Right in the middle of my cherry trees I came across a wild mulberry tree, with little berries starting to ripen.  I can’t think of mulberries without thinking of my Dad’s mother, Francis (Shipley) Doyle Holder. (My grandfather died and she remarried a Holder).

Every summer the wonderful, old, large mulberry tree in her yard filled with delicious ripe fruit I loved to pick and eat.  There were so many berries that even the birds got full, and so did the lawn.  Still mulberries and Grandma go hand-in-hand for me.  And now I have a mulberry tree! 

I wonder if Grandma sent me my very own tree from heaven.