W is for wild juneberries.
In the garden of my youth, my grandmother had various things planted around the border, just inside the garden fence. The garden was big. Have I mentioned that? At least an acre, I'd guess.
While doing time in the garden of weedin' , we occasionally took breaks, especially early in the summer, to visit the things planted along the border. There was rhubarb, a long row of gooseberries, and then a juneberry bush. The juneberry bush was a shrubby kind of plant. Lots of small trunks rising form the earth, a clump of suckers. And we'd fill up its branches (as they bent down beneath our weight) like a flock of hungry birds. And then, Grandma would discover us and cuss at us in German-because just like the hungry birds, we'd beat her to the berries every summer, just before they were ripe to her liking. Her anger didn't last long.
That's all gone now, the juneberry bush, the rhubarb and gooseberries, the garden, and even grandma. What remains are the memories. An they flood back each spring when I see, near to the 21st day of April, the cousins of that garden juneberry bush come into bloom.
A genus of the Rosaceae (Rose) family, the wild juneberries, Amelanchier ssp, known as service berries-- among other common names, are scattered along the hills and hollows of my neck of the woods.
They announce the arrival of spring just as constant as the return of robins or the spring peepers' song.
A few pics I took yesterday from my part of the world. Enjoy. And thanks for visiting. To see other "W" posts from A to Z participants, click Here.