Emmenopterys henryi
We had a perfect rain on Saturday. Small raindrops were falling early in the morning, but by 8:30 we had constant medium drops and no thunder, lightning, or strong gusts of wind. I took time out to sit on the porch just to listen as the gutters sputtered and the rain containers filled and overflowed.
By mid-afternoon the sun was out and the garden refreshed. The leaves had turned down and released the final drops of water. I went outside to walk through the gardens, now glistening in the afternoon light. As I walked across the field toward the pond, I noticed a slender, tall tree with brilliant white flowers with red petioles, and glistening, dark green leaves. I saw many butterflies hovering over the flowers. Could it be? I wondered whether this glorious tree was Emmenopterys henryi, planted in the early 1980s, which had finally bloomed. Sure enough, near the Sequoia sempervirens, the emmenopterys was in full bloom. It brought back memories of planting this tree with its reputation for taking “forever” to produce flowers, but also for living perhaps a thousand years. Forty years is not forever, and seeing the flowers was worth the years of waiting.
We purchased the final part of this land in the early 1980s and that completed the parcel that had become Montrose in 1798. I decided to add special trees to the edges of the fields— trees that would live long after I died. I bought the sequoia and the emmenopterys at the same time from Kai Mei Parks who had recently opened Camellia Forest Nursery in Chapel Hill. She told me I would have to wait a long time to see flowers on the emmenopterys, but time was no problem for me in the 1980s. I still feel the same way and continue to plant seeds of trees that take long to germinate and even longer to mature. As the climate changes, we live with the uncertainty of what change will mean for the trees and for us. We do not know if our emmenopterys will live its full thousand years. But we continue our work, trusting that nature rewards diligent patience.