Posts Tagged ‘apple tree’
abandoned spaces: remnant plants
On a drive towards the centre of the province, we found the property below to exemplify what happens to the surrounding vegetation when home sites are abandoned.
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On the property, I could see the old home, the roof fallen in, the tin roof rusted on the half that was not shingled. All around were wildflowers, most noticeable, the fireweed. There were also remnants of cultivated plants:
- lilac
- rose bushes
- hops
- orange day-lilies
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Street View, Google Earth gives a glimpse of the property back in 2009.
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remnants
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Not meant to sprawl but climb, hops
crouch between grass, fireweed.
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Recline, each five-fingered leaf
with spaces between digits.
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Remnants of pink rose bushes
and an apple tree, apples
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green but plentiful. Lilac
lifts spent and skeletal blooms.
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The two-track road still leads to
back pasture, woodlot beyond.
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Orange day-lilies echo
the rusty reds of tin roof,
the house fallen to decay.
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All my best,
Jane
in the shelter of the covered bridge – Malone Bridge
As I prepare for my fall book and art sale, I have tried to bring some of my pencil drawings into acrylic-world.
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One of my favorite covered bridge drawings depicts a tree of green apples against the backdrop of the Malone Covered Bridge near Goshen in Kings County, New Brunswick. The Malone Bridge crosses the Kennebecasis River where it is hardly more than a stream.
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From this drawing, I have done ‘apple tree, Malone Bridge’. I think this is my personal favorite of all the paintings I have done. The painting is acrylic, 18″ X 18″, gallery edges, using Paynes Grey, Ultramarine Blue, Cadmium Yellow, Titanium White and Burnt Sienna.
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September 24, 2016 ‘apple tree, Malone Bridge’ Jane Tims
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Copyright 2016 Jane Tims
getting ready for fall – orchard green
Thirty years ago, we planted a young Wolf River apple tree in our side yard. I wanted to create an orchard where I could walk in the shade and gather fruit in fall.
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For years we took good care of the orchard – three apple trees and a cherry. In spring I have inhaled the sweet fragrance of apple and cherry blossoms. In spring I watch the blossoms burst open like popped corn. I listen to the bees gathering their nectar. Watch the apples ripen and grow. Some years I make apple jelly, some years applesauce. In the fall I watch deer under the trees, eating their fill of apples. One year a deer challenged me for ownership of the Wolf River tree, pounding his hoof into the ground with a loud, reverberating stomp.
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A few years ago, our interests turned to other things and the orchard was left to go its own way. The cherry tree continued to bloom but produced no cherries because it is ‘self-unfruitful’ and needs another cherry tree. Two of the apple trees succumbed to the shade and died. The Wolf River tree survived, but grew tall and gangly, trying to reach the sun that peaks over the roof of the house.
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Now, priorities have shifted. We are interested again in the ‘orchard’ and have plans for its future. In the next weeks we intend to cut down the dead trees. A friend has agreed to prune the Wolf River tree when the season is right, to bring its branches within reach. I will buy another cherry tree so we can finally have cherries.
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To seal the plan for the orchard, I have done a portrait of the apples as they grow plump in late summer. Painted in acrylics, 11″ x 14′, gallery edges, with Ultramarine Blue, Cadmium Yellow, Titanium White, Paynes Grey and Burnt Sienna.
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August 26, 2016 ‘orchard green’ Jane Tims
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Copyright 2016 Jane Tims
apple picking time
October has taken hold and now signs of autumn are everywhere. Color seems to be the theme… the orange of pumpkins and gourds, the yellows and reds of the maple leaves, and the red of ripe apples.
On our way to the lake, we drive past orchards of apples. Most of the apples have been picked, but some trees are still laden with fruit. For me, the orchards are full of memories, of picking apples with my family when we were younger. I remember how much fun we had, my son and niece and nephew excited to be able to run free and pick the apples, and the adults thinking about the apple pie possibilities from those loaded trees.
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orchard outing
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wooden bushel baskets
of laughter, the delirious tumble
down the avenue of trees, shadows ripple
among the dapples, Cortlands tied
with scarlet ribbons and boughs burdened
to reach for us, my son grown tall
on his father’s shoulders,
stretches to pick the McIntosh
with the reddest shine,
small hand barely able
to grip the apple
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Copyright Jane Tims 2012
apple tree shadow
This time of year, I watch for the old apple trees along the road. Most are neglected, and the fruit remains unpicked, even for cider. When the apples fall, they lie beneath the tree in a circle of red or yellow, mimicking the shadow of the tree at noon.
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apple shadow
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days follow days
and the apples
fall to the ditch,
claim the gravel
edge the asphalt
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ripe shadow space
at the base of
the leaning tree
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passing cars play
polo and wasps
worry in the
rotting remains
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Copyright Jane Tims 2012
in the apple tree
How many hours did I read in the apple tree in my grandfather’s orchard?
At least a couple of hours every day were spent lost in a book.
I was ten or so and my reading was relatively simple – Nancy Drew, Anne of Green Gables, Blue Castle, animal stories by Thorton W. Burgess , and books about a young adventurer named Madge Morton. Most of these were books my Mom had given me, and a few were borrowed from my aunt’s summer house. Have a look at ‘books about natural spaces’ to see some of my favorites. Are you old enough to remember some of them?
The search for a comfortable place to read has often eluded me. Today I read at my desk or in the car. Anything more soothing and I fall asleep, in spite of the quality of the read.
Where is your favorite place to read a book?
reading in the orchard
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comfortable limb of
apple tree, how many
books read in the days of
summer, mysteries, tales of
plucky girls, animals personified, sunlight
and apple-shadows highlight words
sentences and paragraphs read at
a glance, breezes turning pages
faster than I read, solve
the crime, blood as red as apples
creaky doors and creepy windows
branches rub together somewhere in
the orchard, forget to go in
for supper, my mother’s voice written into
story, calling
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© Jane Tims 2011
