"...there are some [trees] one would like to press to one's bosom with tenderness and pity...." José Saramago in The Stone Raft.
I've been in the orchard this week, pruning my antique apple trees during the spell of unseasonably warm weather. As I worked, I was more aware than usual of mortality hovering around these old trees; when I read Saramago's phrase this morning, it went right to my heart. He expressed, with the genius of a great writer, exactly how I felt.
The branches against the sky look like so many gnarled fingers, aged and worn.
Many of the trunks have empty centers, as though their innards had been stripped...
yet the trees live and produce; despite age and weakness, they continue.
The worn scaly bark is like the skin of my hands, loose and wrinkled.
Sadly, over the years I've lost several of these antique trees, including this one that continues to stand though it will never leaf again. The life span of apple trees is the longest of fruit trees, but still not very long, perhaps 50 years, or as long as 80. I believe that mine must be older than 50 so I have to accustom myself to the idea that they will continue to die off before I do. Each one has a distinct presence in the landscape and would be sorely missed.
And yet, new branches arise and thicken, their bark smooth like youthful skin...
while life that arises on the elderly bark can be bright and full of promise.
I have total empathy with our two old apple tress and one old pear. They stand and deliver every year. At night the dear come and have a picnic. Most of the land around us is fenced off. Now the dear stroll down the street looking for food
ReplyDeleteand around midnight they arrive on our property to feast. I say Bon appetite.
The trees gladly give up their fruit.
Myrna, my trees, being old varieties, have fruit only every other year, and then it's usually a bumper crop, with more than enough for all the deer, even bear, that come to the orchard in fall.
DeleteAltoon, if you like these varieties, you should consider getting some good root stock, and graft on cuttings for continued production.
ReplyDeleteErik, I've tried planting other new trees in this orchard, but every time I've dug a hole, it fills with water. Although I"m up high, the land is quite wet. Maybe it wasn't as wet when this orchard was first planted, but it's impossible now for young trees.
DeleteI'm no arborist, so I can't offer much in this area. It does surprise me that there aren't some fruit trees that would take root. Really sorry to hear that.
DeleteThere are a number of excellent consulting arborists in the area. I've worked with Nicko Rubin (narubin@gmail.com, 3496 East Hill Rd, Plainfield, VT 05667, 802-272-5880) to plant native American Chestnuts. He also works extensively with fruit trees and would be able to advise you on re-planting and help graft branches from your existing trees to new rootstock so they can live another 100 years.
ReplyDeletethanks, John, I happen to know of Nicko. But again, my problem is the very wet ground which will kill any new tree. But I'll think about it.
DeleteTrees can evoke much emotion, especially such old friends.
ReplyDeleteBeautiful old trees, the dead one standing reminds me of the ancient olive trees I lived with in Greece. And I often feel what Saramago expresses when I see the beech trees in my forest that are struggling to survive with the blight - sometimes just a husk of a tree.
ReplyDeletewould you consider taking cuttings from branches or air layer off a branch and plant that and start a new tree with exact dna of the old ones, much like a child?
ReplyDeleteLisa and Valerianna, thanks for relating to the emotion and memories that old trees bring.
ReplyDeleteI realize that I wasn't very clear about how my feelings about these trees is what they stand for, their rich metaphoric implications, but also their beauty. I don't so much care about the apples, but I do care about how they look in the landscape. Which is why, though John and anonymous above suggest grafting, it doesn't much interest me. First of all the ground is very wet, but mostly it's because I have an aesthetic attachment to these trees, which I would not have to a young one.
We agree with you about how these venerable old trees look in the landscape. Our full size trees are almost 60 years old; they were planted when our house was built. We don't care about the apples either. But we love these trees and try to be good stewards. Ours are on their last legs as well; one is even being supported by a post to keep it going a bit longer. I'm sure the family who built our house could not imagine 50 years down the road. We have a lot of big old trees (spruces, Austrian pines) that were planted then and they are all at their age limit. Alas, we are only too aware of the upper age of such trees! Have you done any drawings of the old tree that doesn't leaf out? What a beauty.
ReplyDeleteIt's sad, isn't it, having so many old trees around, thinking of them dying of old age. I haven't drawn that tree, but there is the photo, which is my way of honoring it.
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