One of the luxuries of living the way we do on our Little Farm in Town are raspberries. Most summer mornings find my husband in the berry patch picking a bowlful berries for our morning cereal. He can’t explain to me why it makes him so happy. He just says it feels luxurious.

When we bought our little Ponderosa on a lot and a half, it came with a neglected raspberry patch in the northeast corner of the backyard. I created some mighty brush piles trimming the trees in that corner of the yard and cleaning up the berry patch. I don’t know what varieties they are, only that the canes are thornless and bear fruit in the summer and again in the autumn until frost.

Each winter I throw chicken house hay bedding and the spent straw from the yard onto the berry patch. Each spring I remove dead canes and cut the tips back to new buds. Every summer and fall we pick gallons of berries. The retired farmer and his wife who built the house and landscaped the yard are gone from this earth. They left behind a nicely established berry patch. Not a bad legacy. Begonia

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