Raspberries

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.

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