Wednesday, October 10, 2012
Murph this spring.
So we got one of each kind of cherry they had. Two sweets and one sour.
On. Sale. For $10 each.
Three 6' trees.
Which had to be brought home and babied because they were Sad. So I put them on the north side of the house and kept them in their pots and watered them every day until they weren't sad anymore.
And until the ground was soft enough to dig in again.
Because in southern Indiana, under the 1/2 inch of topsoil that we're lucky to have, there is a layer of clay that is about 10 miles deep. Ten. Miles. I'm pretty sure.
And when you take that clay, with no rain for three months and then bake it slowly at temperatures over 100 for a few weeks, guess what you get?
Which is hard to dig in to make big holes for cherry trees. Really, really hard to dig. As in - Honey? Why does my shovel just keep bouncing off the ground? And didn't we used to have grass in the lawn?
It was a rough summer.
But my beautiful new trees did just fine on the north side of the house, until it started raining at the end of August. And then Eric dug three ginormous holes and filled them with sand and chicken dirt, because sand and chicken dirt are magic. And we waited a few more weeks until the weather had cooled off and we actually had a frost.
And then we planted my beautiful new cherry trees.
And the one that was in the fullest sun promptly got sunburned and the leaves all sagged and it was Sad. Again.
I forgot to make sure it was getting enough direct sunlight before we planted it there. [Head hanging in shame.]
We're watering it a lot and it'll be fine. Things are winding down for the season and we've had a few more frosts, so it'll go dormant and have a nice long nap and then in the Spring, it and the other ones will be beautiful and they'll give me a few cherries, which I will get before the blasted birds get. And I will make cherry jam. And clafouti. And all will be right with the world.