Clare and Dante
It was cold outside. And wet. Clare didn’t understand why they had to work outdoors. Why couldn’t this be done later, when it was warmer, dryer? She was glad one of the other students asked the question and saved her the humiliation.
“Because it’s best to do the pruning in the winter when the plants are dormant—asleep, not growing. The objective is to promote the growth of strong, new wood. The fruit will be of better quality. Nature doesn’t wait until you are ready, Jason, you wait on nature.”
Clare felt a little sorry for Jason, but he took it well. He had asked the question earnestly, not in a complaining or whining tone, the way she had internally been asking.
The Garden Guardians had their own gardens and greenhouses—their “outdoor classroom,” as Genevieve liked to call it. Genevieve oversaw the program both in this township and two others. She was around most of the time, and she taught a few of the classes herself—including the outdoor session on pruning. Clare sometimes felt that the scope of their training was too broad. Why couldn’t her instruction be limited to vegetable gardening; why did she have to learn about pruning bushes and trees? She knew the answer, of course. Everything was clearly spelled out in the handbook they had gone over on the first day of class. Their training would be broad, and in their free time they could specialize in whatever interested them most. Besides, Clare knew that the classes on pruning were useful. After all, Gruff had grown blueberries on his balcony. And hadn’t they discovered an apple tree at the house in Vermont? She knew she was feeling grumpy because she was cold and uncomfortable. But, still.
“What you want to do,” Genevieve explained, “is keep the bush open. This will promote optimum air circulation, decreasing the risk of disease and letting in more light for a better fruit set.” She continued, talking about the number of canes and how to distinguish the older ones from the younger ones, and pointing out something called “whips.” Genevieve snipped away as she spoke, and Clare wondered if she would remember any of it.
“And so you will remember something of this lesson—” was she reading her thoughts? “—you will have a chance right now for some hands-on learning. Over there,” she pointed to a small shed, “is where we keep the tools. Grab a partner, pick up a lopper or some hand pruners,” she held up each tool, “and come find a bush. I’ve asked some experienced Guardians to join me today to help answer questions. You and your partner put your noggins together first, but if you need help, just ask.”
Clare looked around. She started weaving through the assembled crowd toward Allison, an older lady with whom she’d conversed several times, but another woman latched onto Allison before Clare could reach her. Just then, someone tagged her elbow.
“Partner?”
It was Jason, the guy who had asked why they were pruning in the dead of winter. She knew his name because he spoke up a lot in class. He was one of only a few other teenagers.
“Yeah,” she answered, “sure.”
“Clare,” he read her name tag. “I’ve seen you around. With your little brother.”
“Yes, Dante. He’s only eight so he didn’t have to come today. Probably a good call.”
They had reached the shed and now waited in line. “So how do you like Genevieve?” he asked, his distinctive dark eyebrows arched in a way that said he thought she was a piece of work.
“I think she really knows her stuff,” Clare answered diplomatically.
He laughed but didn’t respond.
“I hope we get a good set of cutters,” Clare said, trying to peek around the adults blocking her view.
When they reached the shed, a number of tools remained, although old and ragged. Jason grabbed a pair of clippers and retreated to the blueberry garden. Clare trailed behind, glad he had taken the lead. She didn’t feel ready to take the life of a blueberry bush in her hands.
“Anywhere?” Jason asked a classmate who stood idly by a bush as her partner snipped away.
“I think so.”
“Clare, you wanna cut first?”
“No, uh, you go ahead.”
“Okay then, you show me which ones.”
“What? No. I mean, I sorta drifted off during the instructions.”
“Well, let’s see,” he wrapped the blades around a dead-looking cane, “dead, damaged, or diseased first.” He cut out three canes.
“Hmm. Pencil-sized whips?” Clare suggested.
“Sure.” He snipped off the stragglers. “Now what?”
“Well…” She leaned in, touched a long cane that crossed through the middle of the plant. “How about this one? Didn’t she say something about keeping the middle open?”
Snip. Jason cut it off and ripped it from the bush.
“Oh, I was only asking,” Clare gasped, surprised at his sudden action.
“No, you were right. What else?”
“Um, how about these? They look like older wood,” she said, touching a couple of more canes.
Snip, snip. “Done.” He went at it quickly, without hesitation or second-guessing.
“Have you done this before?” she asked.
“Nope. What next, boss?”
She stared at the mass of branches jutting out from the bush. It was so confusing.
“Come on, Clare. Don’t worry so much about it. Live a little.”
When she hesitated, he whacked off several more branches, then broke off some spindly growth with his gloved hand. He leaned back to admire his handiwork. “I think that’s good,” he said. “You wanna do the next one?”
“Um …”
“You can do it. And I’m here, too. Team-work.”
“Clare placed the blades around a sad-looking cane, fairly certain about the first cut but checking with Jason to be sure. He rolled his eyes. She cut the cane and pulled it gingerly out of the plant. Her hand ran into someone’s thigh.
“Oh! I didn’t know you were there,” she said. “Excuse me.” Genevieve stood behind her, watching. “Was that right?”
“Yes, nice job. Carry on, youngsters.”
The two of them pruned a few more plants, occasionally utilizing the experience of the Guardians standing nearby. Then it was time to go inside and record their thoughts in the mandated class journals. Hot coffee, cider, and other drinks awaited, along with snacks prepared by host families.
As the students milled around with their food and drinks, Genevieve made an announcement. “The next time we meet, weather permitting, we will learn about grafting.”
A reverent ripple of oohs and ahs swept through the room.
“What’s grafting?” Clare whispered to Jason.
“No idea.”
Clare did, of course, ask Marissa and John about grafting that night at supper.
“You remember when you kids first arrived at our house back in August and I showed you the plum tree?”
“The tree with all the different kinds of fruit on the it?” Dante asked excitedly.
“Yep. Those were different varieties of plums, all growing on one tree. Some had already ripened and were gone, others were still green. And then there were all those you tasted one after the other.” John smiled, remembering the juice running down Dante’s chin as he devoured plum after plum.
“They were great!” Dante said.
Of course Clare remembered. Those first few weeks over the border had been like stumbling into Eden, from the first apple orchard where Firefly had discovered them, to their final home with the Woods. The tree John reminded them of was almost impossible to believe. A tree with a fruit called “plum,” with several varieties all on one tree. Some were a reddish purple, others a deep blue. One kind was yellow and another green. They varied in shape and texture. And they all tasted wonderful yet distinct.
She remembered how speechless she had been when John asked which one she liked best. Like best? Each was unique, flavorful, and special. How could she possibly choose a favorite? There was something wrong with the question.
“I grafted all of those varieties onto that individual tree,” John said. “I mentioned it at the time, but you seemed overwhelmed back then.”
She nodded.
“Is that what you learned in class, today?” Marissa asked.
“No, no, we pruned blueberry bushes today.”
John grinned, showing his large front teeth and causing the smile lines around his eyes to crinkle. “They got ya doing their work for them, do they?”
Clare returned the smile. “Yes, they sure do. But they do have a lot of gardens, and they’re teaching us for free, so I guess it’s a good trade.”
“That is true,” the man agreed, taking another bite of food into his mouth.