For just over two and a half weeks in late September and early October, I 
had the wonderful opportunity to fulfill a decadeslong desire to immerse myself in the fascinating—and generally familiar—flora of eastern Asia. Alongside a gaggle of fellow plant lovers representing the International Dendrology Society (IDS), I enjoyed a whirlwind botanical loop through the wooded mountains and valleys of Japan's largest island of Honshu.
Since my earliest days as a horticulture student, I've marveled at the physical resemblance and genetic relationships linking many Asian plants with our North American natives. Thanks to millions of years of continental drift, a panoply of plant species has emerged from common ancestors, providing evidence, sometimes obvious and sometimes not, that elucidate their underlying kinship.
As an arboretum curator, I can rarely discuss most plants of European and especially East Asian heritage without uttering the term "cousin" to describe their phylogenetic connection to denizens of our native woodlands. So, it was this long-held appreciation of botanical kinship that helped frame my Japanese experience.
Second, thanks also to the latitudinal and climatic similarities between Japan and eastern North America, a wealth of beautiful, functional Japanese plants grace our gardens and landscapes, and vice versa. And, unfortunately, a few centuries of the intercontinental plant pipeline have resulted in more than a few invasive escapees—both here and in the Land of the Rising Sun.
Over the course of my trip, I became familiar with these realities and many other interesting takeaways. Somewhere between attacks by thirsty terrestrial leeches, bullet train rides and meals exquisitely adorned with unidentified mollusks, I came away with a more intimate understanding of Japanese plants, American plants, and the cultural juxtaposition of our two societies.
My IDS companions and I began our Japanese odyssey in the heart of Tokyo, but thankfully most of the trip would take us far from the sprawling megalopolis. I did have the priceless benefit of traveling with a fellow Ohioan: friend and nurseryman Tim Brotzman. Tim is a gifted plantsman and a delightful human being, which made the more puzzling parts of our shared journey a lot less bewildering.
Only a handful of Americans made up our cohort of about 35. These included guides Bill McNamara, the retired director of Sonoma Botanical Gardens (formerly Quarryhill Botanical Garden) in northern California, and retired botanist, researcher, and author Peter Del Tredici, who spent over 35 years at the Arnold Arboretum in Boston. The majority of tourgoers hailed from Europe, specifically Great Britain, Belgium, Holland, and Luxembourg, with a much smaller contingent of Australians and New Zealanders. English was the common language on the buses and in the hotels and restaurants as we grasped for clues about where to go and what to do (and not to do).
After less than a day in bustling Tokyo, the 175 mile per hour Shinkansen train 
whisked us northward to Aomori Prefecture, where the tip of Honshu cozies up to the neighboring island of Hokkaido. Most notable about our first few days in Aomori, around Lake Towanda, was that our excursions repeatedly crossed 40.46 degrees north—the exact same latitude as Wooster.
Thanks to this shared distance from the equator, along with a few thousand feet of elevation, many of the trees and shrubs of northern and central Honshu were quite familiar. A host of Asian beeches, maples, oaks, birches, and cherries jockeyed for light in the densely forested hillsides. For us horticultural romantics, huge katsuratrees (Cercidiphyllum japonicum) lined the rivers, Japanese maples (Acer palmatum) peeked from every nook and cranny, and towering Japanese cedars (Cryptomeria japonica) covered entire mountainsides.
For seventeen days, our path meandered back south until we reached Gifu Prefecture, near the city of Nagoya. At each stop were woodlands, gardens, and temples brimming with an overwhelmingly rich tapestry of plants, some having become downright common, with others quite rare and tantalizing. Perhaps most impressive was the saintlike patience of our Japanese guide, whose frequent “cat herding” routine helped locate and coax three dozen drooling plantaholics back onto the bus and onward to our next stop.
Due to a limited amount of newsletter space dedicated to my literary ramblings, I must now conclude this superficial account. However, please be on the lookout for a formal presentation of my botanical and cultural learnings within the next month or so. Details will be posted on the arboretum’s events calendar soon. I look forward to delving with much more detail into the highlights of my truly once-in-a-lifetime trip. I have more than a few images and stories to share.
I will close by saying that my time in Japan undoubtedly bolstered the enthusiasm and knowledge I bring to my position as curator of Secrest Arboretum. The experience will prove very useful as we continue to improve our collections and gardens. Arigatou gozaimasu!
–Jason Veil, Curator veil.11@osu.edu
