The autumn festivals are upon us. The red spider lilies have shed their wispy petals. The nights are growing longer, and I have harvested the baseball sized pomegranates from my own patio garden’s tree.
I have been fascinated by the burgundy arils since I was a child. It was the fruit that was an absolute mission to get at those tiny bursts of goodness. They always made such a mess, but it never bothered me.
Perhaps my interest in this fruit goes back to my DNA. My ancestors would split them open, cook with them, and take them on long journeys.
This year I was able to raise some of my own. Previous years I had been left with one or two golf ball sized fruits. This year it was closer to about 10 and half of them were the size of a baseball. I left them on the tree until they split open. Not sure if this is the way to do it, but it just seemed like the way to go.
They were pretty sour to my tastebuds with only hints of the pomegranate fragrance. They just burst bursted in there sweet and sour goodness.
I am thankful that I could play my little part in helping to bring some colorful goodness into the world.