Legend says persimmons can predict winter weather

Don Schwenneker Image
Wednesday, November 18, 2015
A hummingbird is a small bird eating persimmon fruit in Monterey Park, Calif.., Saturday, Sept 28, 2013.
A hummingbird is a small bird eating persimmon fruit in Monterey Park, Calif.., Saturday, Sept 28, 2013.
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Old weather lore has always fascinated me. One of the first sayings I can remember my grandma telling me was "Red sky at night, sailor's delight. Red Sky in the morning, sailors take warning". Turns out that usually comes true. As a matter of fact, many of those old sayings are rooted in some truth. It's how the weather was forecast before, well, there were forecasters.

Last year, I was told about the legend of the Persimmon seed. Somebody gave me some persimmons grown here in N.C. I found out that if you eat them before they are ripe (or fall off a tree according to a farmer), they taste like a mouthful of soap. Yuck. When it comes to the seeds inside, we get a glimpse at some of that old-time weather lore. And, supposedly, we get a glimpse at what's headed toward us this winter.

According to legend, if you slice the seed in half, the type of utensil you find inside will show you what winter will be like in that area. Yeah, I said utensil...

If you find a knife, it's going to be colder than normal. The cold will cut you like a knife. If you find a fork shape, it will be a mild winter (like something warm you eat with a fork). And if you find a spoon, you'll have more snow than normal. A spoon looks like a little shovel, and you're going to need the shovel. When I cut ours (grown in Durham) open this morning, here's what I found...

It's a spoon! Bring on the snow.

Yep, that's a spoon.

Now I have no idea how accurate this is for our area, so I'll have to wait and see if we get more snow. I will say this: last year, I found a lot of knives in the middle of my persimmon seeds. We ended up having a colder than average winter, with one of the coldest months of February on record. I'll guess we'll have to see what the spoon holds for us this winter. Now, where's my shovel...

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