Persimmons: Sweet and Puckery Prognosticators

The first frosts have come and with them the wild persimmons have ripened.  Those of us who like to forage in the woods for wild things to eat have a veritable treasure of sweet goodness from the persimmon just waiting for us.  You can tell if a native persimmon is ripe because it will be soft and a bit on the brown side.  But don't let the brownish color of these plum sized  fruits fool you; they are sweet when ripe.  Persimmons must be picked and eaten at just the right time.  If picked and eaten too early, the astringent tannins in the fruit will make you pucker and will lock your jaw.  But if you wait a day or two the fruit is tasty and sweet.  You only have to eat a green persimmon once to learn to tell when the fruit is ripe!  Soft is ripe.

Captain John Smith had this to say about the native persimmon, Diospyros Virginiana, " If it be not ripe it will drawe a mans mouth awrie with much torment; but when it is ripe, it is as delicious as an apricook."  The first settlers at Jamestown not only ate the fruit but also drank it.  The seeds could be used as a substitute coffee and the fruit itself was used for making beer.  Native Americans used the astringent qualities of the fruit and the bark of the tree to treat burns and would make a kind of gargle from it to use for infections in the throat and mouth.

Today we not only eat these delicious native fruits, but we "old timers" use them to predict the weather.  If you cut open one of the brown seeds inside the fruit, you will see an image of a knife, a fork or a spoon.  If you see a fork, the winter will be mild and dry.  The image of a knife prognosticates a cold, sharp winter with winds that "cut through you like a knife."  However, if you see a spoon, expect plenty of snow.  You will have to shovel it all winter long.  I don't know if the legend holds true, but our family living in Christian County said they saw spoons in the persimmons there. Just in case it is, I think I'll  find the snow shovel and get the ice melt ready!

Tips for Aches and Pains

With leaf raking and wood cutting and splitting beginning to be a part of the routine, it is time to make a new rice bag.  This is our old fashioned pain reliever, but it works better than anything more modern to soothe aching muscles.

To make the bag, I prefer flannel, but any tightly woven material will work.  I have a variety of sizes, but my favorite size is a 5x7 bag.  Cut two pieces of flannel that are 6x8 inches big.  With right sides together, stitch them on three sides about 1/2 inch from the edge.  I usually do this twice to make the seams very tight.  On the fourth side, stitch the opening only about half way closed leaving enough space to put in the rice.  Turn the bag right side out and fill 3/4 full with whole grained rice.  You can also add a bit of herb to it if you like.  With the rice in place, finish stitching the fourth side closed. I do this as close to the edge as I can to keep the seam line even.

Now you can put your rice bag in the microwave and heat it up.  I usually heat mine for about 3 minutes, but this will vary depending on the size of the bag and the microwave.  It is better to have to reheat it than to get it too hot initially.  Be careful when you take the bag out - it will be hot.  Wrap it in a towel to protect you skin and place it on the aching muscle.

These work even if the electricity is off.  During an ice storm we were without electricity for almost two weeks.  I simply put a cookie sheet on top of the wood stove and put the bag on the cookie sheet to warm  Worked like a charm!

The Rockpile

This is not work for an old woman and an old man.  Tonight Grandpa and I spread a pile of gravel on the driveway.  The dump truck did most of the work on the driveway itself, but it left us a pile to spread on the parking pad and in front of the garage.  It only took us about an hour with a scoop shovel and a garden rake, but now I am beginning to feel it between my shoulders.  Grandpa is a strong wiry man, and he moved right through that big heap of rock with his shovel.  I thought of how many humans have had to work gravel or rock piles throughout history.  Sometimes for their own need, sometimes to build cathedrals, sometimes as a punishment.  It is difficult work, and it's not a job for Grandma!

"When the Frost is on the Punkin"

The chill of autumn is only evident in the mornings so far.  The afternoons still hold the heat of a long and blistering summer, although these days of mid 80s are tolerable.  Along the roadside I see the nurseries and farm stand with their piles of pumpkins and carpets of mums in golds and russets and purple.  The trees are just beginning to turn to gold.  It puts me in the mind of James Whitcomb Riley's poem.  It's a folksy piece written in rural 19th century vernacular, but I love his images of country life.  I too feel the comfort of a well stocked larder and a successful harvest.  I can't help but let the lines run through my mind as we put the garden to bed and greet the quiet time of autumn.

"When the Frost is on the Punkin"                                  

James Whitcomb Riley. 1853–1916

 

 

WHEN the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock,  

And you hear the kyouck and gobble of the struttin' turkey-cock,  

And the clackin' of the guineys, and the cluckin' of the hens,  

And the rooster's hallylooyer as he tiptoes on the fence;  

O, it's then the time a feller is a-feelin' at his best,          5

With the risin' sun to greet him from a night of peaceful rest,  

As he leaves the house, bareheaded, and goes out to feed the stock,  

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.  

  

They's something kindo' harty-like about the atmusfere  

When the heat of summer's over and the coolin' fall is here—   10

Of course we miss the flowers, and the blossoms on the trees,  

And the mumble of the hummin'-birds and buzzin' of the bees;  

But the air's so appetizin'; and the landscape through the haze  

Of a crisp and sunny morning of the airly autumn days  

Is a pictur' that no painter has the colorin' to mock—   15

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.  

  

The husky, rusty russel of the tossels of the corn,  

And the raspin' of the tangled leaves as golden as the morn;  

The stubble in the furries—kindo' lonesome-like, but still  

A-preachin' sermuns to us of the barns they growed to fill;   20

The strawstack in the medder, and the reaper in the shed;  

The hosses in theyr stalls below—the clover overhead!—  

O, it sets my hart a-clickin' like the tickin' of a clock,  

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock.  

  

Then your apples all is gethered, and the ones a feller keeps   25

Is poured around the cellar-floor in red and yaller heaps;  

And your cider-makin's over, and your wimmern-folks is through  

With theyr mince and apple-butter, and theyr souse and sausage too!...  

I don't know how to tell it—but ef such a thing could be  

As the angels wantin' boardin', and they'd call around on me—   30

I'd want to 'commodate 'em—all the whole-indurin' flock—  

When the frost is on the punkin and the fodder's in the shock