At the peak of the season, I go out back twice a day and gather about a quart of raspberries.
My canes are fourth-generation descendants of the ones my grandfather had in his backyard in Salem, Oregon, where I would gorge myself off them during summer visits as a child. They are hardy and bear like mad, and I would be happy to get starts going for any of you Beaver Staters. (And no, they are not as aggressive as all that. People always say they are, but it's blackberries that you have to worry about.)