It's fall in our garden; here's how you can tell. Only four of our many trees are deciduous -- the elm, plum, peach and persimmon -- but the persimmon is the only one that puts on a show. The peach's leaves turn yellow and drop slowly but it's not much to look at. (Spring is a different story.) The plum, you look out one day and it's leafless. The elm turns late, light brown, and dumps all its leaves at once, around New Year's. (It's still entirely green at the moment.) But the beloved persimmon puts on a beautiful display, its huge leathery leaves turning, well, persimmon. At the same time, the fruit ripens, and it hangs on long after the leaves have dropped, so in winter you get the sight of a bare tree hung with bright orange orbs. At least, that's how it works in other people's gardens.
In our garden, it's very windy at the time when the tiny fruit are first trying to set. Most of the blossoms are blown off the tree before they ever even get that far. So we have very little fruit to begin with. And then there are the squirrels, who knock loose what's left. And they and the birds seem to take turns picking at it once it's on the ground. Today the leaves are nearly all dropped and rather than a fruit-laden tree, we have exactly ONE persimmon! Oh well.
It's been crazy at our house the past week or two. It's our year to host Thanksgiving, Bob had knee surgery on Monday (he's fine, thanks, but mostly useless) and our oven hasn't worked since sometime last spring. So we've been focused on sprucing up the house, and I think maybe it finally looks like we live here. If Santa brings me a new camera, maybe I'll be able to take a decent indoor shot. Until then —
Happy Thanksgiving, everybody.