In the yard of the house where I grew up was a mulberry tree. My sister and I loved that tree. It wasn’t much for shade but every June it produced a rich crop of fat, sweet, juicy, delicious, dark purple berries. Cheryl and I would spend hours under that tree. We’d get purple fingers and mouths from gorging ourselves on berries. Those that somehow escaped immediate consumption Mom would cook into pancakes and muffins. Yes, we loved that tree and its delicious berries.
We weren’t the only ones. My mom would have to field the heat tossed her way by irate neighbors whose laundry, drying on the clothesline, had been spattered by the purple droppings of berry-stuffed birds. That tree was like a magnet to them during fruiting time. They always took full advantage of the tree’s generosity.
Time marches on, and Cheryl and I lost our tree as well as our youth. Mulberries were out of my mind, at least, for quite a long time. I had a wife, and a family, and other concerns were a little more pressing.
Then we moved to Chuluota.
One of our neighbors has a mulberry tree in their yard, right along the road. It’s in the public domain!
Here in central Florida it starts fruiting about the end of March. It’s fruiting right now! I’m typing this with purple-stained fingers! Burp. Excuse me!
Picking berries off that tree is like stepping on to a time machine. I’m not any younger but it brings me right back to Medford and picking those berries with my sister.
Truly, the simple things in life are often the most precious.
John Kumiski
All content in this blog, including writing and photography, is copyright John Kumiski 2011.
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