Prune and thin
A recent article in “Western Fruit Grower Magazine” by David Eddy related interesting facts about water needs. We’ve all heard of the lowly almond that requires one entire gallon of water to mature? We haven’t? Well, now we have.
With this knowledge, however, we mustn’t jump to the conclusion that almonds are not worth a gallon of water. What about Almond Roca? And how about Bear Claws at breakfast? Almond extract in Christmas cookies? Save the almonds and the trees that produce them!
Ah, but a gallon of water, measured and maintained, amounts to a lot of that precious stuff we save in our reservoirs and recycle into our rivers, even into our taps. It seems like a waste of life-giving water just to supply one almond.
This is where the WFGM article is a real eye-opener. David writes: “One gallon per almond is not that much when you start researching how much other crops use.”
David’s findings of crops and their water usage: One tomato requires 3.3 gallons. One apple – 18 gallons. One ear of corn – 27 gallons.
And, to further amaze, here are some animal products’ water requirements: One egg – 53 gallons. One glass of milk – a little more than 53 gallons. One quarter pound burger – 450 gallons. One six-ounce steak filet – 675 gallons.
Those statistics are startling and sobering. Perhaps we all need to take greater care with the amounts of food we buy, store and consume, realizing how much of our resources have gone into each bite or swallow. We also need to think through our overall water use and not come down so hard on the growers whose crops and animals provide everything we call breakfast, lunch and dinner.
Mother Nature truly worked her magic in our county when she sent us eight inches of rain in eight hours last winter. True, the Russian River and Foss Creek overflowed with all that largesse, but the well table beneath us filled up and tree roots starving deep down for water were satisfied beyond measure. The abundance of green lush leaves and spring growth is evidence of happy trees and happy trees translate into happy fruit.
To quote Bryce Austin, and I often do, “You’ve got to have a healthy tree or you will never have good size fruit no matter how carefully you prune and thin.”
There is so much fruit on trees this year that all of us with orchards are removing apples and pears that look good enough to sauce but are being removed for the greater good of the tree and the remaining fruit. Beware the overloaded limb, which will break if not assisted in its support of the ever expanding waistline of the peach or apple.
Upholding can come in a variety of ways. A tree tie can cable outer branches opposite each other to equalize their downward pull; notched boards can be placed under stress points on the branches. You can also, in an emergency, just stand under the weakened limb, holding it up, and yell for help, hoping that somebody will hear you.
Which reminds me of the time I was left with my sister’s Jeep. Unfamiliar with it, I needed to drive from my carport into town at 5 o’clock on a winter morning. I got inside, couldn’t locate the ignition key and no overhead light came on. I wanted to open the car door and get back out but I couldn’t locate the door handle. I started pressing all or any buttons and I succeeded in locking all the doors and windows while I was inside the dark car. I sat there trying not to feel anxious in my own carport with my family safe inside the house asleep. What to do? Without the ignition on, none of the windows or doors would allow me freedom. I was a prisoner inside my sister’s car with only one option left.
“Help! Help!” I shouted three or four times. I waited. I knew nobody would come to my rescue.
They won’t come to your rescue either, under that fruit tree. Take my advice – don’t just stand there supporting an overloaded tree branch. Do something now while you have your hands free.
Find that tree tie, a notched board, or the door handle on the other side of the Jeep since you can’t find the handle on the driver’s side. And carry a water bottle and some almonds whenever you are left in a strange car. A notched board might come in handy too, to crash your way out.
Renee Kiff weeds and writes at her family farm in Alexander Valley.

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