Hard to believe I planted this tree only two years ago. Perhaps it was two years and six months. It’s taller than I am now, and we’ve eaten a few dozen cherries from it already. I’m stunned the squirrels haven’t found them yet.
The ants have, and they’re farming aphids on the newer leaves. I’ll have to do a little pruning and buy some tanglefoot. The infested leaves are curled and crinkled, and thus the tree’s growth is stunted ever so slightly. This isn’t a problem. It’s a small yard, and there’s an Asian pear tree less than five feet away — itself laden with fruit that will be ready to eat in a month and a half. A little stunting works in our favor. Still, there is gardener’s valor to be considered. My charges must be protected, within reason.
The cherry is a self-fertile Bing. The fruit are delicious. We stood in the yard Saturday and ate each ripe one we found, sun warmed, some of them splitting from the rain last week. Ah, the riches of photosynthesis. Ah, the benefits of plant coevolution with seed dispersers. Ah, cherry juice on the back of the throat.
