Juice!

I remember the fascination of Mulberry Juice. I know this a memory that’s a little off blog topic, but Stephen reminded me of it today.

I would have been about 5 or so, and the older boys were all out into making weapons – blow darts in particular. I remember the aluminium pipes that would be selected and the fistfuls of Mulberries that would be carried around as everyone hid around the backyard before an all out war would ensue. I distinctly recall that someone was camped out in the Mulberry tree itself with an endless supply of plump, juicy berries that were perfect ammunition.

The white shed always got covered with the bloody juice (much to mum and dad's endless horror), impact spots that would slowly dribble down before the heat of the day made them impossibly sticky and nearly impossible to wash off.

Not to mention us. Usually dressed in some sort of Indian or cowboy ensemble, hands tacky beyond recognition from handling the delicious ammunition, with the odd impact mark on our bodies, staining everything.

I remember being fascinated at the way that the juice would stain the skin. It would persist after numerous scrubbings and copious amounts of soap. But it would colour in waves. It would stain once, and then if you covered the area again you would get a new tone of mulberry.

I recall studying my hands as a child, and wondering how it did it. How a delicious little berry that had numerous uses for games, for food, for drinks, for cakes, for jam, or just to simply freeze – could make such beautiful contours of colour on my hands.

I miss that tree.