Come late October, most gardeners reap the last harvests from the year’s planting experiences, the crowning achievement of which in many cases is the giant pumpkin. Another orange fruit also matures at this time of year, the persimmon, which like the pumpkin, can be found in many varieties.
Our native American persimmon comes from a tree with wrinkly bark and small, dark, matte green leaves. The fruit is small, with flesh barely covering the seeds. Great persistence and patience are required to amass sufficient “meat” to produce any culinary product, hence better to leave the dropped fruit for the squirrels to enjoy.
At present they are busy eating the flesh and burying the pits. Whether they are thinking of returning to dig them up for dinner one cold winter night or of repopulating the landscape with a new course of trees, I do not know. Squirrels play their cards close to their chests.
The imported, Asian varieties of persimmon are fruits of the same color, but vastly more worthwhile to those who harvest their bounty. The bark of the Asian tree is less wrinkled and the leaves are far larger, being shiny, dark green in color, turning to brilliant orange before dropping in late fall.
If the squirrels and the bees are engaged in other pursuits, the leaves fall leaving the trees bare except for the large orange fruit hanging from the limbs. In 1978, my father ordered an Asian persimmon from a domestic nursery. It arrived as a mere stick, which we dutifully planted at the edge of the garden. Once in the ground, it took off like a rocket, growing to about 10 feet tall and equally wide.
About 20 years ago, the tree died back. We thought it was lost, but the next spring a sprout came from the base. As it is a grafted specimen, I assumed that the sprout was coming from the root base, which is the common persimmon. It grew rapidly and when I saw the large, shiny leaves, I realized that it had sprouted from above the graft.
The Asian varieties produce large fruit, bigger than most peaches. Like the American species, they are quite bitter to the taste until they are fully ripe. The squirrels and the bees know when to go for it, and the gardener’s task is to keep one step ahead of them. Unlike a strawberry, but like a tomato, a persimmon will continue to ripen once harvested.
As trees go, our specimen is extremely temperamental. Some years the harvest is great to the extent of producing 40 to 50 fruit, but this year the tree has gone on sabbatical, giving us only nine pieces. The squirrels got none, as far as I know, but the bees beat me to one large fruit. I could live with that if they gave us some honey, but they fly away instead.
Ten years ago, we bought four more trees, but the grafts of each one died, leaving us with common persimmons instead. This fall, the Eldest B.E. gave us four new trees, which instills encouragement that we shall be getting back to bumper crops once again. The new trees are over six feet tall, which should mean that we shall be harvesting fruit in the next few years.
My Good Wife concocts a sumptuous persimmon bar with the fruit, which sometimes is available at the grocery store for a limited period in late October, at a price of nearly $2 per pop. For those who savor the fruit, planting a couple of trees in the yard can make for a good investment.
