Beyond the double-glazed sash windows of our apartment, it is frigid February, but the air indoors smells like a citrus orchard in springtime. After my previous Meyer lemon tree succumbed to a fungal pathogen, brought on by overwatering, I was sure I would never grow this particular citrus again. I loved that tree, most of all when it was in sumptuous bloom, its scent a constant presence. But its slow and relentless decline due to root rot, and my decision to hasten its demise with several swift chops of a pair of Felcos, left me feeling ashamed. I had failed the tree, even as others—bergamot, yuzu, Thai limes—thrived.
A couple of years passed. As they do. Then, in September 2024, my citrus-growing friend Rachel Prince mentioned that she had a Meyer lemon up for adoption. It was a beautiful tree with a quirky swoop to its trunk.
How could I say no?
Above: Meyer lemon blossom in late afternoon sun in February.
The adopted Meyer lemon spends late spring through fall on our Brooklyn terrace along with the rest of the citrus trees, before coming indoors for winter. In December I picked its beautiful lemons and wrote about making limoncello.
Then, with the lemons harvested, I was very careful not to overwater the tree, which no longer needed to nourish all those fat fruit. It had been at this, post-harvest point that I had managed to swamp the previous Meyer lemon, watering it (thoughtlessly) as much as I had when it was heavy-laden. Citrus trees hate soggy roots.
Shortly after harvest, still in December, the tree looked a little different. I was worried that I had done it again. The leaves either hung limp, or curled. Not curled downwards, but inwards, which typically means they are drought-stressed. But the moisture meter I use read damp, even wet. So I ignored what I know, and trusted the meter.
After a week of this I decided to look at the roots, certain I would find a fungus at work, the telltale threads of roots exposed as the root sheaths slough off, fatally. On butcher paper on the bedroom floor I pulled out the tree and its rootball from the pot and discovered…not damp but drought. The potting medium was bone dry. Some roots had turned to dust. After worrying about overwatering, which is the most common cause of citrus decline, I had underwatered the lemon tree.
I also found very compact areas in the potting medium, and this might be what caused the moisture meter to be off; the meters measure electrical conductivity and the soil mix can affect that. This single experience has made me reassess my reliance on a meter when in doubt.
You make mistakes. You learn. Repeat.
Above: Meyer lemons are very light-hungry. Give them a sunny window.
To repot the tree, I mixed orchid bark, potting soil, and a cactus potting mix that is very gritty. This is a blend that drains well, and quickly—my recipe keeps evolving. The tree was tucked back into its pot and given a good drink (three quarts, if you are curious; a quart more than usual). To remove the excess water that runs into the saucer, I use the usual, designated turkey baster.
No one said that citrus trees are low-maintenance. At least, no one should.
Soon, I noticed the first pinpricks of flower buds. And here we are, eight weeks later.
Above: Inhale. Exhale.
The tree is in peak bloom. Flowers have been opening for 14 days (you begin to count, because each days seems like a miracle). Mature petals are dropping, and sometimes whole flowers fall off, intact; that’s okay, in moderation—the tree could never support hundreds of fruit. But I am being very vigilant.
Sometimes, in the morning or evening, I lie in bed (our bedroom is where the sun lives) and look at the branches, festooned with blossoms. I look, and breathe, in, and out. And think about nothing—try to think about nothing—but what I am seeing. Petals, rich green leaves, on a tree within reach.
The first thing to know is that Oro Blanco is not your grandma’s super tart grapefruit, the kind that puckers your lips and makes you squint like you’re staring at the sun. Oro Blanco is light years from this.
A cross between an acid-less pomelo and a white grapefruit, Oro Blanco (or Oro) is a large citrus with a unique flavor. It’s surprisingly sweet, like a cross between honey and a pear. The real bonus is that it lacks the bitterness that most people shy away from. Other reasons to try the fruit: Oro’s thick but soft, spongy pale yellow rind makes it easy to peel, quite like an orange with segments that separate easily too. Oh, and Oro is seedless and quite juicy, making it a lovely addition to dressings, marinades, and cocktails such as a Paloma. The peel can even be candied, if you fancy that sort of thing. You can, of course, slice this grapefruit in half, old school, and sprinkle brown sugar on top and slide it into the broiler like grandma did with those traditional bitter types, but this grapefruit holds its own and doesn’t really need a sugar topping.
Above: A 15-gallon potted Oro Blanco tree is $159 at Paradise Nursery.
Oro Blanco (Spanish for ‘white gold’) was developed at the Citrus Experiment Station at the University of California, Riverside in 1958 by geneticists James E. Cameron and Robert Soost. The hybrid (created using traditional cross-pollination techniques) took over nine years to develop, and was patented and released to commercial markets in 1980. Interestingly, this grapefruit faced its fair of challenges due to customers mistaking its green skin for being unripe. In Israel, the fruit was rebranded as Sweetie, which helped sales and spread the sweeter word.
Tip: Look for yellow-green to bright yellow skin but, like mentioned, color isn’t a true indicator; fully ripe ones may still sport green splotches. You can find these citrus treats at farmers markets and specialty stores in the fall season through early spring. Or easier, grow your own outdoors in USDA Zones 9-11. Outside of these zones, consider protecting your citrus from heavy frost by bringing your plant inside or moving it to a warm greenhouse.
Grow in a spot that receives at least six hours of direct sun, either planted in a large container or in the ground.
Use well-draining, sandy loamy soil for planting. Soggy clay is ill-advised as this can lead to rot. You can even look for soil mixes specially formulated for citrus.
Plant your grapefruit on a slight mound and avoid burying the graft.
Water deeply and then let the soil dry slightly between drinks.
In the spring, feed your tree with some organic citrus fertilizer per the label’s instructions.
Keep your plant well-mulched but do not let the mulch cover the stem.
Prune to shape and remove any dead stems if they occur.
It is early winter and our Meyer lemon tree is now indoors in a sunny window, to overwinter until mid-spring. The lemons are so ripe and perfumed that we smell them the second we walk into the apartment. This year, I decided to make limoncello with their aromatic zest. It will be ready for an ice-cold toast at New Year, and its bottle will live in the freezer for next summer’s outdoor evenings. (I use the peeled lemons’ juice to add to salt preserved-lemons, but that is another story.)
Here’s how I make limoncello, using fruit that took over half a year to ripen, from blossoms that smelled like heaven seven months ago.
Above: The Meyer lemon lost some leaves late in the season, but its fruits are strongly perfumed.
Our Meyer lemon tree had a rough season outdoors, and as a result the lemons are smaller than usual. There were a couple of dry months during a very hot summer, and I also re-potted it while it was in fruit (I realized that the small tree was root-bound, which was the reason it was drinking so fast and then staying parched). I was a bad lemon parent. (But at least it wasn’t overwatered, a practice that leads to even worse long-term decline.)
Above: Window-to-table lemons, homegrown and organic.
One of the satisfactions in growing your own citrus is knowing what is on it and in it. There are no waxy coatings on the zest and I never spray the fruit with pesticides (I do use Neem oil on the leaves to control scale insects when they appear, which they do without fail: See my story about growing indoor citrus for more care tips.)
Above: For limoncello, lemon zest is soaked in hard clear liquor to extract maximum oils and flavor.
Limoncello is a Sicilian liqueur that is sipped as a digestif at the end of meals in small, cold increments. It is a simple but heady combination of lemon zest, high proof clear grain alcohol, water, and sugar. Many recipes call for Everclear or another super-high proof spirit, but I use a classic vodka, as well as less water in the sugar syrup that is added later.
Above: My zesting with a vegetable peeler is imperfect; you could also microplane the zest. Above: That’s my neutral vodka of choice; later it is diluted with a sugar syrup. Above: I add 2 cups of vodka to the peels of seven Meyer lemons. Above: The peels and vodka infuse for two weeks.
While I associate the drinking of limoncello with summer and long lunches under the shade of a tall tree in a garden far away, the time to make it is now: it is citrus season. We may be used to year-round lemons at supermarkets, but if you grow your own, or relish the enjoyment of a local crop, this limoncello-making ritual is sweet (well, sweetly sour) and can be appreciated many months later.
Limoncello is also delicious added to savory roasting root vegetables, just before they come out of the oven; poured over a lemon granita or sorbe; or drizzled over a still-warm cake.
Above: Freezer-chilled limoncello in tiny, chilled glasses.
Limoncello
My recipe uses slightly less sugar than some, since I appreciate the extra, lemony kick in each mouthful. It is still plenty sweet. You may of course use another type of lemon to make the liqueur, and if they are store-bought, scrub them to remove any residues. Dry well. If you have an excess of oranges, you can make arancello in the same way, using their zest.
7 Meyer lemons
2 cups vodka
7 ounces sugar
1 cup water
Peel or microplane the zest from the lemons, taking care to remove as little bitter pith as possible. Pour 2 cups of vodka into a clean jar and add the lemon zest. Cover, and leave out at room temperature for two weeks.
After two weeks, strain the liquid, which will now be a pale yellow. In a saucepan, mix the sugar and water and bring to a boil to make a syrup. When it is completely cool, mix it with the lemon extract. Decant into a bottle, and keep in the freezer. Serve in small, chilled glasses.
I have a Meyer lemon tree and a lime tree on my property. Where I live, in Marin County, CA, it feels like everyone has a citrus tree of some sort—or at least knows someone with an over-productive citrus you can mooch off of. All of which is to say, I didn’t think I needed another citrus tree in my life. But that was before I met the kumquat tree.
The other day at my gardening client’s house, I passed by her kumquat tree, did a double-take on the dangling tiny oranges, and found myself scheming to bring one home for my own garden. I’d always thought I wouldn’t like the fruit. I guess I thought it would be too tart, too seedy, too something of what I had no interest in. But as soon as I popped one, then two into my mouth, I changed my mind. The next day I set out to the nursery to buy my own kumquat tree.
Please keep reading to learn if this is your next citrus tree, too:
Above: A potted kumquat tree can be top-dressed with mulch or gravel. Just remember that potted citrus, like most plants grown in a container, will require more frequent drinks of water than they would if planted directly in the ground. Photograph from Urban Oasis Landscape Design’s Vibrant Mediterranean Front Yard.
Kumquat trees are evergreens that produce small, oval or round fruits that are about one to two inches wide. Depending on the variety, the citrus will generally bloom in late spring and into summer, followed by fruit that ripens mid-winter, with fruit holding on well into spring. Native to southern Japan and China, kumquats were introduced to Europe by Robert Fortune, a collector from the London Horticultural Society. Soon, this tasty citrus traveled to North America and in 1915, their classification changed from Citrus japonica to Fortunella.
What is especially lovely about the tree is that most of them bear a heavy crop even at a young age. And the vibrantly orange fruit has a sweet peel that is delicious in its own right. Inside, you will find slightly tart flesh and a few seeds. I eat the peel and the pulpy insides separately, but many people pop the whole thing in their mouth for a burst of beauty that is simultaneously sweet and tart.
Cheat Sheet
Above: A favorite: ‘Nagami’ is a medium-sized evergreen tree/shrub growing to about 8 feet tall and 6 feet wide, with a low canopy that produces fruit in mid-spring to late summer. Photograph via Fast Growing Trees.
Where cold temperatures persist, consider growing your kumquat indoors in a container. Just make sure to situate your container close to a warm east- or west-facing window.
Even if you’re in a warm climate, you may want to consider growing it in a container; the sweet citrus fragrance coming from the white blossoms should be appreciated up close.
Bees love, love, love the blossoms.
Also great for adding to a vegetable garden among other edibles.
High in vitamin C, this citrus can be eaten fresh or cooked for a jam or jelly. You might even try baking them in a chicken dish.
While not severely toxic, the fruit’s sugars and acidity could cause digestive upset to pets if an excess is eaten.
Keep It Alive
Above: The trees tend to bear abundant fruit. Photograph by Lesley B. via Flickr.
Plant your kumquat in the spring to avoid any risk of damaging frost.
Water regularly during the hottest months and feed often in the spring and summer. An organic fertilizer formulated for citrus is perfect.
Select a sunny location with at least six to eight hours of direct sunlight a day for best fruit production.
Prefers loamy soil that is slightly acidic (pH 5.5-6.5) and well-draining. If planting it in the ground, avoid heavy clay soil.
If growing in a container, use the largest one you have, ensuring it has drainage holes to prevent root rot. Also, consider filling your container with soil formulated for palm/citrus trees.
Prune to control the growth and shape. The plant should be bushy and have sturdy branches to support the fruit.
Be on the alert when you have a grafted kumquat. Unwanted shoots can develop below the graft union on the root stock. Remove these immediately or they will take over the plant and your cute kumquat will barely grow.
Watch out, yuzu: Calamansi is coming for you. In the ever-fickle focus of the trend-obsessed digital culinary world, fragrant yuzu remains, for now, the darling of internet searches (according to my quick query on Google Trends). But curiosity about calamansi, a small, sour, sweet-skinned citrus, is piquing. If not peaking (sorry). Possibly native to China, but ubiquitous in the Philippines and Indonesia, this petite citrus is widely cultivated in Southeast Asia. There, it is often harvested when mature but still green, with an interior that is already bright orange. It is far less common Stateside, where the fruit is also known as calamondin. Here, ripe yellow-skinned calamansi is available seasonally from a handful of specialty growers, and the trees are available to buy from some growers. They can be grown in pots, or planted in-ground. They bear fruit around year four.
Here’s what to expect from calamansi, and how to use this aromatic and tart fruit.
Above: Ripe calamansi. These fruit are about an inch in diameter.
Calamansi-slash-calamondin has many other common names, including must lime and Philippine lime. Botanically, it is Citrus x microcarpa, and is thought to be a natural hybrid: Its tart interior speaks kumquat; its aromatic skin, mandarin.
Above: The seeds of calamansi are large and numerous.
Calamansi has a thin skin and minimal pith, like a Meyer lemon. Despite its tiny size, it is intensely juicy. Its copious seeds are reminiscent of yuzu (and, like yuzu’s, they are used in folk remedies as well as commercial skincare products).
Above: My calamansi tree overwintering indoors, with its myoga ginger neighbor.
Calamansi trees seem to be one of the less demanding citrus* to grow in cold climates. While the tropical tree must be overwintered indoors in climates colder than USDA growing zone 10, it seems happier with less than the usual prescribed full sun (which means a minimum of six hours, uninterrupted, a hard condition to meet indoors). My own tree was inherited last year from a friend who left Brooklyn to travel the world, and in her apartment it spent its green, lush life facing a very bright exterior wall, with no direct sun at all. It did not bloom or fruit. But leaf out, it did. On my summer terrace it flowered minimally, but made no fruit. I think more sun outdoors this year will produce better results. (Other city growers have the opposite problem.)
* More demanding indoor citrus? Meyer lemons, hands down. (Another citrus that requires less sunlight, since it is also a forest tree, is Thai lime, or makrut—Citrus hystrix.)
Above: In our south-facing bedroom lives the citrus flock. Calamansi guarding the door.
Like all potted citrus, calamansi grown in a container needs exceptional drainage. I use a 50:50 mix of potting soil and cedar shavings (shredded cedar mulch also works). Plant the tree in a pot only an inch or so wider than the grow-pot it arrived in. If the pot is too big the soil tends to stay moist too long, and too much moisture is death to most indoor plants. Water deeply, meaning: until the water runs from the drainage holes. Never allow the pot to sit in a pool of water. And water again when it is almost dry. This may take a week or more. A moisture meter is very helpful. The ideal spot for a citrus tree is in the sunniest window you have. Failing that, bright natural light will ensure healthy green leaves, but possibly not flowers and fruit.
If you grow citrus, you may be familiar with citrus suckers. Suckers can wreak havoc on tree growth and production if left unchecked. Citrus sprouts can cause problems as well. Learn how to identify both citrus suckers and sprouts, why they are harmful to citrus trees, and what to do when you find them.
What are citrus suckers?
Suckers are shoots that grow from the trunk below the bud or graft union. They are often mistaken for new growth from the desired citrus variety, but suckers are a different plant altogether.
Look for the graft union on the trunk, which will appear as a visible seam or bump. If the growth is coming out below the graft union, it’s likely a sucker.
Suckers will grow straight up and typically resemble a thin, spindly stem with few leaves. The leaves often have a trifoliate leaf shape (characterized by a leaf divided into three leaflets). Shoots may also grow up through the soil around the tree; these should also be removed.
Bud or graft union:Place where the bud of the citrus variety was grafted onto the rootstock. Look for an area where the bark changes texture or the diameter of the trunk changes.
Rootstock: Another citrus variety that the citrus is grafted onto. Rootstocks are chosen to improve disease resistance, growth, or fruit quality. Standard rootstocks in Arizona are Flying Dragon, Trifoliate Orange, Sour Orange, Smooth Flat Seville, C-35, and Carrizo Citrange.1
What are citrus sprouts?
These quick-growing shoots are also called “water sprouts” or “suckers” and can be found below and above the bud union. They are green and without bark (herbaceous). Sprouts growing above the bud union are the same variety as the desired tree (not the rootstock).
Citrus sprouts grow straight up either from the trunk or large limbs. They develop excessive thorns and little, if any, fruit. Their leaf shape may also differ from the grafted variety. 2
Lemon trees especially often have vigorous, thorny sprouts that grow quite tall.
Do you have to remove citrus suckers and sprouts?
Suckers take vital resources away from the desired citrus variety and can ultimately result in stunted tree growth and reduced fruit production. Fruit formed on suckers will be the rootstock variety – usually a bitter or sour orange. If left unattended, citrus suckers will continue to sprout and can even take over the entire tree.
Sprouts left unchecked can make harvesting the desired fruit difficult. Also, If left to grow, sprouts and suckers can out-compete the grafted tree’s canopy. If sprouts form fruit, they will be unpalatable. A water sprout often cannot support the weight of fruit and may break.
You may decide to leave sprouts that emerge above the graft line in place to fill in the canopy, but typically they are removed.
How do you remove sprouts and suckers?
If you do find citrus suckers on your tree, it’s essential to remove them promptly. The best way to remove suckers is by removing them by hand when they are young. Grasp the sucker firmly, and pull down. The sucker should break off near the trunk.
If they are too large to remove by hand, cut off with clean pruners as close to the rootstock as possible.
When to remove citrus sprouts and suckers
Remove small sprouts and suckers by hand at any time throughout the year.
Remove larger sprouts and suckers during the early spring. This gives the tree time to grow new foliage to shade newly exposed wood to damage from the summer sun. Removing larger limbs from May – October may open up the trunk or inside of the tree to sun damage. Any exposed wood should be protected from sunlight with white paint.2
Citrus suckers and sprouts can be a nuisance for citrus tree growers, but with proper identification and removal, you can keep your trees healthy and productive.
Zach at Arizona Worm Farm created a “forest of fruit trees” that he can pick fruit from every day of the year. In this post, he shares his 4-step permaculture method for how to fertilize fruit trees organically. This method replicates what the trees get in a forest, producing healthy trees with more fruit.
One of our goals at the Arizona Worm Farm is to create a “forest of fruit trees” where there is something bearing fruit every day of the year.
Some of the most dense, healthy plant growth on the planet is in forests. Who fertilizes those plants? Mother Nature! What we try to do here on our farm and in our yards is (as much as we possibly can) mimic the aspects of the forest that promote healthy, hearty growth and produce an abundance of fruit.
How do we create a forest environment in the desert?
Let’s start with a definition: In soil biology, detritus is dead organic material. Detritus in the forest typically includes the bodies or fragments of dead organisms and plants and their waste. Detritus typically hosts communities of microorganisms that colonize and decompose it.
Most of us don’t have animals roaming our properties that will poop or die, and few of us have enough trees to shed enough leaves to mimic a forest. In an urban environment, detritus is replaced quite nicely with compost.
Compost pile being turned at Arizona Worm Farm
To mimic nature and fertilize fruit trees organically, we need:
The detritus that falls from the trees and plants and animals.
The living micro and macro-organisms in the soil that convert that detritus to food for our trees.
A dense covering on the ground to prevent evaporation and erosion while providing a habitat for the living organisms that make this all work.
Before you begin:
A pre-step: first, create a berm (about 6 inches high) at the dripline of your tree. That’s the line where if you sprayed water on your tree, the water would drip. If it is a very young tree, go to where you guess the dripline will be in three years.
4 Simple steps to fertilize fruit trees organically
How do we achieve forest-level success in our desert environment? It is surprisingly easy and consists of four steps.
Step One: Add microbes to feed your fruit trees organically
How to add microbes:
Worm castings or worm castings tea is the best way to add microbes in large numbers. Worm castings (or aerated tea made from the castings) create or join a soil ecosystem already full of bacteria, protozoa, amoeba, fungi, and nematodes.
A teaspoon of good, active garden soil, according to microbial geneticists, contains a billion bacteria, several yards of fungal hyphae, several thousand protozoa, and a few dozen nematodes. By adding worm casts to this equation, you boost the soil ecosystem and help it flourish.
Microbes (which you boost by adding worm castings) are the ultimate organic fertilizer. These microbes are the opposite of chemical pesticides that poison and kill everything in the soil in the name of abundant yields.
Worm castings
How many worm castings to add:
Scientifically, the perfect amount of castings is 5% – too little, and you won’t get the abundance of microbes we are looking for; too much, and you are just wasting money. It is easy to measure 5% when we mix a raised bed mix, but it is harder for a tree.
Our “rule of thumb” is about a cup of worm castings per three feet of tree height. My personal favorite advice is “toss a couple of handfuls.”
How to add the castings:
Spread castings around the base of the tree, right on top of the soil.
If you have access to good aerated worm castings tea (either from someplace like The Arizona Worm Farm that makes it or from your own tea brewer), it can be used in place of castings.
Step Two: Add lots of compost to fertilize fruit trees organically
In urban areas where we don’t get natural detritus, we add compost.
Compost at Arizona Worm Farm
What kind of compost is best for fertilizing fruit trees?
The best compost is the compost you make yourself in your own yard using your own yard waste – it will have the nutrients your trees used to grow initially. The second best is to get a diverse combination of composts from companies that make good compost. Generally, the easiest way to do that is to buy most of your compost from someplace you trust and then add a bag or two of different composts.
How much compost should I use to fertilize my fruit trees?
We recommend one cubic foot of compost per three feet of tree height – but there’s not really such a thing as too much compost. It is safe to fill the water well (that area you created with your berm) with an inch or two of compost all the way out to the dripline.
Step Three: Cover with a thick layer of mulch
Why should I add mulch when feeding my fruit trees?
Mulch is your tree’s best friend, especially in our hot, dry climate. Most importantly, mulch is an awesome habitat for microbes.
As mulch slowly decomposes, it adds carbon to your soil.
How much mulch should I use?
We recommend you fill the rest of the water well with mulch. There is almost no such thing as “too much” mulch. Generally, aim to use at least 3-6 inches (7-15cm) of mulch. One foot of mulch is not too much.
Step Four: Water trees deeply to encourage deep roots
For healthy tree growth, we want deep, healthy roots. Shallow watering (usually the result of a tree in a lawn that gets watered a couple of minutes several times a day) will encourage shallow roots. Trees that fall over or have no ability to pull water from deep underground in the summer are the result of shallow roots.
How much water does a fruit tree need?
There is a standard rule arborists like to use: “About 10 gallons per 1 inch of trunk diameter per week”. Trial and observation will help you get it right.
How to water fruit trees:
After fertilizing your fruit trees, fill the water well with water (the mulch will float, but it will stay in place). Water slowly, allowing the water to seep into the soil rather than run off. Aim to water to a depth of at least 2 feet.
Watch your tree. After watering, the tree’s leaves should look healthy and green for anywhere from 7 to 21 days, depending on the outside temperatures and humidity.
When you see a bit of a leaf droop, it is time to water again. If you are uncertain, dig down 10-12 inches and see if the ground is still moist. Water only when it is dry to that depth. This will encourage deep roots, which help stabilize the tree.
How often should you fertilize fruit trees?
The basic rule is three times a year: Valentine’s Day, Labor Day, and Memorial Day. These days are usually recommended because they are the start of the three growing seasons in most places. They are also easy to remember.
The best answer is “when your trees need it.” If you observe your trees, you will start to see the compost and the mulch disappearing. This means it has been converted into food by the microbes. It is time to add more food for the microbes when what was there is mostly gone.
You can add worm castings more frequently and aerated teas as often as monthly. We find more than quarterly is probably not needed.
Worm castings tea
Do I need to pull back the mulch before I feed the trees again?
No. When you repeat these steps, don’t remove anything (don’t push the mulch aside or move compost). Add the same layers on top of the previous layers. Water and the natural cycles will get the levels straight, and we don’t want to disturb micro or macro-organisms.
Some other things matter – like appropriate placement, proper pruning (less is usually better), monitoring for pests, and adding shade when trees are young. But, if you get the four steps for organically feeding fruit trees consistently correct, you will have happy, healthy trees that reward you with lots of fruit.
Arizona Worm Farm is an excellent place to get all the products needed to feed your fruit tree forest organically. They have worm castings, compost, mulch, and worm castings tea available for purchase and delivery.
If you would like to see the Arizona Worm Farm fruit tree forest in person, they offer free public, guided, and VIP tours during regular business hours. See their website for more information.
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A surprise hit on the botanical walks I lead, where a picnic rewards the exercise, is the hot toddy that I pour in late fall and winter. When “toddy” is mentioned, eyebrows are raised—some in hope and anticipation, some in trepidation. Because it means alcohol, doesn’t it? It can, but not necessarily. Some eyebrows sink in disappointment when they learn that this is a virgin version. But the surprise, for the eyebrows’ owners, is that their first, steaming sip is a happy one, because this warming toddy tastes satisfyingly grown up. It is portable for picnics, scaleable for big holiday parties, and comforting sipped during a gift-opening pause on Christmas Day.
Above: A hot toddy (and soup) are portable winter picnic fare.
Above: Cold creek, hot toddy (in a heat-proof Picardie glass).
I call my forager’s version of a hot toddy a Forest Toddy. It is spiced with local, seasonal aromatics, featuring the edible herbs and spices of maritime forests and land-locked woodlands.
Above: A frigid New Year’s Day picnic, with hot Forest Toddies.
The flavors of a hot toddy that tastes of place can shift. They may include the gin-y bittersweetness of juniper (otherwise known as eastern red cedar, Juniperus virginiana), bayberry (Morella pensylvanica), citrus-like spicebush (Lindera benzoin), sumac species, and the perfumed resin of needled evergreens like fir, hemlock, pine, or spruce (Abies, Tsuga, Pinus and Picea, respectively). Variations I have made include pine cone jam, which you can make or buy; dried magnolia petals, for their gingery, cardamom-like bitterness; and fragrant sweetfern (Comptonia peregrina).
Caveat: Does it go without saying that you should never use yew (Taxus), also a needled evergreen? Not only is yew not aromatic, but it is decidedly toxic.
Above: Virgin Forest toddies with hardy orange and fir garnishes.
The fun of this hot toddy recipe is that it is endlessly various and open to creativity. You can glean ingredients from your pantry, garden, farmer’s market, or grocery store. Its success depends on balance: between sweet and tart, tannic and aromatic. Layers of botanical flavor give it a sense of toddy gravitas and the complexity that is often associated with booze. I’m not saying you can’t add a dash of your favorite spirit (bourbon and rye spring to mind), but I can assure you that no one will miss it.
Above: Blood orange and yuzu peel, crushed spicebush, fresh juniper, and bay leaf.
In winter, the juniper in my recipe is fresh, since its season is from late fall through spring; the spicebush is the dried fruit from late summer (or purchased online), or the tree’s aromatic winter twigs, scraped. The fir, well, that is trimmed from my (unsprayed) holiday tree. While fir is the most aromatic of the needled trees, hemlock and spruce have plenty to offer, as do pine needles.
Late fall brings the hardy orange, one of the most fragrant fruits of the season, to ripeness. When its small, velvety fruits drop to the ground from supremely thorny branches, the citrus connoisseurs pounce. The fruits’ velvety yellow rinds are thickly protective, so they land intact, sometimes lasting for weeks before deteriorating. Their intense aroma makes them a powerful base for hardy orange syrups and vinegars, and for a mouthwateringly tangy carrot pickle (whose recipe you will find below).
Above: The skin of hardy oranges feels like velvet.
Hardy oranges can be compared with better-known yuzu. Both citrus fruits have big seeds relative to their size, and many of them. Both have very fragrant skins. Both have relatively little pulp and juice. One commands a hefty price. One is hardly used, or is rumored to be inedible.
Unlike other citrus trees, including yuzu, the unusual hardy orange is cold-tolerant. In theory, the tree can be grown down to USDA zone 5, whose minimum temperature is -20’F, although Michael Dirr, the acclaimed expert on woody plants, writes that at that temperature he has “seen it killed to the ground.” It will need shelter at that cold-extreme.
Above: Blossoms appearing on bare branches, in Brooklyn’s USDA zone 7b, at Green-Wood Cemetery.
The tree is deciduous, losing its leaves in cold winters. Its leaves are distinctive, with three leaflets to each petiole. Another common name, trifoliate orange, describes that foliage. Botanically, the hardy orange’s current accepted classification is Citrus trifoliata. Poncirus trifoliata is a synonym, speaking to a debate as to whether it deserves its own genus, separate from Citrus.
Above: Ripe, seedy hardy oranges.
For cooks and kitchen alchemists, there is another hardy orange oddity: a gummy residue coats knives and fingers, when you work with the fruit. The founders of Keepwell Vinegar, who use this citrus for an annual batch of their Bitter Lemon Vinegar, use rubbing alcohol or a baking soda paste to clean their knives and cutting board after processing. They ferment the fruit “for over a year,” they write in a message, “and by the time the ferment is over, the residue has lost its power.”
Hardy oranges are native to East Asia (to China and Korea) and have been cultivated in Japan for centuries; they are also known as Chinese and Japanese bitter orange. The tree was brought to the United States early in the 19th century and was later used as rootstock for grafting with less hardy citrus. And it has escaped. In the southeastern US, trifoliate orange is a significant invasive species. Further north, the cold seems to keep it in check.
Above: Big thorns, pretty blossoms.
Perhaps the trifoliate orange should be called Thornus humungus. The trees’ long, green thorns are strong, sharp, and prolific. Need a security hedge or a living fence for wayward livestock? Look no further. “No sane person would attempt to penetrate this hedge!” writes Michael Dirr, in his nurseryperson’s bible, Manual of Woody Landscape Plants. The cultivar ‘Flying Dragon’ has corkscrew-twisted branches and thorns.
