From the south-facing windows of my house I can see two apple trees. They sit on the northern slope of a small mountain in central New Hampshire, closely surrounded on three sides by oaks, maples, black birches, poplars, pines and all sorts of undergrowth busily filling up the mountain. The only open space for sunlight and air movement is between the trees and the house, an area of about half an acre. The apple trees stand as vanguards between the cleared, civilized world and the dark, mysterious forest stretching out behind them.

The house was built circa 1790 when George Washington was in politics and apple trees were planted as part of a homestead. My apples could have known the virgin chestnut trees that are built into the house. Maybe they were planted during the Civil War when the land parcel was 80 acres, not 10 as now. The mountain was cleared of forest then and the apple trees shared the acres with blueberries and sheep.

The apple trees are grafted; their trunks sport a distinct line about 12 inches up from the ground that looks like a soft blouse on a person whose belt is too tight. Above the graft, the trunks are textured with worm and flicker holes and the scars of lost branches.

When we arrived here 23 years ago, the trees were completely buried in the woods. We cleared a small area for a back yard but gave the old trees little attention. We kept assuming they would die or fall over from leaning towards the sun. Fifteen years ago, after we hired a professional who pruned them and cut away a few surrounding trees, the apple trees began to produce fruit.

Throughout the years these trees have offered us continual entertainment and wonderment. The ground beneath them is covered with mosses and lichens. The shadows cast upon the soft patches of greens, russets and snow can almost lull away the blues of winter. When the branches glaze over with ice from some bitter onslaught of weather, they shine silver in the morning sun, and in the evening they can become pink and purple, reflecting the sun through the mature forest that protects them from wind.

The apple trees seem to bloom best in the meanest years. When they bloom, they brighten the entire back yard. Then the petals drop to the ground, and it looks as if someone sprinkled pink rings around the trees. The sweet smell and bright pinks of the blossoms arrive as gifts after a long, sterile winter.

The shade of these trees makes a good place to sit from a dog’s point of view. The area is soft and shaded, and you can watch the house and yard, and see all the way down the driveway to the road. All kinds of critters take advantage of these trees. Bees especially like the flowers of the apple trees. You can hear their excited rumble from the middle of the yard on a spring day. Over the years we have watched horses, turkeys, deer and grouse graze on the apples that have fallen to the ground. Birds court, nest, eat bugs and buds. Orioles, scarlet tanagers, blue birds and cardinals visit in the early spring, attracted because we have these grand old trees. Chickadees, nuthatches, woodpeckers, blue jays and titmouses that stay all year, frolic through them.

There was a good crop of small apples this year, russet globes suspended among the branches and leaves. One morning we saw a lot of small branches on the ground around the larger apple tree. The next day the first branches were turning brown on the ground and there were more added to the debris. We also saw broken branches all though the tree and the apples were gone!

Investigation revealed bear scat on the ground. A small bear had come to feast on the apple crop. I would have loved to watch the bear climb up into the tree and snuggle in its cradle of branches, pulling those sweet red treats to its mouth. Those large paws snapping branches inward perform a sort of natural pruning.

My UNH Cooperative Extension Master Gardener training manual reminds me to prune them, but I feel that would hurt these mature ladies who know better than I what they need to face more decades. During Master Gardener training, when I asked the Cooperative Extension fruit specialist what I could do to help my apple trees, he suggested, in the interest of maximizing home fruit production, cutting them down and planting new trees.

I prefer the assisted-living approach. These trees have been providing for the inhabitants of this slope for more than three times my time on this earth. They’ve survived droughts, floods, blizzards, and the hurricane of 1936, which took most of the trees of the state. They survived the barn burning down some 100 years ago.

To whoever planted them and all those who’ve lived here since then, thank you for not eliminating these apple trees. I’d lose a lot from the days in my office, back porch, dining room and kitchen without those trees in my back yard.

By Stephania Pearce, Master Gardener

10/04/06

For more information call the UNH Cooperative Extension's Family, Home & Garden Center's Info-line (toll free) at 1-877-398-4769 or send us an email. Volunteers are available to answer your questions Monday through Friday 9:00am to 2:00 p.m.