Pruning time

Yet again, it's time for the first of the haircuts I give to my blackberries. This round of pruning, first of the season, is always the most drastic. It's the one where I cut away all the frizzy brown clumps of dried-out berries and get rid of branches that have died. It's also where I get to chop out all the straggly bits that wouldn't produce much in the way of fruit anyway.

Strange, I suppose, that a job like this -- which involves avoiding some very nasty thorns -- could be one that brings me such pleasure. Even though this year's prune took three separate afternoons, I know that it was worth it. After all, who doesn't like blackberry pie or jam?

Yesterday (when I finished this job) was not only International Women's Day, but also the day we had to set our clocks for Daylight Saving Time, My son, liberated soul that he is, pointed out that once again, women were getting the short end of the stick -- that even the day dedicated to celebrating us had been pruned by an hour -- sort of the way our wages still don't measure up to those of men.

But, you might be wondering, what's with the chain? No symbolism around women and their roles, I promise. It's just there (along with what looks like a dancer's barre) to keep those prickly branches in line later in the season when their branches are weighted down with all that luscious fruit.