Mulberries are ecstacy

Summer Solstice brings the first ripe mulberries. We picked our first full bucket under the new moon. Perfectly ripe mulberry season is brief, only a few weeks. Perfection is found moments after they turn from light red to purple black ... ecstacy. An exquisite taste, briefly there is only you and that mouthful of flavour.

The fruit acid tangy flavour wanes each day, growing ever more lazy, fat, full berries wallowing in sweetness. This late crop is perfect for cooking slowly, coaxing out the sweet juices for sensational syrup, and my favourite - mulberry icecream.

It is one crop we don't share with the birds. They throw themselves against the white net in a fruitless attempt to forage. Only the lizards are cunning enough to slither beneath and feast on fallen berries.

If I had only one tree there would be none to preserve. Thankfully I have a friend with excess mulberries, her tree is like a small village. Wandering under boughs and strolling along branches, bucket in hand, we tickle the mulberries to fall. Stained hands and brilliant berry grins. Bliss.

Once we have eaten as many fresh mulberries as possible, and that is a lot, I freeze the rest in verjuice, swirled into yogurt or cream, preserved as compote, then with the last of the crop we'll make the amazing icecream.