The tree is a very old one, and has been producing these delicious autumn fruits for many years. John, who lives in the cottage near the tree, declares that it has an unpleasant odour when it is in fruit, but I have never been aware of it. But then again, I am the only one in the family prepared to risk persimmon dribbles and eat them.
Talking of persimmon dribbles...we always wondered what this indelible stain was on some of the pieces of crochet we inherited from Auntie Mum.
We later learned..the hard way..that if you left a nice firm crisp persimmon sitting on a cloth, it would suddenly get squashy ripe while you weren't watching, and this black stain was the result.
Auntie Mum crocheted this doiley when she was in her nineties. Her eyesight was not the best, but it was a pattern indelibly printed on her memory, and the pattern sequence came automatically to her hands, arthritic though they were. She still used the finest cotton (no. 100). Occasionally she switched from white to ecru to cream in one piece of work, because she could no longer distinguish the shades.
By the time she reached 100, she had conceded to the limitations of age and eyesight, and restricted herself to crocheting afghans using brightly coloured wool.