Can ya' throw 'yer hat through the tree?

February always found me standing in the middle of the orchard, pruning shears in one hand, saw in the other, ready to wreak havoc on a dozen unsuspecting fruit trees. A nearby grape vine was also destined for little mercy.

I might have picked up some genes from my great-grandfather. He would have been called a great orchardman in his day. I remember a cherry tree of his that had three kinds of cherries growing on the same tree because Daniel was an expert at grafting. A grape vine he planted around the turn of the twentieth century still yields bushels of succulent Concord grapes.

I was a bit too timid to be a good “orchard terrorist.” You must be one of those to get big apples, plums, quince, and grapes. To me it always seemed a travesty to literally cut away two-thirds of the growth of a beautiful tree or vine, but a good orchardman should show very little mercy. “Blessed are the merciful for they shall obtain fruit destined for the cider press.”

I did my best to heed the advice of the experts through the years, but it was tough. “Don’t prune your own trees. Have a stranger do it. You won’t cut enough away.” I didn’t really know any strangers willing to prune my trees.I did pretty well with, “ ‘Yer not done prunin’ ‘til ‘ya can throw ‘yer hat through the tree.”

A productive orchard is one under the scrutiny of someone who finds the dead wood and turns it into kindling, someone who cuts away the twisted shoots that divert energy to other than growing fruit.It’s a parable, for sure.

If I look at my own life I must admit there is a generous amount of dead wood - activity that served me well for a time, but its usefulness has passed and I’d be better off without. There is an over-population of “shoots” that might have appeal but shouldn’t be blocking the sun in my life. An appointment with a good, sharp pruning shears would do me good.

So, I guess I’m praying, “God be my ‘orchardman.’ Prune me down to size. Take me back to the vibrant branches. My fruit is full of blemishes, a bit small, badly shaped. With your help, I think I’m capable of better.”

Glad we could get together.