Notes from a Dirt Engineer - Old Apple Trees

Those apple trees. Those apple trees stand wearily, too far apart to touch each other yet close enough to annoy each other. Gnarled with curvature of the trunk and main branches. I am quite sure I can hear them groaning with sadness.

A child once played here in this garden. I can think of no better playground than a lawn dotted with mature apple trees. Those low, stocky branches so perfect for climbing, the soothing shade, the most beautifully delicate blossom of all and finally the fruit; the small hard offerings of the June drop, ideal for pelting at siblings, the later swollen harvest,  the smell, the taste. A private thing to enjoy in your own little space.

Something terrible happened on this property, near twenty years ago. It stood empty for two during the investigation then it was partly rebuilt before being put on the market. Another family moved in. It's never mentioned but everyone knows. The garage is unchanged, I use it to access the garden. There's a heavy atmosphere everywhere, all about the place but especially around those apple trees, they loved that child.

The lady of the house is lovely, twinkly and friendly. She apologises with her eyes, for what? Does it help that those are her step-daughters and not from her own womb? I don't know, I think so but I'm not sure.

Pruning is therapeutic but you can get too relaxed, go too far. The key is to keep stepping back and inspecting your work and never take more than a third off in one year. The trees are all a similar shape and size, planted at the same time, long before the tragic event and to provide fruit, never to hold onto sad memories. Their form, the texture of the bark, the throw of their shadows on the lawn would all have been so familiar to the child. Silent friends in the garden.

I come in peace with my loppers and handsaw. 'Try to think of it as a haircut rather than an amputation,' I whisper. The fruiting buds are distinctive, a cluster of spurs in comparison to the single spur of the leaf bud. There is a lot of thinning to do; the branches need airflow around them to prevent the proliferation of fungal spores and resulting rot. Any whippy vertical shoots can go. It's much easier if the trees have been pruned every year - these have not.

The sad air feels heavier and heavier. Perhaps it's just me, perhaps there's no sadness left here at all and I have brought my own as I dwell indulgently upon the crime. I try to shake it off. There are bulbs coming up. Fruiting bud, leaf bud - the buds are all formed the previous season, everything is there primed to open into the undeniable future.