The plums of New York — A Reader’s Guide

Precision in Description

The variety entries are notable for their exacting physical detail. For Sheldrake, the fruit is described as “one and one-half inches by one and three-eighths inches in size, roundish-oblong,” with a “cavity very deep, abrupt.” The stone is “dark-colored, semi-clinging, one inch by three-quarters inch in size, broadly ovate or irregularly oval, flattened, with roughened and granular surfaces.” Such measurements are not merely taxonomic; they serve the practical needs of growers comparing cultivars. The descriptions also include sensory judgments: Sheldrake’s flesh is “yellow, tender, sweet next the skin, but sour near the center, inferior in flavor.” This combination of objective dimension and subjective taste evaluation is a consistent pattern. For Shipper, the text notes that the flesh is “dry” and plums “often shrivel on the tree,” characters that “fit it for shipping” but make it “of little value after it reaches the market.” The entries thus balance utility against quality, often with blunt candor.

Contrasts in Evaluation

A striking feature of the book is the way it presents conflicting judgments among pomologists. In the entry for Sharp’s Emperor, the text quotes H. A. Pearson calling it “a second rate plum, resembling Victoria, in appearance, but very inferior in point of cropping and quality, a decided clingstone, often gumming at the stone, and ripening a fortnight later than its supposed synonym.” Yet August Royer described both varieties as freestones. The author weighs the evidence: “While there is a lack of uniformity in the descriptions yet the total evidence weighs in favor of two types which are very similar.” This willingness to acknowledge uncertainty and to let contradictory sources stand is unusual for a government bulletin. Similarly, for Shipper, the text admits that “some pomologists give a rather better estimate of the variety than that expressed here,” but maintains its own negative assessment. The book does not suppress dissent; it records it, then renders a verdict based on the station’s own trials.

The Role of the Amateur

Throughout the variety entries, the origins of plums are traced to individual discoverers, often amateurs. Sheldrake “originated as a chance seedling on the shore of Cayuga Lake near the town of Sheldrake, New York,” and was “discovered and propagated by J. T. Hunt of Kendaia.” Shipper was “found by Mr. H. S. Wiley in a private garden at Port Byron, New York, about 1877,” and the original grower “thought that it came from a stone of one of the several varieties in his garden.” These origin stories are brief but recurrent, highlighting the role of local observation and luck in creating new cultivars. The footnotes, as the preface explains, contain “biographical sketches of the persons who have contributed most to plum culture in America.” This attention to individual contributors—nurserymen, farmers, experimenters—gives the book a human dimension alongside its scientific rigor. The reader is reminded that the catalog of varieties is not just a list of names but a record of generations of practical horticulture.

Readers approaching The Plums of New York will find it most useful as a reference to be consulted variety by variety rather than read straight through. The footnotes and synonymy lists reward browsing, revealing how names shifted and how knowledge accumulated. The book’s value lies not in any overarching argument but in the density of its observations—each entry a small case study in the interplay of climate, cultivation, and chance. For those interested in the history of American pomology, it offers a snapshot of how state agricultural science operated in the early twentieth century: systematic, collaborative, and grounded in the practical needs of growers.

The rain blurred the window while I traced Hedrick’s measured notes on plum flesh and pit, the patient record of vanished orchards. That same quiet devotion to cultivating living shapes surfaced later, unbidden, when I picked up The book of topiary — Story, Setting & Ideas. It felt less like a departure than a turn in a familiar garden path, one green discipline folding into another.