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Although my pictorial records regarding this bonsai are incomplete, I can tell you that it was purchased from Bill Valavanis, Rochester, New York, around 1981-82, as a pre-bonsai. It appeared to be a fairly young tree in its earliest stages of bonsai life. It retained that look for quite a few years, nearly a decade, actually. In fact, some friends still say it hasn't changed all that much. It just refused to grow up, I guess. At the time of purchase, there weren't all that many Korean hornbeams around, certainly not in the Toronto Bonsai Society. This later changed, and as more and more of them made their appearance, it became clear that not all Korean hornbeams are born equal. Sure, their leaf shape, summer foliage colour, bark and what have you, match pretty well. To my eye, though, what sets them apart is their fine branch structure. The Korean hornbeams in my club and those I've seen at conventions are neat and tidy. They come with nicely spaced and tapered main branches ending in neat ramification and beautifully groomed, well-behaved layered foliage. Clearly, there must be a number of cultivars of this hornbeam because, proudly speaking, mine only has a nodding resemblance to these fine trees. Of course, it has basic branches that are what you would expect: straight and tapering. It's when bifurcation starts and multiplies that my hornbeam expresses its true individuality and rebellious nature. The fine branches zigzag horizontally and vertically. No amount of wiring or pruning can correct this chaotic growth. My hornbeam's parentage can only be guessed at. Mine seems to have come from a sucker, which might account for the less than desirable roots. Its roots, especially the right side, as you can see, are under development and have been for a number of years. True to its nature, my hornbeam arbitrarily decided - about 5 years ago - to become interested in propagating itself. Eye-catching small catkins popped up in the spring and in my joy at this marvelous development, I allowed them to mature into hops. Not a good idea. The hops are not attractive and they stunt the development of the branches on which they grow. Basically, they are useless; you can't even use them for making beer! While my hornbeam is unruly, frustrating and at times downright ornery, it's at its best in the fall. At that time of year it provides always a colourful interlude. I say interlude because the fall foliage lasts for a short time only. But the colours are different every year so that's a real bonus. Possibly its best fall colour ever, is seen in the cover photo.
          
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