A Taste of Victory

It's an apple. It's not a special variety or a conserved local breed. It's a Gala apple, a staple of gargantuan commercial orchards all over the world and quite recently the number one cultivar in the US by volume. I like to think the tree was grown from an apple from the supermarket, a child's special project. (Yes I know. Shush. It wouldn't have bred true. Shush, inner geek.)

But this was the most delicious apple that I've ever eaten. It was warm from the tree, which is to say warm from the sun of course. It was gorgeous and unblemished.

And there's the rub - unblemished. Well actually the rub was on my t-shirt before I ate it. But this poor tree was at Death's door when we started work in the Night Planted Orchard. The apples were sad and half-formed things. The branches of the tree were literally dripping with disease. Then I did a course with the totally brilliant East of England Apples and Orchards Project (applesandorchards.org.uk). In the first year I cut the tree back as far as I dared. I let two branches grow above the worst of the corruption. The next year I cut more back and grew out two more branches. Then I removed one of the bigger rotten core branches. The next year I took out the massive, dying central stem and fully expected the tree to die. Two years later and it had a strong central cup of thick stems. The apples were still disappointing, but by now the main problem was bitter pit. I'd planned to treat that this year, but by now the tree is roaring. It's healthy as an ox, if that's a proper metaphor, and the ground around the tree has recovered its balance because the bitter pit has gone. Every time I look at it, I feel a glow.

As if in celebration, the Gala's neighbour, a solid old Bramley has, quite literally, showered us with huge, luscious fruit this year and all the apple trees in the orchard have fruited, even though it's supposed to be an off year for some of them. So I picked one of this year's crop from my healed tree and after capturing its portrait for posterity, I wolfed it down. It tasted of victory. A small victory, but one I'll treasure.