My Daughter, the Omnivore

So I come downstairs for lunch, and there’s this container of berries on the counter. I know we didn’t have them yesterday, and no one has been to the store. So I ask where they came from.

“They were on the tree down by the beach.”

Uhhh … Excuse me?

“Yeah, the blackberry tree.”

I’ll skip the back-and-forth and get to the bottom line. They’re not blackberries, they’re actually mulberries. As in “Here we go ’round the mulberry bush …”

Some very black.

Some, more red.

And after a good rinsing, they taste like tart red grapes.

Cool, my daughter is foraging now.