Pink blueberries are the hot trend in gardening, according to my mother’s garden club.
Bear in mind that woodchucks walking down main street of the town where I grew up also make the club’s meeting minutes but in any case, a quick Google search reveals dozens of entries for a variety called Pink Lemonade Blueberries.
There’s a lot going on in that name: “lemon,” “berries,” “pink” and “blue.” Why not simply pinkberries?
My Beloved cleared some space in the brush outside our back fence yesterday with a goal of making space for berry plants of some sort. Sorry about the smoke, neighbors. The smouldering bonfire of twigs and leaves added even more confusion the seasonal schizophrenia around here.
Tyler is thinking of planting raspberries, not pink blueberries, which might be a nice complement to the mulberries already growing back there. I’m not casting a vote, but blueberries in any shade wouldn’t be my first choice.
And without all the brush, we shouldn’t have to worry about woodchucks either.