The Season of the Mulberry
In the village of Joun, the first berries of the season are ready. My father's uncle Khalil, a quiet man of the land, gardener to others, farmer for himself, asked me to come along. He wanted me to taste the first mulberries from two trees he's been tending. I often follow him on these small, unhurried adventures. There's something about the way he moves through gardens, as if time slows down. I brought my camera to hold onto that feeling a little longer.
My father’s uncle, walking down the stairs, leading me to the first mulberry tree.
My father’s uncle behind the big mulberry tree, picking its fruit.
My father’s uncle reaching for the mulberry fruit.
Mulberries resting in the palms of his hands, my father’s uncle showing me the fruit.
My father’s uncle Khalil holding a mulberry leaf with the fruit nestled in it, as gently as if he were holding newborns.
My father’s uncle Khalil heading toward the second tree, ready to pick more fruit.
Khalil reaching up to gather the ripe mulberries.
Khalil bends toward the ground, where he laid a big blue cloth under the tree to catch the ripe mulberries. Then he carefully picks them up from the cloth.
The blue cloth laid out under the mulberry tree, filled with the season’s ripe fruit.
Khalil holding a mulberry leaf with both white and black mulberries on it.