I’ve always wanted a yard full of fruit trees. When I was a child, some of our neighbors had a yard that was jam-packed, green and shady and wonderful. For a year in college, we lived in a house when all sorts of interesting citrus trees, as well as a fig and a pomegranate. (None of which will grow anywhere near Boston.) In our current place, the yard is big enough, but it’s long been shaded by a row of tall maples. Great for shade and birds and maple sprouts. Lousy for fruit trees.
Then three years ago, the neighbors noticed that the maple trees were encroaching on their yard, their roofs, their gutters. Most of them had to go. My first thought was — what a pity. My second was — Now I can plant fruit trees!
Next spring, I plotted and plotted and finally ordered and planted two pear trees, a plum tree, and a peach tree. Last year I added two hazelnuts and a mulberry. One of the hazelnuts succumbed, but the other trees flowered. The mulberry and the peach fruited.
Then I found a crab apple tree. So I ordered two apple trees. Today I will plant them, in nice, wet earth.
And then I go back to NERAX!
More madness.
Writing Every Day 