter who had just arrived
at the airport. It was good to see him again, and as this was Walter's
second or third trip here, he was right at home and as charming as
ever. After a very long day, we all had an excellent buffet dinner at
Jason's prepared by his partner Jennifer, and soon the long hours and
lack of sleep starting catching up with me, so it was off to bed. But my
brain just would not stop; it took forever to get to sleep despite my
exhaustion.
Click here to see the rest of the trees at Randy's house.
Day Two: The Workshop
The next day came early for me as it always does. Awake at 4:30, I
finally got up at 5:00 and started the coffee pot and tried not to wake
the whole house with my early morning routines. But soon we were all
awake and having bagels and cream cheese with our coffee, except for Dr.
Bob who amazingly, doesn't have the caffeine habit. It had rained during
the night and the sky was still gray and dark. The other workshop
participants were arriving and walking around the backyard admiring
Jason's trees with Walter. An almost horizontal shaft of sunlight
finally managed to struggle through the clouds and made a spectacular
lighting effect. We packed up our gear and headed off to the Grange Hall
for a day of fun and camaraderie.
This first workshop was a small group of people invited by Jason. It
included Randy, Jason, Rich List (Jennifer's brother), Bob, Lee Cheatle
( a chef as
well as a talented bonsai practitioner), and myself. It was more like a
study group rather than a workshop or critique, but Walter was clearly
our leader; that's why we were all there. The format was loose and
comfortable. We made one round, each of us offering up a tree and Walter
performed his by now famous and familiar critique; asking us about our
trees and what we thought of them, and what we wanted to see in them
first, and then helping us to see that tree as well as other
possibilities. We all felt free to chip in with our own comments and
suggestions. The beauty of Walter's workshops is his casual demeanor
which allows you to feel comfortable about questioning him and searching
out all the possibilities. This is definitely not an old school
master/novice situation, and is very suited to our Western culture.
For me, it is a test to see if I can see the possibilities before Walter
points them out, and sometimes to see one that isn't even discussed in
the first round. Walter is not the least put off by analyzing other
points of view and will wholeheartedly embrace them if he thinks they
will lead to a good tree. It is so refreshing to stand toe to toe with
one of best designers in the world and be able to do this.
It is with nursery material that I can keep up with Walter to some
degree, a very satisfying feeling. But then, I have pruned and designed,
at least in my head, hundreds of thousands of nursery trees. I can
usually see the tree, or multiple tree possibilities in seconds, as can
Walter. But it is with collected material, that I am usually at a loss,
and it is with this material that Walter truly excels. And that is what
I am really looking for from Walter these days. We talked about these
things that morning, and Walter agrees. He can do with collected
material what I can do with nursery material because he has done that
hundreds of thousands of times. I am just beginning to get a handle on
wild material that just doesn't fall into any recognized category when you
begin. Working with this material is extremely difficult, and that is why
people like Walter are so valuable to us.
Randy brought a couple of his collected trees as well as one of
his Farm raised European hornbeams, a really excellent tree with a large
strong moving trunk almost perfectly proportioned in its bends and
twists. I guess I admired it a little too much because he gave it to me.
It is a tree that I will cherish and try to do justice.
It wasn't very long before the floor and tables were covered with slash,
water and mud, and rising above it proudly were the newborn skeletons of
future bonsai, some of which held the potential to be spectacular
bonsai. At lunchtime, we called it a day, cleaned up and repaired to the
local Chinese restaurant before heading off to Randy's house for an
afternoon of salivating over his trees with Walter at hand to give his
opinions. But before we left, the local contingent realized that it
would be bad form if we didn't make an appearance at the Bonsai Society
of Portland's show at the Japanese Garden in the park. So, first to
Randy's, then off to the show.
You can see the rest of the workshop trees here.
When we got to Randy's, the rain had stopped and the afternoon sun was
casting golden shifts of light on those enormous trees. As an extra
treat, Randy had unloaded the bounty of his latest collecting trip and
we got to see what they look like even before they were potted up. Randy
is the most responsible collector I have ever met. He won't collect a
tree unless it has a very high chance of survival. Typically, over 90%
of the trees he collects survive. He has spent a great deal of time and
effort developing the skills and techniques necessary to achieve this.
And this has turned around my thinking about collected trees. Up to now, I
have never collected a yamadori, and thought that I never would. Call me
a tree hugger, but I just didn't want the responsibility for killing
what nature took hundreds of years to grow. I later talked to Randy
about this. He's an avid hunter, and he wanted to know if I hunted too,
knowing full well that that can be a minefield to explore with some
people. As it turns out, I was a hunter when I was young, starting when
I was only five years old. I learned to be responsible for the lives of
animals I killed just like Randy is responsible for the lives of the
trees he collects. But as I
grew older, I stopped hunting. I told him that the world around me had
just grown
too small, hunting in what is, in essence, our garden no longer held any
attraction for me. It is this feeling that extends to collecting for me.
That feeling is changing now that I see it can be done responsibly and
with such a high survival rate. Now I own a small Rocky Mountain Juniper
that will grace my bonsai bench, and if it survives and thrives, as he
assures me that it will, then there may be others.
Randy and Walter are convinced that these pines and junipers will
survive in many other parts of the US and the world. The track record is
impressive and increasing. These species don't seem to have the problems of the
Sierra and desert junipers, which very few people can collect
successfully. Randy has sold trees both north and south, hot climates
and wet climates and the trees are doing well. When they fail, he can
almost always trace it to the failure to completely repot and remove the
original soil according the schedule that he recommends.
After Walter finished looking at his new crop collected for him by
Randy, and I finished up my photos, and closer examination of the
junipers and pines, we packed up and headed off to the Japanese Garden
and the BSOP Show. By the time we got there it was dark and the critique
by Michael Hagedorn had just begun. It was a good show, the display area
was very impressive, a large Japanese style hall in natural wood with
screens behind all the exhibits. Each bonsai was in its own tokonoma
display. Some of the collected trees from the area were especially good
as you can see from the photos below. Eventually Jason found the
location of the display of trees on loan from the Pacific Rim
Collection. It was completely dark now and the light made ghostly images
of the beautiful trees, but with flash photography, some very unusual photos were obtained that you can see here.
The rest of the BSOP photos can be seen here.
Exhausted once again, we go home to Jason's and Jennifer's, and still
stuffed from our huge Chinese lunch, we skip dinner and try to find the
meaning of life instead. If you put a couple of bottles of red wine in
front of Walter and me, you deserve anything you get. And sure enough, a
wild far ranging discussion of bonsai, life, sex, drugs, education, and
our destinies filled the next three hours. I just couldn't keep my mouth
shut. After two exhausting days of operating on adrenalin and coffee,
overwhelmed with new possibilities for bonsai, friends, and business, I
was the consummate motor mouth, even putting Walter to shame, but he did
his best to keep up.
Sleep was easier coming this night, but the Bermuda Triangle hadn't
closed yet. I was going to spend the next morning alone with Randy, mano
a mano. Good thing I didn't know what was coming.
Day Three: The Farm
The second workshop was to be held in Portland about an hour away, and
Jason had kept telling me that Randy wanted to talk to me. I wasn't
really signed up for this workshop and had already had a good session with
Walter, so I said if they could get me to Portland by noon to head south
for the long drive home, I would be free for Randy, and Randy gladly agreed
to do that. At 8:00 am we all loaded up. Randy and I headed out to the
Farm while everyone else headed to Portland with Walter for the second
workshop.
Randy hadn't had breakfast, so we stopped at the nearby restaurant, and
we talked while Randy ate and I had yet more coffee. This was a good
move. It gave me a chance to really talk to Randy and find out what
makes him tick and he was doing the same. Like Walter, Randy is
another corporate dropout. Also like Walter, this gives him a formidable
set of business skills, something I never had, and almost too late, had
to learn to succeed in my business. We talked about a lot of things in
that hour that we sat across from each other at that table, business,
apprentices, customers, relationships, family, as well as horticulture.
He is an incredible and unusual character, someone I hope to get to know
better in the coming years. He has this quiet and unrelenting focus. He
has a good idea of what he wants and he doesn't mind picking your brain
to help him get there. At the same time he is absolutely clear and
honest about this and you soon know that this is someone that you can
trust implicitly. This is not something that is common in the business
world, and it is a treasure to find it.
At last we got up to go and headed out to the farm, only a few minutes
away. Having already been here once helped us cut right to the chase. We
went from section to section, Randy telling me what he had done and what
the results were, and asking me what I thought about the plants and
their potential from the bonsai, landscape, and business point of
view. I was in my natural habitat again, and it was both fun and exciting
to be able to answer his questions, speculate, help him dream of making
this part of the operation a success too. It was a very intense two
hours of continuous give and take. We went right up to the last minute,
but finally we had to leave to get Portland so that Bob and I could get
back to Lake County at a decent hour. Little did we know that the
Bermuda Triangle would get us again.
The Trip Home
Randy got me to Portland on time, but by the time we ate lunch, visited
some more, and finally said our goodbyes, we were a little over an hour
late in leaving. With any luck we could still be home around 11 or midnight.
Unfortunately no luck was forthcoming. It started raining again, really
hard this time, and the traffic was practically bumper to bumper on I-5
all the way from Portland to Medford, but still moving at a pretty good
clip. I tried not to think about the fact that we were often only feet
from other vehicles going 70 mph in a driving rainstorm. We hit Medford
just after dark, and then as we came to Ashland, the chain restriction
signs
were up, but were still only for towed vehicles and big rigs. Maybe we
could make it. It was about 37F at this elevation and would clearly be
freezing on the passes. We went a few miles more just south of Ashland,
then the traffic
stopped. We were about four cars back and were trying to
figure out what was going on. Apparently, a big rig had stalled on the
grade and they stopped traffic until they could remove it. Meanwhile it
was continuing to rain slightly and was getting colder. After about
twenty minutes we heard on the short wave radio that once the rig was
pushed
to the side, the highway would go to full chain restrictions. We were
dead in the water. No chains; too late to buy any; both of us had to be
back the next morning.
We turned around and went back to Ashland to consider our options. It
didn't
seem like we were going to be able to get chains, so I-5 was out. The
only other route that I knew was to head over to the coast and go down
Highway 101, which would add hours to the already delayed trip. Bob
called his wife and had her check for road conditions on Hwy 199 that
goes from Grant's Pass over the Coastal Mountains to Crescent City on the
coast. Looked like it was still open. This lower elevation route which
was close to the ocean should present no snow difficulties....we hoped.
It had been about twelve years since I last had traveled that highway and
that was in summer. So, we turned around, backtracked the forty miles to
Grant's Pass and found Hwy 199 without incident. It was disappointing
and we were getting tired. Once we got to the ridge tops in the mountains,
the wind was blowing like hell and there was debris all over the
road. It was slow going, but we were making it. Then around a curve
there was a loud deep thud. We had hit a rock that neither of had seen.
That was close.
Another mile of two more, we realized we hadn't really escaped as that
unmistakable sound of a tire going flat sunk in. Here we were, pitch
black night, miles from civilization, around a curve, still partly on
the road and we had to change the front left tire in that driving wind.
Ok, we can do this. We open the back of the van, and the first thing we
have to do is unload the trees to even get to the tire and tools.
Finally we manage this, and changing the tire goes pretty smoothly. I am
holding the flashlight and try to alert oncoming traffic as it appears
around the curve. Fortunately, folks were driving pretty slowly and we
didn't feel too threatened. By the time we got the tire changed and the
trees loaded again (I made Bob do a head count), we had lost yet another
hour.
The spare was one of those little emergency tires, so we didn't dare go
very fast for the rest of the trip, making it almost agonizingly slow.
We finally got to Crescent city and cell service again about 8:30. We
called our wives and told them don't wait up for us. It was going to be
at least another five hours, maybe more. Outside Eureka, we gassed up
again, Dr. Clean decided he would have to dose up with a little caffeine,
and I got a juice, not trusting my tummy with food under the
circumstances. Back on the road again, I started getting really tired,
trying desperately not to go to sleep so I could keep talking to Bob to
keep him from falling asleep. But he assured me he was doing ok.
I started counting down the towns after Eureka. I've lived here a long
time and been to a lot of these places. At each new place we came to, I
tried
to remember a story about being there with Susie, or the dogs, camping
trips, restaurants, whatever. Once we reached Lake County at the top of
the Blue Lakes grade, I started waking up again. I don't know if it was
relief or I had actually got a little sleep in those one second drowsing
off sessions during quiet moments. We rolled into my yard at 2:30 in
the morning. Bob probably didn't get home until after well after 3am.
Hopefully the door to the Bermuda Triangle is closed for awhile. It's
now evening the next day as I sit here typing this, trying to make a
record of this incredible, wonderful, and awful journey. I have this
feeling that this is something that I will want to remember for a very
long time, and this journal may help me to do it. I expect big things to
come from Randy, Jason, and Oregon Bonsai. If you haven't heard of them
yet,
you will soon, I guarantee it!
Brent