What are 1800 people going to write about the letter Q? What am I going to write? I'm tempted to pull out Dr. Seuss's ABC book and see what he wrote. Something about a queen and her quacking quackeroo. I might have to steal that.
But, I'll think about that tomorrow. Tomorrow's another day, thank you very much, Ms. Scarlett.
Today is P, and just yesterday, a lot of "Ps" came my way.
My daughter and I picked mulberries. Mulberries look like this...
They're like blackberries, but less seedy. I never knew what a mulberry was until last year when we picked some from this same tree...
I thought mulberries grew on bushes. As in, "'round and 'round the mulberry bush, the monkey chased the weasel." Remember that song? All this time, I was misinformed. Mulberries grow on trees. Makes me wonder about the whole monkey/weasel thing.
Anyhoo...mulberries are deep purple, and their juice, of which there is a plethora, is dark and vivid like plasma.
We picked about four pints of berries. Along the way, we spotted two creatures watching us.
This is Popeye. Hand on one hip, he introduced himself by saying, "Hey, this is my tree. My fruit. Buzz off."
We ignored him.
The other creature quietly perused our actions. We didn't get his name.
When we were done, our gloves looked like they'd seen open heart surgery.
It was kind of gross.
We left for home with a bowlful of berries for pies, pancakes and smoothies.
After trimming the stems, we pulverized some berries along with some soy milk, cherries, a banana and a scoop of vanilla ice cream.
It was pulpy, but delicious.
This promotion of mulberries was brought to you by the letter P. Which makes no sense, because "mulberries" starts with M. So, this post isn't perfect, but it has a lot of pictures.
And it's over.