A week or so ago as I was walking in Beckenham Place Park I neared the stables where families enjoy picnicking on a quiet summer’s afternoon. We’ve been having a lot of those lately.
Across my path I noticed crushed berries that had been trodden underfoot; it looked as though someone had spilled a punnet of raspberries,
I went back this week and came upon the same spot only this time there were more berries where I thought there’s be less after rain, weather and walkers, not to mention the birds!
I looked around and up and it dawned on me,
“I’m standing under a Mulberry tree!”
I went among the branches and sure enough they were laden with fruit in varying stages of ripeness,
I saw my first Mulberry Tree in my cousin Jane’s Salisbury garden. We would pick them and eat them immediately,
“They don’t keep,” she told me, “only overnight if I pick them late enough.
I ate fresh mulberries for breakfast during my stay with her.
I looked back at the tree and remembered a couple of winters ago coming across its gnarliness,
and now what delicious fruit it bears!
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