Fall Fruit from a Nashville Native

By Joanna Brichetto
Tennessee Naturalist
SidewalkNature.com

Have you tasted native persimmon fruit? Those sweet, burnt-orange blobs falling now in Tennessee? About an inch across, they pack a lot of flavor into a little package. I don’t mean the big, firm, pastel persimmons in the Fall-themed produce at Kroger. Those are a species that hails from Japan. Our native fruit will not be found in any produce aisle. Ours are too perishable, too difficult to harvest, and frankly, too ugly to sell.

But beauty is in the eye and palate of the beholder, and one of my urban-naturalist goals is to encourage people to behold for themselves. Ripe persimmons are delicious eaten raw from where they land on the ground, and delicious baked into all manner of puddings, cakes, muffins, and breads. Foragers also make beer, wine and ice cream. 

The When, Who, How, and Where" of the American Persimmon

WHEN:

Luckily, our persimmon season spans from September until the last fruit is nabbed by critters. One of the tastiest serving suggestions is to look for low branches in late December, after any still-hanging fruits have morphed—through repeated cycles of frost and sun—into the world’s best fruit leather. 

WHO:

Persimmon trees provide the usual urban tree “services” that help with property values, air quality, heating and cooling costs and stormwater management; but as native trees, they also benefit our food web. Remember that plants and animals have evolved together in place, and with specialized relationships. (Trees from other continents cannot sustain our local ecosystems.) So, watch for small, white flowers in May that feed pollinators, including native bees and honeybees. And watch for nibbled leaves that can feed caterpillars from 50 different butterfly and moth species. Caterpillars are crucial bird food: 96% of our backyard birds can only feed “meat”—not seeds—to their babies.

HOW:

If you want fruit of your own, you’ll need a female and male persimmon tree, or at least a female within pollinator distance of a male. Most nurseries don’t “sex” straight species saplings, so you may need to plant more than one to increase the odds of backyard fruit. You can grow your own trees from a fruit’s seeds, but it takes about 8 years until a sapling is old enough to flower. 

If you don’t have room for multiple trees, but definitely want fruit, look for named cultivars of female trees, or for cultivars described as “self-fertile.” 

Persimmon trees can grow up to 35-60 feet tall, depending on site conditions, and the shape of the crown is usually an oval. In fall, leaves turn a freckled blend of reds, oranges, and yellows. The bark is a unique grid of deep, rectangular fissures. Even beginners at tree identification can spot persimmon at a glance. 

WHERE: 

In the wild, these trees aren’t picky about where they grow: on a dusty hill, down a shady valley, or beside the shore at Percy Priest Lake. Seeds are dispersed in the scat of possum, raccoon, fox, coyote and other mammals.

Nashville needs more persimmon trees, especially in pocket parks and near greenways, where passersby can meet the bark, leaves, flowers and fruit. They are also suited for lawns—residential or commercial—where periodic mowing can suppress sucker growth, and where fruit can fall on grass, rather than on walkways, driveways or parking lots. 

WARNING:

Never nibble an unripe persimmon, unless you crave an astringent shock that’ll pucker your mouth for hours. The tannins need time to mellow. Try only the mushy fruits, and avoid the firm ones. Although it’s a myth that persimmons don’t ripen until after a frost, it’s true that by the time a hard frost hits Middle Tennessee, most persimmons are already ripe. But by then, it’s also true that possums may have eaten every single one.

The 6th Annual NTCC Tree Sale, now under way, offers American Persimmon (Diospyros virginiana) for sale, as well as many other trees native to the U.S. Click “Native” to filter your search while you shop. And remember, fall and winter are the best times to plant a tree in Nashville.

Joanna Brichetto is a certified Tennessee Naturalist in Nashville, where she writes about everyday wonders in everyday habitat loss. Her essays have appeared in Brevity, Ecotone, The Hopper and other journals; and her current project is an urban-nature almanac called Hackberry Appreciation Society. Follow her on Instagram (@Jo_Brichetto) and at SidewalkNature.com.