Reflections of a Fruit Grower

Abstract

Sometimes I think of the trees and the forest when I consider the American Pomological Society.

Were I an artist, I might try to depict a forest scene remembered from my childhood, a scene that greeted my eyes every morning when I awoke to look out of my upstairs bedroom window across the top of the orchard to the woods beyond, where amidst a thrifty, well-spaced grove, one old patriarch oak reared its head to the sky; its massive trunk topped in Summer by a widespread crown of leafy branches upon whose pinnacle an eagle sometimes perched, his white head glistening in the morning sun. Or, in Winter twilight, its bare framework silhouetted above the surrounding tree tops. To its side stood a more youthful companion; tall, straight, slender, a handsome offspring.