Lately, I've been dreaming of a crab apple spring

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The plot is thickening. Some 20 years ago, give or take a decade or two, when I was the chief honcho of the state’s tourism office, UTC had an $11-million annual budget for do-good projects in its home state. A department headed by a talented, and attractive, woman was set up to evaluate and choose projects to be funded. The nice lady invited me to lunch in the corporate dining room and we kicked around several ideas that could help promote tourism.

By that time, gardening was a disease with me and I spent most of my idle hours tilling, planting and cultivating. Thus my suggestion was in keeping with my combined interests: tourism and my home garden.

"How about a statewide flowering tree festival?" I suggested to the UTC lady as I started lunch with a delicious squash soup.

She picked up on the idea immediately, particularly when I pointed out how many visitors are attracted annually to the flowering dogwoods of Greenfield Hill, a beautiful village down Fairfield County way.

"A statewide dogwood festival?" she asked.

Alas, dogwood doesn’t fare well in the frigid winters that oftentimes blanket the hill country of Connecticut. "But there is one tree that grows wherever you plant it and will flower in all 169 towns in the state," I proclaimed. "The flowering crab apple."

She was delighted. I proceeded with the chicken a la francaise as she tossed her green salad. (Someone help me, why do women so often dress up to the nines to lunch in trendy restaurants and then order a salad they can easily make at home?)

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I was no expert on crab apple trees but I knew that many varieties were grown because the flowers in the spring morphed into small tangy fruit that made excellent "tangy jelly." But we didn’t want trees that would be planted around civic and school buildings and in public parks, because the fruit would not be picked but fall to the ground and make a soggy mess.

So we chose the Malus Korean, a crab apple with beautiful flowers and a tiny fruit that in the main was the delight of the birds of autumn before they started their long migrations to Johnny Reb country.

My new friend immediately came up with a slogan: "Trees for Towns." T-shirts and posters followed and arrangements were made to purchase the trees, and deliver them throughout the state with an admonition to local officials that we wanted to initiate an annual crab apple tree festival.

To kick off the planting I suggested we offer five trees to the Governor’s residence. Nikki O’Neill, the governor’s wife, was delighted and had a slope cleared on the Asylum Avenue side of the property.

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On the day of the ceremonial planting, I brought to the scene five shovels with gold-painted blades.

George David, then a vice president, was to represent UTC. I gave him one of the shovels. I don’t remember who else was a ceremonial planter but at the last minute, Harry Gray, legendary CEO of UTC, showed up. Alors, as the French would say, what to do?

"Sorry, Mr. David," I said, "but we need your shovel for Mr. Gray."

The rest is history. Mr. David surrendered his shovel and after Mr. Gray retired, took over the corporation and boosted its production and income to astronomical heights. Now it’s Mr. David’s turn to enjoy sweet retirement.

And to sweeten his retirement, UTC is paying him $27 million.

My, think of all the shovels he can buy, and if he really wanted to leave a lasting impression, I say, Mr. David, "Buy more crab apple trees."