Backyard and Beyond

Starting out from Brooklyn, an amateur naturalist explores our world.

As John Burroughs said, “The place to observe nature is where you are.”

Bergen Persimmon

Seen yesterday on Bergen Street, a persimmon. Diospyros kaki.
A common name reported by Sibley is “tomato tree” and this un-ripened fruit shows why.

The Chinese or Japanese persimmon is obviously native to those parts of the world and is the source of commercial persimmons, a delicacy, I’m told (they don’t travel well).

Now, there is a common persimmon, D. virginiana, native to the American south. Staten Island, in fact, our southern-most borough in more ways than one, is essentially the furthest north they will grow. We’ve seen some in the Green Belt; the bark is quite distinct, broken up in small rectangular blocks, unlike any other tree I can think of. The fruits of these are edible, but only fully ripen after a frost. Curious.

The word “persimmon” is of native American origin and seems to mean, essentially, “dried fruit.” The genus name Diospyros, meanwhile, means “fruit of the gods.”

5 responses to “Bergen Persimmon”

  1. yes, in the wild Diospyros virginiana is rare in New York State. The fruit becomes edible after first frost, the cold mellows the tannic acid which makes it hard to bear otherwise. They grow in Staten Island in shallow seasonal wetlands, although the tree is said to favor slightly drier sites in our area. It’s a lovely tree.

    1. And “persimmon” is lovely word.

  2. I have quite a few persimmons growing in my Missouri Ozark forest, though they are hardly common there, and most of them are understory trees. Their fruit is favored by the critters; I find their distinctive seeds in small piles throughout the forest. I’ve only dared to nibble on the fruit once, long after the frost, and the meat was still too astringent for my mouth.

    1. I really want to see your part of the country some day, Paul.

  3. […] I walked by the site of the Chinese persimmon I photographed Tuesday and blogged about yesterday. It was gone. Uprooted, like the Billionaire […]

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