Blueberries and I

 

I like blueberries. There: I've said it. I've taken a pro-blueberry stand. Oh, but you say, blueberries aren't political. But then, I counter, why are they anti-free-radical? They obviously want to lock up all the radicals, and if that isn't political...

So, to review, I like blueberries. I find that I can't eat too many at any one time anymore. It turns out that they are like ball bearings in my digestive track, but I sure do like them.

It seems like 20 years ago or more that I first planted blueberries. Just a few plants, mind you. My idea of planting bare root stock is to dig a hole, stick the root stock in the hole, and then fill in the hole. In other words, especially back then, I wasn't as diligent as I could have been.

But, it didn't actually matter. Over the first five years the blueberry plants were mowed off by rabbits, deer, and sheep. Not free-range sheep, mind you, but sheep that got loose.

After building a fence around the plants, I realized that my little patch was in a spot that I couldn't readily see on a day-to-day basis. As such the doctrine of "out of sight; out of mind" kicked in. To say the weeds took over would be a shameful understatement.

Please join me in pressing the fast-forward button to this year. I have four blueberry plants that have survived for five years now. Each has a chicken wire bubble around it. They were fully weeded in the spring and mid-summer.

And yet, a week ago I walked past them and saw that they were completely overgrown with weeds. Again. So, yesterday I carefully pulled all the weeds, cultivated the soil, and watered them, giving them a chance to recover a bit before the first frost.

The grand total of actual blueberries we've gotten from those plants and the others over the years could best be described as a handful. More specifically, a three year-old's handful.

I am optimistic that some year soon I'll be able to sit in the kitchen with a bowl of home-grown blueberries and eat 10 of them. I think my system can handle that.