This spring I grafted several branches from my favourite wild apple tree to another wild apple tree on our property. My fave tree is rooted precariously along the edge of a steep, heavily wooded ravine, so has developed a wicked lean toward both stable ground and the sun, and I worry about how long the tree can live angled over the ground the way it is. I took five whip-branches and performed a surgery that was more than a bit ugly, quite Frankenstein-ish in fact. (My very first grafts.) I checked daily for weeks but there was no sign of life so I felt my grafts had failed, but in mid-summer two of the grafts sprouted wee leaves, then bloomed fully. First tent caterpillars threatened them. Every day I picked caterpillars from the tree until there were none left. Later, a doe and her pretty, red, still-spotted fawn, the most lovely pair to watch so I'm not really complaining, chose the delicate branch-tips and the new leaves of my grafts to browse, but even with that the remaining leaves, or bits of leaves, have survived. So far. In a few years perhaps I'll have some apples on the grafts.
The apples on the old tree are delicious right now. They are medium to small sized, yellow-green apples, some with a slight blush but most not. Their flesh is solid, a cross between a granny smith and a spy apple flesh, yellowish, dense, and very juicy. There is a hint of tart at first bite, but nothing like some wild apples whose juice sucks the saliva right out of you. Under the tart, and blended with it, is a joyous sweetness. The apples are very fine to eat from the tree, and wonderful for baking. Last night I made wild apple crisp -- with a few peaches that I didn't want to go bad added -- from Kitchener-Waterloo area Edna Staebler's fabulous Mennonite cookbook, Food That Really Schmecks.
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