Winter plantings

A couple weeks ago, just before the latest Arctic Express blew through and sent temperatures plummeting, I went out into the backyard and did some of my annual horticulture stuff. I'm not planting as much as in previous years, because I had fewer trees already in the ground back then. Makes sense. I also have less disposable cash this time around, so I'm being a bit more selective in what I spend it on (hint: It's mostly tiki bar stuff). One of my main projects for the coming year is landscaping around the swimming pool. The palm trees are nice, yes, but the grounds beneath them have gotten a bit feral. Last summer I planted an "Aphrodite" Rose of Sharon, which is a type of cold-tolerant hibiscus originally from Asia. The idea is that this will grow up to offer some privacy screening for the pool. It didn't get planted until summer had already begun, so it struggled mightily. In fact, at multiple points I thought it had died, but it proved a durable trooper. Desiring more hibiscus for the tropical flair they offer, last month I ordered a smaller, shrubby type with massive crimson flowers known as "Lord Baltimore." This one only grows 3'-4' tall and will make a nice accent plant in an area where I'd cut back a bedraggled, half-dead growth of rosemary (I like rosemary, but this part was seriously unhealthy and in terrible shape). I just received notice that my Lord Baltimore will be delivered today via USPS, and am looking forward to getting my hands on it.

Another project I have going is the germination of about 20 sabal minor dwarf palmettos. These are shrubby, trunkless palms that I've wanted for a while to add as understory plants beneath our big sabal palms. They lend a very tropical look wherever they're planted, and the "McCurtain" variety I've received originates from Oklahoma, where they survive harsh winters as well as heat and drought. In short, they're very hardy and should do well for me. Saba Minor is a Texas native, and can be seen in Palmetto State Park. I'm germinating the seeds in a plastic baggie filled with moist vermiculite and peat moss, resting atop a seed germination heat map. The other day I found one had started putting out a tap root, so I'm hoping I'll have an over-abundance of seedlings in another week or so.

Below is the only real "new" tree I've planted thus far this year. Three years ago I bought a Galaxy Peach from Fanick's in San Antonio. That's a type of flat, donut peach. Well, it fruited for the first time last year, and guess what? The peach was elongated and not a Galaxy at all. So the folks at Fanick's, being the kind of upstanding people that they are, offered me a replacement. I planted this Galaxy across the yard from my others. I hadn't intended to get more than two peach trees, but hey, I roll with the punches.

Although the tree had been pruned back by the nursery, I thought the root system under-developed for even that smaller tree size, so I pruned it back even more. Being no stranger to losing first-year trees to the Texas summer, I took those pruned branches and made several grafts to my already-established mystery peach across the yard. If this one turns out to be Galaxy, I'm in great shape even if the new tree dies (which I hope it doesn't).

Next up was leftover business from last year. I'd ordered a che, otherwise known as Mandarin melonberry, a small tree that is related to Osage orange. In fact, they're grafted onto hardy Osage root stock. It was fairly small when I got it and I worried it wouldn't survive the summer, so I potted it up instead. It hardly grew at all through the first half of summer, then put on a crazy spurt of growth to end up with a several willow-floppy branches, the longest being nearly 5' long. Needless to say, I was happy to get this one in the ground, although I'm going to prune it back for sanity's sake.

In the front yard I'd originally envisioned a row of small crabapple trees lining the driveway, and planted two Blanco crabapples to start, since they're attractive natives. Floods and deer and eventually cedar apple rust conspired to do one of them in last year, and I picked up a replacement from Madrone Nursery but got to thinking that maybe it wasn't worth the trouble to grow crabapples in the front yard. I could easily see someone accidentally backing into one whilst trying to park, and the potential for flooding and deer wasn't ever going away. So instead, I decided to put the new Blanco crab in the back yard, and did so a short distance from the peach, above. In fact, I'm seriously considering digging up the remaining crab in the front and relocating it, since it is not so very big yet. I've never moved a tree before, so we'll see how that goes. I also planted a Hewe's Virginia Crabapple in the spot where I lost an Arkansas Black apple tree late last summer. The Hewe's was originally one of four bench grafts I received last spring--two Wickson's crabapples and two Hewe's. Sadly, the Wickson's grafts failed, period. The Hewe's grew very well, but my beagles snapped the graft on one and my emergency re-grafting efforts failed. So I'm left with the one. Before bud break this spring, I'm going to take some cuttings and graft it onto other apple trees I have already established, to hedge my bets.

Finally, I'm doing grapes again. You may remember I tried this last year, getting several cuttings of rare T.V. Munson varieties from Grayson College. Of those cuttings last year, only Vahalhah survived to my embarrassment. Elvicand had several cuttings root, but I lost them all when I forgot to water them for several days. Ben Hur leafed out and grew well before abruptly dying. Turns out this one never developed any roots! The final type, Wapanuka, never did anything. It just failed completely. So, I decided to try again. This time, Grayson only sent Ben Hur and Elvicand cuttings, which makes me wonder if there's a problem with Wapanuka in general. Regardless, these two are in my refrigerator to stay dormant until the weather starts to warm, at which point I will attempt rooting once again.

As it stands now, I think I have all the trees I'm going to try and get, outside of a couple of cold-tolerant avocados, and a kumquat or two, perhaps. The rest of the way, I'm going to focus on grafting to what I already have and adding bushes and shrubs--I have space for more pomegranates (Kajackik Anor is one I hope to obtain) as well as at least one mulberry bush (not tree) and additional figs.

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Winter variations

The extremes of climate can really be madness-inducing. The area I live has long been classified as in USDA Plant Hardiness Zone 8b, but over the past decade I've seen new maps that place me just within the borders of Zone 9a, due to progressively warmer temperatures. For those of you confused by this "Zone" talk, let me offer this summation: Some fruiting plants need specific amounts of cold weather in which to go dormant and build up energy reserves to flower and produce fruit. Other types of plants cannot tolerate temperatures that drop below a certain point. Hardiness zones are a general attempt to classify the temperature environment of a region to aid in selecting appropriate plants to grow. It's not perfect, as it doesn't take into account annual rainfall, maximum summer temperatures, etc., but it's a good starting place. Got that? Good.

Several years ago, we moved from the south side of New Braunfels to the north side. The move was approximately 10 miles north, as the crow (or grackle, around here) flies. It also involved an increase in elevation of close to 100 feet, as we went from Blackland Prairie to the edge of the Texas Hill Country. That doesn't seem like much of a change on a global scale, but I've noticed that during the winter, our lows are consistently 4-5F degrees lower than those predicted for New Braunfels once the mercury dips below 40F or so. That means predictions of 38F or thereabouts can result in freezes for us. What's more, predictions for hard freezes can mean we're in store for some seriously cold weather. Case in point--last week, January 1-2, our overnight low was predicted to drop to 23F. When I woke up, the actual temperature was 16F! That is the lowest temperature I've recorded at the new house in the three-plus years we've lived here.

It also offers an opportunity to contrast this winter with last year's. The 2016-17 winter was unusually warm for us. We had one hard freeze in December and a bare handful of light freezes the rest of the season. We ended up recording in the neighborhood of 390 chill hours, that is, 390 hours in which the recorded winter temperature was below 45F. By any measure, that's a very low number, sufficient only for extremely low-chill cultivars of peaches and other fruit to produce. That kind of winter is more common to the Rio Grande Valley or Florida than Central Texas. Contrast that to this winter, where I've already logged 514 chill hours, with the traditional heart of winter--January and February--still to come (at this rate, we could easily exceed 1,000 chill hours, which is plenty more than any plant I grow needs in order to fruit). Needless to say, I'm hoping for some nice plum, pear and even apple production this spring.

But the overall amount of cold isn't the whole story--it's how the cold is delivered that has an equally powerful impact. Last year, after an unusually warm autumn, an arctic blast hit us, driving temperatures down to 22F. That cold weather killed all the fronds on the mature Mexican fan palm out front, killed the satsumas in my backyard down almost to the roots (despite their being covered by frost cloth), killed an Austin pomegranate down to the roots, killed a fig tree down to the roots, froze the buds and fruits off my Loquats, etc. My banana plants survived, but I'd wrapped them in C9 lights and frost blankets. That cold just hammered everything I had. Because of the damage done by 22F, one might expect this year's 16F to be much worse, right? Wrong. I know--I'm surprised myself. The Mexican fan palm took no damage. My pomegranates lost their leaves, but had no stem die-back. Ditto the figs. The re-grown satsumas are fine. I even had in-ground Bird-of-Paradise and plumeria survive unscathed (with cover and lights). What gives? Acclimation, that's what. The run-up to that 16F plunge consisted of a week of 40F weather, then another week of light freezes progressing to generally harder freezes. Essentially, the plants had plenty of time to adapt and prepare themselves for the cold, and weathered the low temperatures surprisingly well. The previous year, the hard freeze came out of nowhere--the weather was warm and mild, and as far as the plants were concerned, they were still enjoying the last days of summer (we were swimming in the pool until mid-October, it was so unusually warm).

The takeaway is that while plants may not have intelligence, they've still evolved ways to prepare for extremes of weather. The catch is that they need environmental signals to trigger those protective, physiological changes. The trouble is that climate change fosters more extreme weather--higher highs, lower lows, and unpredictability in between. That wreaks havoc on plants that've evolved over the centuries to thrive in a particular type of climate, or been bred for high cold or heat tolerances. If low-chill peaches are breaking bud in early February because temperatures have hit 80F for the previous two weeks, a sudden freeze in March is devastating to that year's crop. This kind of wild weather has manifested occasionally in the past, but I fear it's now well on its way to becoming the new norm.

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Pine trees, with occasional grapes

So, remember those grape cuttings I got a while back? I'm happy to report that after almost a month in pots, I'm getting healthy growth from the majority. The Valhallah grapes are even trying to set flowers this year, see?

That's kind of nuts for a cutting that's just barely rooted, but the cutting doesn't know that. I'll pinch the flower bunches off soon, so it puts more of its energy into producing roots and vegetation. Next year I'll let it make some grapes so I can judge their quality. Valhallah is by far the most precocious of the cuttings I've received, and the easiest to root as well. The next-most vigorous is Elvicand, which makes sense, since Valhallah is a hybrid with Elvicand in its ancestry. After that, we get Ben Hur, which is pushing out buds but not growing anywhere near the rate of the first two. I'm curious about Ben Hur, as T.V. Munson, the breeder who created the type back in the late 1800s, described it as similar to Black Spanish (aka Lenoir) in most respects for use in winemaking, but had far higher disease resistance. The one that's disappointed thus far is Wapanuka, a white table grape type. It's not sprouted. Its buds aren't even swelling. Of the four varieties, only it showed little sign of callusing before I potted it up. Fortunately, the cuttings haven't taken on that sickly gray color of dead wood. It's still brown, with thin strips of papery bark peeling away. I'll wait a few weeks before slicing into the bark to see if there's still green tissue underneath, but at this point I don't know if it'll root or not. Patience is going to be my companion on this one.

My big effort this weekend involved planting a pine forest. It's not actually a forest, but I can pretend, can't I? See, pine trees don't grow well here on the edge of the Hill Country. The soil is to alkaline. But I ordered 25 piñon pine seedlings from West Texas Nursery, and they came in a few weeks ago. These grow out in West Texas where what little soil there is is alkaline and rain is sparse. Comal County is at the easternmost edge of its listed growing range, so they may or may not survive for me. I initially wanted the Texas piñon (aka Remote Piñon pine) but they're rare in the nursery trade. This is the closely-related species, Pinus edulis, which isn't as good a match for my area, but we'll see what happens.

The reason I did not plant them right away is because the space in the back corner of our yard where they were to go had been overrun with more of that damn Carolina jasmine. I spent Saturday attacking the overgrown mass with pruning shears, a hedge trimmer and chainsaw. This is what I cleared out:

In the landscaped areas in the backyard, the previous owners thought that covering the ground with stone would be a good idea. It's whitish stuff, marble or limestone maybe, and a huge pain in the ass. It doesn't suppress weed or grass growth at all, does little to retain moisture and is difficult to dig through or move around. To make matters worse, at some point they decided new landscape fabric was necessary to control weeds, so instead of pulling up the old stuff they simply laid a new layer on top--with about six inches of soil between the two. Talk about headache-inducing! In this section, though, it appears there is only one layer of landscape fabric (probably because of that monstrous jasmine). I used the trusty hoe to move the rocks and accumulated dirt/roots/mulch to expose the fabric.

Then I used my utility knife to slice a hole maybe a foot across in the fabric, and a sharpshooter shovel to finish the hole.

Here's where it gets interesting. The seedling pines arrived in conical planting containers. I've never seen anything like this before. The trees are not terribly easy to extract from these, especially without damaging the roots.

But the roots! Oh, my, they are packed in tightly! Some are even potentially girdling the young tree. This will never do.

Although the planting instructions on the West Texas Nursery site seem to recommend planting as-is, I felt it prudent to separate the roots. These were so small I just used my fingers to break up the soil and knotted roots, and after a short bit had a nice, frizzy cluster of roots.

Everything after that was pretty straightforward. I planted the seedlings in the holes then refilled with soil. In some instances large rocks came out of the hole, so there wasn't enough soil to go back in, in which case I filled a bucket with alluvial soil/clay from the drainage out front and used that to supplement the hole. Afterwards, I replaced the landscape fabric, covered with stone and mulch, then watered each tree with a gallon or so of water.

All in all, I planted 10 trees here, roughly 2.5-3 feet apart. This is closer than the recommended spacing, but I expect a fairly high mortality rate. In any event, it'll be years before they're big enough to worry about crowding, and even then they're relatively small trees. If I'm lucky, by then they'll be producing edible nuts. I've still got 15 seedlings left, and I plan to put some out in the front yard and pot up others to hold in reserve as insurance in case I have a big die off. The pine forest might not look like much now, but give it 10 years and you might even be able to tell there are trees planted there.

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Grapes alive!

Back in February I wrote about how I'd gotten a shipment of grape cuttings in from the T.V. Munson vineyard at Grayson College. These hybrid varieties were created by Munson more than a century ago to 1) resist the various disease pressures of Texas and the Southern United States and 2) thrive in our soil and climactic conditions, which cause many common grape varieties considerable trouble. What I got from Grayson amounted to a bunch of 12" sticks cut from their mature vines. To prepare them for planting, I dipped each in Dip 'n Grow liquid rooting hormone, then bundled them up in a trash bag filled with moist sphagnum moss, then wrapped that in a black, light-proof bag and set it in my cloning box atop a plant heating mat. The damp heat encourages the cuttings to callus, which is the first stage of rooting, and the dark environment discourages the cuttings from sprouting prematurely. This is what they looked like when I pulled them out:

Let's quickly go over the four different cultivars I'm trying to root:

BEN HUR. Parentage a combination of Post Oak grape with Norton and Herbemont. Vine very vigorous, very prolific, free from rot and mildew; cluster large; berry little under medially black, persistent; pulp very tender, juicy, sprightly, sweet. We consider this one of the most valuable of American wine grapes. Those who like Le Noir grape will like this, as it has all the good qualities of Le Noir without its tendency to rot or mildew. Medium to long arm pruning, Ten feet apart. Ripens in August 5th to 15th, at Denison, Texas. [I've been considering Black Spanish/Lenoir grapes for our place, but this selection seems to offer all the advantages without the drawbacks of that better-known type. Easy call]

ELVICAND. 1885. (Elvira x Mustang). This is the best of three accidental hybrids of Elvira with the native Mustang grape, illustrates how readily hybrids between cultivated and wild grapes occur. There is no mistaking that the variety shows Mustang much more than Elvira. A pure natural compromise of three very distinct species, — one from the far Northeast, Labrusca, one from the cold North, Vulpina, and one from the hot Southwest, Candicans; vine vigorous with rampant growth, leaves of medium size, leathery, dark green above, covered with dense white woolly felt on under side and on younger wood; cluster small, compact, shouldered, peduncle short; berry globular, clear translucent red, above medium size, very persistent, the pedicel extracting a small core, when berry is pulled off, as in Mustang pulp tender, juicy, of a very sprightly sweet, slight Mustang flavor. Vine bears heavily with long arm pruning. Colors at mid-season but should hang several weeks to reach its best quality. Birds do not bother it until quite ripe. Ellis variety has received very favorable notice in South Texas and in California, as making a peculiar, very agreeable light white wine. The fruit neither rots or cracks, and the foliage never mildews. Here is a base on which to build a distinct very successful class of high colored grapes for all the country south of Mason and Dixon’s line. [My late father-in-law had what we thought were sweet, low-acid mustang grapes growing on his property outside of Bastrop. They were quite wonderful in flavor. I'm willing to bet now that they were Elvicand types gone feral from an old homestead].

VALHALLAH. 1893. (Elvicand x Brilliant). Vine strong grower, foliage much more resembling Brilliant than Elvicand, and a little subject to mildew in wet seasons. Cluster small to medium, shouldered; berries large, dark, translucent red, globular, persistent, skin tough, pulp tender, juicy, of very good quality, — an improvement on Elvicand; has a trace of Mustang pulp flavor, but none of the twang of skin; ripe a little later than Concord and hangs sound a long time. Adapted to same range as Elvicand, and especially suitable for very limy soil. Plant 10 feet apart, give long arm pruning. Perfect flower. [This is what put me on the hunt for Munson's varieties--looking for a table grape suited for Central Texas conditions. It is reported to have flourished in trials in San Antonio. Who am I to argue with that?]

WAPANUKA. 1893. (Rommel x Brilliant). Growth medium to strong, equal with Concord, less attacked by mildew than Brilliant. Cluster medium to large, cylindrical, shouldered, properly compact; peduncle short to medium. Berries large, five-eights to seven-eights inch in diameter, globular, persistent, rich yellowish-white, translucent; skin very thin and delicate, yet seldom cracks, and handles better than Rommel. Ripe about with Delaware. Far superior to Niagara and Green Mountain. For nearby market and table grape there is no other variety superior, if equal, to it. Very prolific, requires short pruning. Succeeds well North and South. Reported as enduring drought in Western Texas among the best. Undoubtedly one of the best, if not the best, table and eating grapes produced in the United States. Takes the place of the Rommel, it being superior to it, although the Rommel is near the top for extra fine quality and flavor. Plant 8 Feet. Short arm pruning. Perfect flower. [The table grape description caught my attention. I'd never heard of this grape, and it seems pretty obscure, even for a Munson type. I wonder why it's not more widely grown, as opposed to, say, the Chanpanel, which is the one Munson variety readily available but isn't considered good for eating and only marginal for wine.]

As you can see in the image below, wrapping in a black bag wasn't enough to keep some of the cuttings from sprouting. This is Ben Hur, I believe.

And when we're talking about calluses, it's difficult to visualize. Essentially, from what I can gather, it's scar tissue that closes up the bottom cut on the budwood, from which roots develop. It's creamy in color, and can form beneath the bark as well as atop of it. Here are two pieces of Valhallah that the calluses are quite clear. Calluses are easily obscured by bark and the sphagnum moss--these weren't very visible until I washed them off.

And here's Elvicand. The calluses are obscured by sphagnum moss, but there's no mistaking that aggressive root growth. Elvicand was a popular wine grape pre-Prohibition, in no small part, I suspect, to the ease in which it roots.

So here they all are, potted up and ready (hopefully) to take root and grow vigorously for a few months, at which point I'll transplant to separate containers. Of the four types I'm working with, Elvicand seems the most easily rooted, with calluses and aggressive roots. Valhallah is next, with small roots forming on several pieces of wood, but all showing some degree of callusing. After that comes Ben Hur, with aggressive sprouting but only minimal callusing and no visible roots. Finally we have Wapanuka, with no sprouts, no roots and no obvious callusing. The wood still appears healthy and alive, so I'll exercise patience and keep a close eye on it for the next few months. Grape cuttings can live for months without developing roots as long as they've kept moist, and I wonder if the rarity of Wapanuka stems from a reluctance to root.

In other news, I got in a shipment of 25 piñon pine seedings in from West Texas Nursery. Alas, I wasn't paying as close attention as I should have--turns out these are pinus edulis as opposed to pinus remota, which is what I really wanted and think would do better here on the edge of the Hill Country. Regardless, they're both closely related pine trees that require alkaline soil to grow, and produce edible pine nuts. I intend to plant a number of them and hope for the best, while trading the rest for other interesting plant types. Wish me luck!

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Going bananas!

Remember when we had our last big arctic blast of cold air here in Texas just before Christmas? It was almost a full week of chill weather, with temperatures dipping down below--or close to--freezing each night. I set about covering several outdoor plants that haven't quite grown enough to ward off freezing weather, and hauled into the garage a number of other potted plants of a tropical nature. Planted near the swimming pool, however, are a couple of banana plants that've been in the ground a year and a half, and by my thinking, were approaching fruiting maturity. They'd grown quite a bit bigger than they were last winter when a scrap of landscape cloth was enough to protect them. I wrapped them top to bottom using some plant frost blankets picked up at Lowe's, along with a large fabric drop cloth I had from one of my home improvement projects. The freezes were never severe, but as the temperatures were unpredictable, I left them covered for the better part of the week. When I finally uncovered them with the onset of 70-degree weather, I was surprised to find this:

The crazy banana plant decided to flower just as winter began, during the coldest week of the year! Since then, fortunately, we've had two weeks of unusually warm weather--even for Texas--so it's put on some good growth and opened several more petals to reveal several more bunches of proto-bananas.

Alas, the warm weather was not to last, and Wednesday we got a shot of cold air that prompted me to start planning protection (which is actually good news, as my other fruit trees need some more cold weather if they're going to produce any fruit). The previous cold spell resulted in a number of dead banana leaves, as the frost blanket wasn't enough to protect those in direct contact with it. The looming arctic air mass had the weather forecasters predicting temperatures dipping down to the mid-20s for New Braunfels, and I know from experience that we generally run 3-4 degrees colder. Clearly, the flower and bananas would be at risk if I didn't increase the cold protection.

Turns out I had the solution at hand. We've been replacing our old Christmas lights with energy-efficient LEDs over the past few years, but hadn't thrown out the old lights. I had a few old strings of big C9 size lights, and those give off a nice amount of heat. Plus, I picked up a couple more strands post-Christmas at a deep discount. It's a good thing I got the extras, because I discovered our new puppy, Belle, had chewed through two of the old strands. Wednesday night, I wrapped the two banana plants up with C9 lights--the larger, flowering plant getting three strands (it also has two large daughter plants, or "pups," growing with it--and one for the smaller plant. Over the top of each I draped an old, small blanket, then wrapped them with the much larger (and thinner) plant frost blankets. I clamped all the edges and corners closed with plastic shop clamps to shut out any drafts and gaps, then anchored the bottoms with landscaping stones. I plugged it in and went to bed. Alas, three strands of C9 lights strung together proved too much for the older strand's fuse, and it burned out sometime during the night. Fortunately, we didn't get down to freezing. I did get to enjoy the fun of hunting up a 5 amp fuse today. I found one, finally, and restored the old strand to working order. I also ran an additional extension cord out to the banana and connected the two new C9 strands separately. This should reduce the amp load across the board enough for them to burn all night without incident, and even if we lose a fuse, there will be at least one strand powered separately to keep the banana plant, flower and baby bananas warm. This is how it looks:

I'm not a huge banana fan, although I like them well enough on their own. But I remember growing up that my grandmother always had banana plants growing in the back yard, and was always disappointed they never fruited because of winter die-back. The possibility of actually getting a big bunch of home-grown bananas has me surprisingly excited, and if it takes Christmas lights and clamped on blankets to see it across the finish line, then so be it.

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2016 Texas Fruit Conference

Monday and Tuesday, I attended the 2016 Texas Fruit Conference, put on by the Texas A&M University Extension Service, now known as AgriLife Extension (which is goofy as all get-out, but whatcha gonna do?). I found out about it a few weeks ago, and as it was held in New Braunfels this year (previous years have all been in College Station) there was no way I was going to miss it. The first day's programming seemed geared more toward commercial farming and orchards, and I ended up skipping the reception in the evening to take the kids trick-or-treating, but my interest was piqued. I saw some researchers I'd only ever seen as names online, and met Dr. Larry Stein, who I'd discussed the possibility of planting Carpathian walnuts about a decade ago (the A&M research station in Uvalde was testing some blight-resistant cultivars. I eventually opted for pecan, which Stein informed me was a good choice--the resistant selections turned out to be not resistant at all, and A&M gave up on the great walnut experiment). I ended up picking up several interesting books:

The second day opened with the discussion I was most excited about, Dr. Stein's discussion on growing cold-tolerant avocados in Texas. He discussed the preferred rootstock and origins of the current Mexican-race avocados from San Antonio and South Texas that make up the bulk of the commonly available cultivars, and said that avocados in Texas are generally self-fertile enough that worrying about pairing A and B types for cross-pollination isn't necessary. He then showed that all avocados are not created equal, as some are much more fleshy than others. One example had a pit that made up maybe 80 percent of the fruit, with just a thin sheath of fruit beneath the skin. Alas, there was no objective analysis of the fruit qualities of the common Mexican types (all online sources are cut-and-paste descriptions interested only in convincing the prospective buyer that the 'cado in question puts Haas to shame). I'd have liked more objective discussion of the available cultivars, but I suppose it was a good overview. Monte Nesbitt followed with a fascinating discussion about growing olives in Texas (tempting, but I'm not going to go there), and Jim Kamas talked about growing grapes in Texas, with special emphasis on the new table grape release Victoria Red. Now I'm jazzed about putting up the pergola The Wife and I have discussed and getting some of those grapes started. Wes Mickel of Austin's Argus Cidery seemed at a bit of a loss during his talk, wandering off into a "It's really hard to grow apples in Texas, so we get ours from out of state" tangent. The Q&A rescued the section, however. I've long been interested in testing the viability of traditional cider apple types in Texas, and asked him if any work was being done with those varieties (most currently-available commercial cider is currently made from dessert apples, resulting in inferior cider). He explained there's a lot of interest in cider apple types in the coops of the Pacific Northwest, but nothing in Texas, because, again, it's hard to grow apples in Texas. Other people jumped in and the discussion moved into providing various fruit types to area distilleries, as fruit infusions are currently very popular, and the fruit used can be "ugly," with blemishes, bruises and the like which would preclude its sale to consumers. After the talk, quite a few people (myself included) gathered around Mickel to continue the discussion.

During lunch, a dozen crates filled with various pear type were set out. They all came from one of the A&M test plots and the attendees were ordered to take them all home, because the conference staff didn't want to haul them back to College Station. I've loved pears forever, and it broke my hear to leave the moonglow back at the old house, so I didn't need much convincing to scoop up a bag full to take home. I grabbed some orient, because I'd never had that type and it was recommended as a good pollinator for the moonglow. It was about the same as billed, mildly gritty, mild flavor, mild sweetness. Not great, but certainly palatable--nowhere near the sweet, juicy, smooth flesh of the moonglow. The Le Conte pears here were kind of mealy and left me unimpressed. The big surprise was the Shin Li Asian pears. I've never been much of a fan of the crunchy-crisp Asian pear types, as I've always found them to have watery flavor and apples do the whole texture better. But these, well, there was a bright, juicy pear flavor to them, with maybe a hint of pineapple. The crispness wasn't overdone. Looking back on it, I wish I'd have grabbed more of them, because they're definitely the best of the bunch.

There was also a box of various persimmons and satsumas on the registration desk. We weren't able to sample these, but they intrigued me. I'd never seen persimmons so red--they could easily have passed for tomatoes were they not marked clearly. I'm definitely going to look into Honan Red and Suruga persimmons.

Most of the time, I was seated next to Dr. Dave Byrne, an expert on rose breeding and peaches. He's a friendly guy, and confirmed that the La Feliciana I'd grown at the old house was not a good choice for this area. His discussion on peaches and stone fruit was interesting. Afterward, we had a brief discussion about the newer low-chill cherries available. He hadn't seen much about them, but wanted to get some and run some trials. The last formal presentation of the day was Tim Hartmann, who discussed growing exotic fruit. He touched on star fruit, dragon fruit and papaya, but what caught my attention was his brief detour into passion fruit territory. Whoo hoo! I wanted to talk to him more about this (turns out he grows p. edulis var. Purple Possum) but the presentations were running late by that point and the conference was almost over--and we'd yet to get to the pomegranate tasting.

Ah, the tasting! This is what I'd looked forward to more than anything else. I am a big fan of pomegranates, but have only tasted "Wonderful," and really wanted to get a sample of other cultivars before making a decision on additional types to plant in the back yard. Currently, I have sweet varieties "Austin" and "Sumbar" planted, and want to round that out with some tart varieties and maybe a sour type. Unfortunately, because of the running lateness of everything and the large number of people eager to sample the various pomegranates, I had to rush through the tasting. I didn't have an opportunity to savor them, and only jotted down my superficial impressions:

Ambrosia: Very sweet, but bland. Very bland. I'd been considering this one, but absolutely won't get it now.

Salavatski(?): This was a tough one to identify. The card looks to me like "Kala Vatsui Anor," but apparently no such pom exists. The closest I can find is Salavatski. Regardless, it had pretty red arils and was tart with a hint of sweetness. The seeds were somewhat hard.

Spanish Sweet: As its name says, it's very sweet. It also had good flavor--by far the best of the sweet poms tasted. Hard seeds.

Al-Sirin-Nar: I'd seen this one down at Fanick's in San Antonio but wasn't sure about it, as online descriptions seemed inconsistent. I found it nicely tart with moderate sweetness and good flavor. I'm inclined to get it now.

Karabala Miursal: Can't find anything about this one online. Misspelled name, perhaps? No matter. It's sweet with hard seeds, an okay flavor. Nothing special, won't be seeking it out.

Ganesh: The most common cultivar in India. Supposedly a sweet fruit with soft seeds, but this one was tart with hard seeds. Mislabeled?

Big Red: Juicy and tart, semi-soft seeds. Didn't make much of an impression.

Kara-Kalinski: Mildly sweet. I found it to have an unusual, almost apple-like flavor, very distinct for a pom. This is supposed to be a good juice variety with medium-hard seeds that have a nutty taste. I don't recall noting the seed taste, but I did hear others commenting on that aspect. This one's a possibility.

Vkusnyi: Sweet-tart taste with soft seeds. This is supposed to have a "complex" taste, but I didn't note much complexity. A long-keeping variety said to produce good juice.

Kazake: Sweet with hard seeds. Supposed to be a sweet-tart type, but I detected no tartness. Meh.

Parfianka/Garnet Sash: The reining taste-test champion, this is supposed to be the greatest, most complex pomegranate for flavor. Imagine my disappointment when I tasted watered-down Wonderful with small, soft seeds. Terribly, terribly underwhelming. Afterward, I spoke with others who'd had Parfianka before and they expressed their disappointment as well. Maybe this was just a bad crop? I dunno. This was on my must-have list, but I'm dubious now.

Sireneuyi: Bland with soft seeds. Supposed to have a "complex, sweet taste," but I found it unremarkable in every way. My least favorite of the entire tasting.

Kajacik Anor: Sweet-tart with hard seeds. Very sweet. Very tart. Really, this one is like Wonderful turned up to 11. I mean that in a good way. This was easily my favorite of the tasting--I sampled it a couple more times to be sure. This is supposed to be super-cold-hardy with long-keeping fruit. I want this one, for sure. Unfortunately, it doesn't seem to be commonly available. I spoke to one of the folks who works at the pomegranate testing farm, and she said she'll try to get me some cuttings when they go in to prune the plants this winter, so yay!

Guess what? They also brought out a couple boxes of pomegranates for us to take home. One box had Salavatski in it, which we didn't get to sample, and the other was a mix of random fruit from the test plot. I got a couple of the Salavatski, which is supposed to have a "sweet-tart fruity" flavor with seeds that snap in the mouth when bitten. I haven't tried one yet, but did crack open two of the smaller, unknown types. One had bad heart rot, but the other had pale, white-pink arils with a bright, sweet-tart flavor and hard seeds. It will be interesting to sample the other unknown types. I also got a copy of the tasting results. Nice to see my experience wasn't too far off the mark--apart from the people who thought Ambrosia and Vkusnyi were the best of the bunch (some folks only like sweet, apparently), my favorites, Al-Sirin-Nar and Kajacik Anor both scored highly, and Parfianka received no votes at all. Very interesting.

This being the first conference held outside of College Station, I wasn't sure how New Braunfels would compare with previous editions. I figure there were more than 150 folks in attendance, not counting the speakers. Afterward, I heard that this was the highest-attended conference they'd held thus far, so that was interesting. It might come back to New Braunfels in the future, or move around to other parts of the state. If it's nearby, I suspect I'll go again. A lot of what was presented was irrelevant to me, but a good amount of it was engaging. I'd like to see the pomegranate tasting moved to the first evening, so there's not the end-of-conference crunch to deal with, and it'd be great if additional fruits (persimmons?) could be added as well. I'd also like to see unusual/exotic fruit crops expanded on, because that's how I roll.

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Grafting revisited

I feel the need to clear up a misconception I've encountered with growing frequency: I don't have a green thumb. I'm not terribly good with plants. If it's in a pot, odds are that I will kill it sooner rather than later. Not through abuse or neglect, mind you, but by doing everything I'm supposed to in order to assure perfect growing conditions. I've killed countless types of passion flowers this way. Conversely, if I plant something outside, in the ground, where it can generally fend for itself without my constant attention, then the plants do pretty well for themselves. Hence my acquired preference for fruit trees. That image to the left? That's a little fly camped out on blossoms of my Santa Rosa plum. I planted this plum tree last year (we had a dwarf version at the old house) and it always produced a brilliant display of popcorn-like blossoms in early spring, followed by dark red, sweet-tart fruit. I might actually get a few plums off it this year. That would be nice, although the other plum tree isn't blooming so I don't know what to expect regarding cross pollination.

What I'm really jazzed about are these next two images. Take a look. The first is of the Hall apple graft on the old dwarf apple tree on the south side of my yard, and the second is of the Yates apple graft on the old dwarf tree on the north side of my yard. Cleft grafting is the easiest type of grafting there is, apples and pears are very cooperative when it comes to grafting, and I've had great success with it in the past. That said, there's always a period of uncertainty in the early spring when the grafted wood is dormant and I'm left to worry "Is the graft taking? Is the wound healing? Or is the bud wood dead and the graft a failure?" It's not until the buds break on the grafted sticks that I can exhale a little in relief. There are things that can still happen to ruin the grafting attempt, but the biggest hurdle is past. I also had bud break on a Hewe's Virginia crab apple bench graft I got earlier in the spring, which I'm happy about. Now, all I need are the other nine grafts on the two trees to show signs of active growth and all will be well.

Other times, the graft doesn't waste any time letting you know it's happy. This image below is of a Meadows pear scion I grafted onto my Purdue pear tree about four weeks ago after getting the wood through a trade with another grower. Once it finishes flowering I'll pick them all off to ensure the scion doesn't try to make any fruit. First, the fruit would break the fresh grafting union before it completely healed, and secondly, I want the tree to put all its energy into growing the graft this season. But it's still nice to see such obvious early success.

Elsewhere, I've got an agarita bush in the front yard in full bloom (below). I hope to add more of the tart-berried native plant in the future. The fruit makes a great wine and the plant is drought-tolerant and simply wants to be left alone (the sharp thorns on the holly-like leaves are testament to that). Second down is the Galaxy peach I planted last year in bloom. It's blooming a lot. Supposedly these garish, magenta blossoms are self-fertile, but just to be sure, the Red Baron peach about 15 feet away is breaking out into some serious color as well. Most everything else I have is still dormant, but with the warm weather and recent rains, I expect everything to be breaking out any day now.

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