The
flowering plum in the curb strip near my garage is remarkably unremarkable,
like the dozen or so that line the street as it curves up the hill.
Except when it is in bloom, I have paid it little attention for the
last ten years. The tree had a mate a few yards to the south until a
few years ago, evidence of which can be seen in its northward lean.
One morning I found it ass-over-elbow, victim of a hit-and-run. It was
not a stripling, and I only hope it gave as good as it got, but I can't
say that I went into mourning upon its demise.
Now whenever I am walking down the steps toward the garage, my eye is
drawn where it never bothered before. The remaining tree is so out of
balance. And so it did this morning, with an unexpected result. The
venerable tangle of plum branches, thanks to a couple of sun-splashed
days, is once again decked out in debutante pink, trumpeting spring.
Aroused by the fanfare, I decided to cut a few branches to bring indoors
but instead I was struck by a vision: a plum tree so brilliantly pruned
it would usher the curb strip into the embrace of the garden. Welcome
Cinderella.
I might have had this vision years ago. At the least I should have had
it last month, since it is better to prune when the tree is dormant,
but you can't schedule visions. Nor can you schedule a flawless day
like today when the sun tickles a whole keyboard of urges.
I'm not a master pruner, but I have learned enough to avoid major embarrassments.
Here then are some tips.
(1) Have the vision. This means you probably have the energy to pursue
it. My vision, thus far, is long on atmosphere, short on details. "I
learn by going where I need to go," a line of Theodore Roethke's,
is a good description of my method.
(2) If you don't have good tools, buy some. Really good tools. Without
them there is no chance of doing a first-rate job, or of enjoying the
process. You need only a few. I will mainly use a hand pruners and a
curved, foot-long pruning saw.
(3) "If you need to climb a ladder, hire a professional" is
sensible advice I don't follow. I should not have to climb higher than
the third rung, in any case. If your ladder is on its last legs, use
common sense.
(4) Study the tree from all possible vantages for inherent possibilities.
Is the desired form weeping or vase-like, open or dense, wind-swept
or tight as the bun on my Aunt Ida's head? In the case of my tree any
of these seem to be possibilities, and so I begin confused. What is
clear is that I must simplify the dense, irregular tangle of branches
and twigs that shoot off every direction.
(5) The beginning position for the ladder is at the center of the tree.
(6) While standing on the first step, test its stability. Don't wait
until you are on the top step to discover one leg is in a mole-hole.
From the center of the tree (7) prune outward, beginning with the small
branches that grow inward.
(8) Step away from the tree and circle it slowly, on the lookout for
larger branches that can be removed, i. e., ones that overlap each other
or that disrupt the graceful flow of lines. Typically I am pruning toward
a look that is open, "natural," the kind of pruning that doesn't
draw attention to itself. Half-dome this will not become. (9) Before
cutting visualize as well as possible the selected branches gone.
Rethink. Are you sure? (10) Remember this rule. When in doubt, don't.
Of course if I take that literally I'll get nothing done, so, still
in doubt I (11) remove some of the smaller branches from the larger,
targeted ones, which gives me the courage to (12) begin removing the
larger branches. I do this by first sawing through each branch six inches
outward from where the final cut will be be, thereby removing most of
the weight. This makes the final cut a lot easier.
(13) Notice how your saw cuts. The Japanese pruning saw I use, and perhaps
the one you will use, gets its bite from the pulling stroke. Don't force
the stroke or you'll break the blade. Let the saw do the work. You'll
go only marginally faster if you press, and wear out your arm in the
process. When the saw binds, use your free hand to bend the branch and
shift weight away from the cut.
(14) Make the final cut almost flush to the larger branch. Leave a nub,
a small collar which contains the healing chemicals. (15) As the saw
glides near the breakthrough stoke, ease up so that the saw doesn't
lurch and gouge your other hand. (16) Make sure there is an intervening
branch between your sawing hand and your supporting hand and wrist to
deflect the saw as it cuts through. (17) Removing the cut branches,
you will be tempted to yank. Yanking is a good way to get a poke in
the eye or snap other branches that later on you may wish were still
in place. Instead follow the branch outward and cut it into smaller
pieces that can be withdrawn with less resistance. Once that's done,
(18) step back, observe. Take note of branches that overlap, are redundant,
and (19) remove them. (20) Step back again, observe from all angles.
Perhaps the view from the second floor of the house would be helpful.
As the tangle of branches becomes simplified, look for infelicities:
watersprouts (new growth that shoots skyward), bristly wens, dead stubs.
In a young plum watersprouts can grow two inches thick and twelve feet
long in one season. (22) Get rid of them, (23) paying attention to each
cut. (There are so many you will want to hurry.)
By now you've been working on this for over an hour, and your vision
is still unachieved. (24) Don't hurry.
(25) A good way to slow down is to get off of the ladder and collect
the cuttings. You'll also be removing a potential hazard. You might
have done this sooner. (26) One more thing to resist, the illusion that
you are nearly finished. The tree is looking much better but there are
at least a hundred more cuts to make. The outer branches are still far
too dense and too long, the inner ones a thicket. (27) Move the ladder
and begin thinning them. This is tedious. When impatience nags again,
(28) put your tools down. Enjoy for the first time the candy-sweet smell
of the flowers. (29) Step back and observe, again and again, every time
you make a half dozen cuts. What was that vision you had? (30) Reposition
the ladder as often as necessary to make the cuts. No acrobatics.
(30) Review number 16. (31) Put on gloves. This should have been
step number two. (32) Have Band-Aids available.
* * * *
We learn from experience that men never learn from experience.
~G.
B. Shaw
I know that my wound is minor, a slit on the fleshy pad of my thumb,
but it's bleeding with an eagerness that is out of proportion. It can't
be ignored, nor can my neighbor Bertie's red convertible nosing out
of his garage. I put my bleeding hand behind my thigh as the Mazda comes
to an idle along the curb.
"What are you doing?" he asks.
"Ikebana."
"Go a lot faster with a chainsaw," he offers. "Mine's
in the garage. Door's open."
The shredder scene from Fargo, which I rented a few nights ago, pops
into my mind.
"I'm almost finished," I say to cut this short. The trickle
of blood running from my hand is making scarlet explosions on the mud.
"Don't let Nature Boy catch you," Bertie says.
"I'm not cutting it down."
"Better if you did, if you ask me. And you can get rid of mine
while you're at it."
When he drives off, I gather my tools, and climb the stairs to the house.
The bleeding has stopped already, so I pause for a moment. Two hours
ago the morning felt generous with expectancy, an invitation to a ball.
Now what's so irritating? Bertie, of course, a master at irritating.
And gashing myself, the way I so often lose my patience and go dim.
Third, maybe worst, not achieving anything near my vision. Look at the
tree. Cinderella? More like Phyllis Diller. I console myself that the
tree in its eager pinkness is pretty enough, that even a master pruner
couldn't have achieved perfection in one season after so many years
of neglect. Mastery takes time.
And in this, my consolation, lies the problem. My perceived lack of
mastery kicks off a telethon of self-criticism. Soon my whole garden
seems rank with disappointment, failures. Oxalis, this year as always,
has outlasted my will to yank at it, and is celebrating its victory
with yellow banners. The rose bed at the base of a low rock barrier
seems swampy out of sheer intent to hold water. I can practically hear
the plants calling for air, the humus of the soil sucked into the omnivorous
clay, much like my sense of well-being. Spring returns like a lover
gone too long. The exhilaration of reunion doesn't last. The hard questions
surface: where were you when the roof was leaking?
* * * *
"…proud pied April, dress'd in all his trim,/ Hath put
a spirit of youth in everything."
~Shakespeare,
Sonnet 98
One pint of Rocky Road later, my cut clean and dressed, the fit of
self-criticism has run its course. The day's beauty, just past noon,
is not merely restored, it's heightened, the sky a blue to dip the soul
in.
I inspect the plum tree to see where things really stand. The finer
branches at the top are still too long and need to be snipped. Here
a polepruner is necessary since many of these branches are inaccessible
otherwise. (34) If you don't have patience to do all of them, do the
ones that are really out of scale, jutting up much higher that the main
scaffolding. You'll find that this task goes a long way toward satisfying
you enough so you can stop for the time being. And stopping is the right
thing to do, because it is better to prune a neglected tree over a three-year
span so the tree can gradually adjust to its new leaf mass (steps 35-99).
And so the next two winters I will prune again, but I will also prune
lightly in summer. This won't stimulate growth the way winter pruning
does, thereby lessening the number of watersprouts.
As I circle for one last look, at certain angles certain angels appear,
and behold, a vision. When I move to a different vantage I see cavities,
see confusion, see stepsisters in nightgowns.
Does it matter? Of course it does. The idea of a garden is to create,
if not paradise, a work of art. I have done a serviceable job, that
much I know. I'm not sure about much else except I'm neither satisfied
nor finished.
Next year, perhaps?
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99 Steps to Easy Pruning