One of my precious apple trees hit the dust (literally) this week. The Worcester Pearmain was laden with fruit waiting to grow and ripen but took a header on to the lawn. It was at least 150 years old, the remains of the previous apple orchard.
I confess the fruit has never been worth much as the birds have always pecked out all the bright red bits. But it was part of the history here for over 40 years, the landscape, protecting us from noise, screening the view. I confess that I wept.
Next day, wonder-gardeners Mike and Will whisked the debris away. We will give the stump a chance to put out new growth before deciding the final solution next year.
