In late winter we cut down a big mulberry tree at the back, north side of our house. It had gotten too big for its spot. Shading the deck and dropping mulberries all over, making a big mess, it attracted wildlife, lots of wildlife. I could live with the deer and the birds and the squirrels. But it was more alarming when I saw a bear out the back door with a cub. However, what pushed me over the edge last summer was when we routinely had a skunk off the back deck eating mulberries. My young impulsive dog was sure to get skunked before long.
A few years ago I asked our tree arborist about cutting it down but he persuaded us that too much wildlife depends on the tree. I lived with the tree for a few more years as it cast ever more shade and dropped more berries until the skunks rejoiced. I feel slightly guilty that I got someone else to cut it down, but they could remove it, a task beyond us these days. Today I walked around our property identifying which of our other mulberries bear fruit and which ones are males without fruit, relearning the fact that not all mulberries bear fruit. I said hello to groundhogs, squirrels, a young buck with fuzzy nubs of horns, and listened to the birds. I feel better now having relearned the habits of the mulberries. When I surprised the buck in multiple locations he looked up as if to say you caught me purple-mouthed. A nice variation on the old phrase caught red-handed as if smeared with guilt in the act of stealing delicious fruit. Now that I investigate the trees further from house and garden I am happy to share.
Purple-Handed
Which the phrase red-handed, meaning caught in the act, meaning smeared with guilt, out out damned spot, is a bastardization of, given as purple-handed is the result, this time of year, of harvesting mulberries, which Aesop’s ant might do with freezer bags or Tupperware, but, being sometimes a grasshopper, I do with my mouth, for that is one of the ways I adore the world, camped out like this beneath my favorite mulberry on cemetery road, aka Elm Street, aka, as of today, Mulberry Street, the wheel of my bike still spinning, as the pendulous black berries almost drop into my hands, smearing them purple and sweet, guilty as charged.
–Ross Gay, in The Book of Delights, Algonquin Books of Chapel Hill, 2019, page 215.
2 replies on “#2 summer shards”
I saw the very sad news about Douglass. She’ll always be in my heart though I only knew her briefly at Penland when we was there in 1977. We weren’t very close but I admired her. At the end of the 6 weeks, I got in my old Saab to make the long trek back to Vermont when I saw a very endearing note from Douglass saying how much she enjoyed my enthusiasm and love of clay. It brightened my day and made me feel my time there was well spent. She was a bright and shiny soul.
I miss her notes and love your story about your time at Penland.Thanks for sharing.