Way back in February or March, I made a post about My First Foray into Edible Landscaping, planting 3 blueberry bushes in my front yard. They took well to the space and started to produce pink and white bell shaped flowers. I don’t know where I read it from, but for some reason, I got it into my brain that the first year I plant blueberries, or any berry for that matter, I should cut off the flowers so the plants put their energy into establishing roots. I called it Operation Roots not Fruits. Against my better judgement, I cut off about 10 innocent white flowers and 20 or so bright pink ones. Roots not Fruits I kept assuring myself.
Time passed. A few more rebellious late flowers came out. I either forgot about them or was too traumatized from the first (mind you, the only) experience. I didn’t want to behead my blueberries anymore. Operation Roots Not Fruits was an emotional failure.
Then, this past weekend, Kris and I were walking out to the driveway, passing the blueberry bushes, and what do you know, 3 blueberries sat there, winking at me.
Because I was denied being able to touch things that excited me in stores as a child, I stopped in my tracks, mesmerized, reached out my hand and touched it like Dory with the baby jellyfish in Finding Nemo. They were soooo cute. The blueberries, not the jellyfish (pronoun antecedent clarification for all the English teachers).
Suddenly, the one I was touching collapsed in my hand.
I swear, I did not pick it; it FELL into my hand, ripe and squishy.
Obviously I couldn’t just put it back on the plant; you break it, you buy it, right? So, I showed Kris my accidentally acquired blueberry and eat it. I would have shared it with him, but really who’s going to cut 1 blueberry in half?