Read the post. Read.The.Post.
It’s all I ask. How hard can it be?
We have a persimmon tree in our yard that is overflowing to the point of breaking with fruit.
What’re persimmons? They are a soft fruit that goes from almost ripe to over-ripe in two seconds, turns into a gushy water balloon and splatters on my yard, where the dogs feast and get gooey poops.
The tree was here when we moved in.
It started to fruit, and I was perplexed. I cut into a green fruit and tried it, and it tasted vaguely of plum. Apparently it is the Tamopan variety, and is coveted here. Big fruits, sweet. I don’t know. I can’t taste them much.
We picked as many as I could, so I put out a notice on NextDoor.com for the neighbors to come get’em. Which they mostly did. At least the ones that could read and understand what to do. I said PM – Private Message Me, I’ll give you directions. I work at home and if you come, I have to put the hounds back in the house because they will bite your ass. I got PMs, I responded with my address and mobile. Said text or call. Most did and walked away with bags of fruit. I learnt that persimmons, not as nice as mine, are for sale at the Sprouts hear here for $1.50 each. So the average person carried off $30-$40 of fruit. Fine by me. I didn’t maintain the tree properly and it was breaking from the load, and I don’t eat the things. Along the way, we had a distribution of mid-wittery on the thread, to wit:
- Can you leave some for me to get? No. Read the message. Come get them yourself.
- I’d like some! Great! – Follow the instructions.
- I’d like some, can you call me at XXX-XXX-XXXX? No. Follow the instructions. As an aside, I have a pet peeve of people sending me a message to call them. Unless you owe me money, not gonna happen. You want something I have, it’s on you.
- I’ve seen that tree, can I pick them from the Alley? Sure. Do not cross your hands over the fence. You will be bitten. ( I was very clear about the dogs)
- I tried messaging you. Can I have the address? (I looked back on my messages – I did give it to her). Look closer, it’s there.
- I didn’t get an address. You didn’t ask for one. I said PM me, didn’t I? I know I did.
- Can I come get a cutting to grow my own? We went back and forth. I told her I didn’t think that would work in the winter when it’s dormant, and it’s time to prune the thing. She asked that I call her when I do that. In the winter. No. I offered for her to get a clipping now if she wanted. For whatever reason she wants me to call. No clipping for you.
I won’t go into some of the more petulant messages I got. For Fucks Sake, it’s free shit. All you have to do is contact and communicate, I’ll help. You’re helping me, for Crissakes. But there are lines I won’t cross. You want it? Come get it. I’ll help. But I’m not working to give you free stuff. End.Of.Story.
I don’t want to complain. Those that came by and helped me out were amazing, nice people. I truly live in an amazing area. There was a Russian lady, one of the first to stop by. She came by with her son. Both were incredibly polite. They asked if there was a limit, and I said take all you can carry. There were hundreds. They got it. And walked away with a huge basket of just about to ripen, huge, beautiful persimmons.
The rest? Meh. You can’t figure it out, no persimmons for you.
Now that I know what I’m doing, I’ll trim the tree and cull the fruit properly and next year will be amazing. And my fat Irish ass will waddle to the farmers market and sell them.