It is a luscious, luscious thing, a fresh-picked mulberry.
The summer after we moved here there was this shrubby, stumpy thing with dark fruit on it, on our property backing onto the ally.
I conjectured that it was something edible and Himself, terrified that I would poison myself, begged me to promise not to eat of the fruit of the tree, which I of course did.
Promised, I mean, not ate.
Some friends told us that they were pretty sure it was edible, but since they didn't claim to know what it was, he still refused.
It grew tall enough one year that it was threatening the cable and phone, so we cut it back ruthlessly, and a neighbor, walking by lamented that he would not be able to help himself to our berries as he always had.
Okay, NOW will you release me from my promise?
Oh, maybe, but that year there was no fruit.
And the next, I was away or infirm or crippled with eczema the entire picking season.
So this year, when I came home from the Colloquium, there was all that succulent goodness taunting me -- okay, it was the d***** squirrels that were taunting me, they've also snatched every single cherry tomato the moment it had even a hint of a blush of color on it -- I am going to declare war! ButIDigress....
Anyway, I reminded him of our conversationS of previous years, and he gave in, with a proviso,
Don't try serving them to me!
I love not having to share ;oP