Wild Raspberries aka Bramble
I remember fondly my grandmother sitting out there and her small frame was always overshadowed by this forest of Jurassic ferns and bright orange tiger lilies. While gorgeous and verdant this plant menagerie has really gotten overgrown in recent years to the point of utter wildness.
On top of the fact that the ferns and lilies (on their own wonderful plants for different reasons–the spiky, regal ferns contrasting with the wild cheerfulness of the tiger lilies) had themselves grown out of control, there was an interloper in their midst causing all sorts of problems. Wild Raspberry, aka Bramble (*cue spaghetti western theme music*).
Now this is a tough one because it’s hard to really hate raspberries. I mean come on–they’re tart and sweet, we can make delicious jams out of them, their bright colours perk up any garden and they’re so darn cute and bulbous!
But there’s a terrifyingly dark side to raspberries:
1) the thorns can be deadly (ok, not deadly as in they’ll kill you but they will scratch the heck out of any exposed skin)
2) they grow wild and choke other plants
3) they don’t actually always produce berries and
4) they drive my brother to distraction (ok so that’s kind of amusing to watch, but terrible nonetheless).
We Coverts managed to show our true colours in how we each addressed this bramble issue:
Andrew: Pure rage that manifested itself in machete attacks on bramble bushes all over Seneca County
Dad: Hesitancy that was eventually worn down by familial insistence that we had to deal with these nasty wild pricker bushes
Me: Research leading to methodical pruning and weeding eventually giving way to real enjoyment at hauling these evil things up by the roots (pronounced RUHTS for the purposes of this illustration)
Despite our different approaches we did agree that we needed to do something about them and now, thanks to a little elbow grease, good gloves and a sturdy flannel jacket with long sleeves, the Raspberries/Brambles/Pricker Bushes are no more.
The lovely back slate patio is a little more tame and just waiting for that perfect spring early evening for a whack of peas that need shelling.
