When I was a little kid, there were three apple trees along the fence line at the farm. I was fascinated by these trees. They were small trees, so I could climb them with my brother and cousin. One day, one of them fell out of the tree. I can no longer remember which one – I think it was my brother. I remember the branches raining down on my head and the thump when he hit the ground. The trees were gone not long after. Not because of that incident, but because of disease. That side of the yard has always felt a bit empty, and I’ve always wanted to plant some apple trees there.
We had an apple tree at my childhood home, too. We weren’t allowed to eat them, though my mom did make a cobbler from the mulberries I happened upon one day and spent hours picking. We had persimmons at that home, too. I was too young to appreciate them, or the effort the man who owned the home before me put into preserving nature.
The picture associated with this post isn’t of an apple tree, for the record. I don’t know what kind of tree it is, but it is big and beautiful.
We are just a few weeks away from 15 fruit trees arriving at the farm. I have never actually planted a tree before, so I’m sure there will be a learning curve. I have big plans for my little orchard and this land I have known for as long as I can remember.