Purple fingers

For the past 2-3 years around this time of year, I've enjoyed a special treat every time I pull into the driveway.

A volunteer mulberry tree sprouted years ago just at the corner of the gate. It took a few years, but now it is full of fruit. Depending on the weather the fruit ranges from dry and tasteless to almost bursting with juice and tasteless.

Mulberry trees need just the right amount of water and some heat to produce sweet fruit.

This year is a good one after a watery start.

Each time I come into the drive, I stop under the tree and pluck fruit with my left hand. My thumb and first two fingers are well-stained purple. Mulberry juice doesn't wash off easily It's with me all day long. When I get home, pick more fruit and renew the stains.

The berries have a short stem, which I either bite off and spit out or happily chew with the rest of the fruit.

Every day I pull in and ripe berries wait. I pull and eat all I can reach from the seat of my truck. Next day, more berries!

This year Kittie comes out to where I stop and sits waiting for me to pull around and park so we can have a short conversation and she can have her head rubbed.

The irony is the yard also has an apple tree, a fig tree and a peach tree. Intentionally planted, all three.

We've got a few apples, small but good and a few small and fair peaches. No figs. These three trees are several years older than the mulberry, but the mulberry has eclipsed them all in growth and fruit production. It's also growing up through asphalt instead of the soil in the yard.

I'm reminded of several things as I munch mulberries.

An election in a Middle Eastern country some years ago saw people all around the world vote. After voting, the voters dipped a finger in a purple dye that lasted several days. I'm voting every day for my mulberry tree!

Jesus cursed the tree that would not produce fruit. I soon plan to have a couple of goats run in the yard to trim the various grasses, weeds and vines since I cannot find anyone to mow my yard. I expect the goats to do a number on the apple, fig and peach tree.

This in turn reminds me of a big pear tree where I grew up. It never did anything much except produce leaves. One day, Dad tore half of it down with a bulldozer. The next season, the tree limbs broke under the weight of fruit.

Yeah. I never know where my mind is headed next either.

Anyway, maybe these three trees need some encouragement. Maybe they need some strife. Maybe they need a little hardship so their true natures will really come out. The goats should accomplish that.

Meantime, the mulberry tree is too tall to be really harmed by the goats. They may snag a few low lying limbs and leaves with the berries, but most of the tree is now out of reach for anyone without a ladder.

And I will continue to enjoy my mulberries and purple fingers for a bit longer.

Unlike the grapes that used to be at the front of the house, no one wants the mulberries. Well, no one but me and a pair of doves.

No deeper meaning in this one, folks. Just a man enjoying the fruits of a tree he never planted and never expected.

Which may be a deeper meaning after all.