The Heirloom Orchardist

The "Exquisitely Homely" Ashmead's Kernal

Although he didn't give his source, Jack Staub quoted the phrase “exquisitely homely” when describing this famous old apple (75 Remarkable Fruits, 2008).

Exquisitely homely... How true.  If there was any fruit that (even when grown to an ideal form) would never attract the attention of those accustomed to the aesthetics of a perfect red apple, Ashmead’s Kernal is it.  That's part of its appeal.  Growers of this heirloom seem particularly pleased by its delightful juxtaposition of complex flavors, and humble ugliness.

Ashmead's Kernal comes from England.  The following account on the history of this apple comes from Robert Hogg’s British Pomology, published in 1851:

"This delightful Apple was raised at Gloucester, about the beginning of the last century, by Dr. Ashmead, an eminent physician of that city.  The original tree existed within the last few years in what had originally been Dr. Ashmead's garden, but was destroyed in consequence of the ground being required for building.  It stood on the spot now occupied by Clarence Street.  It is difficult to ascertain the exact period when it was raised; but the late Mr. Hignell an eminent orchardist at Tewkesbury, in Gloucestershire, informed me, that the first time he ever saw the fruit of Ashmead's Kernel, was from a tree in the nursery of Mr. Wheeler, of Gloucester, in the year 1796, and that the tree in question had been worked from the original, and was at that time upwards of thirty years old."

"From this it may be inferred that the original tree had attained some celebrity by the middle of last century. The Ashmead's Kernel has long been a favourite Apple in the gardens of West Gloucestershire, but it does not seem to have been known in other parts of the country.  Like the Ribston Pippin, it seems to have remained long in obscurity, before its value was generally appreciated; it is not even enumerated in the catalogue of the extensive collection which was cultivated by Miller and Sweet, of Bristol, in 1790.  I find it was cultivated in the Brompton Park Nursery in 1780, at which time it was received from Mr. Wheeler, nurseryman, of Gloucester, who was author of The Botanist's and Gardener's Dictionary, published in 1763."

Ashmead’s Kernal was introduced into the United States in the 1950’s.

Purchase an Ashmeads' Kernal Apple Tree

Caterpillars, Toothaches, and Roses; some Notable Things

Those interested in early agrarian life are different sorts of historians.  We aren’t particularly impressed by a great event such as a Revolutionary War or a presidential election.  We’re interested in the minutia of life, as experienced by common folk.

In 1815, an Englishman named Edward Somerset Worcester assembled a random list of “Notable Things” he thought would help people to get along.  This was published together with other miscellaneous information in the book entitled:  “A Thousand Notable Things on Various Subjects…”

It’s fun to flip through this old volume, for no other reason than to see what was considered “notable” in 1815.

For example, I’m sure you didn’t know that “The Powder of Earth Worms, Mice Dung or of a Hart’s Tooth, put into the Holes of Teeth that be Worm-eaten, doth pluck them up by the roots, or make them fall out without any other instrument.”  Yuck.  Did our ancestors really stuff mouse dung in their tooth cavities?  Was sanitation so vastly different two hundred years ago, that this sort of advice wasn’t considered disgusting?

Here’s another Notable Thing that’s much more pleasurable:  “If Roses and Lilies be sown nigh together, or that they touch one another, the Flowers of them will smell the more pleasantly, and will grow the better.”  Now, there’s something I can dwell on.

Worcester’s publication helps us to understand the common, everyday problems that our ancestors wished resolved.  It turns out that their problems weren’t all that different from ours.  Fortunately, we’ve improved on the methods of resolution.

Finally, a Notable Thing that can be put to good use by The Heirloom Orchardist: number 31 of “the tenth book” states the following:

“If you would destroy Caterpillars, do thus:  Anoint all the Bottom of the Tree round about with Tar, then get a great sort of Ants, or Pismires; and put them into a Bag; draw the same by a Cord unto the Tree; the Ants will not go down the Tree by reason of the Tar, and for want of food will eat and destroy all the Caterpillars there, without hurting any of the fruit.”

Unfortunately, I’m not sure where to get “a great sort of ants.”  Nor do I have a clue how I’d put them in a bag.  But I’m pleased this advice has nothing to do with mouse poop.

The Wrong Time to Spread Manure

It’s well into February, and like every good Heirloom Orchardist, I’m thinking about the most important stuff on this wonderful earth: Manure.

Not too long ago, manure was the lifeblood of the farm.  It still is on many farms (thankfully).  But due to synthetic fertilizers, it isn’t the absolutely necessary material that it used to be.  Furthermore, thanks to Mr. Ford (and the ubiquitous internal combustion machine), there just isn’t as much of the stuff being produced.

Think about this for a moment:  to the Heirloom Orchardist, manure wasn’t just some wonderful material that was spread on the field whenever it was convenient to spread.  No, this stuff had to be managed.  Try putting that on your “to do” list for the month.

And the cold, slow winter month of February was a month during which manure management was pretty important, because by now the crap was really starting to pile up.  It’s no wonder that when we look through the old farming papers, there’s all sorts of discussions about manure…ways of covering it...how to best use it…whether it’s better aged, or fresh…when to apply it...

“Often in February there are many days when there is little or no snow on the frozen ground. This is a good time, then, for spreading manure which will be soaked in by later snows.”

I came upon the above statement in a February 1917 issue of The Countryside, and it got me thinking about a comment made by one of my college professors (many years ago).  He said that it was not uncommon for old-time farmers to spread manure during the winter months.  This was a seemingly productive way to get it out of the barnyard, and on the fields.  By February, it was accumulating in the yard.  Since the fields were frozen, it was easy to run the manure spreader over the ground.  Then, the melting snow would leach the nutrients into the soil.

But in many areas, this is flat-out wrong.  The problem is that in cold climates, February is probably one of the worst times to spread manure, because the nutrients don’t efficiently leach into the soil.  The soil’s frozen!  The snow melt, or late winter rains aren’t very affective in drawing the nutrients (or “life giving properties” as the Heirloom Orchardist would say) into the soil.  The nutrients just wash downslope…off into the brooks and streams.

So, we should continue to respect the old farming methods, and the greater use of organic fertilizers over synthetic ones.  But apply some modern sensibilities too.