The year is advancing at a pace, and the persimmon tree is wearing a new cloak of bright green.
When the broad leaves start to turn gold
And the fruit bright orange and sometimes even red
We get the ladder out, and the long picker basket
And scorning the birds, we take what is left of our crop.
The trick is get the basket claws around the stem
Then twisting slowly, pull until the piece drops in.
Too much recoil launches the remaining fruit on the branch
To a side splitting crash landing on the drive way.
The birds laugh every time fruit falls,
I know the hedge rats hear, and soon the possums
And those brazen raccoons know the tale,
Not to mention the squirrels.
For six months the ultrasonic varmint deterrent
Has failed to do its job again,
But our tree is too tall now
To net its branches.
Some small hours have seen battle,
Hose pipe and prod, Red Ryder and Airsoft
Flash light to the eyes and bingo, a heavy thud
As the prattling predator accepts temporary defeat.
Thanksgiving again! and the tree is bare,
Standing alone until the new shoots of spring
And its flowers welcome back the birds
The ants and the bees, and my protective glances.