By Mary Reid Barrow

We’re between sweet blooms of spring and bright showy flowers of summer, but you better believe there is a lot going on out there that we just don’t see.

The other day a wise natural, John Bunch, a Facebook friend, announced in an offhand way that he had just seen a persimmon blossom!

What?

I have native persimmons along my driveway and my thoughts don’t turn to persimmons until the fruits arrives in fall. I never thought about what brings those little orange fruits into being.

Loved by everything from possums to butterflies, persimmons are a bit of nuisance to me when the first nor’easters of the year rain ripening fruit down on my driveway. They fall on the car and drop in the windshield wiper well and I can easily squish them when I walk if I’m not careful.

But after reading John’s post, my thoughts turned to persimmons this spring. The nerd in me was out examining my trees every morning searching for their blooms.

Finally, one day I found one and then it was if they were there all along. These tiny pale greenish yellow blooms, the size of my little fingernail, were hiding in plain sight under the leaves.

Very small insect and bees nectar on the blooms. Female trees have blooms spaced out, one at a time and male trees have blooms, clustered together, in groups of four. I haven’t found a male bloom yet, but knowing what I do now, I’m sure I will.

With a newfound appreciation for my persimmons, I’ll be checking in with them on a regular basis to see how those little flowers develop into fruit.

Captain John Smith wrote that a persimmon would turn a man’s mouth “awrie” if eaten before the first frost. A few years, I gathered ripe ones and made persimmon bread, but their many seeds made it a real labor of love.

On the other hand, the possums and the racoons, the birds and this red spotted purple butterfly in my driveway last fall certainly don’t seem to care what stage of ripening the fruits are in.

Sights like that butterfly make me know why I tolerate messy persimmons in the driveway in fall. Now these little blooms in spring make me understand even more what it takes to make the world go round.