When I learned this tree was over one hundred years old I gave it a great big hug and talked to it for a moment, because, well done!

Speaking of childhood adventures in giant tall fruit trees, I think I will write about my dream orchard. I want to lose (kill is too strong a word) all the grass–the messy, deep rooted (or is it rhizomed?) grass that relentless invades the berm I built next to the neighbor’s driveway in which I futilely planted lots and lots of plants (flowers or vegetable or fruit) year after year only to see them overtaken by the grass. Blue Flax. Purple Coneflower. Melons. Eggplant. Summer squash. Pumpkin. And eventually an entire row of earthy-scented lavender–all to no avail.

In any case. I want to get rid of all that relentless grass and plant an orchard. One plum. A pear. Maybe a nectarine. Possible a small apple, but only if I think I can devote the time to keep it pest free. And not one. Not two. But three peach trees. The idea is simple. I have a catalog recommended to me from Allred’s Orchards. After carefully getting rid of the pesky grass I want to amend the soil and prepare the ground (looking for something that is easy maintenance, will remain grass and weed free, and yet will be easy to tidy up after the inevitable fruit dropping), I want to plant an early peach. A mid-season peach. And a late season peach. Yep. Three peaches. Peaches for days. And as many fresh peaches as I can manage in one hot Utah summer.

The trick to orchards, or so I dream, is to manage the pruning so the trees do not get too big for their britches. Or the spraying (hopefully I could mostly get by with an appropriately timed dormant oil spray). And the proper picking.

Trees are wonderful, magical, life-giving things.

I would also grow a small forest in my backyard. Or at least as much of one one can grow in the hot desert that is Utah. But I’d like to give it a go. Lush, green, breeze-rustled, shade-giving, trees.


[Day 129 of Ann Dee Ellis’ 8-Minute Memoir.]