Weeping Willow’s Bright Chartreuse-Green Foliage is an Early Promise of Spring
By Corinne Kennedy
Weeping willow leafs out earlier than most deciduous trees—with a lovely display of bright chartreuse-green foliage. Of the many shades of green, this color speaks to me most strongly, promising that brighter days are ahead. I’m reminded that in Japan the color green represents the energy of life and growth, and that the Japanese word for green (midori) is also the word for vegetation. So too, in my own personal symbolism, weeping willow’s luminous young leaves signify energy, growth, and the hope that winter’s bleakness will end.
Circa 1960, the year the Seattle Japanese Garden was created, several weeping willows were planted along the Garden’s central pond. Design documents, dating from 1959 and 1960, included this distinctive weeping tree. In addition, Washington Park Arboretum records indicate that two forms were planted: Salix babylonica, the flat-leaf form that most people associate with weeping willow, and an unusual curled-leaf cultivar, Salix babylonica ‘Crispa.’ Currently, only one specimen (with uncurled leaves) remains. The others had reached the end of their lifespans, or had outgrown the Garden’s design and scale. The remaining tree, leaning diagonally over the pond, is located in the northeast area of the Garden. It fell over in a windstorm, its roots exposed, but was raised up and supported by a wooden pole. It quickly grew new roots, a characteristic of the willow genus, and has survived.
Weeping willow’s botanical name, Salix babylonica, has a problematic history. Salix is a Latin word, used in Roman times to designate various willow species. (An alternative theory states that the word salix derives from two Celtic words—sal, “near,” and lis, “water”—a reference to willows’ watery habitats.) Much later, in 1736, weeping willow was given the specific epithet babylonica by Carl Linnaeus, who incorrectly believed it to be the willow of Babylon mentioned in the book of Psalms. That biblical tree has since been identified as a poplar, Populus euphratica, not a willow.
Most authorities now believe that the tree commonly called weeping willow originated in China, where it’s been cultivated for millenia, and that in ancient times it was transported westward along the Silk Road, finally arriving in Europe in the late 17th or early 18th century. Some experts also assert that the true species is extinct in the wild—and perhaps no longer in cultivation. They believe that trees sold as Salix babylonica are probably hybrids or other, incorrectly identified, willow species.
Thus, for better or worse, Salix babylonica remains the botanical name of the Garden’s weeping willow—and the many similar trees planted around the globe. What follows is a general description of the characteristics they share.
Salix babylonica is a medium-sized deciduous tree with a broad trunk and a wide canopy of long weeping branches. Mature height is 30 to 50 feet, but trees can be kept much smaller with dedicated annual pruning. (The Garden’s specimen is maintained at about 15 feet.) Leaves are long, slender (up to six inches long and ¾ inch wide), lance-shaped, and finely-toothed. Bright chartreuse-green in spring, they mature to a medium green above, grayish-green beneath, then turn greenish-yellow in autumn. This muted fall color is retained late in the season. Trees are dioecious—that is, male and female flowers are produced on separate male and female trees. Flowers are slender, silvery-green catkins, opening in spring along with the young leaves. They are not considered showy, and rarely produce fruit. Bark is gray-black.
Weeping willows grow well in full sun to part shade—in average, medium to wet, well-drained soils—although full sun and moist soils are preferred. Trees are reliably hardy only to USDA Zone 6 (minimum temperature -10 to 0 degrees Fahrenheit), have many insect and disease problems, and are relatively short-lived. Their fast-growing wood is weak and susceptible to breakage, and without consistent pruning trees will become quite large. Their shallow, invasive roots infiltrate water and sewer pipes, and make it difficult to establish plants beneath their canopy. Well sited in large parks, they are not recommended for small residential landscapes.
Over time, Salix babylonica has been associated with many culturally dependent meanings—for example, melancholy and grief. In a short blog article, though, it’s unrealistic to attempt to cover symbolism across all countries and cultures. Here I’ll consider only the two most relevant to the Seattle Japanese Garden—Japan, and of course China, the tree’s country of origin and a major influence on Japan’s history and culture.
In China, weeping willow has long been an essential garden element, often planted by the sides of lakes and ponds (as depicted in willow-pattern porcelain). With its early bright green leaves, it symbolizes spring, light, and vitality, and has been well represented in Chinese arts, including painting, folklore and literature. (Other meanings are plentiful and contradictory. Viewed as symbolizing meekness, beauty, suppleness, and frailty, trees are associated with beautiful women, dancing figures and even prostitution. They are also believed to possess power over demons, serve as charms in rain-making ceremonies, and symbolize affection and attachment.)
Weeping willow was introduced from China to Japan during the Nara period (710-784). Known as shidare yanagi or ito yanagi, it has traditionally been planted as a street tree and in parks near water. As in China, it is well represented in Japanese art, such as woodblock prints, in legends, and in literature. Associations include femininity and grace, but also ghosts and evil spirits.
Salix babylonica is a unique and graceful deciduous tree—despite being a poor choice for small home gardens. Planted next to a pond or other body of water, it’s an attractive focal point in parks and other large landscapes, such as the Seattle Japanese Garden. Our single specimen, having graced the Garden for 60 years, is nearing the end of its lifespan, but senior gardener Pete Putnicki has decided to let it to remain until its natural end. He will not replace it with another willow, though, and has already chosen a weeping cultivar of katsura tree, also deciduous, to be its replacement. (In winter 2019-2020, two specimens of Cercidiphyllum japonicum ‘Morioka Weeping’ were planted along the pond’s eastern edge.) I will miss our weeping willow, with its graceful beauty and luminous spring leaves.
Corinne Kennedy is a Garden Guide, frequent contributor to the Seattle Japanese Garden blog, and retired garden designer.