After a crazy March, where the high was 80°F and soil temperature got to 56°F, my impulse pear tree hit the ground running a good month or two early. So when news hit last week that a hard frost was going to hit St. Paul, I had to make a decision. And my decision, dear friends, was to do nothing.
I was tired, and lied to myself about how my yard will somehow stay a pleasant temperature for my lovely pear tree, even though many of my gardening-savvy West Seventh Neighbors had covered their own fruit trees to protect them. Conspicuously covered their own fruit trees as if they were sending me a signal. That I should do something. But at the time the signal seemed a bit too cryptic for me, and my love for homegrown, delectable pears was overshadowed by my unending laziness.
And so this year I will suffer dreaded store-bought pears because I have only a few blooms left, that were most likely eaten by the cold weather on Sunday and Monday nights.
In other news, as you can probably tell from the pictures, last year I started to espalier the pear tree, and I am a big fan. The tree fits perfectly in the corner of my tiny backyard with branches running along the fence and the garage. Yesterday I finished espaliering the crap out of it. Now if it would just bear some damn fruit we’d be going places.