Grafting Fun

I found mouse droppings in my measuring cup this morning when I went to make bread. I suppose one advantage of living almost outside is that I rather expect mouse droppings. I mean, to have a mouse running around a metal storage shed is not nearly so nasty as running around a kitchen in a house. Or so I tell myself—it’s pretty gross either way. (What an unpleasant thing to read first thing, that has nothing to do with the main event of the day!)

This evening, after we all bathed at the Bessettes, the night was clear, so the older boys and I went out and laid on the trampoline, trying to locate several constellations. I have lately been reading The Stars by H.A. Rey (creator of Curious George), and this was a good night to see the stars, without clouds, moon, or snow.

It’s really hard! We found Orion’s belt, because that is really obvious. And we found the Little Dipper and the Pole Star. But even with my glasses on, I was amazed at how hard it was to find anything else! So we pointed out some of the pretty bright stars and hurried out of the below-freezing temperatures. (What a lovely thing to read second thing, but it, too, has nothing to do with the main event of the day!)

The main event: Apples.

Phil went to Vintage Virginia Apples, a local orchard that grows about 250 varieties, for a tutorial on pruning. When that was done, he drove home and I went for a tutorial on grafting. This tag-team worked well: there was an hour lunch break between classes, and we live exactly a half hour away, so I squeaked in right as the grafting class was beginning.

I LOVED it. First, I loved being with such cheerful folks. A multi-generational family runs the orchard, and every one of them I’ve met is very friendly. Second, I loved learning a new skill (though I am definitely not an expert). We did a whip and tongue graft, which requires a 45 degree angled cut on the rootstock, with a second cut into the angle. Do the same thing on the scion wood, fit the tongues together, and tape to secure.

I’m embarrassed to admit that I am very weak, so even pencil-thin scion wood did not cut as easily for me as it did for our presenter. And after most people had gone home, Bill from the orchard helped me out some more: how to hold the knife, what the angle should be, how to join the two together. At one point, I was struggling to make the angle cut, and he said, “Is it really that hard? Here, try my knife; maybe it’s sharper.” And it appeared so initially, until he picked up the knife I had been using and easily cut through his twig. Apparently it was all me. Time to start working out again, or something.

We each got to choose two varieties of apples to graft onto our own rootstock. We used an unneeded length of rootstock to practice a graft, and then made our own. I have three baby grafted trees (Bill from the orchard gave me one of his perfect ones: I suspect he noticed my not-so-stellar attempts and wanted me to have something that will actually live.)

This was all good, but the real treat of the day was our presenter, Tom Burford. Because of the tag team, I had the only seat available, right where I like to be in lectures: front and center. As I sat down, I looked over and there was a 75-year-old man, who caught my eye and gave me a warm, sparkling smile. He exuded a warm, sparkling personality. And he was so excited about grafting: “You can take some of any fruit tree you want, and put it on a rootstock. It’s a horticultural adventure!” He said that interest in unusual varieties, and in grafting in general, has multiplied over the last few years. He’s teaching 11 tutorials on grafting in March alone, all along the East Coast.

It really does feel like a secret society, to know how to produce whatever fruit trees I want. When he was a boy, in the 1930s, his Dad owned an orchard. He learned to graft at age 7. (This made me laugh: my 7-year-old got a pocket knife for Christmas and had it taken away because he was doing something to the air mattress with it. I felt like the mother of George Washington when he cut down the cherry tree: no malicious intent, but absorbed and mindless destruction. My 5-year-old, too, has lost his for bad behavior; how was Tom so mature at such a young age?)

Anyway, Tom’s family would plant seeds from the Malta variety of apple and use those vigorous seedlings as their rootstock. Today, Tom said it’s worth it to just buy rootstocks: they’re certified disease free, so you’re getting healthy roots from the start.

My book The Apple Grower
has a photo of Tom and says he “leads the way in celebrating heirloom cultivars.” I mentioned that I had seen his photo in the book, and read his list of top twenty dessert apples he laughed and said enthusiastically, “Oh, that was several years back. Now it’s 40, 80!”

I hope that when I’m 75, I, too, will have a twinkle in my eye, passion for what I’m doing, and a zest for life.