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Persimmon – Rosslyn Redux

Tag: Persimmon

  • Holistic Orcharding: Fruitful and Deer-full

    Holistic Orcharding: June pears (Source: Geo Davis)
    Holistic Orcharding: June pears (Source: Geo Davis)

    I’m excited to report that we may finally be able to enjoy Rosslyn peaches, nectarines, and even a few pears and apples this summer. For the first time since we began planting an orchard, several trees have matured enough to set fruit.

    Fruitful Orchard

    Those bright red mulberry will darken as they soak up sun and begin to sweeten. They’re still pretty mealy (though the birds don’t seem to mind at all!)

    The photograph at the top of this post shows a couple of small pears. A couple of pear trees set a pear or two last summer, but they dropped (or were eaten by critters) before I ever tasted them. Most of the pear tress are still fruitless, but a couple small green and red fruit are looking promising.

    Holistic Orcharding: Young peaches in June (Source: Geo Davis)
    Holistic Orcharding: Young peaches in June (Source: Geo Davis)

    For the first, our peach trees are setting fruit. Heavy winds and rains have resulted in steady fruit drop, but I’m guardedly optimistic that we may actually be able to sink out teeth into a few fuzzy, nectar-sweet peaches soon.

    The peaches are the most fruitful of all the trees at this point. In fact, a couple of trees are so laden that I’ll probably begin thinning fruit as they grow larger, culling the runts and least healthy fruit and leaving the best.

    The photo below on the left offers a wider perspective on a fruitful peach, and the photo on the right shows a young and almost equally fruitful nectarine tree.

    The three nectarine trees are 3-4 years younger than the peaches, so I’m curious why two of them are already setting fruit. The third nectarine tree has never been very healthy. Dwarfish and sparsely branched, leafed, I’ll try for one more summer to help it along. If it doesn’t begin to catch up, I’ll consider replacing it next year.

    Like the apricot that I replaced this year…

    Holistic Orcharding: Transplanted apricot tree (Source: Geo Davis)
    Holistic Orcharding: Transplanted apricot tree (Source: Geo Davis)

    We’ve struggled with apricots. Few of our apricot trees are thriving, and one died last year. We replaced it this spring with the Goldicot Apricot above, the only variety that seems to be adapting well. I can report good new growth so far on the transplant, but another apricot has died. Both are lowest (and wettest) on the hill, so I plan to address the drainage this fall. Perhaps the heavy clay soil and high spring water table is simply to much for the apricots to withstand.

    Deer-full Orchard

    Unfortunately it’s not all good news in the orchard. We remain committed to our 100% holistic orcharding (thanks, Michael Phillips!) mission, but we’re still playing defense with Cedar Apple Rust and other pesky challenges. I’ll update on that soon enough, but there’s another frustrating pest that provoked my frustration yesterday.

    Holistic Orcharding: Apple tree browsed by deer (Source: Geo Davis)
    Holistic Orcharding: Apple tree browsed by deer (Source: Geo Davis)

    Can you see the munched leaves and branches?

    Holistic Orcharding: Apple tree browsed by deer (Source: Geo Davis)
    Holistic Orcharding: Apple tree browsed by deer (Source: Geo Davis)

    Another munched branch (and early signs of Cedar Apple Rust).

    Holistic Orcharding: Apple tree browsed by deer (Source: Geo Davis)
    Holistic Orcharding: Apple tree browsed by deer (Source: Geo Davis)

    Ive you look just below center of this photograph you’ll see where a large branch has been snapped right off. It was laying on the ground below. Also plenty of smaller branches and leaves chewed.

    The two apple trees which were targeted by the deer were planted last spring. They’d both established relatively well, but they were short enough to offer an easy snack. We keep the trees caged during the fall-through-spring, but we had just recently removed the cages to begin pruning and spreading limbs (see red spreader in image above?), so the trees were easy targets.

    And there’s worse news.

    Holistic Orcharding: Young persimmon tree browsed by deer (Source: Geo Davis)
    Holistic Orcharding: Young persimmon tree browsed by deer (Source: Geo Davis)

    That’s a young persimmon tree that we just planted a couple of weeks ago. It was a replacement for a persimmon that arrived dead from the nursery last year (another drama for another day…)

    Not only did the deer browse the persimmon, but it ate both leads, presenting a serious hurdle for this transplant. Not a good situation. I’ll pamper this youngster in the hopes that one of these blunted leads will send up another lead, or—more likely, but far from guaranteed—a fresh new lead will bud and head skyward. Fingers crossed.

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  • Persimmons & Seasonality

    Persimmons & Seasonality

    Fuyu Persimmons (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Fuyu Persimmon (Photo: Geo Davis)

    I’ve waxed whimsical on autumn before, and I’ve celebrated wonder-filled winter aplenty, but what of the blurry overlap between the two? Well, today I’d like to pause a moment betwixt both current seasons. Or astride the two, one foot in autumn and the other in winter. To borrow a morning metaphor from my breakfast, let’s pause for persimmons (as a way to grok — and hopefully embrace — our present seasonality.)

    What?!?!

    For the time being let’s sidestep the vexing fact that almost a dozen years into cultivating three persimmon trees in Rosslyn’s orchard we’ve never produced a single edible persimmon. Instead let’s look at persimmoning in terms of this morning’s sweet and sour, ripe and rotten persimmon episode.

    Fuyu Persimmons, Sliced (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Fuyu Persimmon, Sliced (Photo: Geo Davis)

    I’ve been monitoring two pretty persimmons in the fruit bowl. I’ve been checking them daily for ripeness. Firm, firm, firm, less firm, slightly supple, soft, ready! Or so I thought this morning. I lifted the first much anticipated fruit in the lightless shadows of 5:00am. If felt perfect. I gathered the second and grabbed a small cutting board. I prefer to allow my mornings to illuminate naturally, calibrating by circadian rhythms holistically, so I generally avoid turning on the lights, even this time of year when 5:00am is still shoe polish dark. As I prepared to plunge a knife into the first persimmon, I detected something unsettling. The slick surface of the persimmon had a fuzzy spot about the size of a quarter. I turned on the light, low, but enough to show that I’d missed my moment with the persimmon. It was rotten. Moldy. Both. I’d literally been checking daily, often lifting both fruit from the bowl to examine them, but somehow this previously perfect fruit had suddenly become rotten. The second fruit showed not fuzzy rot spot. I carefully cut out the leafy stem, and sniffed the inside of the persimmon. Perfection. Somewhere between the consistency of gelatinous custard and viscous liquid, the persimmon was divine. 

    Fuyu Persimmons, Sliced (Photo: Geo Davis)
    Fuyu Persimmon, Sliced (Photo: Geo Davis)

    At this point seasoned persimmon aficionados are aware that I’ve been recounting an experience with hachiya persimmons (rather than fuyu persimmons), and the photos portray the latter. You are correct astute reader/persimmon connoisseur. And as my prologue likely betrays this morning’s experience was not well suited to photography. But it did remind me of a previous persimmon apropos of the actual topic I’d expected to explore in this post (but have so far mostly skirted.) And that memory, of a similar morning anticipating and then partially enjoying a persimmon is what lead me to these photographs. Why partially, I can hear you think. I partially enjoyed that persimmon, a fuyu persimmon, because the first few slices were ripe and delicious. But partway though the small fruit the sweet turned to astringent. And this puckering experience is a sure sign that the fruit is not yet fully ripe. Now, lest I’m misleading you again, I’m sorry to say, the photographs in this post are not of that persimmon either, though they are, in fact a fuyu persimmon. And, as a discerning eye might note, this photographed persimmon was delicious throughout.

    So why all the persimmoning? The memories of this morning’s fruit and the part ripe, part unripe fruit a year or two ago, offer me a glimpse into the sort of autumn-into-winter transition we’re in right now. Almost ready, almost ready, over ready! And sometimes ripe and unripe at the same time. And, as I understand it, persimmons are often culturally associated with joy, good fortune, and longevity. I am hopeful that our present season change, still in limbo, but creeping closer and closer to that transition from autumning to wintering, from autumn vibes to winter vibes, might — like persimmons in the best of circumstances — may portent joy, goof fortune, and longevity for the rehabilitation projects underway in the icehouse, the boathouse, and our home.

    1-1/2” ZIP System insulated panels reading for installation (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)
    1-1/2” ZIP System insulated panels reading for installation (Photo: Hroth Ottosen)

    Willing Winter Away a Little Longer

    There’s something meditative about this time of year, a marginal meditation on interstices, on the span between autumn and winter, harvesting and larder hunting, biking and skiing, Thanksgiving and Christmas,… This liminal space is tied with winter-to-spring for most dramatic transitions in the circle of seasonality. And yet some years, this year, the switch is far from binary. There are moments when we appear to be on the crux, the hinging moment between the most abundant season and the leanest season. And other moments we’re currently in both concurrently. Ripe and rotten. Well, not rotten, really, but in terms of exterior carpentry, the going gets exponentially more challenging once snow arrives and temperatures plunge.

    And so, for a while longer, we’re willing winter away. Tomorrow we’ll be installing the first round of spray foam insulation inside the icehouse, and we’ll *hopefully* begin installing the ZIP System paneling outside the icehouse. In other words, we’re getting really close to having the icehouse ready for winterier weather. The boathouse isn’t really winterizable, however, and temperate conditions are a huge boon as we forge ahead. At the risk of temping fate I’ll admit that it’s almost as if nature is holding her breath, stalling between autumn and winter. With luck, we’ll be able to take advantage of a little more borrowed time. But she can’t hold her breath forever, and we’re all aware of that…

    Autumning: haiku

    Contented, hearthside,
    contemplating afternoon,
    crackles mesmerize.

    This non-harvest, autumning haiku was born of Carley‘s lethargic mid-morning siesta by the fireplace. Contentment, canine style. It’s a tough life. 

    https://www.instagram.com/reel/CljJSOFgoFV/

    Wintering: unhaiku

    Between blushing vegetation
    and gingerbread outbuildings,
    what name for this season?

    Hustling pre-hibernation and
    melting flurries with breath,
    what post apple appellation?
    What pre skating designation?

    I echo my own refrain again
    into the autumn interstices
    ringing with wintering song.

    Willing Autumn Linger Longer

     

    Like ripening persimmons, the transition from unripe to overripe happens whether we’re watching for it or not. Likewise fall vibes have been exiting gradually, and winter’s stark contrasts have been insinuating themselves into the autumnless voids. It’s inevitable that winter will arrive, and it will be glorious in its own right when it does. But here’s hoping fortune smiles upon us a little longer, that we can dwell in this construction-centric liminality for another week or three. Or right up until Christmas!

  • Beekeeper Rendezvous 1924

    Beekeeper Rendezvous 1924

    Beekeeper Rendezvous 1924: Original news clip from August 29, 1924 Lake Placid News about event held at Rosslyn (aka Hyde Gate Farm).
    Beekeeper Rendezvous 1924 (Source: Lake Placid News, August 29, 1924)

    Almost 100 years ago Rosslyn (a.k.a. Hyde Gate Farm) hosted a beekeeper rendezvous. Or, to be more precise Professor Wilson, from Cornell’s Dept. of Agriculture, and Mr. Rae, New York State’s “chief inspector” (of apiaries?), hosted a gathering of beekeepers at Rosslyn.

    Now & Then

    Although any Rosslyn artifact piques my interest, this news clip served as a reminder that

    1. I’ve intended to learn the art and science of beekeeping and honey production for quite some time,
    2. I supported a crowdfunding campaign for Flow Hives 5-6 years ago (or even longer ago?!?!),
    3. I received my beehive and related apparatus from Flow Hive almost as long ago, and
    4. I’ve neglected this goal for a long time. Too long!

    Ever since I began planting Rosslyn’s orchard I started daydreaming about bees pollinating our fruit trees and rendering delicious honey in the process. But, “a dream without a plan is just a wish”, right? And today we are still reliant on nature’s own supply of honeybees, butterflies, hummingbirds, etc. to ensure the fertilization of our apples, pears, stone fruit, mulberries, and persimmon. If only I could teleport back to August 29, 1924 and learn the ropes from this probably well experienced cohort. So often I feel this history distorting nostalgia for knowledge buried in Rosslyn’s long line of yesterdays. And as often I’ve recognized the unlikely chance of time travel and settled for a patchwork quilt of now-and-thens.

    Beekeeper Rendezvous 1924

    Contemporary contextualizing aside, there are a couple of intriguing tidbits that I can’t resist the temptation to explore before letting this sepia snippet from an ooold newspaper fall back into the kindling box.

    Let’s look at the full classified notice.

    FIELD DAY FOR BEE MEN
    A field day at Hyde Gate Farm, Essex, for Essex County beekeepers is on this afternoon. Prof. Wilson of the department of agriculture at Cornell is present as is also Mr. Rae, chief inspector for the state of New York. Luncheon served free of charge to all beekeepers and their families. (Lake Placid News, August 29, 1924, page 12)

    The title alone is evocative. It conjures a cinematographic scene with gentlemen farmers and at least a couple of officious types gathering in the high grass somewhere west of Rosslyn’s carriage barn. At the time there would have been several barns — the present day carriage barn with a lean-to barn running along the southern facade, a smaller barn conjoined to the west facade, a freestanding barn southwest of the carriage barn, the present day icehouse, and a dovecote (i.e. dovehouse / pigeon house) located just east of the icehouse — so a panoramic view of the gents huddling around hives in a sun soaked meadow would have required a slightly circuitous amble to the north or south of the barns, perhaps through the gardens where the beekeepers’ families were conversing in twos and threes while sipping lemonade, eagerly awaiting the complementary luncheon… Can you see it?

    You’ll note that I’ve specified men learning in earnest, listening to a presenter gesticulating toward the hives, everyone acting relaxed but secretly a little edgy about the number of been coming and going in the increasingly hot mid-day temperature. Men and not women. Not children. I’m taking a leap, but it seems to be likely, especially given the linguistic tilt of the title which invites “bee men” in particular rather than beekeepers as referenced in the first sentence of the listing. Perhaps I reach too far. It’s compelling to envision a couple of female beekeepers among the gentlemen farmers, poised and confident month the buzzing swarm.

    Also intriguing is the reference to Hyde Gate Farm. I’m familiar with the years that Rosslyn was known as Hyde Gate House, but this little shift in nomenclature intrigues me.

    A family named Walmsley of New Orleans, La. then became owners and later Mrs. Caleb J. Coatsworth bought the house. (about 1907 or 1908) When Mrs. Coatsworth died, her daughter, Mrs. Howard Hill, fell heir to the property.(1912) During ownership of the Hill family the place was named Hyde Gate House.

    In 1937 Essex county assumed ownership, but sold to Richard R. Williams in 1941. Mr. Williams in turn, sold Hyde Gate House to Sloane E. Miller in 1942, who disposed of the property in 1945 to Mr. and Mrs. W. Sherwood, the present owners and occupants. (Source: Favored by Fortune: Sherwood Inn Flashback)

    So it would seem that starting with Mrs. C.J. Coatsworth or Mrs. Howard Hill the property became known as Hyde Gate House and Hyde Gate Farm. I admit finding a certain pleasure in recognizing Rosslyn’s agricultural DNA since the property is mostly associated with its mercantile forbears and later it’s incarnation as The Sherwood Inn. I like to think of the +/-60 acres that we’ve been fortunate enough to gradually aggregate as a farm once again, Rosslyn Farms.

    But I’m off on a self indulgent tangent, so I’d best return to the newspaper.

    The reference to Cornell also draws my attention as it highlights the extensive history that today’s Cornell Cooperative Extension has invested in this region. And I’ll close this peripatetic post with two final editorial asides.

    First, I draw your attention to the subtle enticement (free food for the whole family!) luring beekeepers away from their chores and homes. A tried and true formula that reminds me of a memory shared by a friend. During his college years a rock-and-roll band went by the peculiar name, Free Beer, and their performances emblazoned across bulletin boards across campus never failed to draw a capacity crowd.

    My final aside may simply highlight a technicality, but it nevertheless brought a curious eyebrow lift when I read it. The listing suggests that the event is happening on the day that the paper was printed. In order for the notice to be of use, newspapers would need to be purchased and read first thing in the morning. Perhaps this is one of several successive notices. Or perhaps the promo team dropped the ball and waited to the last minute (ergo free lunch!). Most intriguing of all is the real time relevance of the newspaper for people living a long time prior to our 24×7 information age where messaging is virtually instantaneous and the plugged in population might occasionally dismiss prior generations as being a little disconnected, etc. Far from it. Read the paper over breakfast, change up the days plans, pack the family into your Model T, and head over to Hyde Gate Farm for a beekeeping field day and luncheon!

    Beekeeper Rendezvous 1924: Original news clip from August 29, 1924 Lake Placid News about event held at Rosslyn (aka Hyde Gate Farm).
    Beekeeper Rendezvous 1924 (Source: Lake Placid News, August 29, 1924)