Just after we moved into our home in 2001, we planted a few raspberry vines next to the garage. Since then the vines have grown into a full sized patch which runs the length of the garage and is hemmed in on one side by a brick walkway. Raspberry vines apparently like to spread out, and they even occasionally cross under the bricks and emerge on the other side. They profit from a heavy pruning each winter and grow back as though they had never been cut.
We grow two types of berries, the ones bearing now and the ones which come on in September. The summer ones have a sweet flavor, but the fall ones astound us each year with their full raspberry taste. Our grandchildren have been dropping by for a couple of weeks now, eating blueberries and asking if the raspberries were ripe yet. My husband dropped a full berry into my hand yesterday, signaling that they are beginning to be ready. They’re a sure sign that summer is well underway in New England after an interminable winter and dreary spring.
Raspberries don’t keep well, so getting them at the store is a risky business. If they aren’t moldy it is probably because they weren’t really ripe enough to be picked. Here they only have to last from vine directly to mouth! They are an abundant blessing of summer, and I am grateful for them each year.