I do not make a habit of wrestling with trees, but occasionally it becomes necessary. Last week I finished a several-round bout with the coral bark willow, Salix alba subspecies vitellina ‘Britzensis’, which grows smack in the middle of my front border.
I want to emphasize that ‘Britzensis’ is a wonderful plant. A male member of the large, moisture-loving willow family, with elongated gray-green leaves, it can be grown as a multi-stemmed shrub, or a tree. I chose the tree route because I wanted space underneath for spring bulbs and other desirable plants.
You might say that the coral bark willow is either a tree that wants to be a shrub, or a shrub making every effort to be a tree.
When I installed my young coral bark willow about ten years ago, I was fully aware of its great claim to fame—the reddish orange color of new growth shoots. I should have been fully aware of something else—the plant grows as if it is on steroids. “Vigorous” does not even begin to describe ‘Britzensis’, which can add six, eight or even ten feet of vertical growth in a single growing season. That means that if I left mine to its own devices, it might eventually reach a mature height of 80 feet tall.
An optimist would say that the beauty of fresh, new red-orange branches on a tree of that size would be magnificent. The owner of a small garden might acknowledge that potential for magnificence, but would also commit to regular pruning.
Life’s complications don’t always allow for regular pruning, and my life, since the last ‘Britzensis’ pruning four months ago, has been rife with complications. In fact, my to-do list contained the words “prune willow” for approximately two months before I actually got out the loppers last week. I would estimate that ‘Britzensis’ had put out about three feet of new vertical growth in the past four months. It looked as if one of its roots had inadvertently plugged into an electrical outlet.
Late winter growth on coral bark willow tends to be redder than growth that occurs at other times of the year. The new growth that I lopped off was closer to yellow, but still quite beautiful, especially in early morning and the end of the day. I knew that it had to come off, but I assuaged whatever lingering guilt I might have felt with visions of harvesting the slim, flexible stems for holiday wreathes and swags. I may actually do that—if life’s complications don’t interfere.
As I wrestled with the willow I thought of the condemnation that usually accompanies the “topping” of shade trees. “Topping” simply means lopping off a portion of the crown of a mature shade tree—generally to make it fit a specific space. Contractors working for utility companies are sometimes guilty of this offense when they trim street trees to accommodate power lines. The practice may be necessary to ensure unobstructed power lines, but if done badly it can ultimately affect the health of the tree. Homeowners are also sometimes guilty of “topping” in the name of well disciplined landscaping and misguided ideas about conventional suburban good taste. Veteran southern garden writer Steve Bender calls it “crape murder” when “topping” is committed on crape myrtle trees.
Given that my coral bark willow produces extremely rapid growth that is more shrub than tree-like, the trimming that I gave mine does not qualify as “topping”. The landscape value of this willow variety derives almost entirely from the colorful new growth, which is stimulated by regular pruning. A kindly cut now means beautiful shoots later.
Last week, it was a struggle to prune the whippy branches in the heat, which was about 90 degrees, and the humidity, which was at about 85 percent. Taking up my loppers, I felt like the great warrior Perseus, of Greek myth, standing in a sauna while confronting the snaky-haired Medusa.
Like Perseus I prevailed. Unlike Perseus, I had to clean up my mess afterwards. The pruned branches are now resting behind the garage, neatly bundled and tied, awaiting the day when they will be used as either plant supports or holiday swags.
They will not, however, be used as plant supports right away. I did that last year and all of my fresh willow plant supports rooted immediately and began new growth. Yanking them out later took some concerted effort and a bit of muscle.
Coral bark willow, as I have come to realize, has vigor to spare.