[Editor's note: Food geography mixed with migration and sense of place = psychogeography!]
Republished from The Washington Post.
In Washington, mulberry trees offer many immigrants a taste of home
By Tara Bahrampour
The rush-hour rainstorm didn’t faze Sara Shokravi as she parked in Rosslyn, ducked into a Starbucks restroom to change out of her work clothes and marched down to a narrow offramp that feeds motorists onto the Key Bridge. Ignoring the cars that splashed water onto the grass, Shokravi, a 27-year-old consultant, pulled out a plastic bag, stopped at a tree laden with red and black berries, and started picking.
It would not have been a strange sight in her native Iran, where at this time of year entire families can be seen at laying out bedsheets and shaking trees to collect the berries, which they eat fresh, dried or blended into juice. Here, she acknowledged, her foraging prompts “funny looks. This is D.C. — people aren’t going to go out of their way to get something if it’s not in a store.”
They don’t know what they’re missing, say mulberry fans, most of whom are immigrants. Just the sight of fruit-laden trees can conjure up sweet memories for people who grew up in the Middle East, Central Asia, the Caucasus and the Far East.