Gardens a learning experience

After a long winter and a dragging, slow spring, there is an indescribable joy in a beautiful sunny weekend day. When I lived in Victoria, the winters were rainy and skyless and when the sun would eventually appear again, people would wander out into open patches of sunshine as if drawn by a magnetic force.

Last weekend, I felt like I was a solar panel being recharged.

Eager and enthusiastic to start the weekend, I immediately delved into my favourite jobs: killing the raspberry canes.

My raspberry patch is inherited. The former owners of our house planted a variety of raspberry plants and planted them on the south side of our house where the sun is plentiful.

Strangely, they planted them extremely close to the house under the eaves where they will never get rained on.

During the hot and dry portions of our short summer, I have to include the raspberry patch in my watering (when I actually do it) otherwise the canes wilt and my yield is lower.

So secateurs in glove-covered hand, I made my way into the overgrown patch to start the annual destruction that is necessary in order to keep the patch tidy, disease-free and plentiful. This year I am happy to report that I only accidentally pruned one perfectly good cane that would have provided a number of delicious raspberries later in the summer.

Every year, I forget that raspberry canes are cranky and don’t like being pruned and I did not cover my arms while cutting.

Thus, my arms and my back look like I have been attacked by a small, vicious kitten. It will be worth it later though when my raspberries-of-an-unusual-size ripen.

Because my patch was inherited, I have no idea what strain or variety my berries are.

I am often asked what kind of raspberries I grown because they are so large that it looks like I’ve injected them with Botox. If a few scratches every year is the price for exceptional berries, I am will- ing to pay.

Another gardening chore on the docket is attempting to find out if I have been lovingly tending to a handsome weed in my garden. I suspect so as this spring, little baby plants from this possible weed are now scattered throughout my garden. Real gardeners would know if a plant is not a plant but an impostor.

My little weed garden is budding and looking quite fine considering the state it was in when we bought our house. The previous owners were also clearly not gardeners because when summer came, a perfectly straight line of irises erupted in front of a perfectly straight line of lilies. The rest of the garden was perfectly symmetrical.

It looked like it had been planted by psychopaths.

The most beautiful gardens look like they happened by accident and are lush and full and have rotating offerings of flowers and foliage. This is my goal.

I am not even close but each year it gets better and I learn more and eventually I hope to be able to identify the weeds versus the plants.

It’s a journey with no end and I love the trip.