There’s a persimmon tree in my back yard.
- (April) Oh look, the persimmon tree is starting to get some leaves! I thought it was dead.
- (May) Wouldja look at that? Little persimmon blossoms!
- (June) The miracle of life, honey: Baby persimmons, the size of marbles. Wow, it looks like it might be a good crop this year after all.
- (July) The leaves are turning yellow. That’s not right, is it? Maybe we should feed it some of that iron supplement.
- (Later in July) Holy shit! There are a lot of persimmons on this tree. I can hardly wait until they’re ripe.
- (October) Ewww! This tastes awful!
- (November) Finally! Sweet, sweet fruit. I’m gonna have one for breakfast every day. And lunch, too. And we’d better give some away. Don’t want to waste nature’s bounty.
- (Later in November) Who else wants persimmons? Anybody? What are we going to do with all these shopping bags full of persimmons?
- (December) I can’t pick any more. My arms are tired, and the ladder won’t go high enough and I almost fell out of the damned tree twice yesterday. No, I don’t want another persimmon smoothie. Can we sneak a couple of bags onto that guy’s porch across the alley?
- (Christmas) They are too ripe! They’re all over the house, and they’re squishy!
- (New Year’s Day) OK, I found the recipe. Just throw away the ones with the birdshit on them, and puree the rest. King Arthur flour? Check. Baking soda? Check. Vegetable oil, eggs, lemon juice, cinnamon, sugar, salt? Check. Raisins? Check. Chopped pecans? Check. A couple of tons of really soft persimmons? Double check. Fire up the oven, Mother!
- Mmmmmmmm…. Aaaahhh….
Hey, at least you get to eat your persimmons.
I have a guava tree and a pomegranate tree, and I have not gotten to eat one single guava or pomegranate, ever. Squirrels seem to know the exact second they become ripe enough to stomach, and they get them all.
Vikki – Yes, the cunning squirrels. I feel your pain. I might be tempted to take drastic action if they showed up at my house, as I have become hooked on the annual persimmon bacchanal. Our tree is like a drive-through for many local birds however, and they have the same sharp instinct for ripeness as your squirrels. At first I am territorial and angry each year, but really, I have a lot of damned persimmons, and eventually I find myself setting aside the upper elevations just for them (not that I have any choice), and actually feeling sorry for the little guys when in December the giant five-pound crows arrive to scare the shit (literally) out of them and eat everything in sight.
Mmmmm, that looks GREAT.
I don’t know if I’ve ever really tasted a persimmon, much less persimmon bread. Clearly I have to fix this.
Sounds like they were particularly parsimonious persimmons this season past.
Perhaps the bread would go good with 5lb Crow?
Enjoy!
kStyle – These loaves were great — fragrant, moist and scrumptious, maybe my finest effort in seven years of P-bread baking. The temptation to eat one or two entire loaves all by myself was so intense that the only way to resist was to give them all away, which task was accomplished as of last night, just two days after removal from the oven. This weekend: pruning. Then a few months of dormancy, and the cycle (of life) begins again.
Narya – Come to California next January (you know you want to), and we shall correct this deprivation. (Get your order in by October, though, or you’ll be left out.)
Bains – Particularly!
I’ve looked everywhere for the recipe, can you please advise how to get it? My sister/brother-n-law have the exact same story of their “American Persimmon”; the downside is that neither of them eat Persimmon-they inherited the tree when they bought the house, so we all go over and hoard the tree in Nov/Dec. I now am trying to grow a plant of our own from their seeds; we’re in FL so it shouldn’t be hard, right?