Book Review - Backyard Orchardist: A Complete Guide to Growing Fruit Trees in the Home Garden

Powell's Books · Barnes & Noble

Stella Otto © 1995

When you buy your first fruit tree, do yourself and your new tree a favor and buy this book. Now that I have three planted in my backyard, I'm wishing I would have read this prior to planting; I would have dug a much bigger hole and amended my clay soil with more sandy-loam and compost. I also would have done a better job setting my trees up for production by properly pruning those first few years of growth.

Today is a new day.

This is an easy-to-read book that covers all major fruit bearing trees with specific information for trees in different zones. Now I know when and how to prune properly. What pests to watch out for and how to prevent infections/infestations and treat them in the most effective manner; e.g. most pests have a predictable time when they are going through some sort of molt or metamorphosis making treatment particularly effective. It is best to treat a specific problem and avoid “all-purpose” treatments as they are toxic to your backyard ecosystem and may create problems that didn't exist prior by killing of natural pest predators.

Stella also provides many tables regarding fruit variety and their flavor, blight and pest resistance, days from blossom to fruit, heights based on rootstock choices, and everything else you might need. She educates us orchardists lingo, e.g. rootstock, scions, scaffold branches, callous, suckers, water sprouts...

I'll never remember everything in this book but I'll remember just enough to know its in there and how to find it.

An essential tool for any backyard orchardist.

Book Review: Beowulf

· Barnes & Noble

Translation by John Leslie Hall circa 1897

This epic poem was written over a thousand years ago in England by an unknown Anglo-Saxon poet. The story itself is actually much older, scholars think it describes events that happened in the late 5th century in Scandinavia.

Was this a fun read? Not really. Scholars, such as Mr. Hall, translate this poem with the intention of making the wording as accurate as possible to original poem. There are footnotes everywhere, explaining conflicts in opinion as to whether or not the root word more closely translates to “toilet paper” or “tissue of the bottom”. Just kidding, toilet paper wasn't invented until late 19th century. Thankfully, John Leslie Hall put in brackets a modern language synopsis of what was about to happen, [Beowulf greets King Hrothgar] then comes the archaic-poetic language form of Beowulf’s greeting. I would have been lost in this story without them.

I have always wanted to read this and I'm profoundly glad I did. The story is awesome, the monster Grendel, a direct descendant of Cain, is offended by King Hrothgar's magnificent new hall, where much like Dr. Seuss' Grinch, he couldn't tolerate their nightly merry-making, but instead of stealing their presents and decorations, Grendel came in the night and devoured the men that celebrated there.

Enter Beowulf the Magnificent, to regale King Hrothgar with tales of his legendary exploits.

Grendel uses no weapons, so Beowulf declares won't either; he defeats the monster Grendel with his bare hands, rending Grendel's arm from his socket to dangle from the rafters of Heorot hall thereafter.

But Grendel has a mother…

This story has it all.  There is a hero in Beowulf, a monster in Grendel, an hero's antithesis in Unferth, a legendary sword, a battle with a dragon, that all intertwine in historic movements of our Anglo-Saxon and Scandinavian ancestors.  Ah, just breathe in the awesome.

Knowing Tolkien had a particular interest in this poem, it was fun to speculate how it shaped his own legendary LOTR series. On the lookout, I imagined some parallels between Grendel and Gollum, Gollum being less formidable but equally detestable. Also Smaug and Beowulf's dragon have several similarities, they are wormlike in body form and are notably greedy; Beowulf's dragon burns everything and everyone in sight after a cup is stolen from his hoard. The poem also refers to "middle-earth", a term I always thought was an original in LOTR.

There are probably many more subtle parallels that whooshed right over my head. However, the poem is from a period of English history where information is of swiss cheese density, and Tolkien's LOTR is often interpreted as a prehistory of England, which plugs each of those holes with literary genius to create something fictitious, yet magnificent.

I have two more versions of this poem, including Tolkien's that I can't wait to read to see what else I can find to geek-out on.

Maple Tree No More

Our overgrown Norwegian Maple.

When we moved into our house back in aught-one, the maple tree between our house and the neighbor’s house was a nice small shade tree. Since then it has grown, as trees are wont to do, and cracked our concrete and is breaking through the little box it was planted in. It also dumps leaves in our gutters and pretty much makes a mess with flowers and samaras all year. Still it was difficult for me to accept that it needed to be removed. Learning that it is an invasive species called Norway Maple—why do we allow stores to sell invasives? made it a little easier.

Still, I have a fondness for maple trees. When we were kids, we had a large maple tree (not sure which variety) that stood in our front yard. It was an inviting tree with a wide trunk and one low hanging branch that I could reach by holding on to the girth of the tree, wedging a foot against it and springing up. It had many big branches, one of which supported a rope swing. It was a second home to four monkeys and often hosted neighboring monkeys as well.

Little Amy, tree climbing monkey extraordinaire.

I have many warm memories of hanging out in that tree. I felt utterly safe and untouchable there. My imagination ignited, as I pressed knots blasting our spaceship to the moon. Later in life, Dad told me he would cringe and look away as I slipped through the tree branches and jumped to grab the rope and shimmy down.  I think about how easy it would have been for him to forbid me to climb, because my antics scared him, but I'm forever grateful he didn't.  None of us ever fell out or were otherwise hurt, and it's central to many of my favorite childhood memories.

I remember Tellis Lawson climbing the tree with us and falling out, landing flat on his back with his wind knocked out. He was the last grown-up to attempt climbing with us. My brother carved our initials in one of the scaffold branches. We once tied a yellow rope from the maple to the neighboring conifer, cedar perhaps, I don't quite remember. We tried to slide, zip-line style, but found we had the angle wrong and that the rope wasn't slippery enough. So we modified the angle and applied a lubricant (butter) and whee!

I remember the boys peeing out of the tree and being a little envious that I had to climb down go into the house to relieve myself. Once my step-brother, Lew, was sick, and then there was our dog patrolling the understory performing clean-up duty...

I watched the ants march up the bark, watched the daffodils push-up through the packed earth every spring, while I waited for leaves, then watch them turn yellow and fall. No wonder I felt like crying when my step-cousin Johnnie Lee told me, “Amy, they cut down our tree!” Apparently the old tree had to be put down due to some variety of rot. Sigh.

 This morning, Jose from NW Tree Specialists arrived bright and early. He asked me, “Which tree is it?” I brought him over. He nodded, retrieved his pole saw and fired it up. Zing, zing, zing. Down fell the branches one by one. Once, I wondered if a branch would fall on the neighbor’s car, I needn't have worried, Jose put in a face and back cut then it plopped down on the concrete safe and sound.

Berzo and I pulled up chairs a safe distance away and watched. Neighbors popped in and out to discuss the happenings. Soon the arborists fired up their chipper and BBRRRRRUUMMM, the hungry machine ate everything they fed it. The noise sent Berzo under her blanket.

I was a nervous for Jose when she shimmied up our tree and with his chainsaw and limbed the rest of it from there. He had a flair for showmanship, as he grabbed a branch with one hand, had the saw running in the other, then whipping the huge branches away just as the saw came through. Then his helper hauled them and fed them to the machine. About a dozen big trailer loads of material disappeared in there.

Finally all that stood was a naked trunk. Then that was felled too, with efficient precision. The two men raked up the leaves and brought out a leaf blower, leaving the driveway cleaner than before they arrived.

In all, in about forty-five minutes a large tree was reduced to four small rounds and a truck full of chips. I thanked Jose and his helper and they roared out of our neighborhood, and that was that.

So empty.

Sigh.



I called Charley to let him know it was all done and the arborists did a great job. Then I asked, “Can I plant a flowering dogwood there instead? They stay little are are super pretty in the spring.”

“I'm not sure that spot is great for a tree.”

“But, but…”

“Can I at least see it first?”

“Oh yeah, sure, sorry.”

"I speak for the trees!"