Here in California, we have two seasons: rainy season and fire season. Where the edges of those two meet, you have spring and fall, but only briefly, before you get to the main event, both of which last for months.
This year, though, we seem to have dispensed with winter and are having a nice long spring that’s gone from November until now. In fact, the only way I could tell it was winter was by the neighbor’s persimmon tree, whose fruit ripens after the first frost. Rumor has it there was a frost, anyway … I must’ve missed it.
I don’t care much for persimmons, but the chickens adore them. They’ll run across the road each day to see what fruit has fallen on the ground, and they’ll fight over the squishy bits.
I know that you can make persimmon cookies and persimmon bread, but honestly? I get way more pleasure out of watching the chickens enjoy them than eating them in any form myself. It’s a sacrifice I’m more than willing to make.