When we moved into this house 18 years ago, my mom bought a scraggly little raspberry stick for my youngest daughter. She wore overalls and white Carter's underwear with pink flowers (daughter, not Mom) and we planted it back near the new post-and-rail fence.
The bush has spread throughout the yard and into the field next door. The fence is now an ivy-covered wall. Mom is 82 and doesn't remember bringing her the bush. The little girl in the overalls is gone, replaced by a 23-year-old woman whose underwear has a whole lot to do with tiny pieces of black lace.
Me? I get these. And everything that went into them.