Until I was eleven years old, we had a very large patch of black raspberry plants in my backyard. We let them grow as they wished, so it was basically once huge bramble.
My friends and I couldn’t wait until the berries appeared, anticipation growing as they turned pink, then red, then finally a deep, deep, purple-black. Raspberries, unlike blackberries, separate easily from the plant when they are ripened. It was a dream crop for children. We’d go out every few days and pick the ripe fruit, traipsing through the bramble and getting plenty of scratches and pokes from the thorns in the process, until every black, glistening berry had been removed from the canes. Whatever berries actually ended up in the basket would be put in a bowl with a bit of sugar and eaten, one at a time. Once the berries were gone the leftover sugar, now purple with the juices of the delicious fruit, would be wiped up with fingers and savored.
The winter I was eleven, we got Rover and Spot from a small farm in Mora. They weren’t much more than a month old when we brought them home, adorable little things. They loved the snow (and still do), and our large backyard was perfect for two little pups to run about, chasing each other and burrowing through the snow that was nearly as deep as they were tall. They also, being puppies, had a penchant for chewing. They chewed down a small lilac bush and all of the black raspberries. The raspberries never recovered.
We’ve had plants spring up here and there since then, but none of them have really lasted. Last year my mom got some canes from a nursery and planted them, and this year we have fruit and a good showing of strong new cane growth (which will produce a very plentiful crop next year).
It was an absolutely glorious moment, eating a black raspberry off my own plant for the first time in so many years. It took me right back to being a kid, to carefree summers filled with swimming and ice cream and lemonade stands and eating handful after handful of sweet fruit.
Today I went out and collected all the ripe berries (this is a task one must be diligent about, or the birds will get them) and have put them in the fridge. 
They’ll keep for a few days, and I’m hoping to get enough berries over the weekend to make a mini-pie for myself. I just have to keep myself from eating them. This year’s crop is small and I may not have enough to do anything much with apart from eating them straight or throwing a few on some ice cream. Next year’s crop is looking like it will be bountiful, though, and perhaps I’ll try my hand at making jam. [Black raspberries are perennial, but the individual canes are biennial, growing for a year and then flowering and fruiting the second year.]
Harvesting my own fruits and herbs is a fantastically satisfying thing. I pruned back our mint today as well (it’s quite the vigorous grower) and I’m drying some of the cuttings. We’ll see how it goes – it’s drying in a paper bag hung up in the kitchen. Once I’ve gotten the hang of drying mint, I’m going to try making mint tea and bath sachets. We also have thyme and lavender growing, both of which I’ll be drying and putting to use. The thyme I mostly use fresh, but I want the practice of drying herbs and I’m curious to see how it compares to the dried thyme we get from the store.
I think I would be content to spend my days maintaining and harvesting fruits and herbs and vegetables. It’s a satisfying experiences to help anything to thrive and grow and bear fruit (literal or otherwise), and nature is an endless reminder to me of God’s love for us, of his joy in his Creation, and of his provision.
