- Author: Steve Radosevich
Most of us who grow fruit trees think of pruning as a winter practice, done when the tree is dormant and leafless, and the tree skeleton can be better observed. Although dormant pruning is called for on most deciduous fruit trees, some additional summer pruning may help you maintain the tree size that you want in your backyard. Unlike dormant pruning, cutting off actively growing shoots and leaves in the spring and summer has a devigorating effect on the tree and will help control its size.
The Fruit Bush system, a method of pruning that keeps standard-size trees or trees on dwarfing rootstock small, relies on periodic summer pruning. The first pruning is done in late April or May when half of the new growth from that season is removed. A second similar pruning is done in June, and if vigorous growth continues, a third pruning is done in late July or early August.
This type of pruning results in a tree that is bushy in appearance, with a dense interior canopy that requires additional pruning so that sunlight can reach the lower fruiting branches. However, it is important to leave enough foliage to protect the tree from sunburn.
Fruit bushes are often kept at a height that allows you to do all your tree care - pruning, thinning, netting, picking, spraying - without using a ladder. With the use of this pruning system, trees can be planted much closer together, allowing you to plant more fruit trees in a small space. For more information on the fruit bush system go to https://anrcatalog.ucanr.edu/pdf/8057.pdf . Fruit Trees: Training and Pruning Deciduous Trees.
Summer pruning is particularly recommended for apricots, to avoid a common branch-killing disease called Eutypa dieback, which can develop on pruning wounds that are made during wet weather. Try to do all your pruning on apricot trees in July or August. If some dormant pruning is still needed, wait until late in the dormant season.
For more information on summer pruning, as well as other summer tasks in the home orchard go to https://ucanr.edu/sites/ucmgplacer/files/171595.pdf for a two page publication Summer Care of Fruit Trees by Master Gardener Mike Kluk. Another free publication on pruning and training fruit trees can be found at https://homeorchard.ucanr.edu/The_Big_Picture/Pruning_&_Training .
- Author: Jalena Rusaw
The Therapeutic Power of Gardening
Gardening is more than a hobby; it's a form of therapy. The act of nurturing plants, from sowing seeds to watching them grow, provides a profound sense of satisfaction and accomplishment. It's a practice that engages all the senses, grounds us in the moment, and connects us with the cycle of life. As we immerse ourselves in the natural world, we find our worries melt away, replaced by a tranquil mindfulness that nurtures our mental well-being.
Tips for Incorporating Gardening into Your Mental Health Routine
1. Start Small: Even a single pot of herbs on a windowsill can have a positive impact. Begin with something manageable and grow your garden as you feel comfortable.
2. Mindfulness in the Garden: Practice being present while gardening. Notice the feel of the soil, the sound of the birds, and the colors around you.
3. Journaling: Keep a garden journal. Reflect not only on what you've planted and how it's growing but also on how the gardening process makes you feel.
4. Gardening Goals: Set achievable gardening goals. The sense of achievement in reaching these goals can boost your self-esteem and motivation.
5. Connect with Nature: Use gardening as a way to deepen your connection with the natural world. This connection can be incredibly restorative for mental health.
As the days lengthen and we find ourselves surrounded by the beauty and bounty of nature, let us embrace gardening as a powerful tool for nurturing our mental health. In tending to our gardens, we tend to our hearts and minds, growing our own resilience and joy alongside our plants.
- Author: Lorie Hammond
I often rambleYolo County preserves. Since being in Master Gardener training, I have become a better observer, noticing the startling seasonal changes. I have also become a better inquirer, asking questions about what I see.
My most recent query has been about the valley oak, the lead plant in our Yolo County ecosystem. Why, I wonder, do these majestic trees spread their arms so wide and have such baroque, curvy branches, when many other trees go straight up?
To answer this question, I reached out to Michael Jones, PhD, a scientist at UC Oaks. He replied: “My thoughts are that as one of the fastest growing native oak species, each branch is in a race to reach as much light as possible to maximize photosynthetic capacity. Since oaks with lots of space like to grow out, as well as up, I imagine the branches are trying to extend faster than their neighbors and as they reach something that impedes their pathway (like other branches), they redirect growth around that object…They are (also) dealing with gravity and as those long lateral and heavy branches keep extending out, we might be seeing some of the curves and curls as changes in direction to account for the effects of gravity.”
We are lucky to have many oak preserves in the Davis area. Hope to see you there!
UC Davis Arboretum and Public Gardens- This beautiful, curated garden is entered at the east through the Gateway Garden at First and D Streets or at the west at the Peter J. Shields Oak Grove, 1 Garrod Drive.
Putah Creek Reserve: This 640-acre natural riparian ecosystem borders Putah Creek south of UCD. One access point is the Fire Ring Picnic Grounds. Take Hutchison Drive to Hopkins Road, then turn south until the road dead ends at Putah Creek.
UC Oaks: https://oaks.cnr.berkeley.edu
- Author: Joy Humphrey
I planted bulbs for the first time this year. I'm not sure why I never did this before, especially since my first “Aha!” moment of plant growing came from a pot of crocus bulbs I received when I was 11. I had no faith that they would flower—I barely even knew what they were--but when they actually did, I thought in amazement, “It works!” I can still feel the thrill I experienced over that small miracle some 50 years later. But I never thought to repeat that experience when I started to garden as an adult. Perhaps that's because, having lived most of my life in Southern California, I wasn't surrounded by bulb-heavy neighborhood gardens. But last year, experiencing my first spring as a Northern Californian, I was delighted to see bulbs popping up everywhere. I must have said, “Look at those daffodils!” about one thousand times. If my husband ever rolled his eyes, I never saw it; I was looking at the daffs.
This spring it was my turn. So I ordered bulbs online, and in January, I set out to plant them in various containers around my garden. In my mind, I had about 35 bulbs. In reality, I had 127. Not sure how that happened, but I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who has lost count of what was in her online cart. I planted three cultivars of daffodils (Narcissus), hyacinths (Hyacinthus) in white and all shades of blue, grape hyacinths (Muscari), and tulips (Tulipa) in all the colors. And I planted 12 crocus.
I experienced the same thrill I had as a child when I saw the leaves of the first bulbs push through the soil. With every flower that bloomed, I thought in amazement, “It works!” As I write this, I still have a few daffodils and grape hyacinths brightening the landscape, a hyacinth here and there standing stoutly and providing me with wonderful fragrance, and the tulips are just coming into their own. My crocus bulbs, for whatever mysterious reason, have only recently pushed out their leaves and have yet to bloom. User error? Maybe. But regardless, they are giving me the gift of anticipation. The 11-year-old in me can't wait to see if it works.
- Author: Kelly Mae Heroux
We gardeners love our gardens for more than just their visual beauty. Gardening provides opportunity to engage with nature, creativity, and purpose. It connects us to the seasons, to the scheme of generation, to time. We cherish the fruits they bear, the bouquets they offer, and still so much more.
My parents have a memorial garden. It is not for fruit nor bouquet, but rather reflection and remembrance. You enter through a trellised gateway and follow a winding path of pavers to a bench at the far end. There's a big forsythia (Forsythia x intermedia) at the gate and clusters of astilbe (Astilbe chinensis) and sedum (Hylotelephium spectabile) throughout. There are also a lot of bulbs and rhizomes, some of which, with the forsythia, are the first to bloom in spring, a welcomed burst of color against the winter-worn landscape.
Today, the grape hyacinths my mom and I planted in the memorial garden are a deep, bold purple against muted brown. A poignant symbol of life's enduring cycles. When these bulbs divide, the offsets are sometimes called daughter-bulbs, echoing the timeless connection between generations. In a few days, we will place my grandmother's ashes in the garden, her memory joining its ever-growing tapestry. The gifts in the garden, like life, are seemingly endless.
