
Before we left Maryland, a friend gave us a small raspberry plant. It wasn't more than a twig with a couple of leaves on it sticking out of a pot. I transplanted it into one of my old terracotta pots, packed it into the back of the Rav4, and moved to Chesapeake. I didn't think much of it, and certainly didn't expect it grow at all this year. Well, it has grown quite a bit. It even started flowering several weeks ago, but I didn't think much would come of the blossoms.
The pot flipped over during one of the many, many storms we've had this summer. The only damage it received was on the one branch that had flowers on it (swell...). I thought the branch would die, and that would be it for the summer.
Then, yesterday, I saw delicate little berries hanging on the end of the drooping branch. Two of the berries were ripe! Gently I picked them. One for Steve and one for me. Perfect berries.
This photo is from this morning. More perfect berries.
I guess the moral is: if you don't expect too much from your garden, it will bring you nothing but joy.