Guess I Don't Have To Resort To Crime

Just last post, I was grousing about neeeeeeding hardy blackberries. I'd found 2 varieties in a plant catalogue last year and ordered them, but so had every other person in the upper Midwest. I received a polite note from the company explaining that they were growing them as fast as they could, but there's only so much one can do with a being that requires sun, fertilizer, water, and time. They assured me that they had people roaming the rows of baby hardy blackberries cajoling them and playing salsa music in an effort to hurry the process, but I'd just have to be patient. Maybe I'd get them in the fall (but not bloody likely, lady, given even the birds and probably the deer were wanting some of this action). They hoped by spring '06 I'd get my cut, but no promises. I was put 'on the waiting list'. Becoming desperate a few days ago, I mulled over pilfering someone else's crop, the problem being I had no idea who that might be. I haven't the vaguest idea how to hack into the company's system and don't know anyone who'd put me in touch with a nice geek who'd do it in exchange for a berry pie and a jar of jam in the future.

As I got out of the car, Monday, the very day of posting that little whine, I noticed a small package, sitting on the trash can in the garage, by the kitchen door. Just sitting. Abandoned. Swinging its legs, looking a bit thirsty.

I tucked it under my arm, trotted inside to deal with dog, cat, kids, and general mayhem, and plopped it on the counter with the rest of the mess.

Well, of course, you know what was inside. And there they sit, now, by the sink, getting lots of drinkies and talkies. My own little trio of 'Jim' and 'Jan'. They are supposed to fruit this year, by gum, bear from June until frost (about mid October, here 'bouts), and send you into positive raptures with their sweet, sweet berry flavor. We'll see. I'm just excited. It is also easing my tortured little mind a bit knowing that if these turn out to be as invasive as the blackberries from the Pacific Northwest, well, I'm not the only one who released them into the wild. And I'd rather fight something that I can turn into pie than something that just spreads seeds with the wind and jabs you in the foot, arm, and eye. (Hear that, thistles?)

I'll leave you with a few more pictures:

Here we have the Easter Weekend bonfire, because what better to do on a gorgeous spring day than to burn shit in a fire? We roasted brats and marshmallows later and ate on the deck, huddled in sweatshirts. But, no bugs!

Mad-kitty sits on her favorite perch, draped between the back of the chair and your (in this case Charles's) shoulders. She is not in my good graces today as she managed to terrorize my hibiscus by knocking the whole pot and plant off the table and onto the couch. The pot, I might add that out weighed her by about 5 fold and was far from the edge of the table. The plant is alive but shaken, literally. The loft is a freakin' disaster. The bad kitty is not sorry. Obviously the 'keys' incident was just the first episode in what may be a long string of retaliatory strikes.

Finally, here are some shots from the deck out the back taken 2 weeks ago. Now, It's all green leaves:




To the West.

To the North.

Now I'm off to vacuum.