I first discovered the pleasure of a campus that feeds you on a September afternoon at Pitzer College. An orange tree caught my eye – its branches sagging under the weight of the fruit it bore. The dry California heat, my fingers sticky from peeling an orange I had picked myself and the bright taste of fresh citrus on my tongue; it’s a moment that lingers in my memory.
When I called Hudson Schneider, a junior at Pitzer, I learned my impromptu orange was quite intentional, a deliberate rhythm built into the campus. “The fruit ripens in stages across the duration of our stay, with some fruits ready when we come in the fall and others ripening in the spring. It’s a great way to taste the passing of time,” Schneider explained.
They achieve this by growing “lemons, limes, oranges, persimmons, pomegranates, olives, figs, apples and allegedly strawberries,” Schneider said, adding that most of them are “put next to high-traffic areas so they’re easy to pick on the go.”
This stands in sharp contrast to our beautiful but barren campus. Across the University of Oregon, the grounds are lush and meticulously maintained, with mowed lawns rolling between walkways lined with trees now flaming red. While our landscape is stunning and equally alive, we do not get to taste the seasons shifting.
Of course, geography plays a role. Being in Southern California, Pitzer can grow almost anything with a pit or peel. While the task may be more difficult in Eugene, apples, pears, cherries and peaches still thrive here. Not to mention, as Sam Hill wrote in Serious Eats, “it’s as if Willamette Valley… was created to grow berries. The cool, mild winters and warm-but-comfortable summers create the perfect microclimate for… berries to thrive.”
At a time when food insecurity quietly shadows college life, every source of fresh food matters. A few trees won’t replace a grocery budget, but they can supplement it and increase our students’ consumption of fresh produce. Schneider underscored this. “Picking fruit isn’t something I set out to do,” he said. “But walking to class or hanging with friends, I’ll spot something tantalizingly ripe and it’s just hard to pass by.”
Emma Singleton, a senior at the University of Oregon, had a similar story. “I grew up in Applegate, Oregon, and we had fruit trees all over the place. My mom would pick apples or plums on our way home from school to make canned applesauce, dried plums, fruit leather or anything else she could think of.”
There is, of course, a logic behind the fruit tree absence. They drop fruit that rots, attract animals and require maintenance. They also pose a liability risk. Under what’s known as the “doctrine of attractive nuisance,” landowners can be held responsible for injuries caused by something enticing, like a climbable, fruit-laden tree.
Still, the case for fruit trees outweighs the mess or the risk. The occasional fallen apple is a small price to pay for a campus that offers more than shade and scenery. Fruit trees invite participation in our shared spaces in a way ornamental plants simply can’t. They invite us to touch, use and care – to taste the cadence of time, be healthy and connect to the land we inhabit.
A flourishing campus should nourish those who make it thrive. If UO wants to nurture a sense of belonging as much as it does aesthetics, I believe it ought to plant more fruit on its campus. Our communal places need not be our most manicured.
