Hair of The Dog

My Stihl pole saw is 7 feet long. It doesn’t telescope in and out, so it’s lighter in weight than are others. It is my tool of choice for trees of this age, about 6 years old. I need the light weight because I am walking these long rows, holding it above my head and sawing limbs. Up one row, back down another, working my way across the orchard. There are sixteen rows in this orchard. The trees average about 18-20’ in height. Their trunks at chest high are roughly 5” in diameter. They are bare of leaves and their limbs are silhouetted against the clear, blue winter sky.

There are many ways to prune a tree and many opinions on how it should be done. For the most part, none are necessarily wrong, as long as the trees are pruned. Until the trees are about 3 to 4 years old, you can do most of the pruning with a pair of long-handled scissor pruners, that I call loppers. From the time they are planted, until they reach about 4 years of age, I tend to prune the trees aggressively, removing all limbs after years 1 and 2, to make the job of the root system less strenuous in support of the tree it is trying to grow. Like children, trees benefit from not growing up too fast.

After year 3, I select several lateral limbs (none below about 6’ in height) to leave as scaffold limbs growing off the main trunk and I remove several others. I remove limbs with narrow angles because such angles are weak and are prone to break in the wind of a summer thunderstorm. A single central leader is selected to remain as the main trunk of the tree. Its ends are tipped to stop its inevitable forking too low on the tree and to prevent development of a “crow’s foot”, in which multiple branches shoot out in all directions from the same spot. I will prune some of the trees in this same manner after year 4. Then, the tree is on its own for a couple of years.

This winter I am pruning off lower limbs that have re-sprouted or grown downward and now can interfere with the passage of equipment and shaking of the tree in the coming year’s harvest. This also helps to create a stronger tree in shape, form, and root:tree ratio. Pecan trees like to be pruned and they often respond, once bearing begins, with healthy vigor and a strong crop. In this way, again, they remind me of children.

I remove sometimes up to five limbs from a single tree, but prefer to keep it to two or three if possible. I enjoy pruning. It is contemplative work in which I can lose myself. The tree becomes like a sculpture in my mind. The saw, my hammer and chisel, as I chip away to reveal the form inside. I keep a picture in my head of the ideal tree and try to conform each tree with that picture as best I can with what the tree offers me. They are each individuals, having been shaped by the forces of sunlight, water, wind, birds which have perched on their limbs, deer which have rubbed their bark and broken their limbs. Their position in the orchard, the characteristics of the soil, their planting depth, the angle at which the sunlight reaches each tree in its own position, all play a role in shaping their growth, and thus, each tree presents a different problem.

Within this orchard, I have planted four rows to the main variety, Avalon, then two rows of Cape Fear as pollinators, in a repeating pattern. Pecan trees are pollinated by wind, and you need more than one variety in the orchard for them to reach their full potential.

As I walk the rows, engaging each tree, it is easy to notice, not only these differences in individual trees but also the subtle differences in pecan varieties. I’ve done this enough and in enough different orchards, that I have become familiar with the habits of several varieties. Pawnee has what I call a trashy growth habit, sending out new shoots, usually many of them, wherever a previous pruning cut was made, making it more troublesome and time consuming to train correctly. Desirable has a lot of narrow limb angles, which can be peeled down like a banana in the right wind. Sumner and Cape Fear have pretty good structure, except for the tendency of certain limbs to grow downward and then curve upward in search of sunlight, creating a big bow in the limb like a shepherd’s crook. Avalon is a new variety and I am just learning its habit. It seems to have good structure overall, except for a few limbs that seem to prefer growing straight outward, perpendicular to the horizontal trunk.

At every turn, I am reminded that this orchard is home to more than just the trees. The clover growing between the tree rows has the sweet fresh scent of dew in the cold air and the moist soil accentuates its smell. The wild radish, scorched by the frost and this week’s low nightly temperatures, crunch beneath my feet. I come across a spot in the field where wild hogs have rooted around the trees, exposing some of the drip irrigation line. I make a mental note, adding this to my list of tasks to attend to prior to budbreak. I find trees rubbed clean of their bark on one side or with limbs twisted and broken by whitetail bucks enraged with hormones. There are some trees, which have the young, smooth bark stripped along limbs and trunks, a sign of fox squirrels. This usually occurs in mid to late summer during hot temperatures and especially during drought. I can only assume they do this in search of moisture found in the cambium layer beneath the bark. All around me there are birds-pine, palm, and yellow-rumped warblers, bluebirds, phoebes, white throated and chipping sparrows-fluttering up from the vegetation between the tree rows. Back and forth they go into and back down from the bare branches. The subtle difference in trees and the diversity of life in the orchard are things no windshield farmer would know.

The winter days are short and I’m the only crew I employ. I don’t really trust anyone else to make the cuts I would make and I’ve learned from costly experience that there are a lot of people I don’t want operating my saws, driving my tractors, pulling my limb wagons, or deciding where to put limbs. If I have to be here when the job is done, I may as well do it myself. But, because of this the job is slow and it takes me a while.

My full time job limits me to 2 days per week at this work. I could prune probably six or eight rows a day, but picking up the limbs adds another level of labor to the job. Thus, I won’t get much more than two long rows done in a day. Honestly, that’s about all I want anyway. I usually prune in the morning, then hook up the wagon and remove limbs all afternoon. Limb work is not only tedious, but sometimes they fight back. The size limbs I am cutting have strong but flexible, rubbery ends that have a tendency to swing back and swat you in the face or poke you in the leg as you handle them. I envision them taking great pleasure in this retribution.

As much as I love pruning, there’s not much I find more unpleasant than dragging limbs, loading them onto a trailer and unloading them again. Any one of those tasks are bad enough on their own, but to combine all three is some sort of corporal mortification. The limb piles I make scattered in the edges of the woods will provide shelter for birds. Although it will take more than these limb piles, it is one of my life’s goals to once again see bobwhite quail on my farm in numbers that I knew in my youth. This is one small step toward that.

There is satisfaction in a job completed. Looking back at the rows, I can see the bright yellow circles on the trees where the fresh cuts were made. There is more air under the remaining limbs. It is cold. I am tired. I am hungry. I will be sore in the back, shoulders, and neck. But, this is the good kind of sore which tells you that you are alive, the kind that makes you stronger with a hot shower, a meal, a good night’s sleep, another hot shower, then back tomorrow for the hair of the dog that bit you. I need this from time to time to keep from getting soft. Pruning, dragging, loading, unloading, and piling limbs invigorates me as much as it does the trees. But right now, all I want is a bowl of my wife’s soup or chili and a warm piece of bread.