Tucked between the back of Davis Library and a cluster of ATMs and out of the way of most student traffic grows one of UNC’s unfrequented herbalogical wonders.
It’s a lanky but well-established tree that stands about 20 feet tall with wide green leaves. Its most defining feature, however, is the large, orange fruit hanging in clusters from its boughs, far out of easy human reach. The sign nailed to the tree tells me that it is a Japanese persimmon. My mission is clear: find out where this tree came from. Pick a fruit. Eat the fruit.
Rebecca Chaisson, a member of the Student Government Environmental Affairs committee working on the Edible Campus campaign, shoots down my suspicion that the tree was part of their project. She tells me that this is the last of three Japanese persimmon trees planted a couple of years ago.
“The University was making strides toward edible landscaping far before this initiative. This is just a more integrative and expansive initiative," Chaisson said.
She also tells me that there is an American persimmon tree, which is a significantly smaller breed, planted on the quad.
After several unsuccessful attempts at hooking a long, metal rod — left next to the tree by an unknown donor — around the persimmon to get it down, Chaisson climbs up into the tree.
This too is unfruitful as the branches with persimmons are too thin to be climbed. Finally, after several scraped body parts, we give up and I go in search of the much more manageable American persimmon. I find it across from Murphey Hall. The tree is small and sparse and I can easily reach the ping-pong sized fruit, though most are not quite ripe yet.
With newfound conviction, I return to the Japanese persimmon tree. Luckily, no one is around to see my attempt at climbing the tree. Undeterred and still determined to succeed, I take up the rod once again and set my sights on a particularly ripe persimmon. I push aside warnings in my head from my mother to always treat nature gently and with respect and whack violently at the branch until, finally, success!
The softball-sized fruit plops to the ground, luckily still intact. I bound over to it, break it in half and bite into it. The flesh is squishy and sweet, with a few seeds and an unusual flavor. I happily munch on it until I reach the bottom section, when the tastebuds in my mouth suddenly feel like they’re disintegrating. Ahh yes. The infamous symptoms of eating an unripe persimmon.
Throwing it aside, I reach for the rod to whack down another. So next time you need a snack and don’t have your One Card, head to one of our campus persimmon trees. Just make sure the persimmon is ripe before you bite into it.
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