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Bearing Fruit
March 13, 2004
Spring is rapidly advancing at a furious pace
and on my way to the barn,
I've glanced furtively at our many orchard trees, knowing that
I'll soon
lose my best window of opportunity to get our annual pruning
done. It's
"now or never" time--actually not never, but pruning
done after new growth
has already started is potentially damaging and wasteful to the
energy
the tree is expending this time of year in its rush to push out
green
from those dead looking branches.
Pruning is one of those tasks that is immensely satisfying--after
it's
done--way after. Several years after in some cases. In the case
of our
fruit trees, which all have an average age of 80 years or more,
it is a
matter of prune or lose them forever, as they had a long respite
from
pruning in the 80s before we bought this farm and were growing
wild and
chaotic. We set to work early on in our tenure here, trying to
gently
retrain these huge mature apple, cherry and pear trees, but our
consistency was lacking and the trees remained on the wild side,
defying
us, and in two cases, toppling over in windstorms due to their
weakened
frame. Once we hired additional help, hoping to get ahead of the
new
growth, but our helper had the "chain saw" approach to
pruning and
literally scalped several trees into dormancy before we saw what
was
happening and stopped the savaging.
Instead, the process of retraining a wild tree is slow,
meticulous,
thoughtful, and expectant. You must study the tree, the setting,
know
the fruit it is supposed to bear, and begin making decisions
before you
make cuts. The dead stuff goes first--that's easy. It's not
useful,
it's taking up space, it's outta here. It's the removal of viable
branches that takes courage. Like thinning healthy vegetable
plants in a
garden, I can almost hear the plant utter a little scream as I
choose it
to be the next one to go. Gosh, gardening is not for the faint of
heart. So ideally, I choose to trim about a third of the
superfluous
branches when I prune, rather than taking them all at once, and
in three
years, I'll have the tree I hoped for, bearing fruit that is
larger,
healthier and hardier. Then we're in maintenance mode. That takes
patience, vision, dedication, and love. That's the ideal world.
The reality is I skip years of pruning work, sometimes several
years in
a row. Or I make a really dumb error and prune in a way that is
counter
productive, and it takes several years for the tree to recover.
Or, in
the case of the scalping, those trees took years to ever bear
fruit
again--standing embarrassed and naked among their peers. Then
there is
the clean up process after pruning--if it was just lopping off
stuff,
I'd be out there doing it right now, but the process of picking
up all
those discarded branches off the ground, carrying them to a brush
pile
and burning them takes much more time and effort. That's where
kids
come in very handy.
I see the training work we do with our young horses as a similar
process
--we are shaping them for their eventual fruitfulness as
productive
working stock. Even the most wild and untamed of youngsters
eventually
respond to the gentle process of "pruning" away the
unwanted behavior
and encouraging the growth of the best behavior. Nipping is not
fruitful--it is never encouraged; it is actively discouraged.
Kicking
belongs on the brush pile. Horse training is not for the faint of
heart. Leading
quietly and standing tied without a fuss are rewarded with the
treat of scratches and rubs. The final
product takes years of effort before it bears fruit, but our work
is
essential otherwise the grown horse may be completely unusable,
and
discarded like a tree that topples due to its weakness.
I'm feeling a bit wistful about my own children right now as my
eldest
is about to turn 18, and I'm looking at him as not just a work in
progress, but one that is about to bear fruit. He's been
tolerating our
shaping, trimming and pruning for 18 years now, and is standing
tall and
strong and ready to meet the world, to give it all he's got,
thanks to a
sturdy foundation. In our hopes and dreams for him, there are
times we
probably pruned a bit in haste, or sometimes neglected to prune
enough,
but even so, he's grown up with few "scars" to show for
our mistakes.
Child rearing is not for the faint of heart. Now we turn over the
maintenance
to the Master Gardener, to keep our son rooted, fed, watered,
thriving and fruitful.
This is the ultimate act of faith and love for me. It is no
longer my job to do, but I turn it
over to Another, just as my parents did 30 some years ago for me.
I'm still pruned, regularly, often painfully. Sometimes I see the
pruning hook coming, knowing the dead branches that I've
needlessly hung onto
must go, and sometimes it comes as a complete surprise,
cutting me at my most vulnerable spots. Some years I bear better
fruit
than other years. Some years, it seems, hardly any at all. Being
pruned when
you are mature, set in your ways, and a bit opinionated is not
for the faint of heart. Yet, I'm
still rooted, still fed when hungry and watered when thirsty, and
still,
amazingly enough, loved. I'll continue to hang on to the root
that
chose to feed me and hold me fast in the windstorms of life. Even
when
my trunk is leaning, my branches broken, my fruit withered, I
will know
my heart is strong as I am still loved.
Emily
http://www.briarcroft.com/emily.htm