Mullberry Time!
We have a tree out in our backyard (Yes - this opening sentence marks the beginning of a FINE blog I must say...) this tree has been called a "trash tree" by some, but I love it because it produces little berries. Mulberries! Roamer laughs at me because I go out and "graze." I compete with the birds on stuffing my face with the little purple goodies. Mulberries remind me of a more innocent time in my life (Here comes the backstory)... Remember Crunchberries by Capn' Crunch? They were little pink artificial berries that.
Came in a cereal box mixed with regular Capn’ Crunch. If you were a berry freak, crunchberries were all you had to get you through the Winter. I used to get in trouble and incur the wrath of my little brother for eating all of the crunchberries out of the box in the afternoon. The next morning he would exclaim loudly after diggin into the box and hurl it in my direction.
The Summer months found me on my grandparent’s farm in Horton, Kansas. My friend Ivan and I would walk the railroad tracks through the woods like hobos, stuffing our little bellies with mulberries until our cheeks were smeared purple. Many times, our purple cheeks were the only things that kept the railroad police off our back. They figured we were just grazing.
My farm friend from those early years is now an absent father of five, and drinks to the point of dangerous action. I dreamed about him the other night - he was there - but he was not there...
The mulberry tree will never be a trash tree.
Came in a cereal box mixed with regular Capn’ Crunch. If you were a berry freak, crunchberries were all you had to get you through the Winter. I used to get in trouble and incur the wrath of my little brother for eating all of the crunchberries out of the box in the afternoon. The next morning he would exclaim loudly after diggin into the box and hurl it in my direction.
The Summer months found me on my grandparent’s farm in Horton, Kansas. My friend Ivan and I would walk the railroad tracks through the woods like hobos, stuffing our little bellies with mulberries until our cheeks were smeared purple. Many times, our purple cheeks were the only things that kept the railroad police off our back. They figured we were just grazing.
My farm friend from those early years is now an absent father of five, and drinks to the point of dangerous action. I dreamed about him the other night - he was there - but he was not there...
The mulberry tree will never be a trash tree.
posted by windarkwingod | 4:52 PM
7 Comments:
We had a blackberry path that we use to pick buckets full and have homemade blackberry cobbler....my favorite!
That reminds me...wonder how our strawberries that weren't mowed down are fairing!?
Crunchberries? Sounds like fruit trash.
if anyone cares....we apparently can't grow the strawberries for us. The kids said that they grow just enough to bud and then they get eaten by bugs/animals. bummer.
Ivan wanted to be our financial advisor, I am glad we turned him down.
Hey T! We need to concentrate on the mulberries! LOL! Not the blackberries, strawberries, or rhubarb!!! =D
BTW, did ya'll ever solve the dot mystery?
Maybe dar has been in too many imaginary fights and is seeing spots...LOL! j/k
T,the little t's, and I went for a walk to find the dots. We saw some dots about the size of a quarter that were painted white. We couldn't figure out what the big deal was? Were the dots markings for future construction? Or was someone bored and decided to paint white dots on sidewalks?
Since Dar knows so much about them. I think he did it one day while he was at home and board. Probably used an old can of house paint and a walking stick! That would be fun to watch!
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