I’ve never grown berry vines before, unless the grape arbor on Holyoke counts. I put in two black raspberry plants last year and they sprouted out beautifully just last week. I realized I had to get serious about some sort of trellis
They’re at the back of the main raised bed, the side that’s not beautiful stones, but was built originally with doubled-up cedar 1x8s from some demo job a few years ago, which were starting to rot through. You know, you use what you have at the time. It all had to go
It took all day but I set posts and used them to support both the trellis and the the hundred and fifty year-old slate shingles from the Scottish Rite Temple that I used to form the new back wall of the bed. A productive day, thrilled that the second round of the vaccine did not lay me out
Yesterday was the birthday of the oldest of my younger brothers. I first learned about the “terrible twos” as a pre-teen sharing a bedroom with sweet little David. I think it helped me be prepared for my own two-year-olds. Luckily, our older sister moved out soon after and I did have my own bedroom through my teen years
Of the four brothers, David alone carries our father’s quiet solitude, his reserve, his solid demeanor against whatever life may offer. The rest of us throw ourselves onto the stage of life, dance around the spotlight whether it’s really there or not, take up with heathens and heroes of our own making, follow faithfully along with the dancing ball accenting life’s lyrics.
This man, this brother, is our center of gravity, the offset to the exuberance we learned not FROM our mother but BECAUSE of our mother. He alone carries a balance of both parents. Mom’s quiet artistry and Dad’s quiet love
Tonight, I will raise the blind and let the moonlight flood my bed. I will dream of fresh raspberries and the glorious day when all four brothers are in the same room, with dawn a nameless dragon, the fading planets a guiding light, with the morning dew just waiting to cleanse our palate for the feast to come