No More Learning

But what you gain in time is perhaps in this case,
too, lost in power,--that is, in the vigor of the tree. This is their
pyramidal state.

The cows continue to browse them thus for twenty years or more,
keeping them down and compelling them to spread, until at last they
are so broad that they become their own fence, when some interior
shoot, which their foes cannot reach, darts upward with joy: for it
has not forgotten its high calling, and bears its own peculiar fruit
in triumph.

Such are the tactics by which it finally defeats its bovine foes. Now,
if you have watched the progress of a particular shrub, you will see
that it is no longer a simple pyramid or cone, but that out of its
apex there rises a sprig or two, growing more lustily perchance than
an orchard-tree, since the plant now devotes the whole of its
repressed energy to these upright parts. In a short time these become
a small tree, an inverted pyramid resting on the apex of the other, so
that the whole has now the form of a vast hour-glass. The spreading
bottom, having served its purpose, finally disappears, and the
generous tree permits the now harmless cows to come in and stand in
its shade, and rub against and redden its trunk, which has grown in
spite of them, and even to taste a part of its fruit, and so disperse
the seed.

Thus the cows create their own shade and food; and the tree, its
hour-glass being inverted, lives a second life, as it were.

It is an important question with some nowadays, whether you should
trim young apple trees as high as your nose or as high as your eyes.
The ox trims them up as high as he can reach, and that is about the
right height, I think.

In spite of wandering kine, and other adverse circumstances, that
despised shrub, valued only by small birds as a covert and shelter
from hawks, has its blossom week at last, and in course of time its
harvest, sincere, though small.

By the end of some October, when its leaves have fallen, I frequently
see such a central sprig, whose progress I have watched, when I
thought it had forgotten its destiny, as I had, bearing its first crop
of small green or yellow or rosy fruit, which the cows cannot get at
over the bushy and thorny hedge which surrounds it, and I make haste
to taste the new and undescribed variety. We have all heard of the
numerous varieties of fruit invented by Van Mons and Knight. This is
the system of Van Cow, and she has invented far more and more
memorable varieties than both of them.

Through what hardships it may attain to bear a sweet fruit!
Though
somewhat small, it may prove equal, if not superior, in flavor to that
which has grown in a garden,--will perchance be all the sweeter and
more palatable for the very difficulties it has had to contend with.
Who knows but this chance wild fruit, planted by a cow or a bird on
some remote and rocky hillside, where it is as yet unobserved by man,
may be the choicest of all its kind, and foreign potentates shall hear
of it, and royal societies seek to propagate it, though the virtues of
the perhaps truly crabbed owner of the soil may never be heard of,--at
least, beyond the limits of his village? It was thus the Porter and
the Baldwin grew.

Every wild apple shrub excites our expectation thus, somewhat as every
wild child. It is, perhaps, a prince in disguise. What a lesson to
man! So are human beings, referred to the highest standard, the
celestial fruit which they suggest and aspire to bear, browsed on by
fate; and only the most persistent and strongest genius defends itself
and prevails, sends a tender scion upward at last, and drops its
perfect fruit on the ungrateful earth. Poets and philosophers and
statesmen thus spring up in the country pastures, and outlast the
hosts of unoriginal men.

Such is always the pursuit of knowledge. The celestial fruits, the
golden apples of the Hesperides, are ever guarded by a hundred-headed
dragon which never sleeps, so that it is an Herculean labor to pluck
them.

This is one, and the most remarkable way in which the wild apple is
propagated; but commonly it springs up at wide intervals in woods and
swamp, and by the sides of roads, as the soil may suit it, and grows
with comparative rapidity. Those which grow in dense woods are very
tall and slender. I frequently pluck from these trees a perfectly
mild and tamed fruit. As Palladius says, "_Et injussu consternitur
ubere mali_:" And the ground is strewn with the fruit of an unbidden
apple tree.

It is an old notion that, if these wild trees do not bear a valuable
fruit of their own, they are the best stocks by which to transmit to
posterity the most highly prized qualities of others. However, I am
not in search of stocks, but the wild fruit itself, whose fierce gust
has suffered no "inteneration.