Pruning Fruit Trees at Swallowfield

Once we’re through Christmas holidays my mind turns to pruning the fruit trees at Swallowfield for another season of fruit bearing.  Here on the West Coast that usually means I’m pruning in the pouring rain.  I've learned hard lessons from lack of knowledge, like one time pruning back our blueberry bushes when the fruit was setting, to get rid of the gangly growth.  Within days all the fruit had fallen from the bushes.  Not knowing where and what to cut can make the difference between lovely looking fruit trees or gnarly projections here and there.  Having said that, the trees also have lives of their own and disease and hardship do their part as well in shaping the growth.

My best pruning lessons came from an elderly father of a friend of the family.  One afternoon my wife Jenny received a phone call from John T. telling her that, ‘the teacher does not  know how to prune trees.’  John had driven by and noticed my lack of skill as evidenced by the way my orchard looked.  Somewhat annoyed, I called him back and asked if he might give me some lessons.  His reply was terse.  “Saturday, 8 o’clock and find me a long stick.” Click, end of phone call.  I picked up John that Saturday morning, and initially somewhat intimidated, I climbed on the ladder while John patiently pointed to what had to be cut out, what had to stay, where to prune and why.  This self taught arborist and fruit tree specialist, taught me in two hours things I still remember from that Saturday lesson.  I trust he wouldn't say the same if he were alive and driving down Telegraph Trail today.

But this season of pruning is different for me.  My own life has been pruned back in a storm that saw me losing my life’s calling as a teacher and principal after 37 years working in the orchard of the school community I love deeply. In the past eight weeks since I’ve been home, I’ve been picking up the branches and debris and bringing it to the fire pile and trying to figure out what is left of the tree for bearing fruit into a new season of my life.  When a tree is storm-damaged, you have hard decisions to make.  The scars need to be dressed so they can heal properly and sometimes more cutting needs to be done.   Part of healing the wounds has been the surprise gift of being able to look after my two grandsons over an extended seven week stay after Christmas.  Part of the balm has been Swallowfield itself. 

I miss my wonderful colleagues; I miss my life with high school students; I miss the 37 year patterns and rhythms of a teaching life. It was very good and now it’s over.  I’m sorting through my anger, my grief, my disappointment, my fear, my embarrassment, looking for the right places and right times to let them go.

One really great thing that has happened though is that there are people like John T who care enough about trees that when they drive by they bother to notice and call.  “I notice that the tree of your life was damaged in the storm.  Can we go for lunch, I’d like to pray for you, drop off some food, a bottle of wine, take you and Jenny out for dinner, breakfast. Can I just hug you and sorry I don’t know what to say except ‘I’m so sad.’”

Joan Chittister says, “In community we work out our connectedness to God, to one another, and to ourselves. It is in community where we find out who we really are. It is life with another that shows my impatience and life with another that demonstrates my possessiveness and life with another that gives notice to my nagging devotion to the self. Life with someone else, in other words, doesn't show me nearly as much about his or her shortcomings as it does about my own…. In human relationships I learn that theory is no substitute for love. It is easy to talk about the love of God; it is another thing to practice it."

And so begins a new season.  As always, even with good pruning, I need to trust the harvest to another.  And that’s a good thing.  But pruning trees is a slowly learned art and it helps when you have great mentors or a great community to help teach you the art.