Vol. LIV. No. 2355. 
A RASPBERRY STORY. 
WHY EFFORTS TO PROVIDE FRUIT ARE FRUITEESS. 
The Result of a Long Hunt. 
I fancy that the reason why so many farmers' tables 
are supplied with berries and fruits bought at the 
village store, or of the thrifty market gardener, or— 
not at all—is because his annual resolve to grow these 
things himself, is made at the time of the ripened 
fruit, when desire for them is strongest, and his ap¬ 
petite for these luxuries is most intense ; and, by the 
time the proper season has rolled around when these 
same things should be planted, the pressure to have 
them is diminished, his appetite is not so keen, and he 
allows the precious opportunity to slip by, only no 
find himself again wanting them just as badly at their 
proper season. 
Coming home from town on one of those intensely 
hot days in early 
July, when the 
dust rose in suf¬ 
focating clouds 
from the weary 
feet of my horses, 
and settled upon 
everything with 
that disagreeable 
feeling that road 
dust only pro¬ 
duces, I found the 
house empty. No 
eager boys rushed 
out to see what 
papa had brought 
them, and no wife 
came to the door 
to take the dusty 
packages and bun¬ 
dles. I wondered 
why they were 
gone, and where 
they w_e r e ; but 
finding no solution 
to the matter, I 
went about my 
affairs till supper 
time, when the 
mystery was ex¬ 
plained. 
A weary wife, 
three tired boys, 
and a quart of 
wild raspberries, 
were the result of 
a thorough effort 
of one whole after¬ 
noon of hot July 
weather. As she 
sparingly dished 
out these costly 
berries for our supper sauce, she told of the tiresome 
tramp, the torn clothes of herself and the boys, and, 
above all, of a terrible fright they got on seeing a 
large black snake coiled up in the grass beneath a 
bush from which they were picking, and which glided 
off rapidly in one direction while they ran screaming 
in the other. A short silence followed this dismal 
narration, when 1 spoke in a somewhat authoritative 
tone, and said : “ Wife, don’t you ever go tramping off 
after wild berries again, tiring yourself out, tearing 
your clothes, and scaring the snakes.” 
“I must have some berries for the table,” she said 
rather decidedly. 
“ I will furnish them.” 
“ We cannot afford to buy them.” 
1 will raise them,” I exclaimed triumphantly. 
The conversation ended as abruptly as it began, but 
NEW YORK, MARCH 16, 1895. 
I resolved then and resolved hard, that she and all of 
us should have raspberries without buying them, and 
without the weary, exhausting tramp through the 
rough fields for them. That resolve struck its roots 
as deep into the soil of my determination, as I meant 
my berry bushes should strike their roots into the soil 
of my garden. That was my “starter” in the matter, 
and 1 didn't forget it. 
A Starter on the Patch. 
The next April, I purchased about 1)0 Gregg, and 25 
Cuthbert sets. Before I set these, I asked myself this 
question : “ Where do the biggest , and best, and most, 
wild raspberries grow ? ” It was not a very hard 
question to answer, for I knew that in my previous 
berrying expeditions (and some of them were veritable 
expeditions), I had found the most abundant supply, 
and choicest berries, by decaying logs, and whei’e 
piles of brush and old stumps had been burned. From 
these premises, I reasoned that decayed wood and 
ashes mixed, would be the proper fertilizer for my 
prospective berry crop. So with horses, and wagon, 
and boys, for the latter began to manifest a lively in¬ 
terest in what smacked so promisingly of the future, 
I went to an old abandoned sugar camp where ashes 
and cinders had been thrown out for many years. 
My ! but the pokeweeds that grew on that mound 
were enormous. Some of their roots penetrated the 
heap nearly a yard in depth. We filled the wagon 
box, and then scattered its contents along the center of 
the large garden where I intended to set the bushes. 
We then went back to the woods and filled the box 
with finely rotted wood and leaf mold, and scattered 
this where we had previously put the ashes. The 
ground had already been plowed, and I worked all 
$1.00 PER YEAR. 
this material thoroughly into the soil, and mixed them 
as nearly as I could into one homogeneous mass. I 
set out my plants April 24. I placed them in two 
parallel rows, six feet apart, and three feet apart in 
the row. I know this is not strictly in accordance 
with what the great market berry growers tell us, 
but results are what we all are after more than 
methods. The plants made an astonishing growth the 
first year. Their vigorous, lusty canes showed that 
the feeding rootlets were greedily devouring a “ bal¬ 
anced l'ation.” The Greggs proceeded, as is their 
habit of the first year, to run along the ground like a 
vine. Some of these grew 10 and 12 feet. I never saw 
such astonishing length, and such rapid growth. The 
Cuthberts shot up to an enormous height. 1 let them 
have their own way that season. The next April I 
trimmed them all back to about 3% feet in height. 
We got a few berries that summer, which were a 
pleasant foretaste 
of what was to fol¬ 
low for many suc¬ 
cessive seasons 
with no failures. 
I kept the bushes 
thoroughly culti¬ 
vated, but not 
hilled up. All 
weeds were given 
to understand that 
they could not 
stand alongside of 
my berry bushes. 
I mulched them 
quite heavily with 
half rotted straw 
from the barn¬ 
yard. This I found 
kept the weeds 
back wonderfully, 
and aided much 
in keeping the 
ground from pack¬ 
ing in the dry, hot 
weather. 
How It All Came 
Out. 
The second sea¬ 
son from planting 
our fondest and 
most extravagant 
hopes were fully 
realized. When 
wife and I walked 
out on a fourth of 
July morning, to 
look at the loaded 
berry bushes, my 
joy was complete, 
because I saw in 
her looks the fruition of a desire fully gratified. The 
bushes were bending under heavy loads of berries, 
reddening in the hot July sun, and looked more red 
with fruit than green with foliage. From these few 
sets, in these two rows only six or seven rods in 
length, we got the second year from planting, 8 K 
bushels of measured fruit. A good many quarts of 
berries grew on those bushes, that never found their 
way into the measures, and yet were not wasted. No 
more weary tramps after the little wild ones ; no more 
terrible frights at the big black snake ; but, “12 steps 
or more from our door,” berries red, and berries black 
were abundant. We picked just 1 M bushel of the 
Greggs in one day. That was our largest, single pick¬ 
ing. A four-year-old lad picked and brought into the 
house eight quarts, in one day, and enjoyed it too. 
To be sure he did ; his chin, his cheeks, his lips, his 
THE MONOPOLIST FARMERS HAVE MADE THROUGH FAILURE TO CO-OPERATE. (See Brevities.) Fig. 56. 
