Based on the last week’s blooms, it looks as though at least one of the Anna Apple branches I grafted to my Gala will take.  The buds cracked the protective wax coating and burst through with ease.

What an amazing ability: No organ/limb rejection, no immune-suppressing pill regimen — just, “Thanks for the new branch.”  And now, when apple season comes around, as it has, this single tree will bloom different blooms and produce two varieties of apple that have little in common besides a capitalized Latin name.

I’m still waiting to hear from the several pear grafts, and the other Anna, but there’s promise in this first endorsement of my freshman effort.

I have been dutifully waiting for the apple trees to go dormant so I could do a little grafting.  However, in my waiting for the last leaves to drop I forgot something that I have gloated about on several occasions this winter: the character of my hometown.  In San Diego we don’t really get frost, I can grow most things most times of the year, and some trees that shed their leaves in the fall and winter elsewhere never quite do so here.

My plan has been to graft a few branches from the Anna Apple tree in my parents’ yard onto the Gala Apple in ours.  It performed so well last season that the load of giant, delicious apples left it permanently deformed.  Our Gala Apple produces, but is not nearly as successful.  And grafting seems like one of those skills it might be handy to have.

However, when I stopped by my parents’ place two days ago to borrow a tool or three, there was their Anna Apple — in full bloom, bees buzzing everywhere.  Having read nothing about grafting, I watched a nine-minute YouTube video on saddle grafts, then drove back the next day and cut the last two branches that hadn’t yet budded out.

The steps for completing this type of graft are few and relatively simple: After sterilizing a pair of pruning sheers and a sharp knife, I cut a few three-to-four-inch pieces from the Anna Apple, referred to as scion wood, including the tip of the branch; then I trimmed a few inches off of a Gala Apple branch, making sure the thickness, or caliber, of the branches at the cuts was roughly the same; next, using a sharp knife, I split the Gala Apple branch with an inch-long cut down the center; using the same knife I carved the end of the Anna Apple branch into a “V”.  After all the cutting and carving, all that’s left is to insert the Anna Apple “V” into the Gala Apple center cut, tightly wrap the joint in surgical tape (or any adhesive tape that will break down in the sun), and then paint the grafted piece with wax to keep it from dehydrating.

The graft should be shaded for a few weeks.  If, at the end of that time, the scion branch begins to bud out — success.

It’s too soon to tell if my grafts will take.  But the process of grafting seemed to go off without a hitch. I ended up grafting two Anna Apple branches onto our Gala, and four D’Anjou Pear branches onto our Bartlett.  Grafting saves space on a small property, since many varieties of edible trees require a pollinator, or second tree.  The same effect can be accomplished with a few grafted branches.

The experience of grafting felt like visiting a place you’ve read about in National Geographic.  This integral agricultural technique has been practiced for thousands of years.  So, it was like applying ancestral knowledge — despite having acquired the know-how from a YouTube video by a guy named Tom.