It started with neglect. I had a batch of mulberry wine bubbling away on my kitchen counter three summers ago, and life got busy — a leaky roof, a sick dog, the usual chaos — and I forgot to rack it on time. By the time I remembered, it had gone sharp and sour and … Read more
It was a Tuesday evening in late June, and I was staring at a gallon jug of mulberry wine that had gone completely, stubbornly still. No bubbles. No fizz. Just a deep purple liquid sitting there judging me from the kitchen counter. I had followed every step, hydrated my yeast, checked my temperatures, and yet … Read more
It was the same Tuesday afternoon, the same colander of fat, dark mulberries from my backyard tree, and the same pair of stained hands. I pressed half the batch into fresh juice, let it chill in the fridge, and set the other half fermenting in a gallon jar with a little yeast and some patience. … Read more
I still remember standing in my kitchen surrounded by purple-stained everything — fingers, dish towels, the grout between my backsplash tiles — convinced I had completely ruined my first batch of mulberry wine. The airlock had gone silent on day three, I had no idea if that was good or bad, and the cheap plastic … Read more
My first batch of homemade mulberry wine smelled like ambition and tasted like vinegar that had given up on itself. I remember pouring a small glass, taking one hopeful sip, and quietly dumping the entire gallon down the kitchen sink while my husband pretended not to notice. That was two summers ago. Last June, I … Read more
I never expected a cup of tea to send me down a 2,000-year rabbit hole. It started on a quiet Tuesday morning when I was sipping my usual mulberry leaf tea and idly wondering — where did this even come from? One search led to another, and suddenly I was three hours deep into ancient … Read more
My sister-in-law called me on a Tuesday afternoon, somewhere in her first trimester, voice doing that careful thing where you’re trying to sound casual but you’re actually a little anxious. “Hey, so I drink mulberry tea almost every morning,” she said. “That’s fine during pregnancy, right? You’re the mulberry person.” I opened my mouth to … Read more
I remember the exact moment my dad slid his prescription across the kitchen table toward me. Statins. He’d just turned 68, and his cholesterol numbers had finally crossed whatever invisible line his doctor had been watching for years. He wasn’t panicking — my dad never panics — but I could see the quiet resignation on … Read more
I still remember the exact moment it clicked. I was standing at my kitchen counter at 7am, staring at a soggy mulberry tea bag sitting in a puddle on my countertop, thinking: there has to be a better way. I had been drinking mulberry tea for about three months at that point, loving the earthy, … Read more
I still remember the afternoon I made my first cup of mulberry leaf tea. I was so excited — I had just harvested a big batch of leaves from my white mulberry tree out back, dried them beautifully, and felt like an absolute herbal genius. I brewed a generous pot, drank two large mugs back … Read more
