Doing for the sake of doing is its own reward.
Photo Above: Eli and Elaine pick persimmons from a neighbor’s backyard tree that had fallen.
© Bruce Ingram | Styling by Janette Spencer
“Sometimes we do jobs for other people not for money, but to help them out because they need help. Does that make sense, Eli?” I asked. The boy, our 10-year-old grandson, Elaine and I were driving to a couple’s house and woodlot last October, not long after Hurricane Helene had ripped through the area. On a previous visit, I had noticed that the mature persimmon tree growing in the neighbor’s backyard had toppled during the hurricane.
Every summer and autumn, that husband and wife allow the boys and me to forage for mushrooms in their small woodlot. Last summer, for example, Eli and his 12-year-old brother Sam and I had gathered the black-staining polypore for their first time. I pointed out to the boys how this polypore grows over wood and features wavy margins and a pale white color. But the clincher to identifying it is rubbing the margins and seeing if they turn black. I instructed the grandsons to do so and told them we would come back later and determine if we had indeed located a black-staining polypore.
On our ramble, we encountered a number of Berkeley’s polypore, but all were past their prime. A half-hour or so later, we arrived back at the hoped for black-staining polypore and the boys were delighted when they discovered that it had indeed become black. I then had them carefully cut the mushroom from its stump. A few days later, Elaine made us a delicious egg frittata from our find.
“The woman’s husband has some health issues, so he can’t cut up the tree,” I continued as we walked up the driveway to the house. “So that’s another reason we’re cutting it for them. And if she offers you money for coming over and working, you’re not to take it…understand?”
Eli told me that he did, and soon afterwards we arrived at the persimmon. Usually in Southwest Virginia where we live, persimmons don’t ripen until the third week of November or so, but the tree’s downfall and its nourishment from the soil being eliminated had apparently caused the ripening process to accelerate. I instructed Eli that the three of us would take advantage of this windfall by stripping the persimmon of all its orange globes that had ripened.
“Most wild fruits are ripe when they feel sort of firm but sort of soft too,” I explained to Eli. “But persimmons are only ripe when they feel rotten and mushy. I know that sounds strange, but it’s true. So pick only the persimmons that are extra soft.”
Soon we gathered enough persimmons to make several dozen cookies or perhaps even bread. All kinds of bread can be made from all kinds of grains and other things, but, in my opinion, no bread is better than Elaine’s persimmon bread, infused with wild black walnuts that the boys and I have gathered from the trees growing in our woodlot.
Then it was time to fire up the chainsaw. Eli usually asks to “take turns” using the chainsaw, but I always have to tell him that only his dad can make the determination that he is old enough to use one. An hour or so later, we had cut up most of the tree and limbs into foot-long or so sections, just the right size for our woodstove. Returning to the truck to head home, we found this note attached to a bag of blueberry oatmeal cookies.
“Thanks so much for cutting up our persimmon tree. It fell on September 27. Hope you are able to use some of the fruit. Stay strong!! P.S. no flour or sugar are in these cookies…S.
Upon seeing the note, Eli asked if we could accept the cookies. “Yes,” I said, “but they are all for you and your brother.” Payment enough for an afternoon’s labor.
The story above first appeared in our September / October 2025 issue.
