Persimmons, just in time
We had fall break last week, or “Week 42” as it is referred to here by many. My husband had a work trip to Iceland, and so the kids and I tagged along with him for a few days. Most days, while David sat in meetings, my younger two kids and I checked off standard Iceland touring activities. But on our first afternoon in country, the four of us went for a hike in the Heidmörk and indulged in some Iceland birding along the way (whooper swan, tufted duck, snipe, redwing, a raven whose wingbeats were audible at a distance, and a possible gyrfalcon sighting).
Over the next full day, we drove the Golden Circle, and packed all that we could into the route: various waterfalls, geysers, Thingvellir (a very early democratic parliament), even more waterfalls, and craters — all must-sees along this circular trek west out of Reykjavik and returning to the city along a southernly approach. The colors of Iceland’s landscape, its moods, vistas, and various ecosystems, are just spectacular.
The following day we explored the city a bit more, popping into the visually arresting Hallgrímskirkja church and up its bell tower. From there, we beheld from above what we already saw on the ground: dense fog. In the afternoon we drove to a nearby horse farm to try out Icelandic horseback ride. After a basic, very preliminary briefing for horse riding beginners, we mounted our diminutive steeds and learned about the five gaits of the Icelandic horse, including the Tölt (akin to speed walking, as the guide explained it) and the hilarious yet equally fluid Flying Pace. Over the next two hours, we learned to gear-shift our horses in and out of the lower two of these five gaits as we rode through the grassy farmland near the horse farm. (Well, actually, my daughter’s horse could rarely be coaxed out of the lowest of these gears/gaits, but that’s another story.)
On our last full day in the country before the kids and I returned to Copenhagen, we went on a glacier trek, complete with helmets, crampons, a little pickaxe, and a harness around our waist. The rain held off as we walked on the glacier but not so far off as to deny us a spectacular rainbow just before we moved onto the glacier itself with our guide and group. It was electrifying to be on the glacier, full of rushing water, moulins, volcanic ash, and just lots of ice. The rain only turned on its spigots right after we finished a late tasty fish and chips lunch from Mia’s Country Van, a bright red vehicle covered in white polka dots resembling a forest mushroom.
All October, I’ve been diligently on the lookout for persimmons on grocery store shelves. I learned to love persimmons during our years in Berlin and Brussels. That they usually appeared on shelves in October made them extra special. Both my husband and I are October babies, so it felt like a little birthday present whenever they came into season. That said, when I procured them in the US when we were first back in autumn 2021, I experienced what must be called an astringent awakening.
There are different types of persimmons sold in different places, and you have to know what you are buying. The type I had purchased in the US resembled what I typically buy here in Europe, but it was not! I’m still not confident what type of persimmon is stocked here, but there are two dominant ones in the US. I recommend giving both an adventurous if you never have done so. One you can eat even when its flesh is firm and relatively “unripe” (Fuyu), nearly crunchy like an apple or ripen into a peach-like texture. The other type (Hachiya) has to be allowed to ripen until the fruit is almost slimy (more delicately called “custard-like”) before eating to avoid incurring a strange, tannin-rich taste and almost cotton-mouth sensation. Let me just confirm: that is a description earned by experience.
The persimmons were out just in time after we got home from our Iceland adventures. I’ve been munching on them all week in a little personal celebration of my birthday, which is today. (Thank you very much. I can hear you all saying “Happy birthday!” So kind of you.) Today has perfect autumn conditions: a broody sky, yellowing trees shedding their leafy tears on the paths, and the persimmons are here, just in time.
What a gift to be alive! I am grateful for it all.
Reading:
Lucy S. R. Austen’s Elisabeth Elliot: A Life (2023)
Mirabai Starr’s Saint John of the Cross: A Luminous Darkness (2022)
Margaret Miles’s Beautiful Bodies: nunc et tunc (2023)
. . . and I’m still chipping away at Middlemarch (1871), a book I bought for myself 25 years ago for my birthday, having picked it up again with fresh courage last spring. I’m three-quarters of the way through and feel proud for keeping at it.
If you are ever curious about it, I keep a reasonably active “Currently Reading” list on GoodReads. Yes, I have 17 books on there at the moment, some of which I haven’t touched in years. An honest 7 are genuinely active reads (smirk); the others I leave there to goad and remind me.