Present me with an apple tree in need of pruning and I become a touch philosophical. I could write a book about pruning a single tree – not so much about the technical how-tos of the pruning itself but about the whether and why. The question of how much to direct the tree by pruning and how much to let it be the tree it wants to be. The temptation to satisfy my aesthetic sense and remove a wayward branch, set against the tree’s innate instinct to grow as it sees fit. Does the tree know best? Whether to let a fat bud burst into flower, or whether to sacrifice it in favour of its better placed neighbours. Do I really know better?

And around me, a scattering of mahogany-hued prunings, offspring-in-waiting if I only had rootstocks to graft them onto. The buzzard wheeling overhead and the slow-moving blue and red canal boats lapping softly through the brown water nearby.  If I was a poet, I’d write an entire book of poems –  perhaps Zen and the art of apple tree pruning. Preferably something less plagiaristic. 
Apple blossom (1.)
I think the cause of all this musing is the relationship which develops over time between the tree and the tree pruner. Each cut is a response to how the tree grew last year, which is in turn a response to how I pruned it the year before. Apples develop where I asked for them two years ago by pruning a new spur. Young branches exist because I encouraged a branch to grow there by leaving a longer leader. 
Perhaps, like dogs, apple trees come to look like their owners. Mine are in generally good health, minor flaws are accepted or ignored. They are allowed to grow into their natural overall shape, but pruned to control excessive growth. I feed them sparely and avoid chemical treatments. Mostly they are slightly over productive. They could do with thinning out in June but like me, they aren’t great at prioritising. 
Spartan apples
At least  they all have names now, my five teenage foster-trees. With help from Derek Jones at Reaseheath College we finally identified the large tree near the nursery entrance as Winter Gem. It’s badly cankered from the ground up but still productive. The others are:
Egremont Russet (foppish and a little weak),
Spartan (sturdy and fecund),
Monarch (buxom and rosy cheeked),
Bramley (energetic and bountiful). 
I planted a Laxton’s Superb maiden last year, trimming its whippy six foot leader down to 4 feet to make the mature tree more accessible. It’s forming its first baby branches now. If I live here long enough I plan to climb it when I’m 90. 
Dave shot some video footage of me pruning apple trees yesterday. I should have spent this last hour editing the footage to provide a helpful ‘how-to’ video. But writing is infinitely more enjoyable than battling video editing software. So you’ll have to wait a few days for the practicalities and settle for my idle musings in the meantime. 
Most of our 2010 crop
1. The observant amongst you may look a little closely at this apple blossom image and decide that it all looks a bit of a tangle underneath that froth of pretty blossom – hardly a masterful example of apple tree pruning. You are undoubtedly right. It’s an old image, but a fetching one nonetheless.
December 28, 2011  
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