picking raspberries.

i’ll admit, during the early days of summer, i let my garden go rogue. i didn’t prune, i didn’t thin out, i didn’t weed. the tomato plant went AWOL over the fence and the swiss chard withered and died. i had a baby who didn’t like being worn anymore (i miss those baby wearing days), what was i supposed to do? when you only have one hand and you’re holding a baby in the other, your activities are limited to dusting and stirring and playing with said baby.things have changed a little since then. these days i can take care of my garden with both hands. my baby is still there, only now she’s a toddler. she’s walking around and helping her mama pick the raspberries and tomatoes. i like to think that it’s not a coincidence that those are two of her favorite foods. i like to think that she loves them so much because when she eats them, she gets a warm, fuzzy feeling and remembers the afternoons she’s spent with me in the yard picking her “rahburry” and “trrrmate”.i love watching her pick the raspberries. she knows that the red ones are the ones you want, and that you have to look underneath the leaves and branches to get to the fruit. i think i’ve seen her put maybe one raspberry in her bowl when we’re picking, only to eat it (plus half my bowl) a minute later. she’s not the world’s most efficient picker, but hey, you get what you pay for. and she makes up for her lack of output with her surplus of sassy smiles. plus, look at that face.i wouldn’t want anyone else by my side while picking raspberries.

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