An English In Kentucky


















Wednesday June 5th 2013    Tim Candler


     Raspberry are an aggravating menace, and should be kept isolated, a good twenty yards from just about anything else, and of plant descriptions, any description of Raspberry should be totally ignored, because they are willful and if the world was just they would be described as a category II invasive species. But one of the odder things about Raspberry, is the extent to which they appear to figure in the imagination of those who are not delighted by the prospect of weeding, who do not worship the shovel, have no patience with edges, yet who are prone to spend large quantities of money on something as useless as soaker hoses, sprinklers, chemical lawns, weed eaters, mulch, exercise bicycles, car air fresheners, mobile telephones and the list is so long my head hurts just to think about it.

   My own theory is that Raspberry worship, in those of my generation, hails back to a pre-super market era. To get a Raspberry, in that horribly primitive time, a youngster had to visit a grandparent, or perverted ill-socialized uncle, who lived an apparently idyllic existence in some backward rural setting.  "Go ahead my sweet thing, just help yourself to a Raspberry and go on home."  Having tasted Raspberry, fresh off a prickly cane, the heart records a memory and ever after through stress of career and busy life, the bloody Raspberry becomes some sort of symbol of Eden.  I can't tell you how many times I have heard visitors say, "My granddad used to grow Raspberry. Happy days."  All the same, if Mockingbird, Thrasher, Yellow Chat and assorted Poxes from Damp permit, I think we'll have a goodish crop this year.


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