Revisiting the blueberry bush, as a metaphor for life!

So, you may recall that I bought a blueberry bush on a whim a few months ago  during  a trip to Carpinteria. It seduced me with it’s dusty pink and purple flowering beauty, but I started to regret my purchase almost immediately. At $32 or $37 (I can’t remember specifics) it is by far the most expensive plant on My Patio Farm, and I didn’t even know if there  enough sun on the deck to keep it alive, let alone fruiting.  Besides,  I don’t even like blueberries.

Or at least I thought I didn’t!

It turns out I LOVE blueberries, as long as they are picked directly off MY blueberry bush and popped IMMEDIATELY into my mouth.  Mmm!

But here’s the rub: I’ve only had four such blueberries in my life.  My blueberry bush takes up lots of real estate on My  Patio Farm, drinks a ton of water (drench and drain as fellow urban  blueberry gardener Chris knows), and really doesn’t produce more than the occasional super special one-berry treat. So is it worth keeping?

This weekend I started thinking the only responsible move is to rip it out and fill the enormous half barrel where it currently resides with tons of lettuce, or a squash or even another tomato plant. Maybe that would provide more edible yield per square inch of potted dirt.

But then I popped the one ripe blueberry still dangling from the bush into my mouth and thought, you know what? Who cares? This isn’t my livelihood. I don’t have to worry about my blueberry bush taking up too much space and not giving me enough fruit. I can just enjoy it for what I do get out of it. The very occasional, highly delightful blueberry!

It can’t all be about maximum productivity, right?

Right!