Holly A. Heyser
Mulberries. Until recently, a mere mention this tree would get me going. I hate mulberry trees. They'll conquer your yard and are nearly impossible to kill. Mulberries can send out suckers in all directions, sprouting new trees even if you chop down the main trunk. What's worse, those that do fruit produce boring, low-acid fruit not worth eating.
Such was my belief for years. I had a mulberry problem in my yard when I lived in Fredericksburg, Virginia, and it was about that time when I got it into my head that the berries were no good. I can't exactly remember why, other than I must have eaten some very, very ripe fruit.
These days, as I rehab my torn Achilles—still weak after five months—I've taken to walking around my neighborhood more. Last week I detoured into a little park near my house. I'd been there before, and had not noticed much worth remembering; a few good oaks, but that was it. This time I heard starlings congregated in a corner of the park. They were on a tree.
It was a mulberry tree, and it was loaded with berries. What the hell, I thought. I was in mid-walk and it couldn't hurt to pick a few for a trail snack.
Now there is this great episode of The Simpsons where they flash back to when Homer and the town drunk, Barney Gumble, were in high school. Barney did not drink at all then, and was set to attend Harvard University. Homer brought over some beer. Barney demurred. Finally, Homer convinces him to drink one. Barney's eyes light up. He shouts, "Where have you been all my life?"—and finishes the rest of the six-pack.