“Of all the leaves that are in the wood, the holly bears the crown”

When I was about seven years old, my mom bought me a record called "Firestone Presents Christmas" from the Giant grocery store near our house in Baltimore. The cover was beautiful, filled with a painting of a little village celebrating a New England-style holiday. Children were sledding down hills covered in deep snow, and grown ups were shown riding in horse-drawn sleighs. There was a little pond with people ice skating, and on the back there were photos of Dinah Shore, Tony Orlando and Helen Reddy, all of whom were featured on the album singing their favorite carols. Bing Crosby, The King of Christmas, was there, too, smoking a pipe and wearing a red Santa hat. You could hear him on side 2, merrily singing:

Of all the leaves that are in the wood, the holly bears the crown."

I loved that song. I loved the whole album. I remember wanting to live in that little imaginary village. I wanted it all: the snow, the decorations, and a kindly old neighbor like Bing who would be out doing something jolly, like hanging lights up in his holly tree.

Photo: Julie Wiatt

But about the only thing from our real life that at all resembled that Christmas scene was the holly. I knew all about holly. We had three huge bushes of it growing in our yard, and they really did look fantastic against a white background of snow. It was easy to see why they were so treasured during the holidays. Something about the whole plant just looks merry - as long as you don't try to touch it or walk barefoot around it in the summertime.

In fact, most of the year they didn't make me think of Christmas. They made me think of Band-Aids, because walking in our yard without shoes or flip flops involved a lot of ow, ow, ow, ow. Those little thorns on each of the leaves can really hurt your bare feet if you aren't careful.

They can also hurt your fingers, as I later learned when I began tending the gardens at my parents house. Despite all that, however, I stilled loved the bushes, and because the old carol and because all things Christmassy seemed to be British I kind of always figured that those hollies were from England. As I grew up and became passionate about gardening, I was surprised to find out that those old hollies, known as Ilex opaca , were indeed native to the US.

In fact, despite all of my childhood associations between the hollies and cold, snowy weather, it seems that American hollies grow most prolifically where the summer heat and humidity really burn. Found in southeastern forests, they grow to form a slightly conical shape and spread long branches full of evergreen leaves which stay glossy all year long in places like the Maryland, the Carolinas and Georgia.

Wherever they are found they are incredibly important for wildlife, providing great winter meals for many birds. I've often watched flocks of cedar waxwings descend to eat those bright red berries. They are also eaten by bluebirds, mockingbirds, and cardinals. (But like magnolias and mistletoe, holly berries can be toxic if eaten by humans, so be careful if you do bring a sprig or two into your house this year for decorating. )

And the very thorns which can pain a gardener or a small barefoot child are a wonderful bonus to many animals, since they provide a safe place to hide from predators. The thick leaves provide a nice shelter heavy storms, too.

In addition to attracting birds, hollies attract bees in the springtime, when their tiny white flowers give off a powerful and enticingly sweet fragrance. Years ago I remember a large stand that used to line a street in downtown Takoma Park. When I would walk home from the Metro on evenings in the spring I would always look forward to reaching that wonderfully perfumed corner near the ATM on Willow Avenue. (As far as I know the trees are still there, but since I no longer live in that neighborhood nor take that Metro stop to go home, I can't attest to their springtime flowering.)

I also recall that the hollies which grew in my parents yard back in Baltimore were home to a little frog that liked to climb up into the tree and bleat out its funny nighttime call in early summer. I suppose it felt very protected in there against the lovely gray bark spackled with lichens.

We'd also find bats nestled up against the branches from time to time when we pruned. They liked to hang out there during the day, protected by the thorny shade on those upper branches. We watch for them to emerge at night and feast on all the mosquitoes.

Because they provide so much to wildlife, a holly tree can be a great plant for someone who lives in the city. They demand almost nothing in the way of care, look good year round, and can withstand large amounts of pollution. If you decide to plant one, you'll need to get both a male and female plant for good fruiting, and be sure to place the female plant for best viewing, since that's the one that will bear lots of berries. The male can be planted a slight distance apart, but should be close enough for easy pollination, which is usually no more than about 40 -60 feet away. (Before planting you might check your neighbor's yards to see if they already have a male plant which would pollinate your tree. Males are easy to spot, since they usually only have few small berries on their branches.)

Given all of this, you'd think I would plant a holly or two when I got my own garden. But I couldn't convince my spouse that the prickly leaves were worth it. So I had to settle for planting the lovely deciduous cousin of holly, known as winterberry or ilex verticillata. Winterberries get fantastic berries, too, but stay relatively compact and lack the hollies' lovely evergreen color. Without the leaves they don't provide really nice Christmas greens, either.

So for the last year or so I've been eyeing my neighbors' variegated holly with great envy. It's big and old and looks so great against the red bricks of her Cape Cod style house. Each leaf is outlined in white, and the berries which it holds are red and immense in the winter. Mary tells me she and her late husband planted her holly tree many decades ago, and she's a bit annoyed lately with its overgrown branches.

"Oh Mary," I told her this summer. "I could help you prune it. Maybe sometime in December."

Oh yes, she said. Perhaps you could even keep some branches to decorate your house during the holidays.

"Gee," I say with a guilty grin. "What a great idea."

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