persimmons

What a funny thing to decide to paint. I had an experience recently that really made me think about life and so this story begins.

when I was a child I knew my Great Grandmother, well I was lucky enough to know 3 of them. But this story is about one in particular. She was not the nicest person and fact most people in her town referred to her as the meanest woman in the county. Wow what a title. I don’t know much about her life, nor what heartache she must have endured to live a life that would give you this title. Her house was small but had lots of trees. My father said that they were persimmon trees, with a face. Said that she had planted every one of them. I had never eaten a persimmon , and he explained that it was a bitter, nasty fruit planted by a bitter old lady. Well for the majority of my life that was all I knew about persimmons and had no desire to learn any more.

A year ago, we met up with a dear friend and his father. I had the most delightful time visiting with them, they are wonderful listeners and story tellers, a joyful time shared with them. And then we were invited into his Garden. I was basically the lovestest of home gardens that I have ever seen, basically what I envisioned when I read the secret garden as a child. We saw the lowest of plants and trees from lemons, apples, oranges and persimmons! That last caught my attention. And he spoke of the persimmon tree, and how abundantly it had been producing over the years. How he shared this abundance with friends and neighbors, or the pickling and pies that were made and shared. His face so kind, sweetened even more as he spoke of all that had been made and shared. He asked if we had ever tried it and then went to the cellar and came back with a persimmon pulled out a pocket knife and began to slice off a piece for each of us explaining that it has a uniqu flavor and some don’t care for it and that’s okay to spit it out if you don’t care for it. I was excited to try and to my delight I found it sweet, a little tangy and indeed unique, I liked it.

On our flight home, I thought about how different my two experiences involving persimmons were, I knew when I got home I had to paint one. Why you may wonder. Well, both people had some real heartache, and bad things that happened to them. One became became bitter, unhappy, and mean. The other endured his pain, and was a kind listener, a tender heart, kind and giving. Bad things happen in every life but it what we choose how we choose to live which is the most importnant. I am thankful for this lesson and when I see the persimmon in painting it is a reminder to me.