It is officially fall.
The persimmons told me so.
As a child I knew it was fall when Grandma and Grandpa would make us go across the road with them to pick up persimmons. Although I never have acquired a taste for them, I never had a problem tagging along to collect the goods so that Grandma could make the pudding that people enjoyed so much.
Persimmons were even a deciding factor in where we located our house. When we picked the spot we discovered 3 trees and I was adamant that we would not cut them down. My decision was solidified after Grandma tried them and let us know that they were the "good ones."
Last year I didn't get too many persimmons. By that point I had a very round mid-section and couldn't get close enough to the ground to pick them up. But this year it's a different story. I'm picking persimmons. And I'm teaching Ethan how to know which ones to gather with his chubby little fingers.
At the rate that they are falling, Grandma should have plenty for a pudding by this weekend. And there are plenty more waiting to drop to the ground. Ethan and I just have to make sure that the deer and rabbits don't beat us to them.