Towards the end of May, we are well into autumn and the cloudless nights are cold enough to light the wood-burning stove. With luck, much-needed rain washes the dusty leaves of summer and I know the Persimmon fruit are ripe when they start looking like pin-cushions, pierced by argumentative little hummingbirds, who squeak and dart among the orange globes all day long.
Take a bite too early, and the Persimmon will leave a horrid furry bitterness in your mouth. Eat it too late, and a sickly sweet squelch awaits. No surprise then, that I’ve never liked it. But this year, it seems perfect, and I wonder if the garden and I have reached an important stage in our relationship. According to Chinese philosophy, the Persimmon exemplifies the transition from the bitterness of youth to the sweetness of maturity! When we overcome prejudice and attain compassion…. a nice idea that seems totally possible under a blue sunny sky.