"Tending an Old Fruit Tree"

by Carolyn Singer, Foothill Cottage Gardens
Sierra Heritage, February 1995

Remnants of old orchards abound in the Sierra foothills, lingering memories of earlier homesteads, of people who lived off their own land. Long after buildings have disappeared, figs, apples, pears and occasionally peach, cherry or walnut trees continue the life cycles of budding, flowering, bearing fruit and winter dormancy.

Once a young and vigorous whip planted with a vision of harvest, for several years the tended tree provides sweet fruit. Time passes, families move on, the orchardist dies, but the most vigorous fruit trees survive, seeming to wait for the passing hiker who relishes a fig, the wildlife that feeds on the small fruits, or someone who cares enough to tend the tree once again.

Ten years ago, I took my Sierra College orchard management class on field trips to become familiar with young and old fruit trees, which always seem to look different than the trees diagrammed in the pruning manuals we studied in class. One such February trip took us to an old homesite in Gold Run, close enough to the railroad tracks that we could hear the train coming, reinforcing our brief connection with the past that winter afternoon.

This site had a variety of trees, all planted on a fairly steep, west-facing slope. A very old apple tree, its trunk and branches ravaged by winter storms, was a poetic and artistic tribute to the tenacity of plants. Open in the center, the trunk had enough of the cambium layer (the living tissue between the bark and the old wood which continues the life of the plant) intact to survive. Severe winter storms had done extensive natural pruning. While new growth was sparse, and obviously had been for many years, this old apple tree continued to provide delicious fruit on its few spurs. The tree needed enough pruning to reinvigorate growth, but not so much that it would be shocked by the sudden attention. We pruned it sparingly, lovingly, with the same vision as the person who planted it on that hillside so many years ago.

Nearby, other old apple trees were overgrown, tangled masses of branches, each year fighting for enough sunlight to sustain fruit spurs. Close study revealed a structure of primary and secondary branches chosen to be the scaffold or structure when the tree was young. Healthy bark and branch growth assured the students that any pruning would stimulate the trees.

We planned a three-year program of restoration, aware that heavy pruning in one year would produce an undesirable end result of heavy growth this next season. Much better to do a little pruning each year, even when the tree has been neglected for so long. The first year's program for restoring the old apple tree was to remove all diseased and storm-damaged branches, and any limbs that crossed each other. How much easier, I thought, had this been done every year.

Pruning cuts were made just above the "bark collar", the rings apparent at the base of each branch, and left untreated to heal naturally. We concentrated on making "thinning cuts", pruning branches back to their point of origin. A "heading cut" would cause too much growth next year since all the buds below the cut would produce shoots. My students were amazed at the number of branches on the ground with the first pruning.

Next year, and the year following, branches would be removed, and those remaining "headed back", opening the primary structure to more sunlight. The goal would be fewer and shorter branches with more fruit spurs. As the vigor of the old apple tree increased, fruit would be larger and easier to reach.

Just up the slope from the old apple trees, the ground leveled, and a giant fig spread its branches as far as it could reach. Low to the ground, huge, aged branches provided a perfect place to sit and feast on a hot summer day. Pruning could add to the new growth and subsequent crop, but this tree would still provide huge quantities of fruit for years with no attention during the winter dormant season. I was reluctant to advise any pruning that would change the character of the tree. Remembering an old fig tree that I had passed while hiking on the Stevens Trail between Colfax and Iowa Hill, I thought about how much easier life had been for this fig tree in Gold Flat, with deep soil and no competition from oak trees. We admired its majestic height and spread, hoping the present owner would invite us back during the summer to help harvest the tree's bounty.

Eager for more pruning lessons, my students pointed out an old peach tree, the effects of years of peach curl apparent in its misshapen form. Just enough new growth was produced each year to ensure a few fruits for the following season, and the fruit was so special, we were told, that the tree was worth saving. Peach trees do not usually live as long as the spur fruit trees (pears and apples), but even an old tree can produce tasty fruit. Pruning was limited to heading back a few branches and thinning out about a fourth of the shorter fruit-bearing branches. Compost was spread thickly at the base of the tree after the grasses growing next to the trunk had been removed.

Our present commitment to this old orchard and a sense of the person who had planted these fruit trees so long ago, made our connection with the knarled wood and the grassy slope seem timeless. A train whistle reminded me that we had already spent three hours in Gold Run, and the winter afternoon would soon end. My students and I would leave this beautiful old orchard with a deeper appreciation of those early settlers in the Sierra foothills who planted and nurtured these wonderful trees.