Spring has sprung at the Saltzgaver homestead.
No, wait. It’s harvest season. That’s in the fall, right?
Except the calendar says summer began on Sunday, the longest day of the year in the Northern Hemisphere. Hard to believe days are getting shorter already, isn’t it?
We’ve all experienced that old complaint that Southern California doesn’t have seasons – usually from someone back east or up north who is all too tired of seasons. I admit that the difference between spring and summer in our little slice of paradise can be pretty hard to define.
I know it’s summer because I don’t have to wear a coat walking Khloe and Pluto at 5:30 in the morning. But come to think of it, I wasn’t wearing a coat in mid-February, either.
The whole “no seasons” thing gains a little credence with me when I watch how the various plants react. For instance, the Jacaranda trees bloomed so early this year that I didn’t even get a chance to complain about the mess they make (but I love that color from a distance).
I’ve mentioned before that the apple tree in our backyard has a hard time deciding what season it is. The thing is more than 20 years old now, so you’d expect it to have a clue, but apparently not.
Last year, an early hot spell caused it to bloom in February. A combination of cold and wind in March got rid of the apple blossoms, and we passed 2025 with no homegrown fruit. It did take another run at it last fall, but didn’t try very hard.
We had another early bloom this year. But there was no cold snap, and not much wind – only a handful of flowers left the branches.
Long story short, blossoms became little apples, which became big apples, which became way too many apples. Before you ask, I have no idea what kind of apples they are – son Alex gave us the tree for our first anniversary and the identity was lost long before the sapling got big enough for it to matter.
These apples stay green for most of their tree-bound life. Some try to turn red towards the end, and those are sweeter. The green ones need some caramel, unless you like them tart off the tree.
But back to the season confusion thing. The poor tree’s branches started bending from the fruit weight in mid-May. We did our best to ignore it, and were happy to see birds and squirrels (do squirrels eat apples?) populating the tree.
By the first week of June, it was clear harvest time had arrived, whether we wanted it to or not. The lovely Maria took an early batch of 10 or 15 pounds down to daughter Aimee and her friends, but that didn’t make a dent.
So a couple weekends ago, we set a morning aside to de-apple the tree. It took ladders, and we were picky (pun intended) about the condition of the fruit we chose. Still, we had three 5-gallon buckets full of apples in about an hour.
There are still that many apples attached to the tree, laughing at us. But we’ll worry about them later.
Maria is locally world famous for the apple butter and applesauce that she creates and cans from our bounty. It was more difficult for her this year, though. The day after harvest, she started coughing and sneezing. The allergy attack got so bad she managed to inflame her throat, and an urgent care visit put her on antibiotics.
She soldiered on, and we’ve now stashed quart jars (apple sauce and apple pie filling), pint and half-pint jars (apple butter) all over the house. They’re on the kitchen counters, under the bed in the spare bedroom and stacking up in the laundry room. I’ve already made two trips to the store for canning supplies, and there’s sure to be more.
I have been told in no uncertain terms that I would be solely responsible for apple harvest when it comes time to get the second half of the bounty in a week or two. That’s okay by me – she’s the one peeling and coring the things to get them in the jars.
I know I’ve been picking on the apple tree (another pun intended) this whole column, but it isn’t the only one who has gone a bit crazy with our early, long spring.
Back in March, I decided to plant tomatoes, like I do every year. It is the one thing I seem to be able to successfully grow.
But I was cutting back. I only purchased one plant, and it wasn’t quite a foot tall when I put it in the ground.
Today, it is literally the biggest single tomato plant I’ve ever seen. It’s 6 feet tall if it is an inch, and easily 6 feet around. I have stopped trying to count the number of tomatoes on the vine – I can’t see half of them, I’m sure.
I am trying to hold off on tomato harvest to give Maria a bit of a break. That’s because most of these tomatoes will go into jars too – homemade spaghetti sauce, tomato bisque, tomato soup, etc.
God is good with his bounty. At least that’s what I keep reminding Maria. She’s only thrown a spoon at me once – so far.