Ida Red, Fiona and me

Remember last September's Hurricane Fiona? I do, vividly. For it woke me at about 2 a.m., shaking our old farmhouse to its foundations. How could I forget? But one does forget over time. Once the damage has been tallied, the fallen trees removed, the cottage re-roofed, the barn replaced, whatever - life returns to a new “normal.”

But in my case, it hasn't. For Fiona left me a reminder, a job I've been putting off. It's not a big job, at most an hour's chainsawing and cleanup. Then why not do it?

Well, partly, because it's a special tree, an Ida Red apple tree I planted decades ago; a reliable producer of sweet, red-striped autumn fruit. Which tree fierce Fiona half-wrenched from the ground and toppled across a nearby shed's roof. So, I've put off junking it for firewood - excellent firewood, actually, right up there with rock maple in density and BTUS, on the chance that with care it might recover.

What makes me think so? Two reasons. First, after the gale, its leaves didn't suddenly wilt; they just withered and fell as tree leaves normally do in autumn. My second reason for optimism was that in March, six months later, the inner bark of most of its twigs was still green. And while those two clues alone didn't guarantee survival, they did suggest that come Spring '23, leaf-out would follow.

Indeed, last week I checked - and found that, yes, the grey leaf-buds were a-swelling. Not on every branch, mind you, but on roughly half of them.

So, I'm confident my wounded tree will again leaf out. Which suggests that at least some of her roots are still functioning. Whether she will also bloom and set fruit remains to be seen. Sprawling like that may hinder insect pollination.

Wait-and-see is where I'm at right now. But really, I ask myself, with four other healthy apple trees on the property, do we really need a fifth? No matter how tasty the fruit? Especially if summer 2023 brings the same kind of hot, yo-yo weather, causing so many apples to drop that you couldn't keep up? Never mind the sauce-making?

What if the poor tree blooms, sets fruit, and dies, says my inner critic. Likely you'll get a bumper crop, a dying tree's way of ensuring survival of the species.

The alternative is to get a neighbour to winch the tree upright next week with tractor-and-cable (maybe breaking more roots), brace it with posts and ropes (hoping for no Fiona II), then back-fill the twisted roots with earth. Even then she might die from frost-heaving.

That's where we're at, my Ida Red and me. Wish us luck.

So, I’m confident my wounded tree will again leaf out. Which suggests that at least some of her roots are still functioning. Whether she will also bloom and set fruit remains to be seen.