Our financial portfolio is taking a severe hit, not economically, but botanically. In the spring of 1978, in my father’s annual order for that year’s plantings, smitten by the glossy photographs of the nursery catalog, he included a Japanese persimmon on the list. He knew nothing about the plant, but thought he would give it the old college try.
The package arrived, and the plant was bare-rooted, as were all the others in that year’s order. As my duty consisted in getting the plants in the ground, I put it in water overnight, then planted it the following day in a bright spot on our hill. The setting proved to be copasetic and the whip of the tree took off, producing new limbs filled with bright dark green leaves.
As expected, we got no fruit from it for the first five years, then its first offerings began to arrive. As it grew, the harvest increased exponentially. In the autumn each year, the leaves would fall to the ground, leaving the fruit exposed for picking. The Asian persimmon is far different from its American cousin.
The fruit is larger than the average apple, and deep orange in color, but like the persimmon native to this region, it is bitter-tasting until it ripens. After the leaves have fallen, on the bare tree, the fruit makes a spectacular display. Some years we would get over 50 fruit. The window for picking the fruit is short. The squirrels are ready to pounce on it as soon as they think the bitter stage has passed.
Unlike fruit such as strawberries that remain at the level of ripeness when they are picked, persimmons will ripen if picked as they are beginning to turn orange, but once fully ripe, the squirrels have the upper hand.
Ten years ago, the main trunk of the tree slowly died, causing me to think that the tree had passed into history, but then a shoot emerged from the base. I assumed that the shoot was from below the graft, but decided to let it grow. To my surprise, it came from above the graft, growing quickly, and in a few years started producing its own fruit, Japanese-style, happily not American.
All Asian persimmons are from grafted trees, with the root bases being from the American variety. Eight years ago, I bought five other variety Asian persimmons, which did not do well.
The grafted tops never leafed out, and the bases took charge, sending up the native species. I have let those trees remain, at least for now, to see what they will produce, but to date they have not reached the fruit-bearing stage.
This year the “mother tree” has produced no fruit, and parts of it are dying, leaving me to question whether it will leaf out in the spring. The Asian persimmon’s fruit, once fully ripened, can be cleaned out of its rind, stripped of its large thick seeds, and the pulp made into one of the great seasonal culinary delights of the year, namely, my Good Wife’s persimmon bread. This year that treat will not be forthcoming.
Returning to my opening observation with regard to finances, the fruit of Asian persimmons is quite expensive. When available in the produce sections of grocery stores, the pieces are priced almost at $2 a pop. Last year, we planted five more trees, starting again with the long-term process of growing our own fruit.
A persimmon tree properly husbanded through the long period leading up to fruit production is a striking asset to one’s property. It only will grow to a height of 10 to 12 feet, but its presence makes for a significant horticultural experience.
As our “mother tree” makes its exit from the hill, I am looking forward to its successors’ productivity coming forth in another five to seven years from now.
