So I engaged in the annual ritual of apple tree pruning the other day. It is the second year in a row I have done it. That makes it annual. When I planted the trees, two summers ago, annual pruning was not a thing that was on my radar, but every time I would look for information on caring for my little trees (staking, feeding, preparing for winter, etc.), pruning tips would show up in the search results or as the more prominent topic on the tree care sites. So I took the hint and looked into it.
It turns out there are 3 basic principles to pruning apple trees. To some extent they apply to other species of trees as well – but different trees have different growing habits, so I wouldn’t mindlessly do the same things to other species without learning more about them first. One of the extension sites I studied had a handy mnemonic for remembering the principles – three ‘Cs’, or something like that. Ironically, I can’t remember the mnemonic. Having spent some time learning about the growing habits of the trees though – and applying guidance from experts about pruning – the 3 principles just seem like common sense to me now. It is actually, easier for me to think of it as phases or, even more straight-forwardly, 3 passes at tree pruning. I essentially go around each tree 3 times, looking for (and cutting off) different things each time. There is a natural progression to the passes as the things I am looking for require increasing judgement with each pass. And it is helpful to remove the more obvious things first, so it is easier to see the things that require more careful consideration.
The first pass is the most clear-cut (pun intended). I cut off anything that is damaged. Damaged branches, breaches in the tree’s protective outer layer, are potential entry points for microbes or insects to burrow in and spread to other parts of the tree. The more ragged the break, the more surface area it opens to invaders. Pruning leaves a nice clean face, minimizing surface area. Also, it doesn’t take long for the new face to dry out, making it resistant to invasion like the rest of the healthy tree exterior. This is one reason for pruning early in the season, before disease and pests emerge from hibernation.
This year, I grudgingly had to cut off a few of the larger branches at the bottom of each tree, because that damned rabbit had knawed them. It had cut off some of the smaller branches too (some of which it just left lying about in the snow to taunt me – that gluttonous little bastard). But there were larger ones it couldn’t bite through, so it stripped the bark and left a thousand tooth marks in the delicate cambium layer. It looked like someone had taken a cheese grater to them – intentionally roughing the surface to invite as much fungus to attach as possible. They were among the largest branches, with potential to support the most leaves, but they had to go for the health of the rest of the tree. (cursed rodents)
The second pass is to remove vertically growing branches. The more vertically a branch grows, the less likely it is to flower or set fruit. Obviously, a tree must have a vertically-growing trunk to hold everything else up (and connect it to the roots). However, only one primary trunk is needed for that. Secondary vertical growth just ends up competing for space in the center of the tree, so it ends up growing long and spindly. When wind blows branches around, tall spindly branches in the center are likely to rub against horizontal branches, causing damage (which, as I said above, is bad). If secondary vertical limbs start to branch out, it just exacerbates the problem of branch-on-branch damage. So allowing vertical limbs to grow means the tree is not only wasting resources for growth on branches that will not bear fruit – it is creating mechanisms for ongoing damage to branches that are productive. So, generally speaking, vertical limbs need to go.
There are some exceptions to this principle. If, for example, the primary truck has been damaged in a way that limits the height of the tree too much, it may be a good idea to allow a vertical limb to grow to serve as an extension of the trunk. Not just any vertical branch will do, of course, you would want one that is near the original trunk, originates as high up the original trunk as possible, will interfere with as few horizontal limbs as possible, etc. There may be other reasons for wanting more than one main trunk as well, but the point is the decision to allow vertical growth needs to be made with intention – and attention to how it will impact other parts of the tree.
The third pass is to thin small branches pointing inward. This is another principle aimed at limiting the danger of one limb bumping or scraping another when the wind blows. For the most part, if a branch starts growing back toward the center of the tree, it will eventually cross another one. There are some exceptions, of course. Branches might be missing from parts of the tree due to damage in previous seasons – or some other random event. So it is advisable, on this third pass, to stand a little farther back and imagine where each bud or tiny branch will grow if it were allowed to remain. If it is aimed at another branch, it probably needs to go. If it is aimed toward empty space, you might decide to allow it to remain.
There were a few inward facing branches I allowed to remain this season. My little trees don’t have a clear shape yet, so I left a few little limbs to grow toward gaps. I will need to keep my eye on some of them, because they will eventually become problems if left to their own devices. However, I can train them in the directions I want them to go by strategically pruning farther down the branch that will come if I let it grow. The growth of the next couple of seasons will fill the empty space – and eventually, it will form a bud that points away from the trunk of the tree. That is where I will eventually prune, leaving that bud to direct the future growth of the limb out where it should be. There is some faith involved in believing that bud will one day come to be – but only some. Mainly, I am just trusting the tree to do what apple trees do – and being patient until it does.
Timing is important too. You are supposed to prune while apple trees are dormant, after they have withdrawn sap and nutrients into their roots, so it will be maximally available for the next growing season. (This is very different from lilacs, which need to be pruned after they flower, but before they set new buds by the end of the growing season.) I think you want to wait until the deep cold of winter has passed – though, to be honest, I can’t remember why that matters (maybe just because it sucks to be outside with metal pruners in your hand, wading through snow, when it is 30-below). However, it definitely needs to be done well before sap starts to rise again in spring.
Obviously, you don’t want the sap to be back in the branches already. You don’t want to waste the precious nutrients by lopping them off in an awakening branch. It is not just a race to beat the sap to the branch though. The freshly exposed part of the tree that is left behind after the cut needs some time to essentially heal before the sap gets to it. It needs to dry out a bit, so that it won’t be a route for sap to get pumped out of the tree.
A couple decades ago, the city arborists in the town where I was then living waited too long to prune boulevard trees one spring. It must have been April or May by the time they came by and cut off limbs overhanging streets. The clean circles of exposed flesh they left behind on the maples that lined the streets, some of them 8-12” in diameter, oozed and dripped sap for weeks afterward. I remember the puddles collecting on the streets and sidewalks. Eventually it rained enough to wash nature’s stickiest substance away, into storm drains. In other words, by waiting too long to prune, the arborists literally poured lifeblood of those trees down the drain. Gallons of it.
So I have my calendar marked for tree pruning in late February. I figure the really cold temperatures will have passed by then (or they will be in sight, on the weather forecast). And it will give several weeks for the cuts to heal before the trees start to awaken. This year happened to be one in which the sub-zero temps lasted longer than usual, so I waited until the first week of March to prune.
I bring all of this up because it occurred to me that pruning trees is a good metaphor to illustrate the paradox of stewardship. It is all about making decisions about conserving those parts of the tree that are already fruitful and progressively removing portions to prompt (or make space for) new growth. Stewardship requires conservatism and progressivism to be at work simultaneously.
When I say “conservative”, I mean it in the proper, traditional sense. I do not mean it in the distorted sense in which it is often used by modern politicians or media pundits who stir up animosity for profit. I mean conservative in the sense of holding to what is or has been – like maintaining traditions. It is connective tissue that keeps us in contact with ancestors and ancestral wisdom. It is recognition of the the goodness – the value and worth – of something that is, and has been, functioning well (something like a culture, an ecosystem, an institution, a technology, etc.). It is the premise of sayings like don’t change a winning team, if it ain’t broke don’t fix it, or a rolling stone gathers no moss.
Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire. – Gustav Mahler
When I say “progressive”, I mean that in a literal, traditional sense as well. I do not equate it with liberalism – which is another term often distorted by politicians and pundits to manufacture division and controversy. I mean progressive in the sense of a focus on possibility – of making changes to bring about states of affairs that do not yet exist, but might. It is generative, innovative and forward looking. It is the premise of sayings like a breath of fresh air, out with the old and in with the new, or don’t let the grass grow beneath your feet.
Even if you’re on the right track, you’ll get run over if you just sit there. – Will Rogers
Stewardship, in short, is Janus-faced. Not in the pejorative sense of being 2-faced. But in the way that many wisdom traditions gesture at a need to be both forward looking (progressive) and backward looking (conservative) – to let go of old growth that inhibits new growth, and also maintain a firm connection to essential roots. Solomon said there is a time for every activity under the sun. The essence of good stewardship – of wisdom – is knowing the time.
I always experience a moment of pause when the pruning sheers touch a branch. I want my trees to make apples, of course. And they obviously need branches to do that. Even damaged branches can have the potential to bear fruit, so nearly every cut removes potential to grow apples. And it is a kind of potential I can see. It already exists. It is concrete. I may know, abstractly, that if I prune this damaged branch, it will prompt the tree to grow a new, healthy one elsewhere – and that new healthy one will quickly outpace the potential of this damaged one to bear fruit. But I can see this old branch. I can’t see that new one yet. It is counterintuitive to remove existing potential, even if it is limited, for increased potential that does not yet exist. But this is the essence of the progressive face of stewardship. It is in the long-term interest of the health and productivity of the tree to cut off old growth – even some growth that could produce fruit. Strategically cutting out old growth spurs new growth – and new possibilities for growth.
But pruning for the sake of pruning is dangerous. Mindlessly lopping off branches could result in removing too many sites for leaves, which would starve the tree. Or it could prompt growth in the wrong direction, which could result in unproductive branches – or ones that damage other parts of the tree. A healthy dose of conservatism is needed to preserve the parts of the tree that can continue to be fruitful. Severing the path from the roots to a branch is irreversible – and the end of that branch’s potential to produce (unless it is in the hands of someone skilled at splicing trees).
Clinging to tradition merely for the sake of tradition is degenerative. Change for the sake of change is also degenerative. The paradox of stewardship is that maintaining health requires both holding on and letting go. Too much of one or the other stifles growth.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
Writing this little essay has also been a good exercise in writing to find out what I think. The exercise of articulating my thoughts about the nature of stewardship, by casting them in the context of pruning helped to organize some things that have been in my head. Perhaps more importantly though, it surfaced some new thoughts (or maybe it brought them into focus – I am not sure which is the right metaphor) about a few key entailments of stewardship. In particular, it strikes me that it is impossible to be a good steward without:
- Understanding. Maybe it is obvious that a good steward needs to understand the thing they are stewarding. I don’t think it would have occurred to me to list it as an essential entailment of stewardship previously though. Come to think of it, I can’t remember other writers mentioning understanding, explicitly, as part of stewardship. Perhaps it is so obvious it gets overlooked. In any case, I had to learn quite a bit about apple trees in order to make decisions about pruning – especially in cases where judgment was involved such as training growth into areas to fill-out the tree. To be clear, understanding is more than remembering. In fact, I forgot the mnemonic that was supposed to help me remember which branches to cut, because it was too superficial for making decisions (aside from the obviously damaged, diseased, or dead branches). It didn’t help in making decisions that required judgment. A checklist may be a helpful audit device, but it doesn’t stand in for reasoning. Also, what I now know about apple trees might be a helpful foundation for learning to prune other trees – but at this point I can only confidently say I understand apple trees well enough to prune them (I am reasonably confident about lilacs too, but that is based on stuff I learned about them decades ago). Mindlessly applying what I know about apples to other species could harm them. Understanding is context specific.
- Imagination. This is perhaps the progressive side of understanding. It is the capacity to see possibility – to envision what might happen if… It is what was necessary to decide to make exceptions in the third pass, to allow some branches to grow inward(ish). I had to be able to inspect the branch, the tree, and the whole of the situation to project what they may all be like at some future time. And it is not an accident that imagination is needed for tasks that require the most judgment. It does not take much imagination to know I should cut damaged branches. That can be covered with a simple algorithm: if damaged, then remove. Some imagination can be useful to understand the reasoning behind the algorithm – but understanding is not actually necessary for that part of the pruning operation. The algorithm can be followed fairly mindlessly and it will be fine. However if decisions can be made with the simple application of algorithms, then a steward is not needed. A simple computer program can do the job. But an algorithm could not make the decisions about exceptions in the second or third passes. A heuristic might help for those, but still cannot replace the role imagination plays in pruning decisions.
- Trust. I said some of the pruning decision required a little faith: trust that the tree would do what apple trees do. Trust is the offspring of understanding and imagination. I know enough about trees in general, and apple trees in particular, to have confidence that pruning undesirable branches – even if they have some potential to produce fruit – will prompt the tree to grow more desirable branches. I have to have some imagination to know where to cut in order to encourage the tree to grow the way I want it to. But even so, life and growth is not fully deterministic. Pruning a branch here does not cause a branch there as though by clockwork. Chance is involved. As a steward, I make decisions about conserving or progressing, based on imaginative understanding as best I can – and then just have to trust the tree to do its thing. And I do have reasons to trust the tree to be tenacious in doing its thing, because I know it. In that sense, engaging in stewardship is an act of hope. But I suppose a corollary to this point is that an organization, institution, or group cannot be stewarded if the individuals who make it up cannot be trusted.