One lonely tree was planted in the pasture, about a quarter of a mile from our house. The only water it got was when it rained. While my father not only thought of his family with a garden and orchard near the house, the mulberry tree was planted to provide shade and shelter for the livestock. It is a fast growing tree with broad, dark green leaves and a vigorous root system. The tree sometimes grows as much as ten feet a year and withstands extreme temperatures. In the fall the huge leaves turn into a beautiful, bright glowing yellow.

It is impossible for a young boy to not want to climb a tree and this was a tree perfect for climbing. As a child I would anxiously wait for spring, for the buds to come out so I could play in the tree and during the summer climbing up in the branches behind the lush, dark green leaves while eating the berries. In the fall, after the berries were gone I would still climb into that tree, among the leaves that had turned to a golden yellow and just hide from the rest of the world. I had all of the makings of becoming a professional weaver of dreams as I stretched out over the branches, with the feeling of being in harmony with the world. Although my Dad gave us a wonderful gift, I think he planted that tree primarily for the livestock to have shade and shelter from storms, it also became a refuge for the Blue Jays, Magpies and Crows as well as a source of food for them.

But what I remember most about that tree was when we would take our bed sheets, spread them out below the tree and vigorously shake the limbs and watch the big, purple berries come showering down, landing all over the sheets. While the berries were still scattered on the sheets we would cull the fruit, tossing aside the damaged berries for the ants and birds to eat and then draw up the corners of the sheets and return home.The harvesting was an enjoyment few will ever experience. The berries were turned into food that we relished– mulberry pie, jam and jelly or just the mulberries with fresh sweet cream poured over them, what a delight.

In addition to the stains on our hands that wouldn’t wash off, my most vivid memory is The Mulberry Tree’s Ultimate Gift​,— it’s fruit enlivening our white sheets that had been sewn together from Mother’s Best or Gold Medal flour sacks. The berries were mostly dark purple but there were just enough red berries to diversify the colors in the random patterns where the mulberries had fallen and left their permanent stains. The variegated colors produced a peaceful lavender that seemed to soften the seams that joined together those coveted flour sacks and offered a peaceful nights sleep with wonderful dreams.

Today, as I am occasionally weaving dreams, happily revisiting places in my mind, I wonder if that tree is still alive. Mulberry trees have been known to live to be 100 years old and it would now only be about as old as I am. But if the mulberry tree is no longer there, the memories are cherished and still remain strong of what that tree had given.

“A SOCIETY GROWS GREAT WHEN OLD MEN PLANT TREES IN WHOSE SHADE THEY WILL NEVER SIT”