I am becoming a farming addict and I am not sure there is a cure. I am also not sure that I want one. I am having a ball.
Living at the minute in an agreeable growing climate, I have lost my mind a little. Not entirely but I am having a daily wrestling match in my head to contain my enthusiasm. I want to buy every fruit tree known to humanity and put it in the ground just to see how it works out. Rationally, I know I can’t do that. Tell that to my enthusiasm.
Part of me is intrigued that fruits and other food we can actually eat come off the branches of spindly little woody things stuck in the ground. It does not seem possible. My greatest exposure to fruit trees previously had been apples. We had orchards in abundance when I was young and dozens of varieties to choose from.
Yet in recent weeks, I have bought three (yes, three) different types of lemon trees. I have bought a Persian lime tree, a Valencia orange tree and an avocado. I am learning there is so much to learn about flowering trees and plants that I would need a PhD in horticulture to get even a minor handle on all of them.
The trees came to us half-grown and healthy. On average, they are about 5-6 feet high. I didn’t mean to buy three lemon trees as I was going for a Meyer lemon. Those babies intrigue me. They look like a perfectly normal lemon but taste somewhere between a lemon and an orange. Sour but sweet. Whatever.
The Ponderosa is a patio lemon tree but I read its fruit can get as big as a grapefruit. Good for juicing but sounds like it could outgrow its’ patio pot PDQ.
The “ordinary” lemon tree (I must look up its type) delivered in error smells so amazing and is covered with so many blossoms, I didn’t have the heart to send it back. I may set up a late life onset lemon (not lemonade) stand when those flowers start blooming into edible lemons to manage the tsunami. Edible being relative when it comes to lemons, of course.
On the Meyer lemon, two massive green orbs already hang from the lower branches. The upper branches are awash in blossoms and smell heavenly. I don’t even care what the neighbors think of me for shamelessly sniffing sinfully sweet-smelling lemon blossoms.
I bet they’re just jealous.
I don’t yet know what distinguishes a Persian lime from any other run-of-the-mill grocery store lime. Maybe nothing. But again I am intrigued about ours as it has opened another path of inquiry to learn the differences in lime varieties.
I didn’t exactly stop at fruit trees. I bought one spindly bamboo tree. I hear they are killer growers so I deliberately started small. The half-price elephant ear plant I bought at Lowe’s last month has doubled in size. So much so that I had to transplant it to a 30 gallon pot from its 3 gallon pot so its roots could find relief and much needed-room to spread out.
The deep pink bougainvillea is a sight to behold. The lady at the garden shop told me they are “beautiful, but mean.” Hidden behind their lush floral display are inch-long thorns. Prune with extreme caution, I learned.
The night-blooming jasmine are not yet mature enough to emit any fragrance. I know from past experience they will smell amazing once they are established.
Somehow the wonder of what these plants are and one day will be is hitting me full on. Orange juice from our own trees. A salmon filet seasoned with sea salt and a fresh sprinkling of juice from one of our many lemon varieties. Dare I say guacamole made with our very own Hass avocados?
I shouldn’t get my hopes up. I am told the tree will take seven years to bear edible fruit. Still I have come so far. I cannot count how many avocado pits I dutifully seeded and placed in my kitchen window for years without single one ever having made it into the ground.
Maybe that is the explanation that underlies my current obsession. I have the land and the climate in which to pursue all the planting fantasies I ever had. It would appear the time is right to make some of those fantasies come true.
Did I hear someone say Bing cherry tree?
Expressive Compulsive 