Friday, August 17, 2012

They sag in just the way I remember, clotting against each other in nests of purple and gold, skins thinning and flesh softening in cracks of sidewalk concrete.  As a child I used to eat them off a tree at the edge of a cotton field, loving them more than wild plums but not as much as blackberries. Their feral sweetness in my throat tickled with its hint of something gone to ruin, something almost too wild to be with. Only once I picked them before they’d ripened, the blister of their greenness sending me home for water in a hurry, my mouth full of trickery and insolence. Some years later I made some jam with them. It sat on my shelf in jars until someone insisted I spread it on toast, and I did. My teeth missed the skins and the nudge of the pit. Wasps still crawl inside their golden hearts, I notice now, intoxicated with loamy fruitflesh and the heady disappearing nourishment of summer.

©Laura Sorrells 2007--2012
all rights reserved


  1. Beautiful and tasty write. Even as summer fades, I nostalgically recall the sweet taste of my first watermelon of the season. Pure heaven it was. xo

  2. Thank you! Yes, that's a nostalgic flavor for me too, as well as sliced canteloupe with a hint of salt.

  3. But persimmons aren't good till the first frost, are they? My grandmother made persimmon pudding and it was wonderful. I have her recipe, but no persimmons. Maybe when I am back in the South in September, I find some at the old trees in the woods behind her garden. She used to always have a pan of it waiting when she knew I was coming by.

  4. Persimmon pudding. that sounds outrageous. where, if I may ask, is her garden? it's been so many years since I actually ate a persimmon that I don't recall what time of year they're good, but I took this picture in midsummer.

  5. Her home is in Moore County, NC. Unfortunately, she now lives 3 hours away in an assisted living place near my uncle, but the house is still there and is used by family when in the area. I may have to dig out the recipe and do a blog posting on persimmon pudding. Persimmons were always harvested in the fall. My grandmother would process the pulp and free it so that she could have pudding available all year.

  6. I posted the recipe in my blog.

  7. I will seek it out. That's just the kind of thing I love.


Search This Blog


About Me

My photo
Georgia, United States
I live at the edge of the forest in a little town in the north Georgia mountains. I teach sixth grade Language Arts and am writing a memoir of sorts about family, spirituality, and narrative. I am also exploring a possible writing project having to do with contemporary lay contemplative experience and how it might be informed by the Desert Fathers and Mothers of early Christianity. I am a relatively recent convert to Roman Catholicism and an admirer of Pope Francis, Leonardo Boff, Joan Chittister, and Richard Rohr. I'm a Lay Associate of Our Lady of the Holy Spirit Monastery in Conyers, Georgia. I am interested in indigenous cultures, narratives, and spirituality, especially how these can inform my spirituality as a lay contemplative. I write, read, take pictures, play around with creating ephemera from paper and cloth and other organic things. I cook, hike, watch wildlife, and collect random bits of interesting oddness, both tangible and abstract. I am a seer of smallness and a caretaker of ridiculous minutiae. If you want, e-mail me at or