This was a day’s worth of raspberries last summer – and every summer, for that matter, since I planted two raspberry bushes ten years ago.
Every day, for weeks, I would pick a whole bowl of berries, wash them and make them into something delicious.
For three or four weeks in July and then a second yield in the Fall.
This is how many raspberries I picked today:
And one lone strawberry, not quite ripe, but if I waited ’til then it would be gone.
In July I ate not a single berry from my garden. Not a single one. They grew and ripened, but not for me.
My grandma went to war with some birds over her raspberries one summer. Then she ripped the bushes out.
“If I can’t have them, then neither can they,” she reportedly said.
I’m not like that.
I’ve been blessed with an abundance of berries every summer and fall for 10 years.
This year, apparently, was for the birds.
Perhaps God rotates the flocks. Lets them feast in my garden this year, then sends them to your garden next year.
Perhaps that’s what’s meant by tithing our first fruits.
I don’t mind that.
I don’t mind feeding the birds and the squirrels and the chippies once every ten years.
So long as their movable feast moves on…