Block · one region of the page, as the scanner read it. It may hold a whole story, part of one, several, or an advertisement; stitching blocks into articles is the next step. Text is supplied OCR.
Page 7 · column 3 of 6 · from the scan, no model involved
not moving too fast for me to see the textured trunk.
The gray-to-almost-black bark is distinctive and like no other tree as far as I am concerned. Broken into deep, squarish segments it is referred to in some books as “...resembling an alligator’s skin.” I am not that familiar with alligators, so can’t comment on the rightness of the comparison. I do know the bark of a persimmon tree when I see it.
It has been determined by those who study such things, that a flat persimmon seed — about the size of the nail on my little finger — that has gone through the digestive tract of a raccoon produces a more vigorous and healthy seedling than one that has not made that curious journey. Some sort of striations are made on the seed that produce a more vigorous plant.
Raccoons, squirrels and opossums climb the persimmon tree to get at what botanists call a “berry.” In their gathering, they shake and knock down the wrinkled, organism fruits so that non-climbing mammals such as foxes, skunks and deer can get at them. Apparently they find persimmons just as delicious as I did my mother’s persimmon pudding. The wild turkey also feasts on persimmons though I suspect they get the most nourishment from the flat seeds in each “berry.”
Celia Rutt of Purcellvile is a botanist of awesome talent. Saturday, she whispered to me that her dog loves persimmons. Our conversation in praise of the tree took place at a board meeting of the Virginia Native Plant Society. It was a whispered diversion in which I should probably not have been involved. Still, it is difficult for me to maintain self discipline when persimmons are involved.
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