Poor old pear tree

You might remember that about a year ago, I was singing the pear tree blues. Well, one year later, I'm still singing them.

Last year we had the tree treated for fire blight, and this summer, we're not sure how it's doing. But there were a lot of dead twigs and branches, and Lee learned that July is a good time to prune a pear tree, so we did our best to remove the dead parts of the tree.

Usually, from what I've read, it's not good to cut more than one-third of a tree in any one pruning, so we've always erred on the side of caution -- perhaps to the tree's detriment. In taking out the dead stuff this summer (three weekends worth of work) I'm sure we took more than one-third. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind.

To be fair, the tree was quite overgrown, even before we came to it. The previous owners were elderly and had let the yard go, and we didn't know the first thing about fruit trees. But arborists say that you should be able to throw a hat through a well pruned fruit tree so that it doesn't get caught in the branches. Our tree had so many criss-crossing limbs that it would have been hard to throw a ball through it. So we pruned it hard this year, to get rid of the fire blight remnants and give it some breathing space. There wasn't much fruit on it this year.

I did some research and learned that most pear trees don't live more than 50 years... and we're guessing that, since our home was built around 65 years ago, the tree is close to its end. It breaks my heart to think that we may have to take it down. 

Not only is the fruit delicious, it provides a lovely shaded place just outside our kitchen window, a place where many friends have joined me for under-the-pear-tree visits on warm spring, summer, or autumn afternoons. Stunning spring blossoms have filled our yard with fragrance, and I've loved listening to the bees appreciate the tree too.

So I have been babying the tree as best I can, giving it lots of water in these last hot-weather weeks, and I've wrapped my arms around it more than once and thanked it for its beauty and shade. I hope it will survive, but if it has reached the end of its life cycle, it has certainly blessed us with undeserved bounty. 

And for that, I am forever grateful.