An Apple a Day

September 26 was John Chapman's birthday. We know him better as Johnny Appleseed. I have to admit I thought for a misquided moment that he was the actor who played opposite Roseanne in the eponymous TV series, but no, this is the fellow who wandered around the mid-Atlantic states sowing apple trees. We owe him a huge favor for the inspiration he gives us to do the same, no matter where we live. In my rural English garden I planted an orchard of a dozen heritage apple trees like 'Cornish Gilliflower', 'Sack and Sugar', 'Venus Pippin', 'Court Pendu Plat'. I think I chose them for their names as much as for their savor. Here in my Des Moines garden, which I'm slowly carving from the ubiquitous lawn of the 'burbs, I inherited two apple trees of unknown name. One produces red apples, one yellow.

They are sorry looking things as the previous owner's idea of pruning was to fire up the chainsaw and let rip. There are protrubances up and down their trunks, like amputated limbs—a truly painful sight is a poorly pruned tree. But, my lands, how they produce new growth! And apples! Which are quite delicious. I owe this discovery to my husband, who has a thing about apples. I stopped buying them at the supermarket (our 'fresh produce' in these stores hardly qualifies for the name — it's shameful, really).

The saying "American as apple pie" may well have its origins in the fact that apples were once the mainstay of every homesteader's garden; one of the earliest orchards in the New World was reputedly planted in Massachusetts in 1625 by an apple-loving clergyman, who developed a variety known as 'Blaxton's Yellow Sweeting'. Pomologists reckon that there were at one time as many as 8000 apple varieties grown in the USA. The rise of supermarketing over farmersmarketing quickly whittled that down to a few sorts that could be depended upon to bear-heavily and produce uniformly-sized, 'resiliant' apples that would give shoppers the kind of apple experience they thought they wanted! Same deal with tomatoes. But guess what, consumers got bored with the same-old same-old, and just like heritage toms are making a revival, so are heritage apples. If you think you might like to participate in this glorious revival, a good source of accurate information and trees to buy can be found at Trees of Antiquity of Paso Robles, CA. They have a list of 147 old and some new apple varieties to make your mouth water (well, mine did!). They ship good quality plants and will help you choose the best for your locale and Zone. (www.treesofantiquity.com). They even list 'Court Pendu Plat', dating it to 1613, and 'Cornish Gilliflower' (1700s); then there's 'Pumpkin Russet' (1832) and one I would love to try, 'Seek-No-Further' (1870). Looking at the photos online of the different varieities, I think my red apple may be 'Arkansas Black'

Donald started eating our apples in June. A bit early, since they were only just becoming apples, but he likes 'em sour, I guess. Only now, in late September, they've come into their own, and he even got out the ladder to pick what he could reach, though we've been feasting on the windfalls. The red skins have turned a dusky burgundy and the greeny-yellary has gone gold. And each has a distinct flavor.
The red is acid and good for cooking, the yellow sweet and crunchy for munching. And because these two old soldiers have so stoically endured neglect and abuse for so many years, yet continued to flower (ever so sweetly) and fruit (generously), I have vowed to have an arborist tidy them up, to wrap their trunks in winter and spray them at fruit set against borers and worm. I owe it to them. They way I see it, plants are living things, and deserve to be rewarded when they done good.

This last spring I also planted a plum tree. Don't ask the name—the label was missing, and the tree was stuck in a corner of the nursery lot like an unwilling debutante trying to avoid attention, but actually longing to get out on the dance floor. Well, leave it to me to select just that tree—it looked so sad and neglected and clearly needed a home. We dug a generous planting hole (a $10 hole for 50 cent plant is the rule.) It produced 3 pounds of juicy yellow-fleshed, purple-skinned plums from a total of three branches. And now there are lots of new shoots that hold promise for next year's crop...and plum jam.
It just goes to show you—a little kindness goes a long way.