Happy persimmon season! Did you know there are persimmons growing in Prospect Park? On Sunday, October 19th, we ventured into the park to be in wonder about these delicious orange jewels. It was a perfect day for persimmon hunting, because it was windy, and the tree who graciously offered its fruits was just arriving at ripeness. Wind shakes the branches, loosening the fruits that are ready, leaving the unripe ones for another day.
The tree in the park is Diospyros virginiana, the American persimmon, different from the fuyu or hachiya you might buy at the store. American persimmons have a slightly distinct flavor – honeyed and complex – and come in a smaller size, about the width of a walnut. Though we're used to persimmons as a fruit hailing from Asia, there's also a rich cultural history of persimmon on Turtle Island. In fact, the word persimmon comes from the Algonquin word for dried fruit, a reminder that this tree has been in relationship with people here for far longer than the grocery store has existed.
In our favorite climbing tree, we fit about ten people, settling into its branches like birds. We held story time, reading folktales about persimmons, and a lesson on generosity from one of our favorite writers, Robin Wall Kimmerer. Her work reminds us that receiving gifts from the land comes with responsibility – to care for what cares for us, to notice, to give thanks. Then we ventured deeper into the park to find our persimmons, scattered beneath a lonely Diospyros virginiana tree like small offerings, and split open the seeds to see what winter has in store for us.
In American folklore, it's said that the shape found inside the persimmon seed will let us know the severity of the winter ahead. A fork means a light winter, a spoon means heavy snow, a knife means it will be harsh and cut like a knife. We examined our seeds carefully, comparing the shapes we found, debating whether that curve was spoon-like or fork-like. But we also asked questions about our personal lives, wondering at how foraging for fruits in our parks can prompt us to reflect on the transitions happening in our own lives. What kind of winter are we preparing for internally? What do we need to gather now, what do we need to let fall away?
There's something about being in the park with fruit in your hands that makes these questions feel less abstract. The persimmon's ripeness is a matter of timing – too early and it's astringent, puckering your mouth; too late and it falls to the ground, feeding something else. We're learning to pay attention to these rhythms, both in the trees and in ourselves.
now go enjoy some persimmons!
the chimeras <3
