Quince: a highly underappreciated fruit. Goes great on a cheese plate.
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The nightmare begins....
- Thread starter David Chaus
- Start date
Luther Burbank was a plant breeder in Santa Rosa. I have copious amounts of his greatest product: Thornless blackberries. That's right. All that delicious fruit on bushes that need no fertilizer, no water, no care whatsoever. And no thorns.
FWIW I did hit up a park in West Seattle with my niece and daughter to score some blackberries. They made an excellent cobbler
Yes. I just dedicated an entire corner of the yard. i go through every winter and cut them down to 2' high. Around here, they don't run too far and our soil is loose. So when they poke their head up, we can just grab and pull. Cut them at the original. Very little work and Blackberries!
Very lovely first worldy problems to have.
What??? Mulberries don't grow on a bush? There goes my childhood. Lyin' nursery rhymes.
Thread title is perfect ... The Nightmare Begins
Those sound perfect. I came home with a lot of scratches and such after my venture into the patch last week!
Our peach trees died as a result of the weird spring weather we had last spring. Our apple trees are so tall now (I should have been pruning them, but didn't) that there is no low hanging fruit on them. It's all way up there, but there's lots of it. The pears produced for the first time this year, about 6 altogether, and half of them fell before ripening. The grapes we planted about 4 years ago are producing for the first time this year. We have holes dug for new peach trees.
Thread Starter
TS
Thorns or no thorns, Himalayan blackberries are incredibly invasive and will take over any empty patch of space, at least in the moderate climate of the PNW. We do have a thornless blackberry (which I had to take out so that the painters can paint the barn), they don't produce fruit nearly as well in the PNW. Also there's some species of native blackberries in our woods which grow close to the ground and don't climb over everything, neither of which grow out of control like the Himalayan.
Co-worker has a peach orchard. That will be their retirement lifestyle. She's been studying peach growing and learned that you're supposed to remove a large percentage of the young peaches. Last year, she did, but her husband couldn't bear to remove that much. They got to compare results. From her trees, they got peaches that were 4-5 inches in diameter. Beautiful peaches. This year, he followed suit. They don't get as many peaches, but they get top dollar for them.
The fruit plant that fascinates me is "everbearing" strawberries. I call them "never-bearing". Of the 12-15 plants I have, I get a couple of berries now and then (total berries - ones that rot before picking - ones lost to critters). If they bore once in early summer, I'd get enough to eat and some to freeze. The plants were here when I bought the house. I lowered my expectations and keep them just for filler in the flower beds.
The fruit plant that fascinates me is "everbearing" strawberries. I call them "never-bearing". Of the 12-15 plants I have, I get a couple of berries now and then (total berries - ones that rot before picking - ones lost to critters). If they bore once in early summer, I'd get enough to eat and some to freeze. The plants were here when I bought the house. I lowered my expectations and keep them just for filler in the flower beds.
After Apple-Picking
BY ROBERT FROST
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/44259
BY ROBERT FROST
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.
And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much
Of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.
https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/44259
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