The email’s been wonky for a few days and despite some work by the resident geek last night it failed altogether–so if you didn’t hear back from me, I apologize, and we’re hoping (again) that it’ll all be good to go by morning.
The trees, however, were not stumped; when the grinding crew is ready they’ll let me know.
Years ago we had a volunteer fig right up against the fence on the far side of the yard and it grew from seed to two feet above that fence and with a few actual figs on it all in a single season. But it was already proving that living, growing wood is stronger than dead planks and that had to be the end of that.
That same year, the neighbors over thisaway whose house we now have a better view of had a fig sprout up, too, and they, too, reluctantly had to take it down. The birds just don’t quite plant them in the right spot. They never did get around to planting one of their own, after all, a whole tree makes for a whole lot of fruit and of taken space.
I’m remembering that tree and looking out the window here to the unaccustomed view of their upper windows and thinking, y’know, we could probably fix that visual opening, or at least the part I most want to, in one season. Maybe, with the requisite pruning, two. And I know they like figs. I want a variety that’s somewhat dwarfed so as not to be too much trouble keeping it down to size, to about the height that other one got to. You just need the right thing planted in there.
A local gardening and knitting friend says she has several and her Black Jacks are the best. “Naturally small” tree, says Dave Wilson.
But nothing is set in stone, much less dirt yet, and there is definitely room for more than one tree anyway. Making me wait a few more days where all I can do is learn more and ask more is probably a good thing.