Nobody told me gardening was exercise

Out behind the detached garage, we have (what I like to call) a mini-orchard. We have planted two dwarf pear trees, a plum, a nectarine, an apple and a persimmon. They are bounded on one side by raspberries, on one side by elderberries, and on a third side by currants.
Due to the fact that my Long-Suffering Husband, until recently, lived in Rochester, New York, the care of this cornucopia of fruit was under my purview from November of 2010 until February of this year. Needless to say, I sadly neglected it.
Because of this gross neglect, the lovely gravel pathways between the trees were nearly consumed by a variety of opportunistic weeds, not to mention hopping raspberry canes. In addition, the small 4'x4' area under each tree that was to become home to lovely wildflowers creating a tamed meadow kind of feeling were literally three feet deep in weeds, including, but not limited to, thistle, maple trees, boxwood, mulberry, forget-me-not, wild aster, lemon balm, and dandelions.
We spent over six hours all told this past weekend hacking, weeding, raking, bagging and we are just about half-finished.
On the plus side, we have uncovered about three pounds of ripening currants, promising apples, nectarines, and the distinct possibility of persimmons, and as always, the insane amounts of raspberries (red, black, and yellow --although the yellow is not prolific) that we harvest every year.
Plus, only two tiny poison ivy plants (no rash!) and not a single tick (I checked!).