Here we go round the Mulberry bush

Or rather, here we go peering at Mulberry sticks. In a fit of optimism last year, I decided that as we only intend to keep this house for two or three years before the whispered lull of the countryside becomes a full-throated roar, that I could get a jump start on several heirloom plants. One of these was the Mulberry tree (morus nigra). Picture credit.


Given that they take about seven years to go from (current status of) twig rather hopefully shoved in a pot to glorious tree, I thought that we could get the pot phase over and done with. And lo! After months of sitting there looking nothing but sad, bare and twiggy, I’m pleased to report that buds have been spotted. Hopefully it’s all go from now on and in a mere handful of years, we’ll be gorging ourselves on fragile black fruits!


Actually on second thought, I do hope that I’ve not mistakenly gotten hold of a morus alba, the expensive mistake infamously made by King James 1. He wanted silk worms but got fruit. I most decidedly want the fruit, the whole fruit and nothing but the fruit. Silk worms need not apply!

In other, unrelated news, I managed to drill my hand whilst trying to drill holes in ugly plastic containers on the weekend. A reminder, should one be needed, that health and safety equipment is sold for a reason and that perhaps balancing large tubs on chair arms to drill them isn’t the best idea. 

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We farm a three acre smallholding in Hampshire, England, having fled London in pursuit of the good life for our little family. We mess about with an assorted menagerie and try to be as self-sufficient as possible in meat and fruit and vegetables whilst enjoying our plot and an outdoors lifestyle with our son. I am the luckiest person that I know.

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