The lime tree that would not die

This is a love story. It’s about my love of limes.

To me, lime is the quintessential flavour of summer. Compulsory in many a refreshing drink, certainly. What self-respecting barman would pour you a cold Corona, or a gin and tonic, or a margarita, with no lime? Many recipes, especially in Mediterranean and Asian cuisine, are built on the fresh tang of lime citrus. One of my favourite fish recipes is simply magic because lime is a major component. But the lime has to be fresh. The bottled stuff just doesn’t cut it.

So I was very happy when, several years ago, I received an unusual and very welcome gift from my wife: a small Tahitian lime tree in a garden pot. With dreams in mind of plucking fresh juicy limes off that tree every season, I placed it outdoors and waited for the magic to happen.

Years later I look back at my naivety and laugh. How deluded I was. Oh how little I knew about the humble lime tree. Month after month, season after season, that tree sat neglected and apparently dormant. Regularly I would wander by and stare resentfully at it, wondering why it didn’t grow, let alone fruit.

Eventually I reached a decision: either I needed educating, or the lime needed to go. Remembering the tree was a gift, well, there was really only one option. I did some research, and learned that limes are a demanding plant. In Auckland we have a climate which generally suits citrus, but limes in particular need several things to thrive. They need sun and lots of it. Food, and lots of it. Regular watering. Pruning. Bug protection. And being spoken to in tongues. No, I made that last one up.

But after more seasons of working on all aspects of lime tree care, and still not getting any remotely useable fruit, I was beginning to wonder.

The next advice I acted on was to take the plant out of its container and put it in the ground. Made sense. Surely it would have access to more nutrients? And more moisture? Perhaps that was the answer. I put it in the only place in our shady garden where it would get more sun. Not quite all day sun, but near enough. Gratifyingly, the small flowers that appeared each season began to be replaced by setting fruit, and my first viable crop began to appear. Hallelujah, I was doing something right.

By now at least ten years had passed since I first received this little tree. But my obsessive care was beginning to bear fruit. Literally. I harvested my first small, unimpressive limes. Last season was the high point. Finally I was witnessing a healthy treeful of limes, swelling and growing into pickable, sliceable, juiceable size.

I went to bed one rainy summer night, and next day, wandering cheerfully past, I checked on the lime tree…and felt sick in the stomach. There it was, lying collapsed and broken on the ground, fractured and split down the middle. In reaching for the sun, and lacking any sensible staking from me, its arched trunk had been overcome by the weight of fruit, and sodden foliage. The heavy rain, ironically, was the last straw.

I was, shall we say, somewhat disappointed.

Still, not one to let a few years of effort go to waste, I set to work again. I carefully righted the poor tree, strapped its trunk, and staked it up, hoping for a miracle. What I got was leaves that all shrivelled and fell off. Branches that browned and dried up. A dead lime tree. I couldn’t bring myself to dig it out. In one last desperate act, I cut the trunk clean through, leaving just a short stump above the graft at its base. Injury was soon added to by the insult of borer. Little piles of sawdust appeared around the stump.

Well, at least that gave me another target. I treated the holey stump with organic borer killer. I waterproofed the holes with evolu Healing Lip Treatment – trusting to its waxy balm consistency and the anti-microbial action of the manuka honey. And I waited.

Slowly, the sawdust disappeared. The wounds healed. Then, one day, unexpectedly, I noticed something. Down on my knees, I peered at the sad little stump, and to my astonishment, spotted a tiny flash of green. An insect? No. A new shoot.

A few weeks later, I now have some proper foliage…and the first small fruit beginning to establish. This is not a lime crop. But that’s okay, I’m prepared to wait…