I finally picked all the peaches. The struggle has been, well, a struggle. Every time I am seated on my couch my eyes are on the peach tree. Any time I saw a leaf flutter I was out arms flailing, screaming at the tree in case the fluttering leaf was caused by a squirrel. As it was the the squirrels ate every single one of the peaches that were not covered with a complex mix of tulle, bird netting, hardware cloth and those spiky bird things. The “cage” was ugly, in the way and, like I said, a constant source of anxiety. Granted it’s not in the same league as, say, worrying about global warming but, you know, it’s stress.
The peaches were close enough to ripe that I could pick them so I took the entire branch down. That way I could untangle the mess of squirrel deterrent (and the branch was in the way. I was sick of ducking under it all the time) and pick the peaches in a more comfortable position all the while feeling gleeful that the squirrels had been foiled.
Every. Single. Peach had worms. You can see the exit wounds on these which is about half the worm ridden crop.
Remove tree = remove stress. I am not sad to see it go.
I don’t even like peaches all that much. Jesus H. Christ.