The most exciting day of my life happened not long ago. Keep in mind, it does not take much to make me happy.
I was in the way at the construction site. There was some heavy lifting and intense measuring and machinery in use. My skills (pulling nails and cleaning) were just going to be in the way so I was looking for something useful I could do while at the homestead.
My parents had left a sprayer of round-up to kill some weeds. We have an amazing amount of Elephant Ear and Itch-Weed on our property and I worry about it taking over and killing the nicer plants that have a much more difficult time growing. So I grabbed the container and started trekking through the yard spraying to my heart’s content.
When I got to the RV pad, I noticed a thorny bush. I had accidentally brushed by it and it caught on my shoelace. “Well, shoot,” I thought, “what kind of weed has thorns like this? I bent down to unhook my shoe from the culprit when I saw them.
The most beautiful thing in my entire world.
My favorite. My deepest fruit love.
I believe I may have screamed with delight. (Fortunately this was the day the excavator was out digging the really big hole, so no one heard my shrieks). I pulled out my phone and googled “wild raspberries” to make sure I wasn’t going to pop some imposter fruit into my mouth and die or suffer some terrible stomach repercussions.
No worries-they were real. Raspberry bushes (which I never knew) grow with thorns to help ward off predators and protect their fruit. I am a raspberry bush’s worst predator.
So then I began to think. How did a raspberry bush end up out here at the RV pad? This spot is where the hogs use to be kept when this place was a farm. So I googled again. Wild raspberries often grow where they can find sun and where birds might drop them. If there was one, I knew there would be more.
So I went on a hunt. And soon found two larger raspberry bushes, a choke cherry bush, and two mulberry trees.
Our raspberries (though I haven’t really let anyone else eat any raspberries because I love them dearly and am selfish) are actually a black raspberry more than a red raspberry. They turn a very dark purple/blue when they are ripe. They are so sweet and wonderful that I want to cry whenever I eat one. It is obviously raspberry season, because I visit the bushes every day and pull a handful of berries off to eat-right from the bush. They don’t even make it to a table.
The mulberry tree supplies much more fruit. Every three days I can go out and pick the dark, juicy berries (these are much less sweet than raspberries) with the aid of a step-ladder. I am able to pick about two cups of fruit at a time from the trees, though the birds often hear me coming and chirp and fly around incessantly upset that someone found their secret food source hiding in the vast grove that lines our property.
Nonetheless, I’m in absolute heaven. Life’s a bowl of berries.