The hickory, butternut, bitternut, and chestnut are step children and fend for themselves on less desirable soil. All are small. The regia-hindsii hybrids are small and young and are being given special care, but may not be perfectly hardy. They grow well.
The Jones hybrid filberts stand from six to eight feet high, except those planted recently. This year they have a fair crop. The catkins came thru the winter in good shape for the most part. My two European filberts, which have lost their identity, but are either Italian Red, Cosford, or Medium Long, (one of the three perished) usually suffer the loss of their catkins and occasionally lose a branch or two to winter's icy fingers.
To me, the filberts are fascinating at all times of the year. When the snow is deep and the cold bites deep, their tight little catkins always hold forth the comfortable promise of spring. When spring does come the thrill of the tiny red blossoms and lumbering catkins is as real and enduring as the promise of a crop of the shiny nuts is fickle. Then, of course, after the last tiny blossom has faded and the last catkin has withered, the leaves push forth. To me, these tiny leaves are a sight comparable to the opening and unfurling of the various varieties of the grape. Then enters the element of suspense, between the time of leafing out and the time when the little nut clusters appear.
My bushes are all growing together on a rise of ground near an old barn foundation. The ground is rich and they love it. Each bush is individual and distinctive as are their nuts--some tucked far in the husk, some bulging out in a precarious fashion, some fat and round, others long and narrow. They're interesting. I can let the butternuts, bitternuts and hickories pass, the heartnuts, chestnuts, and pecans can wait until I am sure they will bear here. The walnut will grow up along with the other trees--blending into the landscape, but the filberts, like Zombie, call attention to themselves every day of the year.
Somebody said recently that the emphasis in England is in being, and in our country in becoming. I imagine our land stopped being with the disappearance of the Indian and the primeval forest and is now in the process of becoming something else. What that something else is we don't know, and each generation carries a new set of values, but we all know that to become something better, trees must and will figure in the plans of all generations--better and more useful and more disease resistant trees. It is significant that nut trees lead in these requirements.