And so, with Joe still poking about in the weed, Martin and I were able to get on with trimming the errant branches from the apple trees. Our 'orchard' is truly bounteous this year. The cookers are particularly fine; shiny and green with a pink blush to their cheeks, that cook to a soft pulp in the pan. Martin favours the russets, but I find them a bit on the rough side.
Ofcourse, even if we never picked another apple, I would still love this wilder part of the garden. The trees have a wonderfully gnarled shape and insist for the main part on growing sideways, and the swing Martin fashioned between them is like something out of a Gainsborough painting. Except maybe better.
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