Pomegranates

I have always found pomegranates to be intriguingly mystical fruits.  Nature's final,generous gift after a long summer harvest, right before the earth slumbers under the freeze of winter.   The shiny, red exterior gives way to channels of the perfect packaging, cradling plump, ruby-like gems of juicy, sweet and sour berries.

When I was a very young girl, there was an old farm house near our home that was going to be demolished to build an Alpha Beta grocery store.  The owners had long since moved and the house was vacant.   On the property was a large and very old pomegranate tree that held a bountiful harvest of large, ruby red pomegranates.  With our parents blessings, my older siblings, Shelly and Keith set out for the farm house to pick some of the pomegranates before the property was bulldozed.

One Saturday morning, bikes racing, they set out on their pomegranate treasure hunt and what was to become one of their most memorable childhood adventures.  As they approached the edge of the neighborhood they spotted the old farm house in the distance and there, to the side of the house stood the large old pomegranate tree filled with pomegranates.  Leaping from their Schwinns, they began to pick one after another of the rare gems, quickly filling their bags and wishing they could carry more.

As they were riding home, in anticipation of those luscious gems of juice, they were approached by some older boys (aka hoodlums) on horseback.  The boys asked what was in the bag.  Shelly told them they were pomegranates.  With that, the delinquent hoodlums ripped the bag from her hands and galloped off in a dusty cloud of dirt.  Keith and Shelly watched until the bandits disappeared in the distance, their dreams of pomegranate bliss foiled.  They planned to return the next Saturday but during the week, the old farm house lot had been bull dozed to make way for new homes.

Growing up, in our family, we never ate a pomegranate without Keith or Shelly recounting, with sadness, the story of how those teenage hoods stole their prized pomegranates.  Every time I see a pom, I think of the disappointed little faces of Keith and Shelly as they arrived home that Saturday afternoon heart broken and empty handed.

Flash forward, Dave and I planted this pomegranate tree 4 years ago and it's been giving us fruit ever since. This year (2012), was our best harvest yet! The fruit was so big we were calling them grapefruit. We had a delicious fall salad and included some of the "poms."  Next thing I'm gonna make is some pomegranate salsa.