smash, smash

That dreaded day has finally arrived. The day of Persimmon smashing. That Joyful activity that involves taking those bitter, mouth-dry-ing delights that really are not a bit of good until they have frozen on the tree and rotted enough to fall onto the ground. Several of the darn things have fallen off the tree at "Papaw's" house and he was so kind to save me a few buckets of them.

Rather than see them go to waste, the boys and I set to work. You take the hard stem/leaf nodule off of the top of the fruit and thow the whole thing into the masher/strainer device, given to me in my first year of marraige to Jim by his grandmother, Ruth. Affectionately called Mamaw. Now the story behind this strainer is this, It was HER first strainer, purchase the year she was pregnant with 'Jimmy' (my husbands father). So, the thing has been around the block and still does the job. I am sure this cone strainer has seen thousands of tomatoes, roasted pumpkin, and yes, persimmons.


My youngest Judd has perfected the technique of spinning and pressing the 'Simmons.

He and Jacob have taken turns for the better part of 2 hours, smashing approximately 3 gallons of persimmon fruit into 5 pints of persimmon pulp.
Look out holidays, persimmon pudding is on the menu... again.