So today I pruned my thicket of raspberries. It was my first time doing so. I got three little nubbins in a pot from my friend’s parents two years ago, who warned me that the goal of these tender shoots was world domination. Surely not THESE cute little things! How wrong I was! Year one saw them grow tall and they bore raspberries. Impressive! Year two was like a horror movie, only with yummy raspberries instead of gore.
They grew to an astonishing height and multiplied at a fearful rate. There were more berries than we could keep up with. And then … then I made a terrible mistake. I left them. I didn’t do anything. And winter came on, and the new and old canes withered together, entangled, solid. Neighborhood birds rejoiced. And there stood the mass.
Until today. I am bleeding from my face and arms, my pantlegs are solid mud, I am seriously doubting my trellis building skillz, and one by one, I removed old canes and identified newer ones and tamed them into … ah, who am I kidding. They are still planning world domination.
I DID mention that I have more enthusiasm than skill, right? Well in honor of urban homesteading action day, I worked on my urban homestead with enthusiasm and it felt good. Except for the bleeding. I can check “prune scary mob of raspberries” off the list.