Fruit Tree - An Apple Tree on St Kilda

It was one of those rare mornings where I didn’t need to be up early. A grandson had stayed with us recently, which meant early starts and walks to school in all weathers. Since he’s been home, I’ve been fighting some sort of flu virus which has given me a dreadful cough and some aches and pains. I’m not blaming him, of course not. I’ve got run down and not rested enough. Anyway, it was nice to stay in bed a bit longer, just dozing, listening to the wind whistling round the windows and imagining that I’m in my fantasy cottage in St Kilda, warm, cosy, everything I need, as a wild blizzard dominates the bleak surroundings. Somewhere in this blissful existence, I wanted a fruit tree. In reality, there are no trees of any sort on St Kilda. High winds and constant salt spray prevent tree growth and the peat, acidic soil is completely unsuitable. In my imagination, I have had sustainable soil shipped over to help maintain my vegetable plot. An apple tree would be lovely. Eventually, I had to get up from my gorgeous bed and live in the real world. My fruit tree blog had to be in there, somewhere.

Close to where I live, there was an abundance of damsons. The tree was over-hanging the garden wall on the property and the fruit spilled on to the pavement making a sticky, purple mess. One of my neighbours, with permission, collected some damsons and made jam. Much better than wasted fruit making a mess.

Nearby, there is a small, confused cherry tree. I say confused because it comes into bloom with fabulous blossom at various times of the year. Never any cherries, though.

At a young age, I learnt the hard way just how bad a tummy ache can be after eating crab apples picked from the tree. Home was always a pub, on a street in a town, so nowhere to play out except the carpark. That was fine for my bike or scooter, but no mates to play with. All changed when we moved to a pub in the village of Padfield near Glossop. I soon made friends from our school down the road and we were never in. We fished for tadpoles, got in trouble for playing in the local farmer’s silage pit until we were filthy and stinky and one day, decided to feast from an apple tree. Crab apples. They were bitter tasting, probably not ripe, and I imagine it was quantity that made me unwell. A lesson learnt.

My Haiku poem,

In my wildest dreams
I’m in comfort perfection,
St Kilda cottage.

Sweet, rosy apples,
So juicy and fresh each day,
Clustered on branches.

A rare, sunny day
And a cloudless sky in this
Archipelago.

Strong winds just bring snow
Icy, northern blasts make a
Harsh environment.

I wish I could grow
A fruit tree on St Kilda,
Weather protected.

PMW 2026

Thanks for reading, Pam x