When we moved into our house 18 years ago, there were black raspberry vines growing wild next to the garage. I loved picking the berries every year and we often got more fruit than we knew what to do with.
But Darling Husband hated the tangle of vines – even though no one ever used the narrow space between the garage and the neighbor’s hedge.
So one year, he went out and cut down all of the black raspberry vines. Right to the ground. I got mad, he got mad that I was mad, and so I yanked one long vine with roots still attached from the garbage pile, shoved it into some dirt next to the house, and said, There! Now I’m going to grow this right here in the middle of the yard and if you touch it you’re going to be very, very sorry.
Well, the next year the vines he chopped down grew back with a vengence and were replete with berries. And my skimpy discarded branch has over the years grown into a lovely tangle of berry vines right next to the house where the birds enjoy the fruit while Murphy the cat watches from the window.
And so I’m happy to report that I just picked this summer’s first batch of berries. And then I ate them all. Ah, summer is here.
The vines by the garage have over the years dwindled in berry production, and this year the ones by the house seem to have less fruit. But since the vines required no work on my part except to eat their yield, I’m grateful for every berry that I can get.