I found a chopped-up stump by the back fence when we first moved to this house. Thin wands were sprouting up from below a graft line on the murdered tree, so I left it alone to see what would grow back. These are its fiercely pink, serrated blossoms.
Until it fruited I didn't know what it was. It is, in fact, a peach tree producing quite small, but very sweet and juicy yellow peaches. It's a tough tree, growing steadily all through the drought.
Not the usual peach blossom, is it?
And this is my adored greengage plum tree, well established when I arrived.
In blossom or in leaf it is beautiful and its fruit is a marvellous, gleaming yellowy-green
I can hardly ever bring myself to prune it as I love sitting under the low-sweeping arches of its branches.
2 comments:
That lucky peach tree, that you let it come back...I've been in the background here...enjoyed the poem, and reading the biography of John Shaw Neilson...seeing the wattle blooming, here it is acacia I think...next spring I will watch its blooming more carefully, as Mary Finnan suggests. They are so lovely...words as they combine with the blooming...autumn hasn't officially arrived here yet but it's starting to get out the paintbrushes...
Hi Suzanna I'll look forward to the autumn colour out your way!
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