My Father's Orchard

A blast from my past. I miss them both.

My Father’s Orchard

     This Saturday afternoon I clambered into several of the many apple trees in my father’s orchard. It’s what I’ve done for some consecutive Saturdays, to do something good and as much rewarding. Now that the weather is warmer it’s not at all unpleasant; there's a steady cool breeze from the west and the warm spring sun in my eyes when I look up to make the next selective pruning cut. The sweet sounds of songbirds are everywhere. Several large hawks pass overhead, scouting for prey. Dad quips that he hopes they won’t catch the Easter bunny. 
     Writing isn’t what I do to earn my daily bread, at least not yet. Neither is pruning apple trees, but if I had to do it as a part of my living, for sure I could do a lot worse. 
      Fruit growers surely must know they are artisans. They are also farmers of a sort, relying on a good annual crop. They plan their pruning, fertilizing and spraying schedules to coordinate with the weather and the seasons, which vary each year. Spring may come a little late as it has this year, or early, almost certain to be followed by damaging frost if the buds have responded to the warmth. Apple trees are amazingly resilient, but there are limitations when it comes to spring frost. 
      Pruning isn’t at all as easy to learn as one might think. It isn’t just cutting away the thick watersprouts, or “suckers” that has to be done. The amount of new wood a full-size apple tree puts forth in a single growing season is tremendous. Any single new-growth frond that wasn’t shortened slightly, or “headed back,” after one year has forked off into two or three useless watersprouts that probably have crowded their way into other branches. And thinning branches is nothing like cutting hair. Proper thinning is a measured and careful process tempered by an understanding of what configuration will produce the best and largest fruit, with room around the apples to permit sun-ripening. Buds that point downward are headed in the wrong direction, as are buds that point straight upward. Those that will bear and support an apple have sprouted to either side, and there are usually too many of those for the branch to support the weight of so many apples. So it’s a selection process, a hard look at the distribution of branches, and an experienced snip to help prevent overgrowth during the coming season. 
     And this is just about the pruning, not the subsequent thinning of fruit to prevent having too many apples so that they’re undersized. Or about the safe application of pesticides to prevent a myriad of minor maladies, such as apple “rust,” powdery mildew or scabbing that render an apple unsalable. Some years, for every whole apple that goes out for sale, two or three others are consigned to the bushels of “seconds” that will be processed for applesauce, canning or cider. 
     I don’t do all of this, I just know all of this because my father knows it. I grew up amid these fruit trees. Like any outdoor enterprise, some dedication to the end result is required to make you come out into the cold while the buds are still dormant, to try to get a jump on the process. 
     Dad’s orchard isn’t a commercial enterprise anymore. Dairyman, nurseryman, fruit grower, that’s my father. The orchard is the focus of his retirement, and I’d like to see him continue it for as long as he’s happy doing it. So I get out there with him when I can and do as much of the high work as I am able get to, before he does it. I have to be quick, because Dad doesn’t fool around. 
     There are many deer that are resident in the area, so deer damage to apple trees is a major problem. Some of the best and easiest apples to pick might have grown near the perimeter of each tree, but the deer see to it that they don’t. “Pruning apple trees changes your appetite,” Dad observed. “I feel a growing need for a venison burger.”
     He has lots of orchard-based wisdom to offer as well, some of it a bit of stretch. “Take off your hat and throw it at the tree,” he tells me. “If it doesn’t go all the way through, you’re not done.” 
     But it’s also true, once you know what you’re doing you kind of stop thinking about it, almost to the same degree as shifting gears when you drive. You just do it. That’s when the rewards begin, and that’s the source of my last paragraph. 
     Pruning apple trees is good for the soul. It provides time to reflect on the challenges you’re faced with in the world beyond the orchard, an opportunity for introspection, time to think about what you’re doing and to imagine what you could do. It isn’t just me. My father agrees. 
      Thank you, Dad.