Three Generations Under the Mulberry Tree

June 27, 2008

Oh, Michelle, that is sooo sweet! Nice post, a story about the tree. Just for an added knowledge. I grew up with a mulberry tree in our yard in Futog and have also fond memories about the tree. In the early spring, when the leaves were still young, we would collect the leaves and feed them to silk-worms that my father would raise. Then later on in the summer we used to collect the mulberries, ferment them in a barrel and make "slivovitz" out of them. Our job was climbing the tree, shaking the branches and then sweeping the yard every day to collect the fallen berries. After whatever was left on the ground the pigs would eat. The tree was also our (the children's) lookout point to see what was going on outside our yard. We would climb to the top and spend hours watching the horizon. When the firehouse bells would ring we would get to the top of the tree to see where the fire was and than tell the curious neighbors the location. Then the tree served as practice for our Tarzan skills. We would climb to the top and than slide down on the outside branches, holding on and bending the branches all the way down. And finally, the mulberry tree was the place I would "run away" to from home. One day, I had a fight with my mom and I decided to run away. My brother and I got up the tree and my mother just said, "Wait 'till your father gets home!" Well, my brother and I unhitched a door and with ropes pulled the door up the tree and tied it to the top branches. Then we got some blankets and bedding and made ourselves comfortable. Soon our father came home, and just looked up the tree, pointed his finger up and said, "Down," and down we came to get our spankings and the order to put the door back in place. The tree lived many, many years, and grew bigger and bigger, fed many pigs, provided many liters (gallons) of slivovitz and finally, when the "slivovitz" production stopped, it was cut down because the mulberries became a slimy mess in the yard, on the roof and the gutter. Actually, the fermentation process did not stop, it was going on in the yard, on the roof and the gutters and when the pigs would eat these fermented berries they, too, got a little "buzz."

--Email from my Mom