I imagine that growing up in England you perhaps have lovely memories of climbing up apple trees, in Brazil you might remember the size of the freaking ginormous avocados you grow there, and Japan maybe your childhood memory is spinning under those spectacular cherry blossom trees.
For me, my special childhood tree was the huge mulberry at the top of our cul-de-sac street.
Every afternoon, every weekend, every holiday, all the kids in our street used to ride their bikes to the mulberry tree, climb up, take a seat, and EAT.
With the exception of poor Josh who wasn't allowed past house number 24.
I have such fabulous memories of this tree. Biting into the fresh, juicy flesh of a ripe berry, stained hands and lemon juice, hot mulberry sauce on ice cream, silkworms spinning their cocoons, simple, natural things, the sort of wonderful memories that are only made in childhood.
I do recall that it all came crashing down one day though. I must have been a bit older and for some reason, instead of putting the mulberry straight into my mouth, I bit it in half and took a look at it. I saw a white grub inside and my trust in fresh fruit has never been the same since.
Nonetheless, I got a good few years in.
When I came across this tree, all those lovely thoughts came back to me, even the grub, and I knew it was right for the letter M.
I do so hope that this tree will give the boys some special memories to look back on.