A Chilly Ozark Morning at the Farm

We celebrated the first frost of the season with a small fire in the fireplace—-one just warm enough to take the early-morning chill off the bones. Robin did the heavy lifting; I did the pokin’ and stirring. 

Off on the Hunt

As the temperature warmed up during the day, I transitioned from the fireside to the outside. Robin, Austin and I climbed into the Jeep and headed for the woods on a mushroom hunt.

The elusive fungi have been scarce this year. Ordinarily, the “Hen of the Woods,” variety (so called because it looks like a ruffled hen), can be found in abundance. But not this year. We found two. Nor did we come upon any paw-paws. Or buckeyes—the Ozark good luck charm.

Don’t Sit Under a Black Walnut Tree

But the colorful foliage made up for Mother Nature’s stinginess with her other seasonal gifts. The black walnut trees had turned yellow and some had dropped their green, pool-ball-size fruit. 

Black walnuts on the ground can look like hidden Easter eggs. If you want to crack through the layers of a black walnut, be prepared for some tough work and stained fingers.

Wear gloves when going after the nutty interior or your hands will turn the color of the inner shell.

Learning to Love Persimmons

It was the persimmons that surprised me. I ate my first one in Missouri decades ago and still remember the mouth-puckering taste. I later learned that they’re sweet and enjoyable, but only after the first frost.

Well, we had a frost at the farm and I gave the berry (yes, it’s a berry) another chance. It was delicate and delicious with a cantaloupe quality and hints of honey. When it comes to persimmons, timing is everything.

A hearty Ozark persimmon tree.

According to Ozark folklore, you can predict the coming winter weather by slicing a persimmon seed in half. If there’s a distinct spoon shape, expect a heavy snow to scope. A fork shape means light powdery snow and a mild winter.

Green Eggs and Ham

Though our foraging produced little, our neighbor, Susananne, lessened the loss with some homegrown tomatoes and eggs, so freshly laid they were still warm.

One of the eggs was a pale green. I thought my neighbor might have tinted it for my amusement or as a seasonal salute to Dr. Seuss. But from an online search, I found that certain species of chickens lay green eggs. 

Ahh . . . he Peacefulness of a Full Moon and a Good Neighbor