Colin McNickle At Large

Weekend essay: The persimmons twins of Jones Mountain

Print Friendly, PDF & Email

Any gardener worth his mulch loves a challenge. If you see an interesting but unfamiliar plant species on a trip, you think, “Hey, I’d like to grow that!”

So, you snip a few leaves, pick a few berries or seed pods, then take it all home in an attempt to make a positive identification. And once you have – and as long as you’ve not imported an invasive species — you put your junior horticulture skills to the test.

Thus began The Great Persimmons Experiment five years ago.

Two persimmons, once dubbed “the fruit of the gods,” made their way back to Western Pennsylvania from a trip to Southern Shores, N.C., along the Outer Banks. Not trees, mind you, but the fruit, which, technically, is a big berry.

Persimmons, of which this gardener was not very familiar, look like a cross between a half-grown peach and a small tomato. (The fact that the flower sepals stay with the orb when picked reinforces that visual.) Cut it and, ripe, the “meat” is the consistency of pudding. Taste it and it’s just as sweet, apricot- and even date-like.

About a dozen seeds were harvested. They were conditioned (“stratified”) over the winter of 2012-13 – kept moist and cool in the refrigerator for a few months — then planted in the spring of ’13.

Very late that spring, two of the seeds finally germinated in a large plastic pot. And what a kick it was to watch something “new” grow. Four years later, the root-bound persimmons twins had outgrown that pot. Which presented a challenge:

With no available space at my humble abode, where to plant them?

But last month, the perfect spot finally was found. It’s at a place I’ve dubbed Jones Mountain.

In West Virginia’s Northern Panhandle, it’s not far from my birthplace. Nor from the final resting place of my paternal great grandparents, my paternal great-great grandfather and a great aunt and uncle. They’re buried high on a hillside overlooking a large creek’s peaceful waterfall.

Those persimmons trees, now more than four feet tall, are thriving at their new home. Chicken wire protects them from the voracious deer that tend to eat even everything they’re not supposed to like. Bees visit often, though there have yet to be anything resembling blooms. Perhaps next spring.

And, silly as it might sound, how satisfying it is for the custodian who sowed their seeds to see them on their own — greeting the fog deep in the valleys of each mountain morning, basking in the afternoon sun and welcoming the solace of each mountain night in a place that truly is “home.”

Colin McNickle is a senior fellow at the Allegheny Institute for Public Policy (cmcnickle@alleghenyinstitute.org).

Print Friendly, PDF & Email
Colin McNickle
Colin McNickle

Colin received his B.G.S. from Ohio University. The 40-year journalism veteran joined the Institute in October 2016. That followed a 22-year career with the Pittsburgh Tribune-Review, 18 as director of editorial pages for Trib Total Media. Prior that, Colin had a long and varied career in media — from radio, newspapers and magazines, to United Press International and The Associated Press.

Subscribe to Our Newsletter

Weekly insights on the markets and financial planning.

Recent Posts