I know, will this crazy lady ever be done writing blog posts about her raspberries? The answer is yes. Probably. In a while when there are more different fun things to harvest like blueberries and figs… I just cannot get over the fact that I have a garden that is growing real things that can feed me and my friends and co-workers. There are So. Many. Raspberries. ( and peas, but that is an entirely different post)

Everyday when I’m out picking raspberries two thing repeatedly pop into my head without fail. The first is the poem by William Carlos Williams “The Red Wheelbarrow” ( I of course tried to be “fancy” or just normal and link this, but once again blogging from my phone =epic fail. http://www.poets.org/viewmedia.php/prmMID/15537

Anyway, everyday I recite this poem to the raspberries, only I replace the word wheelbarrow with raspberries, and the word chickens with bulldog. Yeah, I’m the girl who recites poetry to her plants… Daily. I can’t help it. Go find some raspberries & try not to say that poem to them… So much depends upon the red raspberries… I’m compelled.

The second thing that pops into my head while pretty much leaning my entire body weight across the raspberry patch to reach that one perfect berry is ” dear god, if I were to fall into this raspberry patch, I wonder how long it would take for someone to find/ rescue me! I’m due at work in 45 minutes, so hopefully someone would start worrying, and my dad should be here in about 3 hours to let the dog outside… So he could fish me out of here”. Literally every day I think about that, because when you live alone you need to start coming up with a backup plan in case you fall into a bramble of raspberries…. At least I wouldn’t go hungry…