Prune, the verb
I have a love / hate feeling towards pruning. I love the idea of doing it, tidying up a tree or bush knowing that it’ll look nicer and, with luck, more bountiful. Today I stood in front of our apricot tree, armed with a two kinds of loppers (the saw kind and the snipping kind), a pair of secateurs, a ladder and a copy of the RHS’ Pruning and Training book. This book is full of amazing photos, diagrams, instructions and advice. It makes pruning look a doddle. I read the book and look at the tree. I do this a few times. Reading the book I know what to do, looking at the tree I am completely fazed. So I start by cutting away the weak branches, the overlapping ones, the downward ones and the inward growing ones. The tree now needs the proper prune. I read the book and look at the tree. Hmmm. Part of the problem is I didn’t prune it last year. Anyway, I brave the wobbly ladder and 30 minutes later, with only minor cuts to one wrist and a little saga when a wasp flew up my skirt, there is a huge pile of branches and leaves on the ground. One pruned tree.
I have no idea if I have done the right thing. Time to tackle the others…