pendragon orchard and vine

Most small orchards fail not from neglect, but from excess. Too many trees, ripening at the same moment, planted by familiarity instead of intent. Coherence—timing, purpose, and use aligned—is what turns abundance from waste into return.

I love this apple for its defiance. It’s the ultimate winter keeper apple. It is also one of the most balanced apples I’ve had—sweet, acidic, and without the penalty that plagues so many late hangers. The skin isn’t that tough, battlefield-leather armor you get with other winter apples. It’s firm, yes, but fair. The history, its endurance, though, makes it worth having.

It’s the classic social-media reflex: someone posts a leaf with a wrinkle, and five seconds later a stranger hollers leaf curl! as if pronouncing a curse.

They understood that certain transformations only happen slowly, in the cold. That winter isn’t an obstacle but a collaborator. That time itself is a tool, if you know how to wield it. Most modern people try to fight winter. Japan fermented it.

Long after apples are gone and pears are stored away, the medlar still hangs—brown, frost-touched, and waiting. It’s a fruit that sweetens only after the cold, a reminder that not everything worth tasting comes in season.

From bad plant choices to nightly deer raids, here’s what sinks most first-time gardens.

A dense patch of Jerusalem artichokes with tall green stalks and bright yellow sunflower-like blooms, growing along a hillside with trees in the background.

Learn how to tap a bigleaf maple and make your own Pacific Northwest syrup. A field guide from Pendragon Orchard & Vine—part adventure, part craft, and all patience—turning rain, pressure, and fire into sweetness.