I’m not sure I’ve encountered a mulberry tree before and I expected it least in sunny Zimbabwe. But a burgeoning tree, its branches sagging with the weight occupies the bottom of our new garden.
Daily visits reveal new dripping gems and facing my snake fears – we are advised they like the shady undergrowth of trees - a fight begun between the humans and the hostile birds who defend their sweeties. Naturally, we both win. The birds swooping to gather any fallen orphans and we stuff vessels with ours handpicked, skipping to the kitchen.
So what does one do with mulberry hoard after mulberry hoard?
We ate them sugared, simmered, sitting atop of sponge, squashed into an berry smoothie, riding pancakes and the piece de resistance, frozen into mulberry and vanilla ice cream. No mean feat when all you have is an African freezer and one Tupperware box.
The Mulberry Bush
Here we go round the mulberry bush,
The mulberry bush, the mulberry bush,
Here we go round the mulberry bush.
On a cold and frosty morning.
This is the way we wash our hands,
Wash our hands, wash our hands,
This is the way we wash our hands,
On a cold and frosty morning.
This is the way we wash our clothes.
Wash our clothes, wash our clothes,
This is the way we wash our clothes,
On a cold and frosty morning.
This is the way we go to school,
Go to school, go to school,
This is the way we go to school,
On a cold and frosty morning.
This is the way we come out of school,
Come out of school, come out of school,
This is the way we come out of school,
On a cold and frosty morning
