They were possibly the most glorious apricots I had ever tasted. Actually they were the only glorious apricots I had ever tasted, growing up in Queensland where apricots had the texture of flannel from long cold storage and being picked green – an apricot may soften after picking, but it does not get sweeter, and its texture deteriorates fast.
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These were still sun warm and juicy, and had just been picked by a 76-year-old neighbour from the trees she had planted six years before on the slope just to one side of the chook house where they'd get a little run-off manure when it rained or the chook's water container was washed out each day, and perfect drainage and lots of sun.
Apricots love sun.
A few weeks later I'd taste our own apricots, from old seedling trees – small, spotted, red-blushed fruit that were even more delectable. But the ones at the neighbour's were good old Moorepark, common as mud. The difference in flavour from those of the same variety in the shops came from being grown well, and picked when fully, lusciously ripe.
And that was all she ever did to them. Plant and pick, though the proximity to the chooks' water and manure helped. But they were never, ever pruned.
Skip forward 45 years and those apricot trees are still there, overgrown with jasmine and weeds. One has the characteristic fungi of tree rot extending down one side of the main trunk. Their current owner wanted to know when to prune apricots.
Answer: never. (If possible).
Apricots fruit well without pruning, as do cherries and most other fruits. If you want fewer, bigger, perfect-looking fruit i.e. you are a commercial grower or have an obsession with perfect-looking fruit, you may need to prune and thin out the fruit. Come to think of it, I retract that – if you have an obsession with perfect-looking fruit (i.e. round, symmetrical, even coloured fruit) – seek therapy but leave the poor trees alone.
But these old apricot trees, with broken branches and wood rot?
First, slash back all invading climbers and weeds, and mow or slash below them. Apricots do not like humidity and tall weeds tend to provide their own humid microclimate.
Secondly, cut out dead or broken branches. Seal at once (ask at the garden centre for the best sealant, preferably containing a fungicide). Leave the half-dead tree trunk alone. It's survived like that for at least 20 years, and borne fruit too. With luck and stubbornness it may keep going for another 20 years or more.
If more pruning is needed – branches that have tangled with each other, for example, and are damaging each other's bark – wait till spring or summer to prune, so the wounds will heal faster and, again, use a sealant.
Then wait. Pick. Eat. Wipe the juice from your chin, because they will be juicy. If your last apricot was not juicy either grow your own or buy from a farmers' market ... and if the apricots at one stall are not juicy, buy next time from another (and maybe have a quiet, respectful word in the first grower's ear – it's always useful to have honest, specific feedback).
The same goes for cherries, too. More cherry trees are killed by kindness than neglect. Do not prune or, if you must, prune in spring or summer when the wounds will heal faster. Feed after fruiting, i.e. in mid-summer, as too much nitrogen can cause cherries to split, especially in a wet year.
Forget about bird netting for both crops – the birds will be so determined to get them they may get tangled in the netting. So may snakes. This is a scenario both you and the snakes need to avoid. Instead, hang reusable calico 'fruit bags' on clusters of fruit when still solidly green. It sounds fiddly but once you have done it a few times it's fast and simple. And works. Athough frustrated possums may throw down a bag or two in disgust. But no more than a couple … – possums don't waste too much energy on revenge.
And if you do not have an apricot tree or a cherry, head to the garden centre now. Read the label, to see what will suit your garden and climate and holiday plans – no point having a crop due in mid-January if you are always lounging by the sea at that time of year. If you are seriously challenged for space buy a dwarf fruit tree – slightly slower to get going but you will still receive a generous crop in a few years from a much smaller tree.
Then start dreaming of sun-ripe fruit that is better than chocolate, or any possible chef's creation.
This week I am:
- indulging in my annual winter day-dream of a vast glass and wrought iron green house with a heated pool and waterfall where I, assorted friends, cocoa trees, vanilla orchids, pepper vines and year round rich red tomatoes can luxuriate all winter;
- tasting the frost as well as sweetness in Michael's home-grown oranges – yes, frost does have a flavour, just like rocky soil gives a greater depth to the taste of grapes;
- wondering if I could teach the resident lyrebirds Ode to Joy –their great-great-great-great-grandfather could do a passable variation on the theme, his descendants prefer chooks and currawongs … chooks!;
- hoping the red cabbage seedlings are surviving neglect and caterpillars so we will get a crop in spring;
- watching the garlic leaves grow tall, and imagining the roasted, fresh-picked garlic of spring;
- not yet getting around to harvesting the Jerusalem artichokes, but they will happily sit there till spring, so no hurry and there are always a few unnoticed ones that will sprout for the next season; and
- watching the loquat fruit swell. When they are really fat spring will be nearly here.
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