Squish. Squish. Squish.

“What is that?” I asked my friend while we were out walking last fall. We looked down and saw fermenting fruits caked on the soles of our sneakers and then noticed the marble-sized orange fruits hanging like Christmas ornaments on the bent branches of a tall tree. “I think they’re persimmons,” I said. “And, I think they’re edible.”

Having recently discovered figs, lamb’s quarters and other local delectables, I was anxious to try persimmons. Too anxious, apparently, because I didn’t know what every child who grows up in these parts (I didn’t) seems to know. “You pluck a persimmon and pop it in your mouth. Your whole mouth puckers up so you can barely open it. And then you do it again, and again, and again, because that’s what kids do,” explained Tim Young, a homesteader in Elberton, Georgia, who grew up in the North Georgia mountains. “Or, you dare someone to eat one that’s clearly not ripe. Now, that’s torture!”

I ignorantly plucked one that day, before knowing this. It separated from the calyx, or remains of the flower, easily. I brought it home, washed it and popped it in my mouth, expecting a quick trip to Nirvana like when I tried my first fig. But, let me tell you, when they say “pucker,” they don’t mean pucker as in sucking a lime. They mean pucker as in your entire mouth blows up, tongue and all, you reach for the Benadryl®, and you grip the phone in your hands, your finger poised on the 9 of 911! Yet, the next persimmon I ate (there was a next one, believe it or not) was fully ripe, and it tasted like the sweetest orange ice pop ever. “Ahhhh,” I said to myself. “That’s why people eat these.”

The type of persimmon tree I found is officially known as Diospyrus virginiana, or native persimmon. It’s a big, towering type of tree that grows from Connecticut to Florida. Native Americans (the word “persimmon” is believed to come from Algonquin dialects used by Cree and Delaware nations) and colonists ate them for their sweetness, but also because they provided a ready source of dried fruit and nutrition through the long winter. Native persimmon trees provide shade and color throughout the year, are relatively pest-free, and the fruits are among the very last harvest in late fall, after the first frost. (It’s best, by the way, to wait until the fruits fall to the ground to eat them). Today, the hard, ebony-colored wood of the persimmon tree is most commonly used to make wooden golf club heads.

But, there’s that puckering problem. Turns out there are two main categories of persimmon trees: astringent and non-astringent. Astringent persimmon trees, such as our lovely native persimmon, contain alum—the cause of that memorable “I’m dying” sensation. Several Asian persimmon varieties (of the genus Diospyrus kaki), which are grown commercially in the United States (mostly California, Florida and Texas), are non-astringent, such as the popular baseball-sized Fuyu variety that you can actually eat when it is hard, like an apple. The cone-shaped Hachiya variety is astringent, but, if eaten at the soft-ripe stage, the astringency thankfully disappears.

I spoke with Gerard Krewer, the University of Georgia extension agent who specializes in persimmon trees, among other things. According to Krewer, non-astringent persimmon varieties such as Fuyu and Jiro do well growing south of Macon, Georgia, although climate change is pushing that boundary a bit north. He says the astringent varieties Sheng and Great Wall do well as far north as Asheville and Western North Carolina, and possibly farther north. Persimmon trees only have a few potential problems, namely persimmon borers and white peach scale, both of which are treatable.

“Oh, and there’s Sudden Death Syndrome,” Krewer added.

“Is that from eating them?” I asked, the remembrance of my Benadryl moment still fresh in my mind.

He laughed. (I didn’t.) Sudden Death Syndrome is the unexplained death of several persimmon cultivars when exposed to freezing temperatures. Krewer’s recommendation? Find what works best in your particular location. Talk with reputed area nurseries that are experienced with persimmon trees. And, be sure to purchase a clean, healthy tree that is true to type. For spring planting, opt for a containerized tree.

I did finally find some Fuyu and Hachiya persimmons for sale in the store. I chomped away on the Fuyu one, and I made delicious muffins with the Hachiya ones. (The Hachiya ones are what native persimmons would be like if they were larger and if they behaved themselves). And yes, they were both something I would have again.

As for the native persimmons? You’d have to dare me.

DID YOU KNOW…
Persimmons are from the genus Diospyrus, which means “fruit of the gods?”

The word “persimmon” comes from a Native American word for “dried fruit?”

Persimmon trees can either be astringent or non-astringent?
Astringent persimmons contain alum, which makes your mouth pucker?

Persimmon trees have few pests and add beauty to a landscape all four seasons of the year?

Georgian Pattie Baker publishes FoodShed Planet, a website about eating close to home around the world (and other food for thought). You can visit FoodShed at http://www.foodshedplanet.com.

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