Native persimmon time again: fat little sacks of sweet pulp waiting to be baked into muffins. Mom and Izzy and I foraged in an office parking lot last night, under a tree I watch all year. I check for blooms, leaves, caterpillar tents, and any evidence that the property owners have lost patience with car-spattering, jelly-bomb season.
The only other persimmon in our ‘hood is now a neat stack of logs by the sidewalk. Gave us quite a start on a recent stroll to see a giant laid so low, and in pieces too dang heavy to hoist into the car to bring home as souvenirs.
Here’s hoping that the dead one was not the sole pollinator of this fruity one, in which case the office lot will be clean, dry and parkable next September.