by Elizabeth Fetkenhour

Created on: February 19, 2009   Last Updated: March 01, 2009

I love raspberries. The smell, nubby feel of the berry, and the succulent juice, are heavenly to me. My mother had a mature and prosperous raspberry patch in our backyard and when I was growing up we would risk scratches and thorns to retrieve the berries and then partake in my mom's amazing raspberry pie. She would see us getting restless in the hot summer and start handing out large bowls for us to go and pick the berries. It is only now that I realize the women was a genious; she actually got 45 min. of peace and quiet while we worked the huge ripe berries right off those thorny bushes. We all worked with happiness and many of the berries ended up in our mouths and we were content. Raspberries were the nector of my youth. After we had enough berries we presented them to mom and she would then transform them into a masterpiece. The success of our family raspberry patch remains a mystery since I never recall my mother working back there in the thorns. After confering with here she does admit to heavy organic fertilizer three times per year and pruning back to almost nothing, but only every three years.

It seems like very little work to have a raspberry patch and they are worth every bloody stratch on your arm and thorn in your index finger. We lived in that large house in forest hills and picked those divine berries for almost twelve years and I never tired of the texture, flavor and smell of them. I look forward to spring and summer, turning the soil and finding earth worms in the ground still brings me joy. Last spring a friend brought me three raspberry bushes and I was so excited about planting them. I did not realize how much water they consume and that they don't thrive in sandy soil. My memories were vivid and held images of branches so heavy with large berries that they fell over almost touching the muddy ground. I recall lifting the sodden branch, holding only a green leaf between index and thumb, to discover handfulls of berries underneath the branch. By lifting the branch and only touching the leaf you will avoid thorn while unveiling a jackpot of juicy berries. My sister and I had no problem picking berries and were content inside and out when we were eating a piece of that raspberry pie. But my three little bushes did not bear fruit. In fact, they turned yellow and bent over with listlessness their sickly yellow leaves brushing my sandy soiled garden.

Later it was revealed to me that our magnificent patch in forest hills had the perfect soil composition

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