Our counterparts in other parts of the country, the East, the Midwest, maybe even the South would have awakened last weekend and remarked, “My, there seems to be a chill in the air.” And as we learned we did not have to be at any of those exotic places. On examination right here in the South Bay we discovered that there was, indeed, a chill in the air.
There are, of course, many who will say it’s about time. Last Sunday we observed that phenomena known as the autumnal equinox, more popularly known as the first day of autumn. It is the day and time when the tired old sun slips away from our hemisphere on its way south with the age-old admonition, “You are on your own, guys. See you in six months.” So we bundle up and prepare ourselves for what weather there is to come.
Actually most of us anticipate this time of year. There is something invigorating in the fall climate, something that has been missing in the relatively, lethargic days of summer.
As we did last spring, we seem to get a new lease on ourselves. We might get ambitious but not to the extent that we did six months ago. If folks are anything like me they will say to themselves when confronted with some task, “I can do that,” but then in the next breath will follow with, “but I’d rather not.” And settle down in that La-Z-Boy, the one with the good lamp behind it and continue with the novel of the day.
I bring up autumn because the other day someone brought to my attention a characteristic of the season, particularly here in the South Bay.
I wish I could say that it is the time when we see the trees take on those hues and shades that are only found on the artist’s palette. The current magazines, Arizona Highways, for one, is brightly festooned with the change of color in the mountains and canyons. They, of course, have the raw material for such attractions. Here in the South Bay we are fortunate if we see some of the leaves turn a pale orange or yellow color before they quickly hit the ground giving the tree a few months of hibernation.
In this neighborhood we have something else. It is the time when some of our seasonal fruit trees are showing their true colors and their ripe offerings are making their debut for another round of meals. Sadly, in my backyard, we have only one variety, the pomegranate. But what we lack in variety we make up in abundance.
We have two huge, pomegranate trees in our yard. How they got there I really don’t know. We have lived here nearly 50 years and they have always been here. They are not native to the area so someone must have put them there. There are also equally large trees—or bushes if you will —around the neighborhood and it seems that they, like mine, have been there forever.
The literature tells us that this fruit is relatively new in these parts. I think what they are trying to say is that the juice, and its healthful qualities, are of recent times. They say that three years ago it was not a common fruit. But now the store shelves in nearly every super market prominently display the juice. But, of course, you pay a price, probably about $5 for a pint bottle. And one would have to mortgage the plantation to purchase the fresh fruit displayed in the fruit aisles. They are not inexpensive. I recall one year when my Maryland son, David, told me that they were selling for two dollars a piece in his area. I looked at the abundance on my tree and saw I had enough for a tidy retirement fund.
Around here we are more apt to go for the crimson seeds of the fresh fruit. Some of these sprinkled over a blue cheese salad can enhance that side dish not only in color but in a taste that is as satisfying as unusual.
Most people disdain the fresh fruit because it is messy and difficult to salvage the seeds. But it need not be so. Most directions that we have followed say that you must cut the crown off, and then cut it into sections. Place the sections in a bowl of water then roll out the arils (juice sacs) with your fingers. Discard every thing else. Strain out the water and then enjoy the succulent arils, seeds and all. To a true pomegranate lover this is worth any bother.
If this is too much of an effort the only advice we can give is wait another six months. The sun promised us the oranges would be ready about that time.
