I’ve been gardening for a long time, and I like to think I (mostly) know what I’m doing. I usually have pretty flowerbeds and tasty veggies. But fruit trees? That’s another matter entirely.
If you’ve been following my blog for a while, you may remember the tale of Doing the Crabapple Tango. In it, I mentioned that my crabapple tree had been pruned by an irresponsible orangutan: Me. (Or rather, not pruned; merely allowed to grow into a mess of crisscrossing branches.)
Fast-forward to 2016, when I eagerly planted two cherry trees, two apple trees, a crabapple, a peach, and a plum tree at our new place. I use the word “trees” loosely here – they were actually more like whippy little twigs. But that was okay, because I had resolved that this time I was going to prune my trees properly right from the start. And I’d never have to do the Crabapple Tango again!
So I watched a bunch of videos on YouTube and read long dissertations on the correct methods of pruning and shaping… and then I went out last weekend with my pruners. (Yes, it was time — the sap was already rising in the cherry trees.)
I just want to say that I hate pruning. I like growing plants, not hacking pieces off them. But all the gardening websites say it has to be done, so I steeled myself for the task.
I consulted the videos again. I walked around and around my trees, studying the bud locations and visualizing where and how the new limbs would grow. Then I trimmed out crossing branches and branches going toward the centre of the tree, and made heading cuts to encourage new branches at the height I wanted.
Then I crept back into the house weighed down by a huge black cloud of guilt over butchering my poor trees. Where before I had perky little saplings, now I have sad little truncated twigs standing forlornly in full view of all the windows, where I’ll be forced to look at them every day and contemplate my sins.
I feel so awful about what I’ve done that I’m not even going to post pictures — it would be like a murderer posting photos of her innocent victims.
I hope they live. All the gardening sites say they will, and I really did follow their instructions; but the poor wee twigs are heart-wrenching. I don’t know whether it would be best if they survive to absolve me of the guilt, or die quickly so I can buy new unmutilated ones and pretend this whole sorry affair never happened.
Maybe from now on I’ll just let them grow the way they want. Really, the Crabapple Tango wasn’t so bad — there was a high probability of personal injury, but at least my conscience was clear.
Would somebody please tell me that this is all normal and my trees are going to be okay? (Feel free to lie through your teeth if necessary.)
’Cause I’m really hoping I won’t have to write a Crabapple Dirge.
*bells toll solemnly in the background*
Book 14 update: Chapter 44 and counting. My books usually come in around 50 chapters, but this one is ballooning. Time to sharpen my editing knife!