Beijing Crabapple Conference 2017: Honoring Jim Zampini’s Legacy of Beautiful Crabapple Cultivars
This botanical history post was featured on The Daily Gardener podcast:
April 14, 2017
Dearest reader,
On this day, the gardens of Beijing seemed almost to blush with beauty, for the Crabapple Conference had begun — a celebration of color, fragrance, and kinship across continents.
Attendees meandered through the famed Crabapple Garden, their gazes lifted to a canopy of blossoms so abundant they could have rivaled any royal parterre. Among the treasures were many American cultivars — Brandywine, Cinderella, Molten Lava, Lollipop, and Madonna — each one a testament to the genius of the late Jim Zampini, beloved nurseryman from Lake County, Ohio.
How fitting, and how bittersweet, that during this conference dedicated to his creations, it was announced that “Jim had passed away at 85.”
One can imagine a hush falling among those gathered, petals drifting down like gentle farewells. Yet, as all true gardeners know, legacy in horticulture is measured not in years, but in roots — and Jim’s run deep indeed.
Today, Jim’s legacy lives on in his fantastic crabapple varieties like Centurion, Harvest Gold, Lancelot Dwarf, Sugar Tyme, and the Weeping Candied Apple.
Could any tribute bloom more beautifully than that?
For the uninitiated, let us pause to admire the peculiar charms of the crabapple. Modest yet magnificent, these trees offer their first fruit within two to five years — a lesson, perhaps, in patience rewarded. Their fruit, no larger than two inches in diameter, distinguishes them from their grander apple cousins. And unlike towering orchard trees, crabapples rarely exceed twenty-five feet in height, their silhouette dignified but never imposing — as if they know that true allure requires no ostentation.
Should you wish, dear reader, to plant a miniature crabapple orchard of your own, heed this counsel: space your saplings six to fifteen feet apart, depending on the variety. Dwarfs and upright sorts prefer a closer embrace, while the more stately kinds appreciate a bit of breathing room.
Picture it — a May morning aflush with blossoms, the air trembling with the hum of bees, every bough promising fruit and fragrance in equal measure.
Can anything rival the bloom of a crabapple tree when it awakens?
Even old tales seem to conspire in the crabapple’s charm. In Polish folklore, apple trees were “dream trees.”
It was said that sleeping beneath one would bring a night drenched in visions, and that placing an apple under a maiden’s pillow would summon dreams of her future husband.
Across the sea, English folk took their chances with “crabapple pips,” tossing them into the fire on Valentine’s Eve while whispering their true love’s name. If the pips popped — ah, that fateful crackle! — it foretold love that would last forever.
One wonders: did any gardener’s pip once burst bright for Jim Zampini himself, foretelling a love affair not with a person, but with his plants?
So, dear reader, as crabapple blossoms unfurl in our own 2022 gardens, let us look upon them with reverence.
They are more than flowers; they are messages sent across time — living petals inked with the memory of dreamers like Jim.
Their beauty whispers that even the briefest bloom can leave an indelible mark on the garden, and on the heart that tends it.
