Whenever he noticed someone working on a project with great determination, my dad used to say that person was going at it (whatever it might be) like there's no tomorrow. These dewberries or ground-hugging blackberries in my yard seem to be doing just that sort of thing.
As soon as we could get away from unpacking boxes, SAM and I began working out in the yard, clearing away weeds and changing the landscape to suit ourselves. You might recall that we had renters last year who took it upon themselves to drastically alter the look of our home, the interior as well as the exterior. Some of the landscape changes I like, but all of them have added a lot of work to the upkeep of the yard. There are more beds and plants to weed and keep watered and mulched.
The curious thing about those renters is that they weren't interested in maintaining the new plants they added, let alone the ones I had growing. Our well-established blueberry patch looked like it was being consumed by these wild dewberry vines. Earlier this week, a day after we returned from a trip to Southern Illinois, I started to yank them out, hands covered by thick gloves, but SAM advised that I leave some alone. Those ripening berries did look mighty tempting to a couple of sweaty, weary gardeners, and I should have been wearning a body glove. The vines are covered by millions of tiny, painful, needle-like thorns that grab at your ankles too. Okay, I'm convinced. You don't have to twist my arm. I'll let some plants live.
Early each morning I walk across the lawn wet with dew and find more ripe berries to add to our yogurt. I'm hoping that by Easter morning there will be enough of them to bake a pie. SAM wondered if I could just collect them for the next couple of days, but I think they might be like manna from heaven and rot if I try to hoard them.
|Bald Knob Cross in Alto Pass, Illinois|
Good Friday to you from SAM and Walk2Write!