Persimmon Season

As a youngster in the Fall, cold, sunny Sunday afternoons were often spent with with my family riding horses around the farm. My father, ever the salesman, would often try to convince us kids that the un-ripe persimmons hinging in the trees were tasty treats. Every couple of tries he would succeed and we'd lay into a few only to discover that the sweet goodness he'd spoke of was replaced by the most awful bitterness imaginable that would last for the remainder of the ride. I think Dad would do this just to shut us up (it's extremely had to talk with such a bitter taste in your mouth) so he could enjoy the country in peaceful scilence.


I never actually believed persimmons were eatable until lately. Fall in around GV, similar to Fall around Vienna, produces an abundance of apple-sized persimmons ready to be plucked. The taste, not quite as I remembered it, but less sweet than a mango with just a hint of bitterness, delicious. The taste sure doesn’t remind me of home, but the story always does.