This is just speculation, but it might seem a plausible historically fancy to assume from the first-time mankind ate some fermented wild grapes and got high as a kite, he might have wanted some of that on a more regular basis and cultivated a few grapes of his own. This begs the question, which came first, the beer or the wine, i.e., the grains or the fruits? From the record, it seems a clear bet beer came first with beer jugs surviving from 10,000 BC. Egyptians document wine making as early as 4,000 BC. But Noah planted a vineyard in Turkey, so where does that leave us? As a beekeeper, I’ll put my money on Mead, which was made from honey and might predate all other alcoholic beverages.

But wait a minute, how did I get so far afield? I want to write about planting some fruit trees, but here I am thinking about the differences between a vineyard and an orchard, a barnyard and a field of wheat, an apiary. Like, what is farming? And to be comprehensive we would have to throw in fish farming and drug cultivation. Back up. Focus.

I spent the beauty of yesterday on the hill planting a small orchard. In the dark of winter, fearing a shortage of all manner of planting supplies due to the Covid pressures of people being home and starting backyard projects, coupled with other supply issues, I ordered some fruit and nut trees from a time-honored nursery. My six bare-root trees came in the mail last week and I was pushing it not already having them in the ground.

I grew up on a dairy farm, not an orchard or vineyard. Scattered about the farm were old fruit trees here and there, nothing to suggest a full-fledge orchard had ever been planted, but there were apple trees in strategic spots and one large crabapple west of the barn. We used to bury favorite cows that had passed on to cow heaven, under its gnarly, thick branches. And the graveyard aspect inflamed our mythology surrounding the mysterious fruit, so sour who would want it? But turns out, generations back, they were a favorite, those cantankerous crabapple trees, for making the farm’s hard cider. My mother, the artist, loved painting these declining, decrepit, fruit trees with big holes in them where the starlings nested. Her watercolors.

Dad planted sour cherry trees and always had an unproductive peach tree somewhere along the lane. One summer back in the early 1970’s, there was a good season on the cherries, and I picked a couple flats and sold them by the quart on the sidewalks of New Paltz, then Hippietown, USA.

Born a dairy boy means I don’t know what I am doing when I plant fruit trees, so, it being, now, 2021, I watched some YouTube vids.

You need a big hole. Soak the roots 4 to 5 hours before planting. Keep the knuckle of the splice above ground. Spread out whatever roots there are (not many) in the hole. Use coconut hulls for an absorbent additive to the soil. I skipped this part, not wanting to speed the transition of the tropics to coconut plantation production. As a reasonable alternative, I used chopped leaves and well-composted horse manure as additives, and for a top mulch, I have woodchips. I planted the trees as best I could, spaced 18 feet apart. I dipped buckets of water from an ephemeral pool in the middle of a secret hilltop field with a low-lying center and gave each tree a good drink.

These fields are also nurseries for Bambi, and so each tree had to be immediately staked and enclosed in a wire cage, to curtail the white-tailed rodents from stripping them off at ground-level the very first night. I took no chances! And take no prisoners!

I planted two plum trees, a Stanley and a Shiro. I planted two peach trees and two hazelnut trees -- commonly called filberts. Can’t wait to see if they root and flourish and bloom this spring.

What a lovely day. I was beat, dirty, and put away tired. Thankfully, my wife had some frozen meatballs.