Marcia and I just finished making our second batch of lemon marmalade this year, the big beautiful Meyer lemons we used coming from our two prolific lemon trees.
This is the first time we’ve had enough lemons to make marmalade since I planted our two lemon trees ten years ago. Why did our trees take so long to grow enough lemons for us to make marmalade?
Because I was arrogant and profoundly stupid when it came to growing lemon trees here. And thereby hangs this tale.
When we moved here to Skunk Hollow, the current name for our two acres carved out of a redwood forest a mile inland from the town of Mendocino, the forest still extant all around us, I was told by every local gardener I talked to who had ever tried to garden in close proximity to redwood trees that I would be foolish to plant my lemon trees in the ground, that they would be choked to death by the water-hungry redwood roots; and I was given the same advice about growing vegetables in this ground.
For some reason I thought I could do what no one else had ever done, and so I planted two lemon trees in a patch of ground on the south-facing sunny side of our house, making sure to plant them in big deep holes from which I removed an enormous amount of redwood roots.
And lo and verily, the little trees did grow into healthy-looking green lemon trees, and I foolishly thought I had succeeded where no one else in the history of the world ever had.
After the trees had been in the ground for three years and were four-feet tall, I thought they should be making blossoms by now as had all the other lemon trees I’d planted in my life in Santa Cruz and Sacramento and Berkeley, but these lemon trees did not make blossoms.
So I fed the little trees blossom-encouraging food, and carefully dug out redwood roots all around them while being careful not to damage the lemon tree roots, though such roots were not plentiful or robust.
And lo and verily in Year Four each of the two trees, growing about ten feet apart, made blossoms, which is to say each tree made one blossom, and these blossoms soon wilted and died and fell away.
In Year Five, each tree made two blossoms, and one of these four blossoms was pollinated by a honeybee who somehow found the lonely little flower, and a tiny lemon formed, which is how all lemons begin their lives.
But this tiny lemon, which I named Tiny, did not grow much and remained tiny all her days, and when I harvested her several months later, she was barely yellow and smaller than a thimble and of juice she had none.
Year Six, no blossoms were made, despite copious food and water given to these trees. Year Seven, ditto.
And I finally admitted reality and dug up the two lemon trees and discovered they each had miniscule root masses, and by miniscule I mean barely any roots at all.
How had these trees survived for seven years? I don’t have a clue.
I had given up growing vegetables in the ground after five years of backbreaking labor three times a year clearing my vegetable patches of tonnages (no exaggeration) of redwood roots and resorted to big tubs, the results marvelous and provoking frequent grateful tears.
So I bought two 100-gallon tubs, filled them with soil and manure and compost and ashes and plant food, and therein planted the lemon trees And lo and verily after a year in the tubs they did blossom, and the bees and bumblebees and hummingbirds came to them, and it was good.
This is Year Three of those marvelous amazing lemon trees living in their tubs free of redwood roots, and this year, despite a troubling absence of honeybees, they produced over 200 big juicy delicious sweet lemons from which we just made our second batch of fantastic organic marmalade.
And guess who pollinated our lemon trees this year in the absence of honeybees? Hummingbirds!
If I had listened to the people who knew a thing or two about growing vegetables and lemon trees in close proximity to giant redwoods, we would have been making marmalade from our lemons years ago.
Moral: Listen to those who know the ways of the local nature gods.
Humility a story from Buddha In A Teacup read by Todd