My first encounter with the American smoketree came at the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew in 1978. The fall leaf color was so spectacular that it warranted an October Don’t-Miss-This notice as you entered the gardens through the Victoria Gate. The tree was grown from seed from Kew’s first Cotinus obovatus, sent by Charles Sprague Sargent, Director of Harvard’s Arnold Arboretum, in 1882.  

American smoke tree, Cotinus obovatus at Kew. David Hawood photo, Wikimedia Commons.

I was fortunate to spend a year at Kew in the late 1970s able to weed, dig, clean seeds and stick cuttings with free access to roam plantings on 365 acres of Thames River gravel, suitable to the American smoketree and a Living Collection of around 48,000 accessions and 17,000 species. Peter Thurman, landscape consultant and Kew graduate, told me in an email, “The soil is not great for a Botanic Garden!”

Kew Gardens 1978

I have held affection for Kew and the American smoketree ever since. I only encountered Constantine Samuel Rafinesque a few years ago while reading John Jeremiah Sullivan’s book of essays. Pulphead received high praise in a 2011 New York Times book review. The reviewer focused on the mystery of folk blues singer Geeshie Wiley, “Fugitive Poet” Andrew Lytle, and other stories that “bounce around like hail” but made little of the essay that interested me the most, especially La-Hwi-Ne-Ski: Career of an Eccentric Naturalist. This was a story about a brilliant and obsessive botanist.

Eccentric naturalists remind me of hundreds of plant-loving friends of mine.  No shame in that.

Fragments that Artificial Intelligence could not discern

All the histories of Americas are mere fragments of dreams—Constantine Samuel Rafinesque

John Jeremiah Sullivan did research about Rafinesque unassisted by AI. Rafinesque, a self-taught polymath was not shy about his abilities: “Versatility of talent is not uncommon, but those which I have exhibited…may appear to exceed belief… yet it is a positive fact that in knowledge I have been a Botanist, Naturalist, Geologist, Geographer, Historian, Poet, Philosopher, Philologist, Economist, Philanthropist…” His work influenced Charles Darwin’s Origin of the Species.Rafinesque died a pauper in 1840. 

C.S. Rafinesque by Falopi. From the  title page of Charles Boewe’s The Life of C.S. Rafinesque, A Man of Uncommon Zeal. Arnold Arboretum.

Rafinesque, fluent in at least four languages, studied the Cherokee language and culture. He also, according to Sullivan, sought the advice of “…slaves and poor whites on their practice of herbal and root cures—for snakebite, for cancer.” Late in life, “He wrote to The Cherokee Nation asking how his name should be pronounced in their language? “La-hwi-ne-kiwas the answer.”

For years I had imagined, wrongly, that Rafinesque had discovered the American smoketree along the dry, rocky, limestone Palisades of the Kentucky River near our Salvisa farm.

I can’t recall where I first absorbed this trivia fragment

 

Native Trees, Shrubs and Vines for Urban and Rural America, A Planting Design Manual for Environmental Designers, Gary L. Hightshoe.

I sought confirmation.

A cache of CPUs in a soulless data center—who knows where— insisted upon a discovery in “Cherokee country” and mentioned a stretch of the Palisades from Frankfort up through Anderson County to near Salvisa in our Mercer County. Though the Cherokees hunted in Kentucky, they didn’t live here.

Julian Campbell, my go-to brilliant botanist, schooled me. (I asked Julian if I could refer to him as eccentric. “I’d prefer you call me English,” he said.)

“Botany often leads down rabbit holes.”

So does Artificial Intelligence.

There were no American smoke trees along the Palisades of the Kentucky River

The tree grows in Cherokee country in Tennessee, but the first tree was discovered in Osage country in Arkansas by Thomas Nutall in 1819. The tree was first named Rhus cotoniodes and secured a spot in the cashew family (Anacardiacae) with sumacs, poison ivy and mangoes.

American Smoke tree in Missouri. National Agricultural Library.

“The tree is largely restricted to rocky calcareous sites of the Edwards Plateau (Tex.), the Ozark region (Ark., Mo., Okl.), and the Southern Highland Rim (Ala., Ga., Tenn.),” Julian explained.

Some thirty of forty miles up the Grand River from this point he discovered on rocky bluffs a large shrub, related to the Smoke-tree of southern Europe. To this he gave the name Rhus cotonioides, but then later recognizing that it was generically distinct from the true sumachs, he rechristened it Cotinus americanus, by which name it is now known, is still one of the rarer and one of the most interesting American woody plants.

“Nuttall’s Trail Through Arkansas”

—Journal of the Arnold Arboretum, E.J. Palmer 1927 

Nuttall’s 1819  herbarium specimen from the Grand River in Arkansas.

In 1840, during his last year, Rafinesque still exhibited curiosity and talent. If he hadn’t identified the  indigenous American smoke tree in Kentucky (no one else had before or since), he was at least ready to set the record straight on the initial Arkansas discovery. He rebranded the American smoketree. The Latin name is now recognized as Cotinus obovatus Raf.

Botanical intrigue aside

In Mike Dirr’s Encyclopedia of Trees & Shrubs, the distinguished professor of horticulture wrote about the American smoke tree: “The rich blue-green, 1 ½ to 3 ½-long, oval leaves turn magnificent yellow, orange, red and reddish purple in fall with no two trees exactly alike. In fact, a single tree may display all these colors.”

Cincinnati, Ohio. Scott Beuerlein photo.

Spring Grove Cemetery, Cincinnati, Ohio. Brian Heinz photo.

Boone County Arboretum, Union, Kentucky.  Kris Stone photo.

Nurseryman Steve Castorani’s photo from his home in Hockessin, Delaware

Cave Hill Cemetery, Louisville, Kentucky, one-hundred feet from Muhammad Ali’s gravesite. 

Bill Barnes, Editor for the Eastern Region of the International Plant Propagators Society, told me: “The tree fends for itself. Sticky sumac goo may contribute to it being generally pest free.”

A pity the tree is often hard to find for sale.

Bill Barnes and Julian Campbell met for the first time in mid-October in Lexington, Kentucky. Bill is staring at seeds of a wafer ash (Pltlea trifoliata). Julian is holding a bucket of butternuts (Juglans cinerea) gathered from a 30 year old tree started from seed he collected in Floyd County (Eastern Kentucky). 

Judson Collins, a talented botanist, nurseryman—and Salvisa neighbor— mentioned there was a “Kentucky Champion” tree in the historic Lexington Cemetery. (Lexington’s smoketree was once the national champion but was knocked off the throne. Connecticut now holds the title.)

Bruce Eveslage and I had scheduled a trip to the cemetery the next week. We wanted to see large bur oaks and a large but seen-better-days national champion basswood. The retired estate gardener who lives and gardens in Floyds Knobs, Indiana, inquired at the desk if we could collect seeds. “That’s fine, but not too much,” the receptionist responded.

The American smoketree encounter

Rose, Travis Anderson, Bruce, and I wandered around the cemetery for several hours. Travis is a gardener and keen plantsman with a close connection with the American smoketree. We all admired an impressive dawn redwood, Amur cork tree, a pair of cut leaf European beeches and few patches of autumn crocus.

Bur oaks were easy to spot with their large caps. Shingle oak acorns had not yet been carried off by squirrels fattening up for the winter. Basswood seeds, the size of BBs, were covered with leaves and required patience to find fewer than a dozen seeds.

We still wanted to find the American smoketree. The cemetery is a labyrinth of winding roads. I had texted Judson Collins a few days before to ask if he remembered where it was. He couldn’t but said he knew a friend who might have GPS coordinates.

Our small band of eccentric naturalists spent several hours slowly walking around, occasionally dropping to our knees to gather acorns and seeds. No one in the cemetery seemed to know where the American smoketree was.

Rafinesque spent time with the painter John James Audubon in Henderson, Kentucky, along the Ohio River in 1818.

“John James Audubon is the only person on record as ever having liked Rafinesque,” according to Sullivan. They eventually fell out. Rafinesque left town with no notice.

“We were perfectly reconciled to his oddities, Audubon says, “and hoped his sojourn might be of long duration.

Rafinesque traveled on foot, flatboat and horseback

We piled in the car and inched along.

Bruce finally caught sight of the tree out the left side of the car. We jumped out and admired the tree from all angles.

Naturalist Loonies with Kentucky State Champion in Lexington Cemetery. L-R: Bruce Evesalge, Travis Anderson, and Rose Cooper.

Smoketree tattoo, Travis Anderson.

Travis showed off his American smoketree tattoo.  

Seeds the size of pinheads escaped us.

I thought about Rafinesque who taught for seven years (1819-1826) at nearby Transylvania University. (The school’s mascot is Rafinesque’s big-eared bat—Corynorhinus rafinesquii.)

Renowned for his “social obnoxiousness,” he might have enjoyed our merriment. It’s more likely he would have mocked us as natural dilettantes.

Within minutes a text arrived from Judson Collins with the GPS coordinates. I texted back and said, “What a coincidence. At this very moment…” He responded, “Ha! Wonderful, I’m glad y’all found it.”

It was a good day for eccentric naturalists.