When my wife and I bought our home three decades ago, the persimmon tree in the front yard wasn’t a selling point. I found persimmons too tart, and my wife wasn’t crazy about the tree’s scraggly appearance, which gave the impression of a neighborhood stray that had decided to come live by our driveway.

We made a note to take the tree down, a chore quickly sidelined by the 100 other urgencies in making a new home.

I decided to ignore the persimmon tree until I could do away with it. But as autumn deepened that year, I discovered the tree’s sly insistence on claiming my attention. Ripe persimmons dropped from its branches while I mowed the lawn, some of the fugitive fruit landing on top of me.

Our daughter, then just a toddler, had a good laugh when I came back inside with sticky yellow p

See Full Page