PERSIMMON IN THE RAIN

It is slashing down with rain otherwise I would not be cowering indoors. This will play havoc with the olive harvest (the forecast gives us four more days of rain) because, while there is nothing to prevent wet olives going through the olive press, there is everything to prevent them from being picked in the first place.

So, this is a persimmon. It was a gnarled little tree when we bought the place. The owner's nephew, now in his 50s, says he remembers picking fruit from it as a child when the tree was about the same size. He knows it was here during the war because his grandmother told him that it, and others like it, were a valuable source of anything sweet. The invaders didn't like persimmons.

I don't like persimmons, either. They are too squishy and sweet. Other people swoon over them. The ancient Greek name for them, Diospyros, means "fruit of the gods." The gods can have them. There is always a robin with a sweet tooth that feeds on them in the winter.

They are called cachi here, a name taken from the Japanese, kaki. The tree belongs to the ebony family. I didn't know that! The fruit is a true berry by definition.

As for this particular tree, we used to like to sit inside and look out at the green balls glowing in the October moonlight. There was lots of it. The leaves turn red in November and by December only the orange balls will remain on the tree. After years of benefiting from the water given to the herb garden, the tree has shot up and is bushy with leaves. It blocks my view of the valley and -- it produces very little fruit.

Is this true of all plant and animal life? The better we have it, the less we do? It's food for thought, but not a persimmon, thanks.

I almost put up this pic. Raindrops on a window pane.