This one is embarrassing. I should know better. In fact, I do know better. It’s just that from afar this small branch of Burgundy plum didn’t look like it had an overwhelming amount of fruit on it. Only once I looked closely did I see that the branch had broken:
And then I lifted it up only to discover that the branch was three times as long as I’d thought and was carrying five times as much fruit as I had seen from afar. The branch had been weighed down by all of the fruit that I hadn’t seen and was hiding it behind and under another branch. This is what I saw every time I walked by:
“Oh, that little Burgundy branch has a lot of fruit, but it’s a short branch so I’ll leave them.”
I immediately stripped all of the fruit off the branch in the hope that it wouldn’t die. Turns out that this little branch of a finger nail’s diameter was carrying these 59 plums:
It’s a wonder the branch hadn’t snapped off entirely.
This is a special, singular branch. The tree from a few steps back actually looks like this:
It’s a Dapple Dandy pluot tree that I’d grafted that one little branch from my mom’s Burgundy plum onto. It’s the only branch of Burgundy plum I have, and Burgundy plums are not only wonderful tasting fruit, but the Burgundy’s blossoms are needed to pollenize the Dapple Dandy. Maybe the branch will survive and bloom next year to do its pollenization work, and this winter I’ll try to graft a new Burgundy branch onto the tree elsewhere.
The lesson in this for me is not that I should thin my fruit — I already knew that. And I had already done a round of thinning fruit on this tree. The lesson is to get into trees and lift branches and make sure you really know what each branch is carrying so you can thin the fruit properly.
Stage two: Well, I better get in there and lift branches on the rest of the Dapple Dandy pluot tree. Maybe some of those are hiding fruit I haven’t noticed.
My goodness, were they ever! Here’s how many I removed from the Dapple Dandy branches:
Better late than never? No pluot branches had broken. That’s the good news today.
Thinning fruit generally
How much fruit should you thin? It depends on the type of tree and your preference for fruit size. For large fruits that often grow on thin branches, like peaches, it’s good to thin more. For small fruits that often grow on thick branches, like apricots, it’s not as necessary to thin as much. My guiding principles is: Remove enough fruit such that a branch will not break or bend down from the weight of the fruit so much that the fruit or branch will get sunburned. I personally don’t thin fruit aiming to get the fruit on the tree to grow as large as possible — a goal for some people. For one, I’ve never noticed that such a practice actually works. But also, I don’t like giant peaches or apples or any other kind of fruit. I prefer small fruit, because if I want more I’ll pick another one.
Here is a good and short video from Tom Spellman at Dave Wilson Nursery showing him thinning a Burgundy plum and talking about a few thinning principles. Skip to about 2:45 into the video to see the Burgundy plum.
And when you do your thinning, make sure to stick your head inside the tree and lift branches and find out for sure how much each branch is carrying, Greg!
Believe it or not, avocado bark is like our skin and gets sunburned. If left unprotected, a branch that is exposed, especially to the south or west sun, will burn.
The branch in the photo above is on a young Pinkerton avocado tree that grew out a long limb which drooped enough to expose some of its young skin to the overhead afternoon (west) sun. It got scorched during a recent heat wave.
What to do? Put on sunscreen. For avocados, Coppertone will not do. But white latex paint will. It doesn’t need to be full strength: diluting the paint 50/50 with water will make a sufficiently opaque coating.
And then paint it on.
With the white latex sunscreen, the branch is protected and won’t get burned further. If left unprotected, the branch would get burned so badly that the bark would begin cracking and the branch’s health would decline.
So this summer if you see a section of a branch on your avocado tree that doesn’t have leaf cover to protect it, give it protection in the form of white latex paint sunscreen. It will return the favor with a long life and many fruit.
There are tiny cults surrounding a few types of avocados here in Southern California, home of the now-worldwide avocado industry.
Some people remain forever fans of the original commercial avocado variety, Fuerte. It has a cool (or should I say, strong) story of how it was brought up from Mexico and rose to prominence in the nascent avocado industry of Southern California. But more importantly, it’s nutty flavor is unsurpassed. I count myself among those who think it is still the best tasting avocado on the planet — among the avocado varieties that I’ve tasted, anyway.
A few connoisseurs worship a variety called Jan Boyce. It is, in a way, the opposite of the world’s most popular variety, Hass, which everyone has tasted: almost no one has tasted Jan Boyce. But those who have find it remarkable, with a small seed and unique-tasting flesh. They get poetic about how good it tastes.
Then there is the cult of Reed. Most Reed fanatics live in San Diego County, where this variety first grew. People who love avocados around here visit farmer’s markets in late summer to hunt for these softball-sized fruit. Growers love Reed because the trees are prolific, year after year. My Reed avocado tree is entering its fifth year in the ground, and it has yet to have an “off” year.
Perhaps, however, my favorite thing about Reeds is that they can be made into personal bowls of guacamole. They remind me of sourdough bread bowls of clam chowder. I cut a Reed avocado in half, slice the flesh up a bit, and then fill the seed cavity with salsa — grab a tortilla chip and dig in. Reeds can do this better than most other varieties because the shape of the fruit is relatively round so it is easy to hold and dip into, and the peel of a Reed is shell-like so it doesn’t easily get cut up when you slice the flesh.
A Reed avocado personal bowl of guacamole is far and away my favorite summer afternoon snack, which never actually ends up being personal because my two sons always hover and beg for another chip and dip, and another and another and another.
If you don’t have your own Reed avocado tree, you can look for the fruit at farmer’s markets in Southern California from now (late June) through the fall. Also, I have seen Whole Foods Markets in the area selling them in the past. If you’re not in Southern California, you’re probably never going to find the fruit, unfortunately. They don’t ship well. But you might consider planting your own Reed tree — even if you have a small yard, as I wrote about here.
The other day I had a good time giving a talk about growing citrus to the Lake San Marcos Garden Club, and a couple of people asked me about pruning. My impression is that most of us think that, as a general rule, all fruit trees need to be pruned. It’s simply not true, especially regarding citrus. In contrast to this mistaken notion I’d say that, as a general rule, citrus should not be pruned. I can think of only a couple of exceptions to this rule.
In my yard I grow eight citrus trees, and out of those eight I only ever touch two with my pruners, each for a different reason.
Prune to keep a citrus tree small
I give our Bearss lime tree haircuts because I want it to stay small, to about the height of my three year-old son. It already produces more limes than we use at that diminutive size. Once a year I prune it by just trimming off every branch that is taller than I want, or by handing Cass the pruners.
Five year-old lime tree being pruned by a three year-old boy.
Prune to shape a citrus tree
I also prune our large Valencia orange tree. It’s 25 feet tall, and I’ve never tried to trim the top. Rather, I prune the sides and interior to create an umbrella shape. I keep its skirt a few feet off the ground and then I keep the inside pruned high enough that we can walk around under it so that it feels like an outdoor living room. I prune up a couple of spots on its canopy edge to make doorways for entrance. Shaping this citrus tree in this way makes it a very comfortable spot to sit in the shade on a summer day.
I’ve even hung a swing from one of its branches.
Keeping a tree small like my lime and shaping a tree like my Valencia are the only two good reasons I can think of for pruning citrus. There are plenty of bad reasons though.
Don’t lace a citrus tree
The worst reason, or way, to prune a citrus tree that I’ve encountered is opening up the tree’s canopy so the interior gets sunlight. That can be a good idea for some other types of fruit trees, like plums and peaches. It’s definitely not advisable for citrus, however.
Why not? I once did a home consultation at a multi-million dollar residence in Rancho Santa Fe where the owners had put in an orchard of a few dozen fruit trees and then their hired gardener had pruned all of the citrus trees just like the peaches and plums. The foliage had been thinned, entire branches had been cut out, the canopies had a skeletal look, and the effect was that you could see lots of light going through the trees and hitting the interior branches.
Why are our citrus trees dying? the owner asked me. All of those interior branches now exposed to the sun were cracking and blackened from sunburn. Yes indeed, trees get sunburned.
If you want to keep a citrus tree small or shape it, then trim the outside like you would trim a hedge. Don’t cut out entire branches and expose interior parts of the tree that are used to being shaded. Have a look at this video showing how citrus farmers mechanically prune their trees. This farm is in Spain, but the same technique is used here in Southern California, and the world over.
A citrus expert once told me that if a citrus tree is in prime health, then if you look at its canopy you won’t be able to see any light or sky through it. It should be a dense green globe.
A couple of other no-good reasons to prune citrus include cutting out dead or crossing branches. That’s just a big old waste of your time. Do it if you have nothing better to do, but your citrus tree couldn’t care less if some of its branches are crossing or are dead and hanging. Both are harmless and natural. I don’t cut out any dead or crossing branches on my citrus trees and they’ve never complained about it.
Also, if aphids or leafminers or other insects have damaged the leaves of your citrus tree, don’t waste your time cutting those damaged leaves out. They’re still capable of photosynthesizing and contributing to the growth and fruitfulness of the tree even though they’re not completely healthy. Pruning them out won’t make a significant difference to the insect population in the tree either. Better to adjust your aesthetic sensibility than cut up the tree, in terms of the health of the tree.
Lastly, and here’s a bit of a twist, do pay attention to what’s growing from low down on the trunk of your citrus tree. I don’t think of this as pruning, but it’s really important that if any branch starts growing from below the graft (bud) union of your citrus tree you immediately remove it. If you’re unsure of what I mean by that, then please read my post titled, “Beware of rootstock suckers on citrus.” It might save the life of your tree.
Isn’t it a relief, though, to know that your citrus tree knows how to grow pretty well on its own? That’s why you can find citrus trees thriving even in Southern California yards that have been neglected for years. And that’s why every Southern California yard should have a citrus tree, or eight.
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Kids grow fast, as do avocado trees — especially when planted over a power-packed placenta. Oddly, prior to looking through the retrospective below, I had felt rushed for both of them to hit some developmental marks even faster.
As of today, Cass can legibly write most of the letters in his name, but he continues to do this curious thing where he writes his c’s backwards.
And as for his Fuerte avocado tree, my aim has been that it produces fruit for Cass to eat and that it develops a broad branching structure for him to climb. The tree is healthy, but it has yet to produce fruit, and it’s not yet big enough for Cass to climb.
Alas, sometimes you get focused on goals, on achieving results, but miss the wonders of the process along the way.
Just planted and just born, 2014.
One year old, 2015.
Two years old, 2016.
Three years old, 2017.
I’m determined to enjoy processes more. We’re not promised another day on this Earth. The process is really all we have.
It’s now a good time to start planting new avocado trees, as the danger of any serious arctic air blowing down our way has passed. I just planted the one in the photo above, on February 10, 2017. It’s a Hass from a five-gallon container. How long can I expect to wait for an avocado tree like this to bear fruit? Three to four years. That’s in the year 2020 or 2021.
I get such an expectation from the fact that the last Hass tree I planted was in July 2013, and we are currently eating its first fruit here in 2017. So, four years of waiting and we now have 73 Hass avocados on that tree.
But I planted some other avocado trees in July 2013 as well, and we ate the first fruit from two of them last year. That’s three years from planting to eating the first fruit — although we did only get from them a combined 15 avocados. This year, they have a more respectable 63. Here they are, the early birds, the Reed and Lamb:
Four-year old Reed and Lamb trees today with their second crops of 35 and 28 avocados, respectively.
My trees seem to be average. A couple of people with much more avocado experience than me, Mary Lu Arpaia and Ben Faber, also say that new trees start to bear fruit in three or four years. (This linked page contains a great list of other frequently asked questions about avocados, by the way.)
While trees typically bear in three to four years, you may get fruit earlier or later for a few reasons. On one hand, if you buy a bigger tree — 15-gallon size — you’re likely to get fruit earlier. That’s because the bigger tree will produce more flowers (and therefore potential fruit). Also, if you have an excellent environment for pollination, with many other avocado trees around and many pollinators like honeybees visiting the flowers, you’re likely to get fruit earlier. Avocado trees of the five-gallon size will often set fruit at nurseries each spring for this reason.
On the other hand, your tree might take longer than four years to give you fruit if you prune it hard or if a winter freeze kills many branches or if it is otherwise damaged — for example, by poor irrigation. In July 2013, I also planted a Sir-Prize avocado tree, but the Sir-Prize has yet to give us fruit and I’m pretty sure it’s because I’ve pruned it hard the last couple years in order to shape it. Every spring it has flowered lightly, but only next year will it have the large canopy size to flower heavily and, hopefully, set its first crop.
Another reason an avocado tree might take more than four years to bear fruit is if it is grown from seed and not grafted. In general, seedlings take longer to bear fruit than grafted trees. A seedling in my mom’s backyard took about six years before it produced fruit.
Does waiting the typical three to four years for an avocado tree to bear fruit seem like a short or long time to you? It seemed like forever when I planted those trees back in 2013. But forever has arrived, and it tastes amazing. As it has been said, “Patience is bitter but its fruit is sweet.”
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