A Farmer of Tiny Trees

When Ed and I built our house in the country, I took a sabbatical from running my marketing firm, and then, I never looked back – shifting seamlessly from sabbatical to retired. Now when people ask me what I do, I proudly say I'm a farmer, which may be a bit of an exaggeration. The only livestock we have are honey bees and the only cultivation we do is my garden – plus a field of tiny walnut trees.

You already know about my garden; I thought I'd tell you about our walnut field. Back in the fall of 2012, we ordered 100 walnut seedlings from the Kentucky Division of Forestry. The total cost was $53 and in January 2013, we received ten bundles of leafless, bare root seedlings, each less than a foot tall with a scrawny root of about 3 inches.

We planted them in one of our fields that was not yet planted in wildflowers and native grasses. On a cold January day, we measured out a 10x10 grid and one by one, planted the tiny trees, placing an orange flag at the base of each one so we could see them against the winter field. Then it snowed.

For the past 30 months we have babied our tiny trees – weeding around the base of each one, mulching, mowing between the rows and watering each tree when there is no rain in sight. We have lost a handful to rabbits or deer or neglect, but for the most part, they have thrived.

This past week, despite the heat, we weeded around each tree and pulled up the flags. They are now large enough to see while mowing.

You may be wondering what in the world we are planning to do with this field of walnut trees: Mostly sit back and watch them grow. In 35 to 50 years, they may be large enough to harvest for their logs. Black walnut trees are valued for their logs, which are often cut into veneer. They are in high demand because of their beautiful color, strength, and durability.

We have hundreds of walnut trees scattered about our farm, but the very idea of bringing heavy equipment in to harvest them for timber is unappealing as it would create a huge mess. By putting them in an orderly field, we (or some future generation) can chose to harvest them when their trunks get to be about 24" in diameter.

Along the way, we will prune the trees in hopes of yielding high-quality, knot-free veneer and lumber logs. In the meantime, we enjoy tending to the trees and watching them grow. In another 7 or 8 years, they will start to produce black walnuts, which we can harvest and use in jam cakes and other such goodies, or share with the squirrels, deer and woodpeckers.

So, you see, I really can claim that I'm a farmer – a farmer of tiny trees, that may someday be towering 100-foot giants. Wish me luck.

Up. Down. In the Ground.

The thing about a live Christmas tree is that it can't be brought indoors until right before Christmas and it must be taken back outdoors soon after Christmas. Otherwise, it will come out of its dormancy and get confused when it is forced back into cold weather. At least, that's what I've been told....

So on Christmas Eve, we brought our little tree (with its huge burlapped ball) inside. Mary and I decorated it with lights and decided we liked it that way. We only added a favorite bird ornament and some recent ones that friend Jane sent, and called it a victory.

Today, we took off the lights, loaded the tree into the back of the Polaris, and planted it to the right of our drive entrance, alongside our trees from 2011, 2012, and 2013. My plan is to plant all our Christmas trees in one spot and then I can just count the trees to remember how long we've lived out here. Pretty clever, huh?

While Ed dug the hole, I snapped pictures of the previous years' trees.

Here's our 2011 tree. It looks ridiculous because it was attacked by a deer. 

This is 2012's. It is our biggest one.
Too big, in fact. It took three people to move it outside for planting. 

Here is 2013's. A perfectly nice little tree.

And lastly, here's our tree from this year.

While we were out planting, we also put a tiny tree in the ground, just outside our study window. It was a gift from my sister, Kathy. I love to think that someday it may become a towering evergreen.

We came back in and I took down the stockings (with care), cleared our mantle, tossed the magnolia leaves from the table centerpiece, and took a final load of empty boxes out to the recycling.

I did leave up our manger scene, our angel Gabriel, and Madonna & Child painting. Being that it is only December 28th, I figured the Magi have not yet arrived in Bethlehem, so it seemed premature to pack them away.

But other than this little vignette, Christmas 2014 is now history at Farm Dover. I'm ready for the new year. Bring it on!

Christmas Tree Lane

It's beginning to look a lot like Christmas. Not really, but maybe come December 2025, it will. Ed and I are in the process of planting 40 conifer trees on both sides of one of our trails. We are creating our own Christmas Tree Lane. For now, all it looks like is a Charlie Brown version of our dream lane.

It all started on our fall trip up the east coast. After a long hike in the Fundy National Park in New Brunswick, we found ourselves on a path leading back to our car. The path was lined with evergreens – all different kinds – tall ones, short ones, fat ones, skinny ones. It was like walking in an enchanted forest, but not a scary one – rather a beautiful, magical one. It smelled of Christmas, the real thing. It was eerily quiet to walk on pine needles, the only sounds were chirps from small sparrows. The sun shone between the branches, many of which were laden with pine cones.

I told Ed I wanted one of these enchanted paths at Farm Dover. And, because my every wish is his command, we ordered some seedling trees from Pikes Peak Nurseries in Pennsylvania, and this week, they were delivered right to our front door.

Before our post-Thanksgiving feast yesterday and then again this afternoon, we planted trees. I would march off seven paces and place either a Norway Spruce, an Eastern White Pine, a Canadian Hemlock or a White Spruce at the appropriate spot along the trail. Ed would dig the hole and then I'd kneel down to place the bare roots in the hole and fill it in with the dirt. I'd hold its branches up while Ed carefully stomped around the little trees, compacting the dirt, making sure the tree was stranding straight, or almost straight. Then we would move on down seven paces to the next site for a tree.

We've still got a dozen or so more trees to plant and we are hoping to get out tomorrow afternoon before the weather turns bad. Then we'll sit back and wait for them to grow into a beautiful lane – just like the magical one we found ourselves on in New Brunswick.