In 1978, while here on sabbatical from the university where I taught, my father and I ordered some plants for the yard and garden. One that particularly impressed him was a Japanese persimmon. The nursery billed the plant as producing persimmons that were much larger than our native American variety. The plant arrived and we planted it in a bright, sunny spot. It is the best plant I ever have grown.
A Japanese persimmon tree gets about 10 to 12 feet high, and like its American cousin, it has very thick bark. It also demonstrates what I term “plant intelligence,” as it turns its limbs to maximize sun exposure. The fruit starts forming in early May and becomes ripe from mid-October into early November.
The ripening process requires constant vigilance as humans are not alone in savoring its productivity. Squirrels are always watchful, but they only want the fruit when it is ripe. Honeybees are less picky and more industrious, having learned that they can accelerate the ripening by boring small holes in the fruit and then making their major strike. In less than a day, a single persimmon can be devoured, leaving only the stem and the large seeds.
The bees are more efficient than the squirrels, who will take a few bites after the fruit has ripened and then proceed to find some tasty walnuts or pecans, which are off-limits for the honeybees due to their thick shells. As we all share the planet, I am willing to let the other critters have a share, but not the whole lot. Last year they outsmarted me and got 90% of the crop.
The fruit can range from two-and-a-half to three inches in diameter, whereas the American variety is much smaller and almost all seed. When still hard, the fruit is quite bitter, and, fortuitously, the squirrels have not learned that, like a tomato, it can complete the ripening process after being picked.
I have not tried to save the seeds for planting, which I plan to do this year. The tree is a graft on to a common rootstock, and I am uncertain how the seeds would germinate and develop.
In 2017, I purchased several other varieties from a different nursery. All of them died down to their bases, which have lived, but have not produced any fruit. Before digging them up, I am waiting to see what they might produce.
Ten years ago, the original tree died back nearly to the base. I thought it was lost, but an inch above the graft it shot out a new stem, from which all the fruit has come thereafter. Now it leans heavily towards southern exposure with large leaves and fruit catching the sun. The tree antedates the arrival of my Good Wife by many years and in her ever-creative way, she has made it her own by developing great uses for the fruit, the highlight of which is her persimmon bar which can be a dessert, a breakfast treat, or simply a sumptuous snack.
Some years ago, we gave some of the fruit to a Japanese friend in Washington and that began an annual tradition that continued until she died. Then five years ago, my Good Wife’s nephew married a delightful young lady from Korea.
As our fruit has moved toward ripening this year, my G.W. asked her if she would like to have some of the production, given its Asian origin. She kindly accepted the offer and a package was soon off in the mail, hence I can say that the international aura of this marvelous fruit knows no bounds.
For those sufficiently fortunate to have a such a tree, I only can say, “Bon appetit!
