In a very daring move, I neglected to prune the raspberries. Those pendulous canes stubbornly held on to clusters of green fruit, defiantly resisting the creeping cold and slanting autumn light. I would come by with my pruners and squint my eyes at the adolescent fruit and promise to come another day. As an orderly gardener, this stand-off with the raspberries challenged my disdain for chaos. It was time to prune, but I held off. Our Oregon October doused us with crazy rain and then an unseasonable stretch of Blue Skies. Those little raspberry canes decided to shine and fruited sweet-tart delights until Thanksgiving.
There is another who I have come to adore— an American Native, the persimmon. This bold fall fruiter is called Diospyros or “fruit of the gods”. With orange orbs that dangle on limbs without leaves, the persimmon fruit flourishes as autumn fades. Either soft and sweet or crisp like an apple, it’s heavenly taste is a holiday treat.