The View From Down Here

Why do you tarry?
Butterfly on my shoulder;
The wind is freedom.

Tired of "best of 2004" lists yet?

I hope not, 'cause here I go...

This year saw some interesting things (a.k.a. Courtney Love and Michael Jackson) in the courts. My favorite, however, was in a dissenting opinion written by Pennsylvania Supreme Court Justice Michael Eakin. Obviously drawing from a nostalgic love of classic TV and the show "Mister Ed", Justice Eakin writes the following regarding the enforcement of drunk-driving laws against persons on horseback:

“A horse is a horse, of course, of course,
but the Vehicle Code does not divorce
its application from, perforce,
a steed as my colleagues said.
‘It's not vague,' I'll say until I'm hoarse,
and whether a car, a truck or horse
this law applies with equal force,
and I'd reverse instead."

Beautiful. And I thought stuff like this only happened in Texas...

Who ate my persimmons?

Years ago, I planted three tiny sticks into the soggy ground on a rainy Saturday afternoon. The ground was muddy, so it was easy to dig in the clay fill dirt the contractors dumped over the top of the construction debris when they made my yard. These sticks were actually baby trees, but you wouldn’t know that from their appearance - featureless twigs that might have been found under any tree after a heavy storm. It was difficult for me to tell which of the ends went in the ground and which stuck up out of the dirt. Despite the rain pelting my head on that dismal Saturday, I must have planted them the right way 'round since, over the years, three Japanese persimmon (kaki) trees grew from those twigs and have turned into mid-sized fruit trees.

I planted persimmons because you cant get them here in Texas - not nice ones anyway. Oh, sure, there's always a box or two of mushy, bruised eureka persimmons (or sometimes the fuyu variety) in the grocery store around Thanksgiving, but these aren't edible. You can also find them in the Asian markets, but they're not much better. They look like they've been used in place of a whiffle ball for batting practice, not to mention the outrageous price. Always, I see them in the store, pick one up, handle it, feel the bruised, darkened skin and realize that this is not something on which to spend $8. So, I decided to grow my own. It's been a long process - five years to grow a tree big enough to let bear fruit - but it has been worth it... fresh persimmons, persimmon salsa, persimmon glaze on ham, stewed persimmon toping for ice cream... yum.

This year, I had my biggest crop ever. All three of the trees were producing and I was looking forward to getting to try the fruit from the tamopan variety tree. It had always been smaller than the other two and I had not let it bear fruit in previous years. All was well until, one afternoon, the fruit was gone. All gone. Yes, birds always claim a few, that's a fact of life, but birds leave a mess: half-pecked fruit clinging to the tree, fruit flesh on the ground, the fruit stems and leaves still attached to the tree, not to mention the bird droppings. No, these persimmons were gone with no trace. Squirrels, I thought as I examined the branches on my trees. No, squirrels would leave a mess also, and this fruit seemed to have been picked neatly from the trees.

It's a cliché' mistake, I know, to always blame a thief when something goes missing. Usually, you've just misplaced the item and it hasn't actually been stolen. But, looking at these trees, and they way the fruit had been picked, I couldn't see another explanation than someone having taken the fruit.

With nothing for me to do, I wandered back in to the house. Wondering as I wandered, what does a tamopan kaki tastes like? But, mostly, who ate my persimmons?