It may be the day for gunpowder, treason and plot but it is also the day when I picked the very last of the rasps. Autumn Bliss lives up to its name.
Our canes were here when we moved to Springfield, 8 years ago and they show no signs of weakness. I chop them down to the ground in February, Doc mulches them with grass clippings, compost, or manure – whatever there is an abundance of – and they get on with it. Occasionally, we thin out the runners but they don’t seem to mind. They start fruiting in July and rain or shine, they just get better and better as the season progresses. We never net them because the birds seem to ignore them.
However, we don’t ignore them and although Doc prefers strawberries, it doesn’t stop him competing with me for the very Last One. Still, there are bags and bags of them in the freezer and a stack of raspberry jam in the pantry. The jars sparkle like jewels and it’s like having a treasure trove to keep us going through the winter.
I can hear the bangs and whooshes outside. I hope the chickens are okay. They will probably go off lay and there will be rocket sticks to collect in the morning. I think I will watch Strictly on TV to drown out the noise . Bah Humbug!
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